This week I met a rather strange fellow at a party. He was introduced to me by a friend who fell for Gay Misconception No.1; all gay people will get along swimmingly and instantly want to sleep with each other. While there may be some circumstantial evidence to support this point of view, it is most certainly not the case when one of them is a depressive psychotic with a habit of spitting his sibilants. Please note, not me.
For all his difficulties with bodily fluid retention, the Depressive was an interesting case study. There’s a reason we’re referred to as ‘gay’; it fits. “Ooh, did you know, our Kenny’s come out?! Y’know, the dramatic prancing one who wears the frilly pink panties? Yes, who’d’ve guessed; he’s a Morose!” Doesn't quite work does it?
By contrast, the Depressive was pretty pissed off about his lot. If he could’ve believed in some higher power without also being given a one-way taxi ride to Hell, I’m sure he would’ve given God an earful. Or Buddha. Or... And I’m stopping now.
The negative energy of the experience grated, so to redress the cosmic balance I’ve decided to spread some positive love. And you, my lucky readers, are the conduit through which my love flows. Savour that image, and then read on to learn why…
It’s Great To Be Gay
1. Relationships: With two men, these are a piece of piss. There's none of this ‘Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus’ bollocks. No sireeee, it's just two Martians getting down and jiggy with some green-slimed, one-eyed, E.T. lurvin'.
“You like sci-fi action movies where Hugh Grant is ripped to pieces by marauding zombies and then fed to the Giant Ant Queen? Hey! So do I!”
“You'd like to do some destructive DIY this weekend involving big drills, lots of noise and dust throughout the house? What, instead of shopping for strappy shoes? Awww, sweetheart.”
“You fall asleep 17 seconds after sex? Fourteen for me.”
2. Lifestyle: The genetic quirk that causes men to like men seems to lie next to the triggers for good fashion sense, conversational eloquence, intelligence and tight buns. Read ‘em and weep ladies.
3. Toilets: We’ve all been here. You’re out with your partner at a musical/play/concert/Star Trek Convention, it’s time to go home but it’s a long journey so you both decide to pop into the loo before you leave. Unfortunately, by the time the XX-chromosomers among us are done, the queue for the carpark has snaked its way to Helsinki and back and you’re truly fucked. Oh look! Guess who’s at the front of that queue? Go XY!
4. Male changing rooms: My favourite. At some point in the history of sexual repression, some ugly monk decided that it was indecent for men and women to see each other's nudey bits in public, and voila! the same-sex changing room was born.
This system works wonderfully for stopping dirty fat Victorians from leering at the exposed ankles of young ladies, but rather comes unstuck for gay men. In fact, it has rather the opposite effect, creating the kind of show one would normally pay good money for… ahem, theoretically. For the women out there, it's a bit like donning a fake beard and being allowed to run around hugging the English rugby team at full time. For the fellas, well, it's a bit like being let into the Ladies changing room.
And before I sign off, I just need to slag off Julie Andrews. All this talk of ‘My Favourite Things’ has reminded me of how disgustingly saccharine that song is. Bright copper kettles? Schnitzel with noodles? Please. The girl wasn’t aiming nearly high enough. If we’d had a bit more focus and a little less Goody Two-Shoes action she might’ve got the Captain’s money and ditched the kids at boarding school. Feel free to sing along.
Twenty-four billion in Microsoft assets,
Daniel Craig’s torso in glistening wet spandex,
Flying to New York for breakfast with Sting,
These are a few of my favourite things.
Cheating at poker and stealing from babies,
Imagining Paris in jail with the ladies,
Angolese diamonds and hip-hoppa bling,
These are a few of my favourite things.
Pool boys and firemen and Chippendale waiters,
Darcy and Heathcliff in nothing but gaiters,
Craig in brown paper all tied up with string,
These are a few of my favourite things.
When my hair’s flat,
When my bum’s fat,
When I’m feeling sad,
I simply remember my favourite things,
And then I don’t feel so bad.
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4 comments:
H- copyright those lyrics double quick. They'll be sing-alonging that down the Vauxhall Tavern afore you can say "anal fissure".
HW you are a genius!
"Daniel Craig's torso in glistening wet spandex"- I almost soiled myself! The problem now is that I can hear Julie Andrews singing it and she'll be at it all day.
Who would have guessed that the gene for literary greatness would be present in both of us? (and the gene for a complete lack of self-effacement, clearly). All you need to do now is get Rami's brother to put it on Triple J and then we can go shopping in Paris. However, I have a few points of contention (I wouldn't be your volatile sister otherwise):
1) the reason why the lines for the queues in women's toilets are so long is because the dicks who designed toilets designed them for men, without taking into consideration that the biology of 50% of the population might actually call for a different kind of architecture to reeking urinals
2) I would NEVER hug ANY MEMBER of the British football team, esp Rooney who looks like a decomposing orange, and whose woman must keep her eyes shut when she's shagging him. I think you need a better point of comparison, like hugging the entire cast of Gladiator. Once they've all been through the wash, of course. XXX
There are urinals in the womens? How does that work sis? This reminds me of a friend at uni who designed the "Eaglebeak 2000", a cupping device designed to help the ladies on just such an occasion. In fact, I did hear that they already exist...
Oh. My. God. Check this out.
http://www.comforthouse.com/porjoh.html
And this!
http://www.gbhgroup.com.my/saniware/saniware4c.htm
Or is this what you get? (Love the internet).
http://www.boingboing.net/2004/03/24/nun_urinals.html
Can I just say, why the fuck would you want to piss in that?
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