So anyway, there I was...
Posted: Mon Feb 19, 2007 8:38 am
Since I've now been told that I might be gay because I have the gall to think of gays as regular people who are just different from me, let me fill you in on what I think of when some of you adamant homophobes open your cakeholes.
*cough* Whitey *cough* He's hardly the only one, just the only one screaming, "All fags must die! AAAUUGGGHH!"
When I was 19 (this is about 1990) I lived in a two-room apartment with a couple (BF and GF) and this italian dude named John.
John was a stocky, not fat, decent looking guy with the standard black curly hair that you find on many Italian guys, and was the singer in a reasonably-successful local rock band. In other words, the guy could score above-average-looking chicks on a somewhat regular basis.
Although a pretty solid guy and good friend, John had this odd habit of bringing up gays in this antagonistic tone and at weird times. We'd be watching tv and there'd be some flamer sashaying across the tube.
John: I'll bet he wouldn't have that much spring in his step after someone crushes his fucking skull with a lead pipe.
Me: Uh...that came from a dark place.
John: I just hate the way they have to flaunt it all up in your face! No one wants to see that shit! And I'll tell you what, let some motherfucker like that come up to me on the street and try to pick up on me. I'll break that fucker's jaw in a heartbeat. I don't care if the motherfucker has a gun or a knife...he'd have to kill me before he'd ever get his dick in MY ass.
I can't even tell you how many times I had conversations with him that would end with "I don't care if the motherfucker has a gun or a knife...he'd have to kill me before he'd ever get his dick in MY ass, make me give him a blowjob, etc." I always attributed it to him being Italian and just needing to thump his chest. You know, like those guys who always talk about how many fights they've almost been in and they got the guy to back down because they intimidated them...that type of thing.
So one night, John, the guitarist from his band(who was also a decent looking guy and had no prob scoring chicks, being in a band and all), my friend Tony and I went to San Francisco to go to a concert. After the concert, Mel, the guitarist, tells us he knows of a great local bar where we can all go, swill some beer and shoot some pool. We pile in our cars and drive across the city to a seedy part of town. Mel pulls over next to this bar called "The Lonestar". We all get out and I'm looking around for another bar, but that's the only place in sight. Envision the "Blue Oyster Bar" from "Police Academy".
Me: Uh...that can't be the place.
Tony: He's walking towards it.
Me:
Me: Uh, hey Mel?
Mel: Yeah?
Me: Is that a gay bar?
Mel: Yeah, but everyone in there is totally cool.
Me: I'm not going to get hit on or anything, am I?
Mel: Naw, I'll just tell the regulars that you guys are straight and they'll leave you alone.
Tony: You know "the regulars"?
Mel: Yeah, I come here every time I'm in The City.
Me and Tony: Uh...uh...Alright, let's go.
We go in the bar and the first thing I see is some gray-haired 60 y/o man wearing assless chaps, a thong, a leather vest and one of those leather policeman-type hats.
Me: I don't know if I can handle this...
Tony: Let's just have one beer. If it gets too creepy, we'll bail.
Me: How can it get any creepier than a grandfather in assless chaps?
Tony: Come on, I'll buy you a beer.
Meanwhile, Mel walks into the place and it's like Norm walking into Cheers.
Mel: Whassup everybody?
Everyone: Mel!
Us: This isn't happening...
We approached the bar while the other guys went to play a game of pool. The bartender gave us a "what are you two straight guys doing here?" look. I guess, thankfully, it was that obvious that we were hetero. We ordered two beers and since the tv was surprisingly tuned to ESPN and not HGTV or Martha Stewart, we started watching SportsCenter.
At this point, some hispanic flamer with a thick accent sashayed his way next to me.
HF: Ssssso...Mel tells me that you're straight.
Me: Yeah, that's right.
HF: I'm really glad that you guys are here. A lot of the, uh...straights, would have been a-scared to come in here.
Me(lying): It's no big deal.
HF: Can I ask you the question?
Me: Sure.
HF: What does it feel like to be inside the poosy of a woman?
Me: It's warm, wet and usually tight.
HF: So it's just like being with the men then!
Me: Uh...couldn't tell ya. Don't really have a point of reference for that comparison.
HF: ???
The flamer points at Tony.
HF: Your friend here is going to be the very popular guy tonight.
Tony: Why is that?
HF: You're...uh...a big guy(Tony weighs about 350). We would call you a "bear".
Tony: What's that mean?
