It's Gay Pride Week and that means a big o' parade, but not everyone's happy...
You know what I hear when it’s time for the gay pride parade, other than shrieks of excitement from grown men who’ve been dying to premier their newest sequins, I hear a lot of straight non-homo gay-sexuals posing questions about the fairness of who gets a parade for what. “If them queers get a parade then we should have a straight parade?"
Well, when you think about, in a way, every parade is kind of a “straight” parade or at least it is assumed that the event falls within the parameters of hetero-nuclear family. Christmas, Thanksgiving, they have parades dedicated to them that are largely heterosexually charged.
There’s nothing even slightly homoerotic about Thanksgiving with all those manly pilgrims and strong bareback, loin-clothed Indian men sitting their sinewy, muscular forms, dripping wet from the hunt, down at the table to feast until their pants come unbuckled (from eating too much...)
And of course there’s nothing Queerish about a Christmas Parade, quite the contrary. What could be more sacred and masculine than the birthday of a Chuck Norrisy-lookin dude who died a slow and painful death for all our sins nailed to a two by four, wearing a crown of sharp thorns, shouting “Bring it the fuck on!”
That took balls, and the anti-bum fun police would argue that non of those ungodly gay pride sodomites would be man enough for that, “they’re too busy doing their hair and each other in the mouth.”
And thus we celebrate Jesus Christ, the manliest of men, with a parade, a parade by good straight folk put on by good straight folk with men covered in make up and loose pants making animals for children from long phallic shaped balloons while sexy firemen collect cans from the audience gathered to see the star of the show: a grown man in a bright red fluffy fur coat with a huge bag full of things to play with. But there's nothing gay about that.