According to People magazine, in the latest issue of GQ Jake Gyllenhaal speaks up about those gay rumors. Ok, he actually only speaks up about one rumor in particular. The one about how he likes to bike with Lance Armstrong and occasionally they ride bikes with no seats if you catch my drift.
“That is quite a rumor,” Jake says. “Yeah, people who are semi-well-known can’t seem to hang out without the story being that (a) one is playing the other in a movie, or (b) they’re having an affair.”
While in Vegas, someone in the know clued me in on the fact that Jake wasn’t actually gay. I refused to believe it. I mean, he hasn’t been spotted with a girl since he broke up with Dunst aeons ago. He’s always photographed doing domestic things like grocery shopping with recurring dudes. He wears a lot of spandex. But then I really thought about it. What if I was in a similar situation? I have a lot of books about serial killers. When Sharon Stone stabbed the guy to death in the beginning of Basic Instinct, I laughed so hard I began crying. I’m often photographed buying trashbags and duct tape and enough lime and hydrochloric acid to dissolve a dead body. If people really thought about it, they might think I’m a serial killer! Jake and I are one, man. We’re both victims of perception and circumstantial evidence. We’re Barnum & Bailey. Siegfried & Roy. Leopold & Loeb. What am I saying? He’s wicked gay.