HF: It's short for "teddy bear", you know because the big hairy men feels good when you hug him and he keeps you warm, like a big teddy bear.
I about choked on my beer at the thought of 350 lb hairy, sweaty, mexican Tony spooning with another dude.
Me: Ugh.
Tony: You're just jealous because they think I'm hot. Heh heh heh.
I walk over to the pool table and play a game. After the game is over, I walk back to Tony, who's still sitting at the bar. He's drinking a beer and has three fresh beers in front of him.
Me: What the hell?
Tony: They keep buying 'em for me. Hahaha.
Me: Who.
Tony: Those two guys down at the end. Every time they look over I just smile and wink and wa-la...another beer!
Me: You fucking tease.
Tony: Maybe, but I'm drinking for free, aren't I?
Me: Yeah, make sure to put down "popular in gay bars" on your resume.
We end up staying until closing time. The two guys down at the end of the bar came down to say "Hi" on our way out the door.
Guy1: Heeeeeey, how'sss it going?
Tony: Good. Hey, thanks for the beers. You guys know I was just goofing around, right?
Guy2: Oh, sure. We were just playing back. Mel told us you were straight when you guys came in. We were just hoping to get you drunk enough to turn you over to our side.
Tony: It'd take more than a couple of beers. Sorry, fellas.
Them: Hahahaha. Have a good night, guys.
Us: You too.
I figured we'd just drive back home at that point, but Mel said he knew of another bar nearby that secretly served until 4AM. Tony and I decided that it couldn't be any worse than the last place, so we agreed to go as well.
On the way over, Tony turns to me like he's all shocked.
Tony: You realize that Mel essentially just came out of the closet, right?
Me: No, Mel's nailed plenty of hot chicks. He's not gay. What he did is let us know that he's a freaky motherfucker who likes some cock on the side.
Tony: True. And while I'm thinking about it, the next time one of my friends wants to let me know that he likes cock, I'd prefer that he tell me rather than drag me to a SF gay bar.
Me: Bullshit, you hope he does so you can score some more free drinks.
Tony: You're right, I can't back that up. Hahaha.
We drove over to the bar, which was called "My Place" and had these dainty flowered curtains in the window.
Me: Great, another gay bar.
Mel: No, this one's just a regular bar with some freaky-types.
I guess that was supposed to make us feel better, but SF freaky-types are only a half-step above West Hollywood freaky types.
We walk in and it's not senior citizens in assless chaps, but there's a dude with a mesh tanktop and a chain linking piercings from his face to his nose to his lips to his nipple to...somewhere down his pants. Ugh. There was another chick who had so many fucking rings in her lips that she couldn't close her mouth properly. THAT was attractive. Though, it did distract the casual viewer from the rest of her general hideousness.
We shoot a few games of pool and are having a generally good time. We're playing partners. Tony and I are on one team and Mel and John are on the other. It's my shot. I lean over the table, line up the cue, prepare for my shot and...is that what I think it is? I spot something out of the corner of my eye, but it can't fucking be what I think it is... I turn and look and, yep, it's Mel and my roommate John in each other's arms, giving each other tonsil exams with their tongues. This, from the guy who said:
They must have noticed that I hadn't shot yet, stopped and looked over. John smiled, wiped Mel's spit off his lips and turned to face the table.
John: So, you still wanna be my roommate?
Me: Uh, we're gonna have to talk about that.
John: That's cool.
It'd be one thing to have a gay roommate in the same apartment where I have my own private space, but there was no way I was going to share a room with a gay dude. Especially one who was so screwed up in the head that he had descriptive fantasies about violent gay bashing, while simultaneously secretly desiring men. Borderline psychotic, some?
For about the next few minutes, all I could think was. Unfucking real. I had always heard about those overcompensating types who were just ashamed of their own secret desires, but I never thought that *I'd* know one of them!
I started thinking about where the fuck I could move to. The last thing I wanted to do was move back in with my parents. I'm sure they wouldn't mind, but to me, as an adult, you might as well sear a big fucking "L" into your forehead the day you do that.
