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My crazy aunt thinks that she's an extension of God's voice, a holy messenger. She told me recently that my grandmother was trying to tell her something. Then she asked me if I knew what my grandmother was trying to tell her. Hmmm!

I've always thought that people who claim to relay messages from the great beyond are just plain nuts. Have you ever seen an episode of "Crossing Over with John Edward?" There's a funny episode of South Park where Stan debunks John Edward, utilizing his method of cold reading to perform a fake connection with the spirit world for a member of the audience.

Unfortunately for my aunt, I am too cynical to believe any word of hooey that she spews. I just don't believe that my grandmother would have to go through someone to speak to me. Grandmother was a very efficient woman, always cutting out the middle man and going straight for whatever she wanted to accomplish. And if grandmother did go through my crazy aunt, how do I know that the message was accurate? Ever see the 'purple monkey dishwasher' episode of The Simpsons?

My aunt and John Edward take advantage of people who are vulnerable because they're too distraught or desperate for answers. I may believe in something that I haven't seen, heard or felt (God), but heaven help the person who mistakes me for someone who fell off the turnip truck and tries to take advantage of me.

That really makes me mad. If she wanted to put one over on me, she could have picked a cool power to intrigue me like the ability to predict what happens on Grey's Anatomy this season. I would have listened to that.

I was walking back to the office from my lunch break and I saw this guy who I dated briefly back in January 2006. He was driving and almost went into the other lane. I felt like a true geisha when I realized that I was able to stop a man in his tracks with a single look.

He got mad and stopped dating me because I was playing darts with another guy at a bar once. To express his anger, he drunk text messaged me from across the room. I was trying to impress people there with my dart hustler routine and he totally ruined it with his constant glowering. The last message I got from him was DONT CLAL ME EVVER AGIN. I've never claled anyone and I don't think I ever will. I assume he meant to tell me never to call him again, so I didn't.

Drunk text messaging is quickly replacing drunk calling, an incredibly annoying disturbance that usually takes place at an ungodly hour. The caller tells his or her victim how much they love them or how good of a time he or she is having. In a recent survey I conducted, nine of the fifteen people I asked have told me that they'd received a drunk text message in the last six months. They're usually misspelled and make absolutely no sense. Six of the nine messages were sent between the hours of 2 A.M. and 4 A.M..

Have you ever received a drunk text? You should consider yourself fortunate! It's one of the best compliments you can get from one of your rummy friends. The drunk person would have had to be dexterous enough to hit the keys to spell the words and to even find a person's name in their directory to begin with. Drunk calling just requires a push of a button or a simple voice command. So the next time you get a drunk text from someone, don't get mad. Be happy that the mere thought of you was a shining beacon in a sea of tequila in that person's warped mind.

There's a funny little thing that happens to every gay man to remind him of what he evolved from. It happens to some guys when they're flipping channels and their hearts skip a beat when they see a figure skater complete a triple axel. It happens when they're at a restaurant and they're taking a sip from a glass and their pinkies lift instinctively. I've also seen it happen to the butchest of men as they're waiting impatiently for something and their hand goes straight to their hip so they look like a teapot waiting to spout bitchiness by the cupful. This behavior is caused by something I like to call "The Queen Gene."

My Queen Gene makes me susceptible to feminine moments that come out in times of extreme terror. I have very fragile nerves and the fastest way my body expresses fear is to have one hand on my chest and the other hand out in front of me as I let out a high-pitched shriek. It usually happens when I turn a corner and someone is walking that way towards me. It also happens when elevator doors open. I'm not a paranoid person and I don't walk around fearful of getting assaulted in the bushes by a gang of college boys, so I really can't explain why I react like a horror movie victim all the time. I'm like those guys you see on America's Funniest Home Videos when their friends scare them on Halloween.

I believe that there's always a latent feminine anima lurking within each gay man on this earth. It's just a matter of finding the right trigger. Is your football-loving, beer-drinking, rough and tumble gay friend vehemently denying that he has the potential for nelliness? Try finding his G spot. I've done extensive independent studies that prove that when you find and work boy's G spot the right way, his voice will reach new octaves like he's auditioning for American Idol.

