FRC, gay man’s best friend

The Family Research Council is Gay Folks best friend. Truly. Never have gay folks been given a better gift than those people there. The FRC is running around collecting signatures on some letter or something, “for” family values. Yah, sure. Denigrate the gay boys and girls in so many millions of families! What a way to win friends and influence people, and a mom or two. I wish them much luck and success in getting politicians to come out and join them.

I think it’s wonderful that Michelle Bachmann has signed on. This is a woman who preaches fiscal sanity – and I’m with her on that. But then she signs on to a letter whose point is to spend billions of dollars rounding up gay people and either incarcerating us or exporting us. For the Family Research Council is on record for Promoting Unhomosexuality, if I may call it that. Yes, Peter Sprigg is on video saying “export” us. That’s his final answer. I’m sure he’s got the policy plan ready to go. For that’s what he does for a living. He figures out ways to get rid of gay people. It’s a fine job he’s doing; well, no, not really, for he seems to be failing big time. In fact, almost every time he opens his big mouth more of us get cranky, and tell anyone we haven’t told yet, or was just too dumb to figure it out. I mean, really. I know 35 year old hairdressers who are still in the closet. Yah, sure. No straight person they know has figured the man out yet. Sure. Sure.

And Tony Perkins, he too, a fine friend of gay people. I truly like the man. For no gay person ever got the press and presence and public exposure to talk about gay folks like he has. Oh, he’s here, there and everywhere talking about us. Which is wonderful. Keeps us in the public eye. Let’s everyone know that there really are gay people out there in the land. Fine citizens too. And as we become more visible, as our straight friends and family – and we got lots of ’em – really do begin to see us, to think about us, to wonder about our gayness, and our lives, and how we put up with this crap so peacefully, well then, they’ll come to the conclusion which must be come to: we’re just as natural as bee’s wax, and about as exciting. They might even hook us up with another bee they know and have us over for dinner.

As Sprigg and Perkins stroll around the country saying we’re the most horrible thing since mustard gas or something the rest of the nation will say to themselves: “What on earth is this man talking about? My hairstylist Lance is no threat to anyone, why that sweet dear! I think I’ll go bake him some cookies, and bring him some cheer.” And poor Lance will wonder what brought this on. He’ll have to thank Tony!

Oy vey, is Perkins, Sprigg and company in for a surprise. And Mike Huckabee too! The man who wants to be president is going to go to the hustings and talk about the threat of nasty, dysfunctional, crazed, threatening, kidnapping, horse-buggering homosexuals – and be confronted with the stern reality of a florist in some small town who just provided the flowers for Ellie May Clampett’s wedding to Forest Gump. Oh, sure, the mother of the bride, who worked so closely with Peter the Florist is going to agree that the man with the gardenia blossoms in his hand is hellbent on tearing apart not only Ellie May and Forest’s, but her own and the mister’s marriage, and perhaps even rip apart the marriage of the Johnson’s, which has been on the skids for years since, well, Ms. J is a drunk, and Mr. J is a philandering SOB. Sure, sure, go tell it on the mountain Sprigg and Perkins – good ol’ Peter and Paul, who’ve not only been together for 20 years, but restored the old Mallory place to just the most darling little Victorian cottage, there oh so dangerous. Scary! Yep, a threat to one and all, those homosexuals are!

Bobby Jindal is going to wake up one day in New Orleans and realize he’s surrounded by gay people. He’s going to be down there at the Monteleone Hotel, which is fave of all the govs in this mush pit of a state, and he’s going to be served by gay men galore. In room service, at the bar, at the restaurant, at the front desk, at the meetings, at the planning offices, at the hotel office itself, right there with Sprigg and Perkins at his side as they hold an anti-gay confab. Or maybe they’ll hold it at the Ramada, or the Marriott, oh makes no difference, anyone will do. And those fine gentlemen insistent that gay people are of dire concern to the nation are going to say “thank you” to some gay guy giving them whatever it is they asked for or required – and Jindal will have to look into the eyes of the gay man, for the gay man, listening to the bitter screed against himself as he serves coffee will look into the governor’s eyes for a sprig of humanity, and the governor will think to himself, and wonder, “How can this man be a threat to anything? What the hell was I thinking. I’ve got to get out of here.” The Governor will have already met with the mayor, of course, about the redevelopment of the city. And what both mayor and governor will see is lots of single men with pug dogs and colorful houses. They’ll see gay people. And they’ll count, quickly, the tax revenues, and the votes, and what will Jindal conclude? That the two men who restored an historic home is a threat to the community in which the house is?

