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Scientology Minister Accused Of Molesting Thetans

The Church of Scientology plunged into scandal Thursday when Frank D. Linehan, a prominent minister who has helped thousands of parishioners move up the Bridge to Total Freedom and achieve Clear, was arrested on 471 charges of molesting alien thetans.

Mom In Nightgown Mode

APPLETON, WI—Noting that the changeover occurred “right on schedule” after she had finished the dishes and watched TV for an hour or two, family sources confirmed Monday night that local mom Linda Rampling had officially transitioned into nightgown mode.

Car Rolls Up To Stoplight Blasting Google Maps Directions

HOUSTON—Attracting the attention of adjacent motorists and nearby pedestrians who turned their heads to see where the booming noise was coming from, a 2006 Ford Focus is said to have rolled up to a local stoplight Friday blaring Google Maps directions.

34-Year-Old Asks For Big Piece

MADISON, WI—Directing the server to the large square in the corner, local 34-year-old Matthew Hinke asked for a big piece of cake during a workplace birthday party, sources confirmed Tuesday.
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I Can't Seem To Find The Moline Gay District

As a gay man, whenever I'm in a new city, the first thing I do is seek out the gay district. Whether it's New York's Greenwich Village, The Castro in San Francisco, or Chicago's Boystown, a gay district has the stores, cafés, and clubs that fit my lifestyle. But I've been here in Moline for two whole days on business and, God help me, I can't find the Moline gay district anywhere.

I just don't get it. I've driven all over town with no luck at all. Where are the gay bars? The vintage-clothing shops? The lesbian book stores? I swear, it's like Moline is trying to keep the gay part of town a big secret. You have to be a regular queer Columbo to find a single upscale erotic-art gallery in Moline, much less an entire gay district.

My first stop was downtown, which I quickly redubbed Lametown. No vegan restaurants, no scented-candle shops–not so much as a single inverted pink triangle in a window. Only fast-food chains, auto-supply stores, and a Kmart. Can't get much straighter than that.

Convinced that I missed something, I scoured the entire downtown area again, this time with my gay-dar turned up a good three notches. Once again, nada. For a second, I thought I saw a rainbow flag, but it was just a sign in the window of a paint store.

It was time for drastic measures. I marched into Ray's Feed & Farm and asked if there were any thrift shops, massage parlors, or holistic pet-food stores nearby. Those farmers looked at me like I was balancing a Buick on my dick. After a few moments of awkward silence, one guy in a John Deere cap cleared his throat and directed me to Bridgewood Antiques. I thanked them for their help and got out of the store quickly. I hope I don't ever have any need for feed or farming supplies, because I don't think I'd want to go back in there any time soon.

After going through all that trouble, Bridgewood Antiques turned out to be a major bust. All they had were old magazines and Craftsman tools. No Shaker rocking chairs, no Japanese screens, no chintz drapes. What's worse, the customers were all just a bunch of gray-haired old grandmas. Where were the immaculately dressed gay professionals trying to find that perfect, one-of-a-kind floor rug for their sunroom? Where were the flamboyant hipsters buying campy early-'60s kitchen tables? They must be somewhere in Moline, but where?

I finally realized where I needed to look: the local college campus. That's always a reliable gay hotbed. I marched right up to the entrance of the Black Hawk College student union and asked a man where I might find any "Friends Of Dorothy." All I got was a blank stare. The next 250 people I approached just offered more of the same.

I'm not giving up yet. I know there's a gay district somewhere in Moline. There has to be. I mean, it's a city of more than 40,000 people, for heaven's sake. Ten percent of that works out to 4,000 people. That's heck of a lot of gay people to keep hidden and districtless.

This morning, while leaving my hotel, I got a tip from the front-desk clerk. He said there's a drag show on the outskirts of town tonight. Hallelujah! If I can get out there, I should be able to find my kind of folks. I just have to remember the directions to the raceway where it's being held, and I'll be home free. Keep your fingers crossed.

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