We're Sorry You're Gay

If Radclyffe Hall and Noël Coward were the same person…

Listen, sister. Your mixed nuts are giving me a lot of mixed signals, and it’s time you take a look in the mirror. Your monocle may be a cheeky nod to lesbian fashions of the 1920’s, but that long, skinny cane is nothing but a failed attempt at an imaginary phallus. In fact, your entire over-accessorized outfit does nothing but call you out as the raging dyke you truly are. Girl, you are so butch that if you had one more accessory, you could pass as Dudley Moore, who himself could pass as a lesbian any day of the week, even from beyond the grave. Did I say “grave,” meaning solemn or dignified? I wish. Instead, you’re having a spat attack and smiling like a drill team sergeant, which I’m assuming you were at some point in your life. For your own closeted sake, I hope to god those gloves are latex. Now, until you put on some relaxed khakis and a ball cap with a bent brim, I’m never talking to you at the liquor store again!

The case for gay marriage, in a nutshell.

There you go again, walking out of the county courthouse in broad daylight, your head held high, as if you hadn’t just spent the night in jail on charges of public lewdness and solicitation. Let’s face it, Mr. Peanut. If only you’d come out of the closet and live your life as an openly gay man (if not the gayest man on the planet), you might have more self-respect, and start wearing a dress like all self-respecting gay men do. You might be able to kick that nasty drinking habit, and stop hiding pints of Southern Comfort all over the house. You might not feel compelled to post the exact same ad, night after night, on craigslist: OLDER, REFINED GENTLEMAN SEEKS HONEY ROASTED BOYTOY TO SUCK ON MY NUTS. 175LB, 7′3″ WITH TOPHAT, 8.5 INCHES UNSHELLED. SALT AND DRUG-FREE HERE, U B 2. Mr. Peanut, I’m flagging your post for miscategorized sexual desire!