When Sprigg and Perkins bring up their real mission, oh boy, will doodoo hit the fan. And funny, it’s the stuff flung by themselves. The more they ratchet up their bile, the more they cry wolf about gay folks, the more wonderful for gay people it shall be. When John McCain meets up with Perkins and Sprigg in Phoenix he might well find that the gay bars there stopped doing business with his wife’s beer company. Oh, it was long ago, and little remembered, but the lions and the lambs did lie down together against a beer company once. I think it was the early ’90s, even I forget the details. Some absurd thing about the Coors Beer Company going gaga over gay guys and unions at the same time. So the Teamsters who wanted more money, and are lions indeed, found out that the gay boys, who are the lambs without doubt, were boycotting Coors, when the aptly named Adolph Coors gave succor to some anti-gay clods. Both joined together after just a moment’s hesitation and said to ‘Dolph, “Ain’t no one getting a red nose from your beer.” Lo, an epiphany of sorts came about, as falling revenues will cause. And the anti-gay crud stopped, and Mr. Coors did come down to a gay bar and make his sword into a plowshare. Coors even has neon Rainbow signs now! Sure, Senator, you go do that. I’ve been to the gay parade in Phoenix. I’d guess, roughly, 100,000 people. Which means that there’s about 300,000 or more gay folks wandering around that fine patch of desert. Right there behind a Saguaro, and getting just as prickly at the thorns in our side.

Yes, thank you, oh thank you Sprigg and Perkins. You go guys! Get support. Line ’em up. Get their names. We’ll need their names, for sure. For the reality will be stark. For once these two say stuff like “Arrest All The Gay People!” and “Export All The Gay People!” and “Cure All The Gay People!” and “Incarcerate All The Gay People!” well then, they’ll probably say it again. This is good. This is very good. For it’s such lunacy that the rational 80 or 90 percent of the populace will say “Ricky Martin is dangerous?” They’ll think “Louis my neighbor with the beautiful roses is destroying America?” Many will look to their interior designers, or just the guys they know with the beautiful drapes and say, “What on earth?” Oh yes, on and on will come the conclusion by the vast majority that gay people are as dangerous to the nation as begonias.

It’ll be hysterical. It’s a Bull Connor moment a-coming. Remember ol’ Bull? He was the whack job of a sheriff in Alabama who took the water cannons to the school kids. On national TV! The nation was so repulsed that the whole “oppress the black people” movement and structure, institution and attitude, collapsed almost overnight.

Well, we have our parades too. So we’ll have our Selma also. We’ll have our Bull Connor moment, because some sheriff is going to get emboldened by Sprigg and Perkins, and do something so ungainly stupid that it will shock the nation. Perhaps it won’t be water cannons. But I can well imagine a bar raid, with beatings, and a riot, and sadly, oh so very sadly, a death. That gay man will be the martyr, but he will regret only that he had but one life to give for his countrymen. Just like Matthew Shepherd was the boy who gave his life to finally wake the nation up to the gay bashing. They are so many fewer now, and the perpetrators don’t get away with it anymore. The “homosexual panic” defense is pretty well shot. Though Sprigg and Perkins are trying for a national “homosexual panic” defense against what they perceive is an attack by some 5% of the nation, sissies even, upon the other 95%. It’s laughable, and it will shortly seen to be so by everyone, oh, I’d say within the decade, five years if I’m wrong.

But whatever moment it is, Sprigg and Perkins will be there to celebrate it. And the nation will retch, and spew their coffee, and cringe in pain, and blanch in horror. And peace will come to us. These two are the storm before the calm. Oh how I relish the coming schadenfreude. Oh how I await the great national hug we gay folks will be given. For you know, you just can’t escape knowing one of us 20,000,000 or so gay folks. It’s like two degrees of separation, or less. Each gay person knows 20 straight people – and that then is the entire nation. Except apparently, Sprigg and Perkins. They don’t seem to really know a one of us despite their claim to research the dickens out of us. They’re going to meet us real soon though. And I look forward to the opportunity to say hello and look into their eyes and say “Thanks fellas, you did a fine job!” I will, of course, refrain from a big hug and kiss. For I would not want to catch cooties from those two shadows of manliness.


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