SHOUTING MATCH

Billy Eichner Has A Momentary Meltdown At Seemingly Closeted Nebbish

billy eichnerWhat deep, dark sexual secrets lie in Jim Holt’s closet, and why is it any of your business?

Ordinarily we love Billy Eichner, but it’s hard to watch his man-on-the-street interview with writer Jim Holt.

“Married? Single? What’s your deal?” Billy asks.

“Single,” says Jim.

“Gay?” asks Billy.

“Uhhh… no comment,” says Jim, who obviously is not familiar with Billy’s style. To a shouting loudmouth, “no comment” means “you’ve just found something you can use to push my buttons,” which is exactly what happens.

“Why no comment?” asks Billy.

“Because it’s not fit for public consumption,” says Jim.

In all truth, whatever Jim doesn’t want to talk about is probably incredibly boring. Everyone has their intense little secrets that they think would blow all the minds of everyone around them, but in fact nobody would really care. Gossip and secrets are usually a lot more boring than everyone wants them to be, so we’re going to guess that Jim isn’t out to his parents or something mundane like that. Or maybe he’s doing a Mrs. Doubtfire-thing where his brother knows he’s gay but Sally Field thinks he’s straight. Who knows?

Anyway, then Billy gets annoyed, Jim gets annoyed, and they part ways unhappily. As he walks off, Billy screams, “GAY GAY GAY.”

It’s not an attractive moment for him. Seconds earlier, Jim Holt was the one who looked like the creepy closeted weirdo. But then Billy’s explosion of seeming rage is actually scary and crazy and looks, to anyone who’s ever been physically attacked, like a prelude to actual violence.

Is Billy actually mad in that moment? It’s hard to tell. The camera cuts and that’s the end of it. He does not look like he’s joking around. But then again, having someone shut down an interview in a quiet huff is an unpleasant experience, so maybe he just got frazzled.

Whatever the case, we hope Jim Holt is having a fun sexy time with whatever it is he does. And we hope Billy is not, as he appears to be for a fraction of a second, a monstrous self-loathing homosexual.