If you've missed the video for the late Johnny Cash's song "God's Gonna Cut You Down," you can watch it in all it's sucktackular glory here. No offense to Johnny Cash, who deserves every modicum of respect he receives plus a million, but this video is exactly what I thought it would be: a bunch of mediocre musicians and Hollywood stars emoting for the camera. Granted, we do have a couple appearances by venerable musicians like Keith Richards and Brian Wilson, but the whole "tribute video" concept just feels forced and ingenuous to me. And really, why does there need to be a music video for a Johnny Cash song, anyway? Cash's music is meant to be played on an old record player while you smoke cigarettes and drink whiskey until the woman who done left you disappears into that fog bank called memory. Everyone knows that, it's the first thing you're taught in elementary school.

First things first. I caused a minor kerfuffle when, in my last column, I wrote "If there exist a metaphysical bridge between 'gay' and 'southern' it is Clay Aiken." This was erroneously construed as a slam against The Clay and caused a few folks to venture a guess as to what the hell I meant by that. The statement was not an insult. It was the result of months of exhaustive research that took me on a journey not only to the outer reaches of the cosmos, but into the depths of my very soul.