Some people think that they've achieved fame when their name is headlining a show or movie. Others think that it happens when they walk into a restaurant and they're able to get a table without having made reservations. I believe that you haven't truly "arrived" until your name is used to strike fear into the hearts of young children.

Picture my defiant two year old niece pouting and huffing because she doesn't want to finish her dinner. My sister, a mother of three, has many methods of persuasion and she quickly goes for the scare tactics by saying:

If you don't eat your food, Uncle Chard is going to come over and get you!

Now imagine my niece wolfing down every last bit of food on her plate in record time. When I heard this story, I was filled with an emotion that was sort of a mixture of shock and glee. It was a little hard to describe because I didn't know if I should be angry or pleased that I'm the new Boogie Man. I wasn't a terrible uncle when they were in my charge a month ago. My sister and I just have two very different ways of dealing with kids' bullshit.

The old Boogie Man tactic never really worked on me. I was a little more clever than other children, and everyone knew it. I once debunked the Santa Claus myth in our family by comparing handwriting samples from my mother and "Santa." No one ever tried to scare me, but I certainly had my share of fears as a kid. The one thing that kept me up all night wasn't scary movies or ghost stories. It was something that was very common on television and in public places such as the supermarket or the post office. I was afraid of composite sketches.

We'd always watch Unsolved Mysteries and I would duck out whenever the segment was titled "Wanted." Oh God, when I saw those words flash and heard the scary Unsolved Mysteries music playing, I would run away and hide in my room because I always knew that they'd show a scary composite drawing of a criminal at the end of the segment. As the seasons progressed, they'd even show computer aging techniques to show how the perp would look in the present time. UH! SCARY!

My sisters caught on to it and decided to torment me by forcing me to watch episodes of UM that they recorded. They'd pause the part where they show the sketch and I'd freak out. Sometimes they'd take wanted posters and slip them through the bathroom door while I was on the toilet. How scary is that? Toilet time is a very vulnerable time in a person's day.

I still get a little nervous when I see a sketch or a computer aged picture of a criminal. I can just imagine being in my room as a kid and thinking of the scary picture... then seeing the actual person in my window looking at me exactly like he looked in the picture. I'm a little less sensitive to it now because I'm older, but the fear isn't completely gone. Fear is an essential part of our lives because it warns us of danger and makes us aware of how we fit into the world. Everyone is afraid of something, so it's completely normal. The fun part is knowing what people are afraid of and exploiting it! Mua ha ha ha ha!

Soap opera actors have to be able to portray a wide variety of emotions such as anger, fear, and sadness. I know that everyone thinks that soaps are hokey, but some of the actors make the scenes believable when they can pull off the facial expressions and the emotional dialogue. I'm very critical of people who can't naturally cry in a scene.

Alexa Havins, who plays Babe Chandler on All My Children is a master of the cry-0n-cue. She can start bawling just by talking about how she lost her favorite teddy bear as a little girl. Sometimes you can play an All My Children drinking game where you take a drink whenever it looks like Babe is about to cry, but you should really check yourself into rehab if you drink that early in the day (AMC airs at 12 P.M.).

Think of how wonderful it would be to have the ability to turn on the waterworks whenever it suits your fancy! You can pretend to be ultra sensitive when watching a movie with someone you are trying to impress. Everyone knows that men who are sensitive in public are super sex hounds in private! I once dated a guy in Houston who cried when he saw that someone had run over a dog and we ended up having hours of rough mansex in his living room. I'm just glad that he didn't cry after he was finished.

For all of you treacherous queens out there, the ability to cry can give you an unfair advantage over an unsuspecting victim. Let's assume that you were an agent of G.U.L.P. and your mission was to become the secret sexual consort of some important member of parliament in order to get information out of him and the guy catches you trying to break into his super secret wall safe. What do you do? First you tell him that you were sleepwalking and continue to feign ignorance of the situation as you weep uncontrollably because you're supposedly ashamed of your sleep disorder. Then when he comes close to you to console you and possibly use your tears as lube, you drop kick him and put him in a choke hold until he tells you the combination to the safe.

Sadly, neither of these scenarios would never work for me in the real world. I'd only practice the cry-on-cue if I were interested in becoming a serious actor, and that won't be happening any time soon because I couldn't remember lines if my life depended on it. How would you feel next to a grown man who cries all the time, anyway? Two words: MAMA'S BOY!