I Dumbledore dare you!

There's no way that Professor Dumbledore is gay, and I'll tell you why: Jerry Falwell would have told us before Jesus occluded his coronary art -- before Jesus called him home. The reverend's gaydar was always impeccable. Long before he had the ear of the nation, he alerted the people of Lynchburg, Virginia, that Liberace was not the he-man he projected on his television show. (My grandmother was a huge fan, and even bought a candelabra for my piano. It was a spinet, and the thing kept getting knocked off, but she meant well.) More famously, he blew the whistle on Tinky-Wink the Teletubby and his (its) insidious attempt to give gay to toddlers. It's simply not possible that the producers of the films could have fooled Rev. Falwell just by casting hard-drinking brawler (in his youth) Richard Harris instead of, say, Ian McKellen.

I don't know what twisted game J.K. Rowling is playing in this blatant attempt to sell a few more books. If she needs money, she should try a thriller for adults. Here's an idea to get you started, Jakes: An amiable American saves the world by cracking the coded message that Michelangelo painted into The Last Judgment. I was going to use it myself, but I'm still too depressed by the collapse of the Mets.

Speaking of baseball, does Rudolph Giuliani not have a single friend? There he sat, all alone, at the final Indians-Yankees game. I know his children don't speak to him, and he can't afford to be seen with Bernie Kerik, but is there no one who can endure his company long enough to take in a playoff game at soon-to-be-demolished Yankee Stadium? Great seats, too. It was almost sad.