Take Back The Night-cream

They say the end is near, marked by floods, famine, Britney Spears' Chaotic -- undeniable signs that the Apocalypse is fast approaching. Yet perhaps the most disturbing vision for our fateless future lies blatantly before us all, staring back daily at millions of Americans young and old. It's everywhere -- magazines, television, movie theaters and even subway rides to work. It's on the radio, it's on tops of city cabs. It's even made it here, onto our vast, impenetrable home turf, the Internet.

I don't want to scare you anymore than I already have, but it may just be lurking in the shadows of your home at this very moment, peeking through the cabinets, whispering softly it's weathered war cries. That's right, more than half of you are already victims, the rest will fall shortly there after. I'm talking about personal hygiene products...but these aren't your mother's maiden day moisturizers. These are for - gasp - STRAIGHT GUYS!!!

Let me be the first to say I have been washing my face and using aloe-enriched cream products since the eighth grade, which - for the record - is the REAL reason I never played high school sports. Sweat and skin serum do not a happy match make. Regardless, when I started using I knew two things as solid fact: A) When I'm 30, I'll look 20. When I'm 40, I'll look 30. And when I'm 50, I'll pretend to be 40, looking like I'm 30, dating someone 20 or thereabout. And B) I'm gay. Gay as the day is long and long like the distance between me and a woman's privates. That's really far, for those who don't know me. And also, really, really gay.

I'm comfortable with my admission, proud even. After all, it's part of the whole package is it not? That's why most of us signed on here. Consistently awesome wardrobes, pink sparkling wine coolers, and a monopoly on the facial care regiment. Umm, did I not get the memo? When did we suddenly sell that pink triangle locale on the game board to Corporate America, Inc.? And who acted as our negotiating agents, the Fab Five? Et tu Bru-gay?!!

The bottom line here -- it's funny coz I said bottom -- this madness must stop. Men are supposed to be men. That's why we like them. They sweat, they smell, they wipe their brows with their gym socks after the big game. (I only know this because someone once told me. Guys, pay no attention to the blinking red light in the locker room hamper). Now don't get me wrong, I'm all for personal improvement, physical growth, self-help, plastic surgery for those in need. But do we really want a world full of perfectly manicured male models fist fighting at the drug store for the last tube of cocoa butter spot treatment?

Ladies, gentlemen, think about it. Where will it stop? How will it all end? I've already heard some nasty rumors circulating of a national commercial campaign with Tony Danza nairing his armpits, reminding the world the burning toxic smell proves that it's working. Is this what we really need now? Isn't there enough violence on TV, people?

Do me a favor and just close your eyes. Picture a sea of the sexiest men alive -- I know it's hard, what with the thought of a hairless Tony Danza on the brain -- but try for me. Hundreds of hot guys standing arms length apart, shirts torn open, beads of sweat running down their stubbly cheeks, onto their dirty faded Levi's - Don't get me started on the Diesel-takeover - their deep, rough voices sending chills down your arched spine as they beckon you forth to join them in a bath of tongue kisses and neck rubs. Now tell me, how many of them looked like Ryan Seacrest?

My feather-boa friends, it's time we fight this fiercely (and yes, I finally mean that in the Michelle Pfieffer-Not Halle Berry kind of way). We must take back what is rightfully ours. Take back Neutrogena. Take back L'Oreal. Take back the face washes and anti-wrinkle eye pads. Take back the hair gel, take back the volumizer, take back the eyebrow tweezers and cuticle cleaners. The time has come for all us to unite as one, one people with one cause, to step out of the shadows, stand proud and shout loud, we're here, we're queer and we're taking back the nightcream.

And while we're at it, will someone please find the angry, terrorist queen responsible for the UPN's programming and serve him up one of our infamous victory drinks - a bubbly pink martini - one part gin, two parts nail polish.

Bottom's up boys. Oops, I said it again.