ndiana University graduate student Ian Williams made headlines this week after receiving a $4 million grant from the Center for Cultural Studies to untangle the fascinatingly twisted web of rumors surrounding the Tom Cruise-Katie Holmes romance. While some have called the grant ludicrously frivolous, many others expressed relief that somebody else would be figuring this crazy shit out for them.

"Thank God," sighed IU Professor Richard Luxborough. "I got so confused thinking about this last week I almost threw up. Is he gay? Are they really in love? And what's with that crazy motherfucker jumping all over the couch like that? Every answer just spawns a hundred new questions. I wish Ian the best in his research; I think his quantum physics minor is really going to be put to the test on this one."

"Any high school kid who wrote their term paper on this topic knows the basics," explained a cocky Williams, well versed in TomKat lore thanks to the celebrity blog/Access Hollywood/ street-level trash talk research he did in preparing his grant proposal. "Tom was having a steamy homo affair with Rob Thomas, Matchbox-20's bisexual lead singer, only to be caught with his pants down by Rob's wife Marisol. She was bought off by Cruise for over $10 million and the promise that she'd never have to listen to Matchbox-20 again. But Cruise's people still had to act fast and get Cruise's name stamped on some vagina before another damaging gay rumor hit the street."

"And of course that's where Katie comes in," continued Williams. "But what most high-schoolers don't know, unless they read my blog, is that Katie wasn't the first choice of Tom's people. She wasn't Tom's first choice either, but he wanted Antonio Banderas so that's neither here nor there. Tom's people made up a list of B-list actresses who might jump at the chance to boost their careers and pick up a little coin via a sham fag-hag wedding. Number one on their list was Jessica Alba, but they couldn't get through to her without resorting to 'stamp once for yes' communication tricks. Next they wanted Jennifer Garner, but she had this weird Ben Affleck smell on her that kept making Tom sneeze."

"So the mantle fell to Lindsay Lohan," Williams elaborated, drawing a crowd of eager eavesdroppers. "But then it turned out she'd lost so much weight recently that when she turns sideways she almost disappears, like some weird X-Files villain, and that was freaking Tom out at night. Scarlett Johansson seemed like a safe bet after that, but then Tom started talking about Scientology and she ran like a startled deer, leading to an unfortunate but action-packed escape sequence, some of the footage from which reportedly is going to turn up in this summer's The Island. Sofia Vergara was next on the list, followed by Kate Bosworth, but Tom didn't know who either of them was, and this got him all excited about being gal-pals with Sofia Coppola or possibly hooking up with former football stud Brian Bosworth, so they wisely dropped both of those. Finally it fell to poor little Katie, who cashed in at $5 million for five years with the contract stipulation that she'll never, ever have to see Cruise's penis, which is a better deal than either of Michael Jackson's wives ever got."

"And Katie's actually been playing the role fairly well," raved Williams. "That story about her growing up with a Tom Cruise poster on her wall was brilliant." According to Williams, Holmes' childhood bedroom also featured posters of the rock band Guns 'N' Roses and the horse from The Black Stallion, which doesn't bode well for Holmes' future relationships should the marriage pact with Cruise ever fall victim to downsizing.

Strange as the story may seem to normal humans, veteran rumor-mongers find it excitingly plausible.

"Fans have been in denial of Cruise's gayness ever since Top Gun," gushed legendary New York gossip columnist Dr. Dish. "Quentin Tarantino was right, that movie was gay on fire. I don't care how many times he plays some dude driving a minivan in some movie now; I ain't buying it after that one. Forget homoerotic overtones, that thing was turned up to Gay 11. That thing was all ate up with gayness."

Dr. Dish also points to persistent rumors that Cruise's relationships with Nichole Kidman and Penelope Cruz were both contractual affairs, providing the then-obscure actresses with money, a career boost and lavish lifestyles while acting as a smokescreen for Cruise's long-term relationship with an Asian American Airlines pilot he has stashed away in Chicago. And we mean the pilot is Asian, not that there's a new airline called Asian-American Airlines. Weird.

Though only slightly less convoluted than the saga of Area 51, the TomKat rumors would help explain the speed of the couple's courtship, as well as Cruise's frenzied and bizarre attempts to keep his recent engagement in the headlines. Veteran rumor-whores also recognize a familiar pattern in the Church of Scientology's involvement, since the red hot rumor of the mid-90's was that church wranglers were working overtime to conceal long-time church member John Travolta's hyper-promiscuous gayness.

"That's outside my area of expertise," Williams said when asked for the scoop on the Travolta rumor. "I did my undergrad work on Richard Gere, which frankly doesn't do me a hell of a lot of good now."

ith their famously stoic façade put to the ultimate test, Londoners came through with flying colors this week, failing to register the slightest emotion in the face of stunning terror attacks on the city’s mass transit system that left 50 dead and over 700 wounded.

