The last thing I want is Brett being with someone else, since that would mean another heterosexual man had been hoodwinked by the Gay Agenda. No doubt this was all some plan of his to hunt down and bed some other unsuspecting guy. Actually, he threatened to leave if I didn’t. “Are you now, or have you ever been…wow, you’re right, this Poliziano is delicious…gay?”Īfter what I can only describe as convulsions of laughter, my flippant man-friend suggested I meet some pals of his. Was the man I considered a part of me in fact a commie pinko limp-wrist? Was I spending my evenings holding hands with a creature so foul that 2,000 years ago his days would have been spent dodging fist-sized chunks of granite rather than tricking regular men into loving him? Not wanting to beat around the bush, I confronted him at dinner. Finally, I decided to put an end to the trickery. After a few weeks, though, it became pretty obvious that things were not as they seemed-it was the way he walked, the way he talked, the way he kissed me…just everything. He just seemed like this great, and completely normal, guy I happened to think was attractive. I mean, I had no idea Brett was gay when we started dating. Gays in general should be more honest, and quietly honest if they can manage it.
In Queerspeak, “The perfect objet to offset the brutal ambiguity of the Nagel.” After recoiling in mock horror when I suggest that Wal-Mart sheets are just as good as that fluff he likes at Linens ‘n Things, he proceeded to drag me around the mall with those limp wrists of his for three hours looking for just the right piece of chintzy crap to put next to the painting he bought for the conversation pit.
I am a hunter, so I look for what I need, I get it, and I go home to use it. If I have to shop, I do it like every other red-blooded American male.
He just seemed like this great, and completely normal, guy I happened to think was attractive.įor instance, shopping with Brett is a nightmare. I had no idea Brett was gay when we started dating. Get over it!” Sometimes I think I should just accept him as he is, but then I remember, “Whoa! He’s a fag!” Brett is always telling me, “I was born this way. I hate to think of my boyfriend, who is a loving and compassionate man, going to hell just because he is gay, but that’s what’s going to happen if he doesn’t straighten up, and quick. He should think about the biggest face possible, that of the Almighty. I try to appreciate his “in-your-face gay pride,” but it’s not my face he should worry about. I will never understand what goes through the queer mind if I live to be 100. I guess I don’t have to tell you how little it takes to make Princess Brett flip one of his many wigs. “Maybe God wouldn’t punish you like that if your very existence weren’t an insult to him.” Long story short: He got the stitches, kept the finger and somehow I’m the bad guy. Why not throw in a kick turn, shuffle/ball/change, jazz hands and be done with it? I tried to calm him down. Captain Drama cut his index finger with the fillet knife, saw a drop or two of blood, and started dancing around, shrieking, “Get me some ice and a towel!” Come on, ladies. Why not put the chips in a lacy nacho cozy, Brett? I can’t say that out loud, though, since he threatened to kick me out of the townhouse after the tomato incident: He was cutting up a Costoluto Fiorentino or something for a little shindig we were throwing with a couple of guys we met at ArtWalk. I’ll just be sitting around, watching the ball game (go Saints) and having a beer or two (go Oly) and here comes Brett, prancing in like some nancy boy and trying to put a coaster under my drink. His incessant swishing has tainted every aspect of my life. Almost every nook in our house is packed with gay pride. Not being gay myself, I just can’t understand why the gays have to be so over the top. Homosexual behavior is about as unacceptable as you can get. If they’re not prancing around in clothes that are way too tight in an effort to draw attention away from their biker mustaches, they’re wearing leather chaps designed for bikers to ease their pals into accepting the new Prince Albert.
I am not the sort of guy who pushes his opinions on others, but even I have limits where some behaviors are concerned.