The sculpture, titled Noisette, is intentionally meant to recall a glory hole, which (for the non-homosexuals reading this leftist gay gossip blog) is a hole cut into a wall or door that a man places his penis through in search of an eager orifice on the other side. The interactive ad—placed as a banner across the top of the page and box in the lower right corner—is just as fun as the real sculpture, and the tongue pops out of the hole when the mouse moves across it. Please do not try to see what happens when placing a penis on the ad. That would be very NSFW, unless you work at a porn theater.

The Saatchi Gallery blog describes Swiss-born, New York-based Fischer's sculpture as such:

Noisette is of course, also seriously naughty. It is surprising to realize that many viewers don't quite perceive that the sculpture refers to a bathroom glory hole, that classic "meeting" place for [cruising] gay men. The piece intermittently shifts from humor to more profound issues such as loneliness, compulsion, repression and self-loathing. But the surface, sideshow quality of the sculpture is so satisfying as to be worth the visit.

We know that there are plenty of homosexuals on staff at the Times websites, why didn't one of them speak up and say, "Um, guys. I've never been to one, but my friend, he told me that this is like a glory hole, and we might not want to have that on the homepage. Aren't there any other ads we could use?" Who cares, we're glad they didn't.

Here's what the homepage looked like when we found the ad:

• Stephanie Pratt was busted for a DUI. I woke up late again. Are you surprised on either account? [TMZ]
  
  
• Roman Polanski got removed from Swiss jail for an unknown medical condition (it's probably "I Wanna Get The Fuck Out Of Dodge-itis"). I know this is where I'm supposed to be like I HOPE THEY PUT A SCALPEL UP HIS ASS but (A) honestly I'll save that for the mob rule and (B) they'd probably use a tiny corkscrew instead. Get it? [NYDN]
  
  
• Two books are being written about Mickey Rourke, and both of them detail how he's completely obsessed with the mafia and being a mafia groupie. Apparently, he was hanging out with John Gotti in 1996 when Gotti was arrested, but, uh, wait. There are two separate books being written about Mickey Rourke? The fact that two separate publishers gave the go-ahead for two separate books about Rourke is kind of incredible. Someone should write a book about that. [NYP]
  
  
• OH MY GODDDDD Rush and Molloy, the Boris and Natasha-esque gossip team who front the New York Daily News' Sunday gossip page, have yet again set their moose and squirrel sights on the most boring possible scoop: Michael Jackson's shady doctor of death, Conrad Murray, is looking for a book deal. (A) No shit and (B) who cares? More about the "tragic" ending of The Hills, plz. [NYDN]
  
  
• Lindsay Lohan can't tell the difference between a cake shaped like a giant perfume bottle and a giant perfume bottle. I would try to explain how we came to this breaking news, but the anecdote's so patently ridiculous I can actually feel the weight of my cranium lighten having just toasted a few brain cells by reading it. To think, I could've used those on glue. [Page Six]
  
  
• Again, Daily News, really, you guys are lacking in the gossip department on the weekends. Ben Widdicombe, where you at, son? I'm only here two days a week. [Oh, that's right, he quit like, last April or something, but I wouldn't know that because who gives a shit about the NYDN gossip pages any more when Boris and Natasha are your big show?] Anyway: "Michael Jackson's children thrive in more normal childhood after life with King of Pop dad." You're joking, right? This is a headline? They could live in the New Museum and they'd have a more normal life than they did with Dad. Jesus.[NYDN]
  
  
• Penn Badgley has ten secrets the Daily News has "uncovered." He didn't graduate high school, he likes tequila, he forgets the words to the National Anthem, America's Best Dance Crew is his guilty pleasure, and he hates L.A. No, I'm serious, there're five more where that came from, and I'm not clicking over to read them. Thank you, New York Daily News, for basically describing most of America, including me. Unless the next five are "he enjoys huffing paint, molesting animals who're just a few inches too big for the petting zoo, can shove an entire Slinky up his ass, will beat me in backgammon, and plays the vacuum a la Jon Fishman," I could really care less. [NYDN]
  
  
• This is awesome: Shia LaDouche didn't show up for the New York, I Love You premiere and it's being blamed on mean old cokeface Oliver Stone not letting him out to go to the premiere while shooting Wall Street 2. They then note that Scarlett Johansson didn't go, either, because her segment was cut out of the film. Whoops! But you know who those suckers missed? the Post goes on to ask. No guys, please, tell us. Let's make them jealous: "They missed Cloris Leachman, director Mira Nair (who's helming the upcoming "Amelia"), Rocco DiSpirito, Peter Facinelli and porn star Savanna Samson." BAHHHHHAHAHA [Page Six]
  
