Author Archives: thefusewastoocold
You may or may not have noticed that FWTC has been “off the air” for most of the year. Why? Why in God’s name would be deprive the world of US? I mean, this site is comedic gold! What could possibly explain WHY such a tragic thing would happen. Your reader mail has gone unanswered, there has been absolutely no East Coast earthquake coverage, and NO REN!
To satisfy your curiosity (real or imagined by us) here is a list of five potential reasons we’ve been incognito. Which ones are true? Beats the hell out of me.
- Ren finally got her Playboy shoot and ran away from us.
- Roode finally snapped and went on a killing spree.
- Adel realized that she’s has two Ph.Ds and was too good for this bullshit chuckle factory.
- Tresckow went into hiding for reasons unknown.
- Ren. That’s it. Just Ren.
Actually, it was a combination of things ranging from site glitches, author availability, family issues, career issues, clinical depression, and all sorts of other lame ass stuff. Here’s what we can promise:
- We’re going to ease back into regular publication.
- We’re going to “re-release” some of the “vintage” articles to help pass the time.
- We’ve got an assload of articles waiting in the queue.
- We wish most of 2011 never happened.
- We’ll keep listing shit for the sake of listing shit.
- Ren will be in your nightmares.
We’re too quick to stereotype in this country, especially when it comes to television reality shows. Half of that is the intentional fault of the producer. They edit and fudge each scene to push the image the audience is meant to see. MTV did this shit all the time with the Real World. In the early seasons, it actually fooled a lot of us. Fast forward 1oo years later and we totally expect this this sort of bullshit filter. Kendra Wilkinson must be an airhead, Sig Hansen must whip his crew, and Gordon Ramsey must constantly make grown men and women cry. Not everyone on reality television is what they appear to be.
Perhaps the biggest stereotype of them all is the “gay” fashion designer. You know who I’m talking about. Tune into Bravo, E!, EVERYTHING Tyra Banks is involved with, and just about any Lifetime network made-for-TV movie and it’s a virtual Where’s Waldo of gay stereotypes. Now, I’m not making fun of the gays. Personally, I’m a lesbian trapped inside a man’s body (that was a great line in the 90’s and still is, damn it). But, that’s neither here nor there. The fact is that we’re used to (and even expect) the image of the dainty little pile of fabulous wearing a big bow tie and belting out Liza Minnelli tunes while tricking out a fashion model’s hair. There’s little room for a big, burly, heterosexual lumber jack of a man that happens to like musical theater. You’re born with the talents God gave you. You want to fawn all over runway models’ dresses, but drink Guinness and bang chicks. My friend, you have a hell of an up-hill battle. There are thousands of little Jack McFarland wannabes out there cramming the doorway of the boutique.
Some would say in order to get a chance in any traditionally flaming gayified field one would have to pretend to be homosexual. Ridiculous, right? Hold on a second. FWTC conducted countless hours of research and found one famous fashion designer/model consultant/goofy wig wearing dude that’s living a lie. The only way he could break into the business was to play the part of the stereotypical fashion queen. The problem is that he’s done such a good job, he can NEVER be who he truly is. On the condition of anonymity, this widely recognized person agreed to grant us an interview. This just may be the article that gets us the Pulitzer, people.
Tresckow: Thanks for agreeing to an interview. We know it must take courage to finally speak out.
Anonymous: I can’t stay long. They have people everywhere, on every corner, watching and waiting.
Anonymous: The Fashion gestapo. You think everything is OK, then one day you accidentally reach for a beer instead of a Cosmopolitan at an after-shoot party and BAM! You wind up buried in the concrete foundation of a Saks.
Tresckow: Harsh. Well, we’ll do what it takes to keep your identity a secret. If we have to, we’ll unleash Ren and her whiskey fueled Irish rampage.
Anonymous: (Shivering) Whoa! Let’s not jump the gun. You can’t unexplode that bomb.
Tresckow: Alright, fuck it. Let’s get down to business. Why did you want to break into the fashion and design world in the first place? Ya stupid or something?
Anonymous: Um, no. I just have always had an affinity for frilly garments and teaching models how to power-walk.
Tresckow: So you sold yourself out? Betrayed who you are? What the fuck is that all about?
Anonymous: Look, it’s a difficult situation. It’s like Yentl. Only that instead of being a woman disguising myself as a man to learn about Talmudic Law, I’m a straight guy pretending to like vermouth and prancing.
Tresckow: Dude. Yentl? Seriously? And you’re NOT gay?
Anonymous: No, it’s just an example.
Tresckow: Uh-huh. I dunno, man. Referencing a Barbara Streisand movie is pretty gay.
Anonymous: Look, can we get back to the interview? I mean I’m doing you a favor, here.
Tresckow: Okay, okay. Fucking Yentl. Anyway, walk us through a typical day at work for you. I imagine there’s a lot of limp wristed hand flailing and man makeup going on.
Anonymous: You don’t know the half of it. It starts before I leave my house. I have to leave all evidence of heterosexuality behind. I wake up and try to get into character by watching the Today Show and listening to Judy Garland. I practice saying “FABULOUS!” and make sure I have my “light in the loafers” walk down. I mean, if I’m off one beat, it’s a horse’s head in my bed for me.
Tresckow: A gay horse’s head?
Anonymous: I don’t know. It doesn’t really matter.
Tresckow: Are we talking “My Little Pony” or a horse that belonged to Clint Eastwood?
Anonymous: It doesn’t matter! Whatever. A Clint Eastwood horse.
Tresckow: (Checking cell for Sons of Anarchy spoilers) Ah, very interesting. Especially if it was the horse from Pale Rider. You know, considering Eastwood was a priest in that one.
