Dear Readers and Breeders:
I am currently reading Simon Doonan’s latest book, “Gay Men Don’t Get Fat”. While it’s patently obvious that his little “tour de forced” is a rather reductive* knock-off of my sensational, socially-explosive blog, I do find bits of his writing amusing. I might even go so far as to say I occasionally chuckle as I read and do credit him with some low-level insights into breederdom.
* Reductive in the same sense that Madonna implied Gaga’s “Born This Way” a reductive knock-off of her own Vivaldi-esque “Express Yourself”.
Doonan’s premise is that gay men are kindred spirits with French women in that both tribes are bitchy, smug and self-assured. Yet, despite these similarities, Doonan rightfully adds that gay men have an edge over breeder Frogs by virtue of ACTUALLY BEING FABULOUS as opposed simply to believing themselves so. Reductive Doonan, admittedly, seems to be onto something here.
Back to me.
What if some fabulous, gay married couple – say, for example, Rick and I, just to throw an idea out there – were to describe in detail how FABULOUS our lives are in comparison to the dreary existence of their married breeder friends, relatives, neighbors, co-workers and acquaintances? Could we make them realize the futility of their bleak hetero relationships? And, in doing so, could we cause breeder divorce rates to skyrocket, with the resulting divorcees turning to gay club drugs in order to escape (which would be a super-lucrative opportunity for the 99% of gay marrieds who deal in illegal substances)? Would we married gays thus be in an ideal position to scoop up their contested assets and adopt their children into our own Godless homes for recruitment into the gay lifestyle?
Clearly, the answer is a resounding, “Of course, darling!”
So, for all my breeder fans, listen up whilst I regale you with the details of Rick’s and my BRILLIANT, CHIC and EXCITING GAY MARRIED LIFE. If this doesn’t have you heading to Las Vegas in a black cloud of despair for an overnight decree, you must be illiterate (in which case I’ll draw some pictures for you later). For those breeders who can read however….
Here is a typical day at the home of Rick and Pete, your average married gays:
- We are asleep in our bondage bed wearing silk pajamas that are hand-stitched by our live-in tailor/sex slave from Hong Kong, Wen.
- At precisely 7:00 am, our Brazilian houseboy/sex slave, Paolo, arrives and wakes us by gently clinking a sterling silver Tiffany letter opener against two Waterford champagne flutes filled with Dom Perignon. The champagne glasses are on a gold tray loaded with whole grain toast (no butter), fat-free Greek yogurt and 3 different club drugs to start the day right.
- Once breakfast in bed has been served by Paolo, Wen is summoned by means of an antique Flemish tapestry bell pull and brings in our mink-lined cashmere bathrobes and diamond tiaras. We must be decently attired, for it’s now time to give audience to the drug/food serfs that work the land around our condominium to provide our restaurant-quality produce and our illegal substance ingredients (poppy, cannabis, etc.)
- Once justice has been dispensed to the drug/food serfs, it is time for the first orgy of the day. 20-30 underwear models are led into our dungeon and our live-in handyman, Vincenzo, sets up them up with slings, leather whips, wooden paddles and other orgiastic accoutrements. Vincenzo also brings fat-free tea sandwiches and Earl Gray with Equal for everyone. We want the boys to be happy in case we want to marry several of them later.
- Fast forward several hours and it’s time to sacrifice animals to the Dark Lord. Paolo has been to Chinatown while we were having our orgy and he bought a goat, a possum and three Andalusian chickens. Rick and I quickly change into our devil-cult cloaks and hoods, head out onto the veranda, and chant while slaughtering the animals, drinking their blood and reading their entrails to see when The End of Days will be coming. (We actually spare a baby llama because we may want to marry it later, along with several of the more endowed underwear models.)
- By this point, the day’s invitations for lunch with members of the highest social circles arrive and must be culled. Sadly, all but one will be rejected. After some debating, we finally accept an invitation to the Kennedy compound in Hyannisport. We insist they send a private jet to collect us, as we have another sex party scheduled for high tea-time on Ibiza.
- Before lunch, we still have to recruit children into the gay lifestyle; we are behind on our monthly quota. We quickly change into our leather chaps with no underwear and spandex tank tops. Using a rather clever combination of candy, hypnosis and spell-casting, we recruit all the children we need to meet our monthly quota… and then some! Wow, what a day!
- We chain up the kids fotr transport and jump into our limo. We race to Logan airport and hop aboard the Kennedy jet. Arriving on Cape Cod, we choke down the horrid luncheon of bland, overcooked Yankee food and bid them farewell… relieved to have that obligation behind us.
- We request that the pilot stop in Colombia to replenish our supply of cocaine, Ecstasy and other gay club drugs. We need to stock up before we fly to Ibiza. Besides the orgy, we have a Dolce & Gabbana trunk show to attend.
- When all is said and done, we have done the Marquis de Sade proud and we’re back on the Kennedy jet with a huge steamer trunk full of the current season’s D&G collection.
- Upon our flight’s arrival back in Boston, we are greeted by Lady Gaga who begs us to have dinner with her. Oh, dear. We are caught in a social conundrum, as we have been asked to attend Whitney Houston’s funeral and then hop over to LA for dinner at Steven Spielberg’s house with Meryl Streep, Andre Agassi, Hilary Clinton, Queen Elizabeth, Miss Piggy, Tiger Woods and Cher. Poor Gaga; we express our regrets but promise to attend her Christmas party.
- Apres Chez Spielberg, Rick gets a hankering to defile a church in Tuscany, but I’m way too tired. I need a mani/pedi, so we take a limo over to Newbury Street dressed in drag. When we get near the Boston Common, we ask the driver to pull over for a short while so we can make lewd advances on some straight guys in the public restroom.
- That done, we get our mani/pedis and take more club drugs and drink champagne mixed with the blood of a virgin.
- When we get home, we make a $10,000,000 donation to The Gay Agenda Committee, which is secretly working to take over the world and has sent us some lovely free personal address labels to thank us. (Sweet!)
- Next thing you know, it’s time for bed. We sodomize each other, change into a fresh pair of hand-stitched silk pajamas, take more gay club drugs and get ready to start it all over again tomorrow.
You see, breeders, we gay married people really do have lives that are SO MUCH MORE FANTABULOUS than yours could ever possibly be. Why don’t you just surrender, get divorced and hook up with someone of the same gender? The best thing you can do is to follow the advice that Anita gave to Maria in the classic musical West Side Story: “Stick to your own kind, stick to your own kind!”
p.s. – Mom and Dad, I know you’re not reading this because you guys don’t “do the computer”… but we’re still taking your marriage down.