  
• Woody Allen is now shamelessly casting the world's hottest women and doesn't give a fuuuhhhck what you think about it. Not only is he putting them in movies, but he got Penelope an Oscar, suckers, and he did it in Spain by putting her in a suggested threesome with ScarJo and Javy Bardy. Beat that. Now he wants to make a movie starring Andriana Lima in Rio. Okay, the last few we understand, but just because Adriana Lima's been on an episode of How I Met Your Mother and one of Ugly Betty does not mean you should put her at the front of your new movie, Woody (and yes, truly: Woody). To balance out her skill you're going to have to cast F. Murray Abraham as her love interest, or something. Which I'd pay $10 to see. [Page Six]
  
  
• This Page Six item begins: "Now that "The Hills" is coming to a tragic end, its stars are busy promoting themselves to find new gigs." What the shit? A "tragic end"? Is this like the end of Dead at 21 where they all just fizzle out or get killed by the shadow (Reptilian, obvi) government? What the hell have I been missing on that show? Seriously. [Page Six]
  
  
• Bloomberg is Turning Japanese! BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM, BAM BAM BAM, BAM! EEEEE! [Page Six]
  
  
• New Yorkers, this one's for you: Vincent Kartheiser and one of the other guys from Mad Men—I don't know who it was, I don't watch that show, because nothing ever happens on it—were seen eating at DBGB, which just scored (a low) two stars from the new New York Times dining critic Sam Sifton, who we need to kidnap in the middle of the night with Adam Platt and Jay "Six Shooter" Cheshes and Ryan Sutton and get him really shitfaced at the Cherry Tavern and make him eat everything off the value menu at McDonalds at the end of the night. Hazing! It happens! The dude's too soft, let's toughen that pussy up! Anyway, the only other important thing you need to know about this item is that Vincent Kartheiser was in the massively underrated Larry Clark movie, Another Day In Paradise, which also starred James Woods saying "fuck" or some kind of variant of it every three seconds and Melanie Griffith being punched in the face by James Woods (this is the most epic moment in the film). I kid you not. Watch it, now. [Page Six]
  
  
• A little girl helped Pamela Anderson carry around the train of her dress at a party because she had asked Anderson if she could, and a bunch of downer assholes like me are being all like, ohhhh, what a biiiiitch, I can't believe she's promoting child labor, Godddddd. But that's a dumb joke and honestly it's really cute that Anderson would let a kid do this. See! We're not all bad! The funny thing is that Tommy Lee's now going to try to get someone to hold up his three foot dong for him whenever he pisses and hopefully it won't be a kid. Seriously, though, you can get some great intern candidates for that kind of thing coming out of the ACC schools. [Page Six]

And oh, what the hell? Good morning, everyone! This day's going to be wonderful. Please sing along:

[Photo via Bauer-Griffin]

The ads were poetic ditties of white text on a black background. Like: "Blind girls never see you coming" and "Strippers Will Not Tolerate Disrespect (Just Kidding)."

But: Max, who seems to necessitate creative new suffixes being appended to words like "douche" on a daily basis—mostly by his fans—had his ads thankfully removed by Chicago's Transit Boards in a transit-based struggle that would make Rosa Parks want to rise from the dead to beat the piss out of Max for messing with her legacy of transit-based struggle.

Max responded in a release maturely and appropriately, handling the situation with the decorum and class we've come to expect from him: "Blow me," he wrote. Max was quoted as saying it was "the culmination of a two-month-long effort by angry anti-male groups." Also, this:

"...Women are not stupid. They would not support me if I hated them, and the fact that they come out in the hundreds of thousands to buy my book and go to my movie is proof that I not only love women, but my art is in fact pro-woman."

At first glance, less egregious is Tucker's intentionally inflammatory statement that his "art" is pro-women as it is as it is "art." But then, it all begins to make sense: this is performance art. Max's entire shtick is performance art. It's New Museum-level shit. In fact, Max probably knows exactly what he's doing, how people are going to react to it, and the exact amount of publicity it's going to generate. Which is why it's strange that, you know, he made such a shitty movie that nobody's going to want to see, and thus, make no money. So what would tie this all together?

The forthcoming revelation that Max is just a deeply-closeted homosexual, inching his way out by purporting the extremities of the most straight, blase, boring, stupid, and utterly predictable proto-male sexuality there is: his, or his act's. The kind given the treatment a "salon" of fellow "bros" out there could appreciate in the form of a book and its poop-like adaptation. Tucker Max could be the world's most interesting gay advocate out there if this thing comes full-circle.

Then again, he's probably just a dick. City of Chicago: good on you.