I was snapped out of mode when two 6'4"-ish, 250lb sasquatches at the table next to us start arguing loudly over their game. As fucked as my life was just then, I figured I could at least pause for a moment to watch Andre the Giant vs. George "the Animal" Steele. I didn't have long to wait. The screams of "Fuck me? Fuck you!!!" soon escalated into a shoving match. Both guys grabbed the other around the shoulders and they started slamming each other against the pool table and the wall. Then one guy got the other in a headlock and as the guy getting his melon squeezed fought to get free, they both lost their balance and their combined weight slammed full-force into the opposite wall. The wall instantly broke free at the ceiling and began sliding out at the base. The two men stopped fighting each other and tried to get up off the collapsing wall, but it kept falling more and more until you could see the blindingly-bright light coming from several lamps set up on tripods on the other side of the wall. The wall gave some more and...what the fuck?! There's two naked homos on a bed, one with a AstroGlide-shiny cock and the other with protruding asshole, scrambling for cover, trying to avoid the falling wall! There's cameras and a whole fucking film crew in there filming gay porn!
The bartender comes running out from behind the bar and starts screaming at everyone.
They must've been filming without a license or something, because dude was freaking out.
Bartender: Get out! Everyone out now!
Tony and I are absolutely disgusted, but can't stop laughing at the same time. Did we really just see that? Bwahahahaaha! It was so surreal. Then the reality of it all hit me and I was thinking that some bleach would come in handy to rub in my eyes so that I'd never have to see anything like that ever again. Ugh. I'll bet that whole fucking room smelled like turd. Next to hit me was the reminder that my roommate was an overcompensating, self-hating closet flamer. Talk about a buzzkill.
We hopped in our cars and started the drive home.
Tony: You know, if you don't want to live with the fear of him gazing at your package while you're changing, you can always come live at my parents' house. They have a spare bedroom with a fold out couch and they'd let you stay rent free until you find another place.
Me: Thanks, bro. It's not that I'm afraid he'll meat-gaze me, I just don't want to live with someone who's that fucking unstable!
The day after we got back from SF, John got pulled over by the cops for speeding and it turned out that he had outstanding warrants in Michigan and promptly extradited his bi-sexual ass for prosecution. This got me out of the inevitable "I'm moving out because you're a fucking freak" conversation, which was nice.
I ended up moving into Tony's parents' place, where they supplied me with free room and grub until I found another apartment. Solid people. They must be because here it is almost 20 years later and Tony still lives at home.
===========================================================================
So for all of you "all fags must die!"-types, every time you say that, I think of John and his anti-gay tirades. You may not be closet homos yourselves, but when thou dost protest too much, you make me, and I'm sure others, start to wonder about you.
*cough* Whitey *cough* He's hardly the only one, just the only one screaming, "All fags must die! AAAUUGGGHH!"
When I was 19 (this is about 1990) I lived in a two-room apartment with a couple (BF and GF) and this italian dude named John.
John was a stocky, not fat, decent looking guy with the standard black curly hair that you find on many Italian guys, and was the singer in a reasonably-successful local rock band. In other words, the guy could score above-average-looking chicks on a somewhat regular basis.
Although a pretty solid guy and good friend, John had this odd habit of bringing up gays in this antagonistic tone and at weird times. We'd be watching tv and there'd be some flamer sashaying across the tube.
John: I'll bet he wouldn't have that much spring in his step after someone crushes his fucking skull with a lead pipe.
Me: Uh...that came from a dark place.
John: I just hate the way they have to flaunt it all up in your face! No one wants to see that shit! And I'll tell you what, let some motherfucker like that come up to me on the street and try to pick up on me. I'll break that fucker's jaw in a heartbeat. I don't care if the motherfucker has a gun or a knife...he'd have to kill me before he'd ever get his dick in MY ass.
I can't even tell you how many times I had conversations with him that would end with "I don't care if the motherfucker has a gun or a knife...he'd have to kill me before he'd ever get his dick in MY ass, make me give him a blowjob, etc." I always attributed it to him being Italian and just needing to thump his chest. You know, like those guys who always talk about how many fights they've almost been in and they got the guy to back down because they intimidated them...that type of thing.
So one night, John, the guitarist from his band(who was also a decent looking guy and had no prob scoring chicks, being in a band and all), my friend Tony and I went to San Francisco to go to a concert. After the concert, Mel, the guitarist, tells us he knows of a great local bar where we can all go, swill some beer and shoot some pool. We pile in our cars and drive across the city to a seedy part of town. Mel pulls over next to this bar called "The Lonestar". We all get out and I'm looking around for another bar, but that's the only place in sight. Envision the "Blue Oyster Bar" from "Police Academy".
Me: Uh...that can't be the place.
Tony: He's walking towards it.
Me:
Me: Uh, hey Mel?
Mel: Yeah?
