You're not the type of fag who Leaks Stories to Gossip Columnists…

...but you are definitely the type who lives by the Golden Gay Rule of Gossip: "If you don't have anything nice to say about someone, then come sit by me..."

Anyway. Months ago--actually, that bears repeating--months ago your Ex invited you to the premiere of the remake of Sleuth, starring Jude Law (Pavlonian drool) and That Other Old English Guy Who Irritates You As Much As Donald Sutherland Does. You accept his invitation even though spending an evening with your Ex can sometimes be tricky, mostly since you two were together since the Dawn of Gay Man. After your fourteen year relationship, unfinished arguments tend to resurface as quickly and mysteriously as the Loch Ness Monster. However, unlike an unexpected appearance by the legendary Nessie, when you boys begin bickering about some silly old drama older than the Spice Girls, nobody has the slightest interest in witnessing your crap. But, as usual, you digress.

So, months ago, you went to the Sleuth Premiere and suffered through every one of the 88 minutes that Jude Law wasn't on screen. Fast forward to the After Party. You were drinking a cocktail (surprise, surprise) and catching up with several old friends who you haven't seen since The Breakup, because, let's face it, they weren't really your friends. But that's when you turned around to get (surprise, surprise) another cocktail, you ran into one of your new friends. You were totally shocked to see him until you remembered that he's actually working the party because he's a gossip columnist. After Oooooohing and Ahhhhhhing over Jude for an appropriate amount of time, you started talking about the boys. You told Gossip Gurl all about your summer romance with the narcissistic TV News Reporter, but like a pair of White Pants, you dutifully retired him promptly after Labor Day. You tell Gossip Gurl all White Pant's irritating Pussies and how you could never get a wink of sleep when you spent the night because his two precious little nocturnal cat-nip whores would keep you up all night batting around pens and pencils that you would've dreamt about stabbing them with if you could've ever fallen asleep, blah-blah-blah...

But this conversation was months ago. Fast Forward to yesterday. You get a call from Gossip Gurl and you've long since forgotten about both Sleuth as well as the conversation. And you've definitely forgotten about White Pants and his Kitty Cunts. For God's sake, it's January and you're busy preparing your Resort Season wardrobe. Anyway. Gossip Gurl leaves you this cryptic message asking you to confirm the names of White Pant's Kitty Cunts. You gulp as you return the ominous call and Gossip Gurl states the obvious and informs you that it's a slow news day. Then he asks if White Pants is "out" at work? You tell him you're not sure, only because you don't want to be responsible for outing anybody (except for Wentworth Miller and Clay Aiken and Tom Cruise and Pink and Ryan Seacrest and Zack Efron.) Gossip Gurl promises you that it's a blind item so he'll only use the names of the Kitty Cunts but you ask him not to because you're worried it might hurt White Pants.

When you hang up, you instantly get this terrible, sinking feeling. So you decide to do the unthinkable. You call White Pants (even though it's well after Labor Day) and tell him what happened. He's such a narcissist that you're pretty sure he'll be Pleased as Punch, and as luck would have it, White Pants is absolutely thrilled. But with one condition, that the article doesn't "out" him. You tell him that Gossip Gurl has given you his word, but when the article comes out, the Kitty Litter hits the Fanzine.

White Pants calls and he's not happy with the Blind Item. At all:

"Which man-loving Fox personality might want to keep his cats off the bed during intimate moments? Because you know how the gays gossip about things like that."

You're a bit confused because you have no idea how anybody will ever realize that Gossip Gurl is talking about White Pants? But true narcissist's rarely live in any reality other than their own so you point out that Gossip Gurl has removed the names of the Kitty Cunts so nobody will figure out that White Pants is the "man-loving Fox personality" of today's molasses-ly slow news day. But White Pants ain't having it. He's pissed. He thinks that the whole world will know it's him and that Rupert Murdoch will not be pleased. You carefully remind him that you gave him the chance to pull the story and that he declined, but he still blames everything on you.

You feel terrible for about ten minutes until you notice the postings on PerezHilton.com and realize that since nobody has any idea who the hell White Pants actually is, they all think the "man-loving Fox personality" is either Wentworth Miller or Ryan Seacrest. And then, of course, you forward this link to White Pants because you know it will crush him when he realizes that he didn't get any of the press or attention from his own damn outing. Anyway.