“Oh yes, it was quite a mess,� explained commuter Harold Alburn, who was aboard one of the bombed subway trains and only survived due to being caked in a human cocoon formed by the flaming remains of his fellow passengers. “That rail line’s going to be down for weeks, you have to assume.�

“This is to be expected of the British,� explained psychologist/ historian hybrid Dennis Mugrew. “I mean, what did you expect? Wild, hyperbolic shows of emotion? These people didn’t even have their pulses raised by WWII. Even when London itself was being bombed in 1940, people were still going out to the pubs and leading their lives as if there weren’t giant bomb craters in the street, and acting as if the pub itself was not on fire. Frankly, I don’t think total thermonuclear annihilation would have much of an effect on the English disposition.�

“Yes yes, bloody terrible,� mumbled carpet-layer Damon Brink semi-intelligibly, hoisting his customary 7am pint.

“This resolute façade of dour, dutiful melancholy has served the English well through eons of adversity and truly shitty weather,� explained England expert and grinder-sandwich-eating champion Maxwell Tuft. “It’s like American optimism or weird Japanese cartoon sex fetishes. You don’t mess with success.�

“It’s a bloody shame about those people,� sighed stockbroker Theodore McCartney, who lost his entire family in the blasts. “You certainly feel for their loved ones. But, you know, life must go on.�

“Nope, sorry, I’m afraid I’ve had my humanity bred out of me, perhaps eons ago,� explained tailor Nigel Ruffalo when asked about the attacks, with an upper lip so stiff he could be mistaken for a duck.

Authorities believe the attacks to be the work of a terrorist cell with the inappropriately-hilarious name of “The Secret Organization of al-Qaeda in Europe,� which, as the name describes, is thought to be both secret and organized, and reportedly allows only cell members into its tree fort. The British have saved their strongest displays of emotion for these alleged terrorists.

“That’s just not playing cricket,� complained Londoner Angie Lowell, the most enraged person in all of England. “Them bad sorts ought to be put to for what they done, had a real talking-to, you know. Can’t have this sort of thing going on, mucking about on the trains when we’ve got places to be.�

Meanwhile, the reporting of this story was complicated by confusion over interview subjects who claimed to have been on the tube at the time of the attacks, which this American reporter assumed to mean the television, leading to a mistaken belief that everyone in England gets to be on TV. This reporter’s intense jealousy, however, soon abated as soon as he learned that “the tube� is a quaint British euphemism for the toilet.

Welcome to Straight City, everybody. Population: Me!

Didn't know that? Now you do! I've never been more straight than I am right now, and since I've never been the slightest bit gay at all, then that's pretty darn straight!

If I were any more straight, I'd be a flaming homo, that's how straight I am, at the extreme far end where any more straightness would make you just gay, just push it too far, you know? It's like being butch, you can be butch and clearly straight, but then if you get too butch, it's like you're doing it on purpose, right? Catch me? So me, I'm right up alongside that razor's edge of straight as can be, but with no little danglers hanging on the gay side. This is complicated, straight man stuff here.

My favorite color? Brown. Can't get much straighter than that. Ugly old brown. And not brown like poop on your dick either. No siree, I don't like that at all. Not my style. Just plain-old UPS brown, that's the color of my straight love.

Favorite movie? Armageddon. You read that right. What self-respecting fag could love a hetero-wonkfest like that thing? Ew, no way. Diagnosis: Straight.

Nope, no kissing pretty South American boys in the back room of throbbing disco clubs, not for me. Not any more, and not ever previous to now either. You're thinking of somebody else.

I don't even like fags that much. Not Tony, anyway. He and I are NOT friends, any more. Chaz and Hank? Those guys are alright. Same goes for Bruce, Tuti, Blaine and Federico. Not the worst people you could ever meet up with for fancy cocktails. Not in a gay way though, no "cock" in the "tail" if you know what I mean. I sure don't. You may know what that means; I don't pretend to know whether or not you're gay. I'm okay if you are, I mean as much as a totally straight person ever could be. It does make me a little queasy though, to be honest. It's just so not-me.

I mean, could you even imagine me being gay? Don't try.

When God was going all "duck, duck, goose" and picking out the homos up in heaven, I wasn't even there, I was off taking a leak. No gooseneck for me. No sir.

I'm so straight I might even up and marry a woman one day, just out of the blue as a total surprise, even though you thought we were just friends, just as an example of how not-gay I am! And not an androgynous, David Bowie woman either. Or a campy gay icon like Bette Midler or Liza Minelli, not that type. Nope, a real man's woman, with curves and tampons. A real baby factory who's not at all a fag hag like you might have heard. I'm going to watch sports while she brings me bland, characterless American beer that's full of carbs and there I am, dressed in sweats and a mismatched top without a hint of irony!

Straight? You don't even need to ask. But feel free to if you have any questions. And tell a friend!

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