Me: Is that a gay bar?
Mel: Yeah, but everyone in there is totally cool.
Me: I'm not going to get hit on or anything, am I?
Mel: Naw, I'll just tell the regulars that you guys are straight and they'll leave you alone.
Tony: You know "the regulars"?
Mel: Yeah, I come here every time I'm in The City.
Me and Tony:
Uh...uh...Alright, let's go.We go in the bar and the first thing I see is some gray-haired 60 y/o man wearing assless chaps, a thong, a leather vest and one of those leather policeman-type hats.
Me:
I don't know if I can handle this...Tony: Let's just have one beer. If it gets too creepy, we'll bail.
Me: How can it get any creepier than a grandfather in assless chaps?
Tony: Come on, I'll buy you a beer.
Meanwhile, Mel walks into the place and it's like Norm walking into Cheers.
Mel: Whassup everybody?
Everyone: Mel!
Us: This isn't happening...
We approached the bar while the other guys went to play a game of pool. The bartender gave us a "what are you two straight guys doing here?" look. I guess, thankfully, it was that obvious that we were hetero. We ordered two beers and since the tv was surprisingly tuned to ESPN and not HGTV or Martha Stewart, we started watching SportsCenter.
At this point, some hispanic flamer with a thick accent sashayed his way next to me.
HF: Ssssso...Mel tells me that you're straight.
Me: Yeah, that's right.
HF: I'm really glad that you guys are here. A lot of the, uh...straights, would have been a-scared to come in here.
Me(lying): It's no big deal.
HF: Can I ask you the question?
Me: Sure.
HF: What does it feel like to be inside the poosy of a woman?
Me: It's warm, wet and usually tight.
HF: So it's just like being with the men then!
Me: Uh...couldn't tell ya. Don't really have a point of reference for that comparison.
HF: ???
The flamer points at Tony.
HF: Your friend here is going to be the very popular guy tonight.
Tony: Why is that?
HF: You're...uh...a big guy(Tony weighs about 350). We would call you a "bear".
Tony: What's that mean?
HF: It's short for "teddy bear", you know because the big hairy men feels good when you hug him and he keeps you warm, like a big teddy bear.
I about choked on my beer at the thought of 350 lb hairy, sweaty, mexican Tony spooning with another dude.
Me: Ugh.
Tony: You're just jealous because they think I'm hot. Heh heh heh.
I walk over to the pool table and play a game. After the game is over, I walk back to Tony, who's still sitting at the bar. He's drinking a beer and has three fresh beers in front of him.
Me: What the hell?
Tony: They keep buying 'em for me. Hahaha.
Me: Who.
Tony: Those two guys down at the end. Every time they look over I just smile and wink and wa-la...another beer!
Me: You fucking tease.
Tony: Maybe, but I'm drinking for free, aren't I?
Me: Yeah, make sure to put down "popular in gay bars" on your resume.
We end up staying until closing time. The two guys down at the end of the bar came down to say "Hi" on our way out the door.
Guy1: Heeeeeey, how'sss it going?
Tony: Good. Hey, thanks for the beers. You guys know I was just goofing around, right?
Guy2: Oh, sure. We were just playing back. Mel told us you were straight when you guys came in. We were just hoping to get you drunk enough to turn you over to our side.
Tony: It'd take more than a couple of beers. Sorry, fellas.
Them: Hahahaha. Have a good night, guys.
Us: You too.
I figured we'd just drive back home at that point, but Mel said he knew of another bar nearby that secretly served until 4AM. Tony and I decided that it couldn't be any worse than the last place, so we agreed to go as well.
On the way over, Tony turns to me like he's all shocked.
Tony: You realize that Mel essentially just came out of the closet, right?
Me: No, Mel's nailed plenty of hot chicks. He's not gay. What he did is let us know that he's a freaky motherfucker who likes some cock on the side.
Tony: True. And while I'm thinking about it, the next time one of my friends wants to let me know that he likes cock, I'd prefer that he tell me rather than drag me to a SF gay bar.
Me: Bullshit, you hope he does so you can score some more free drinks.
Tony: You're right, I can't back that up. Hahaha.
We drove over to the bar, which was called "My Place" and had these dainty flowered curtains in the window.
Me: Great, another gay bar.
Mel: No, this one's just a regular bar with some freaky-types.
I guess that was supposed to make us feel better, but SF freaky-types are only a half-step above West Hollywood freaky types.