Anonymous: Okay. Fine. Can we move on? Stop web surfing on your phone, damn it! I thought this was going to be a quality interview.
Tresckow: Sir, I assure you, the Fuse Was Too Cold is nothing but a highly regarded journalistic site. Did you see our piece about the Winter Olympics in Vancouver? We must have received at least three comments about that. That was awesome. We cracked open the Night Train for that one!
Anonymous: Yeah, congratulations. Actually, I’ve never heard of you guys.
Tresckow: That’s great! Fuck you. Anyway, please go on describing you day at gay work.
Anonymous: (Angrily) Fine! I put on my best and most outlandish afro wig and sparkly culottes and take my bright pink hybrid to the office.
Tresckow: Damn. A hybrid. That IS gay.
Anonymous: Exactly. Just before I walk into the building, I rub perfume samples from magazines on my face and crotch. You know… to seal the deal.
Tresckow: Well, what are the odds that someone would smell your junk?
Anonymous: Seriously? Have you ever seen America’s Next Top Model or Project Runway? You can’t go ten minutes without one of the hair dresser pixies sticking their beaks in your crotch. It’s just how things are done.
Tresckow: Alright. (looking at my crotch, wondering if I should cologne it up) Aside from making your twig and berries smell like Cosmo Magazine, what are some of the other pieces of this charade? Taking it in the pooper? Oral? Nail painting?
Anonymous: Um, no. Even gay workplaces have human resource regs. Well, some nail painting. Maybe a little bit of hair braiding…
Tresckow: And no one suspects a thing?
Anonymous: Hell no! I do my damnedest to keep the illusion alive. Even to the point of cringing when the models change in front of me.
Tresckow: Wait a minute. Change in front of you:? Like boobies and all?
Anonymous: And a lot more.
Tresckow: Boobies AND the danger zone?
Tresckow: How the hell can you play through that? I’d either have a stroke or a…
Anonymous: Yeah, I get where you’re going.
Tresckow: a stroke. HA! Get it? See what I did there?
Anonymous: Awesome. But, yes, it’s rough. I do what I have to; cold pack down my pants, mental pictures of Ke$ha or Bea Arthur naked..
Tresckow: (Standing up, suddenly) Back the truck up, comrade! We don’t stand for defamation of Bea Arthur’s character. That woman is a national treasure, goddamnit! Dead or alive! And, I’m not talking about shameful 80’s group that gives me nightmares to this day. Spin me around, right around… my ass! (taking the beer bottle I chugged, smashing it on the table, and waving the jagged shard, wildly)
Anonymous: (Putting his hands up in defense) Okay. Easy! Be cool. I take it back.
Tresckow: Yeah, you’re damn right you take that shit back. Ain’t NOBODY gonna dis Dorothy!
Anonymous: It’s cool. You know, the gay fashion world… that is to say, the fashion world… LOVES The Golden Girls. The show is practically our bible.
Tresckow: (Regaining my composure) So, we were talking about boobs. Like, boobs being all uncovered and shit. They don’t think twice about stripping naked in front of you?
Anonymous: Nope. I’m “safe.” The “gay” dude isn’t a threat. Boobs and…
Anonymous: Yeah, alright… va-jay-jays. Boobs and va-jay-jays are the last thing a gay guy wants to see. So, I’ve got to act the part and die a little inside.
Tresckow: Don’t you want to, you know, touch? Grab?
Anonymous: Damn right I do…
Tresckow: Grasp, feel, hold, palm, fondle…
Anonymous: Yes! I get your point.
Tresckow: (Cracking open a bottle of Jameson) Damn, man. So close, yet so far. It’s like boobs are the forbidden temple. You can never go in, but have to look a it every day of your life. You’re fucking nuts. I’d be all like, “Two boobs, two hands, no waiting…”
Anonymous: Tell me about it.
Tresckow: Alrighty, so… um… tell us about the real you. What are you like at home?
Tresckow: I mean, boobs! Right there. RIGHT THERE!
Anonymous: Yeah… you got it. Right on the nose. OK, so I’m completely different when at home. As soon as I get into the door, all that poofy, pink, and frilly shit goes to the wayside. I’m a flannel shirt, jeans, and work boot man, myself. I turn the TV to a monster truck rally or a football game… you know… something that involves broken bones and severe burns. MMA is a favorite of mine. Gotta love the Playboy channel, too.
Tresckow: Yeah… bones. Monster trucks. Flannel. Seriously, man. Boobs? Like the top comes off and, hello, there they are?
Anonymous: Are you still on this?
Tresckow: I mean, Ren usually ends up topless at some point during a bar crawl… but I’m in a different time zone and all. I don’t see the boobs. I just hear about the boobs.
Anonymous: Ren may have a drinking problem…
Tresckow: No shit? Thanks for tuning in. (by this time a third of the whiskey bottle is gone) I hear she totally puts out too…
Tresckow: Like those pants go down after the tenth beer…
Anonymous: I’m not sure we should be discussing this.
Tresckow: It’s like the fleet came in and she’s the only woman on the dock.
Anonymous: Wow. Okay. Any more questions?
Tresckow: Just one. With all the prejudice facing people of all walks of life today, what are your thoughts on.. Come on man! You never even copped a quick feel? That’s just a waste of a bare boob. They’re right fucking there! It’s like wandering in the desert with a cooler full of Gatorade and refusing to open it.
Anonymous: Look, I only agreed to do this interview, because I thought it was a good place to tell my story. Explain my struggle. Reveal the lengths I have to go through in order to be accepted in the fashion industry. Now are we going to stop the shit or not?
Treskow: HA! I bet you want to reveal your length to those naked chicks.
Anonymous: Okay. We’re done.