We walk in and it's not senior citizens in assless chaps, but there's a dude with a mesh tanktop and a chain linking piercings from his face to his nose to his lips to his nipple to...somewhere down his pants. Ugh. There was another chick who had so many fucking rings in her lips that she couldn't close her mouth properly. THAT was attractive. Though, it did distract the casual viewer from the rest of her general hideousness.
We shoot a few games of pool and are having a generally good time. We're playing partners. Tony and I are on one team and Mel and John are on the other. It's my shot. I lean over the table, line up the cue, prepare for my shot and...is that what I think it is? I spot something out of the corner of my eye, but it can't fucking be what I think it is... I turn and look and, yep, it's Mel and my roommate John in each other's arms, giving each other tonsil exams with their tongues.
This, from the guy who said:?I don't care if the motherfucker has a gun or a knife...he'd have to kill me before he'd ever get his dick in MY ass.
They must have noticed that I hadn't shot yet, stopped and looked over. John smiled, wiped Mel's spit off his lips and turned to face the table.
John: So, you still wanna be my roommate?
Me: Uh, we're gonna have to talk about that.
John: That's cool.
It'd be one thing to have a gay roommate in the same apartment where I have my own private space, but there was no way I was going to share a room with a gay dude. Especially one who was so screwed up in the head that he had descriptive fantasies about violent gay bashing, while simultaneously secretly desiring men. Borderline psychotic, some?
For about the next few minutes, all I could think was
. Unfucking real. I had always heard about those overcompensating types who were just ashamed of their own secret desires, but I never thought that *I'd* know one of them!I started thinking about where the fuck I could move to. The last thing I wanted to do was move back in with my parents. I'm sure they wouldn't mind, but to me, as an adult, you might as well sear a big fucking "L" into your forehead the day you do that.
I was snapped out of
mode when two 6'4"-ish, 250lb sasquatches at the table next to us start arguing loudly over their game. As fucked as my life was just then, I figured I could at least pause for a moment to watch Andre the Giant vs. George "the Animal" Steele. I didn't have long to wait. The screams of "Fuck me? Fuck you!!!" soon escalated into a shoving match. Both guys grabbed the other around the shoulders and they started slamming each other against the pool table and the wall. Then one guy got the other in a headlock and as the guy getting his melon squeezed fought to get free, they both lost their balance and their combined weight slammed full-force into the opposite wall. The wall instantly broke free at the ceiling and began sliding out at the base. The two men stopped fighting each other and tried to get up off the collapsing wall, but it kept falling more and more until you could see the blindingly-bright light coming from several lamps set up on tripods on the other side of the wall. The wall gave some more and...what the fuck?! There's two naked homos on a bed, one with a AstroGlide-shiny cock and the other with protruding asshole, scrambling for cover, trying to avoid the falling wall! There's cameras and a whole fucking film crew in there filming gay porn! The bartender comes running out from behind the bar and starts screaming at everyone.
They must've been filming without a license or something, because dude was freaking out.
Bartender: Get out! Everyone out now!
Tony and I are absolutely disgusted, but can't stop laughing at the same time. Did we really just see that? Bwahahahaaha! It was so surreal. Then the reality of it all hit me and I was thinking that some bleach would come in handy to rub in my eyes so that I'd never have to see anything like that ever again. Ugh. I'll bet that whole fucking room smelled like turd. Next to hit me was the reminder that my roommate was an overcompensating, self-hating closet flamer. Talk about a buzzkill.
We hopped in our cars and started the drive home.
Tony: You know, if you don't want to live with the fear of him gazing at your package while you're changing, you can always come live at my parents' house. They have a spare bedroom with a fold out couch and they'd let you stay rent free until you find another place.
Me: Thanks, bro. It's not that I'm afraid he'll meat-gaze me, I just don't want to live with someone who's that fucking unstable!
The day after we got back from SF, John got pulled over by the cops for speeding and it turned out that he had outstanding warrants in Michigan and promptly extradited his bi-sexual ass for prosecution. This got me out of the inevitable "I'm moving out because you're a fucking freak" conversation, which was nice.
I ended up moving into Tony's parents' place, where they supplied me with free room and grub until I found another apartment. Solid people. They must be because here it is almost 20 years later and Tony still lives at home.
===========================================================================
So for all of you "all fags must die!"-types, every time you say that, I think of John and his anti-gay tirades. You may not be closet homos yourselves, but when thou dost protest too much, you make me, and I'm sure others, start to wonder about you.
