My Internet’s all rainbow-colored so I guess I should write something


So, I’m not sure what to say honestly.


First off, cool, I guess. Good on the United States for finally starting to get its shit together regarding the whole putting federal chastity belts on everyone. I am glad for all couples who have sought to marry and now have that opportunity. I wish them well; let it be known that I do think this is a step forward.

However, I have other opinions on the matter. Let me tell a story.

Today, I heard a couple of people talking about the ruling. One guy said:

“Well, hopefully the gays can all just get along now.”

[May not be verbatim; it was heard with an ear filled with radical fury]

No. What the fuck does that even mean?

This is not the end of the battle. We have so much more to do. Especially if conforming to such a bullshit institution as marriage is considered an all-encompassing win.

I cannot support a stance in which the Supreme Court ruling is a good thing because it has the potential for propagating passive, hetero-normative queer politics.

“Radical Queer Will Not Assimilate”.

Drink up your champagne, but tomorrow, we have more work to do.

The case of the homosexual, non-alien predator.


When I was still a little faggot, sheltered from the realness of the world of queerdom, I used to go to one of Colorado’s few gay bars semi-regularly.

That woman clearly doesn't want to see whatever he's got.

That woman clearly doesn’t want to see whatever he’s got.

The first time I went, I was smoking in the alley when this guy in a white shirt came up to me, and asked me if I had a light. I handed it over to him, instead of a lighting his roach for him, so as to avoid the implication of cruising.

I was very drunk that night, so when the guy leaned against the wall I was leaning on and tried to talk to me, I crushed my cigarette and returned to the dance floor to slut it up.

The next time I was there, I had to piss like a horse, so I went to the bathroom as soon as we got there. Someone was having sex in the stalls, as usual, and I went up to the urinal. The guy stood at the next urinal, still wearing the same shirt, and asked me, as though not a moment had passed from our last meeting,

“So, you like Nirvana?”

I was wearing my Nirvana t-shirt at the time.

I nodded. I think I noticed the guy take not-so-surreptitious glance over the urinal divider. I zipped up my pants and walked out the bathroom.

Later that night I was busy slutting it up on the dance floor again. Well, trying to, anyway. I think that was the night I made out with a metal-head wearing a Beavis and Butthead t-shirt. He seemed nice, from what I could tell from his lips.

Then, white shirt dude comes barging through my friends’ dance circle. He gestured emphatically at me. I shook my head. I had no intention whatsoever of going anywhere with someone who couldn’t take two clear no’s. I turned around, ever so subtly, and started dancing with the nightly straight chick of the club.

Don’t be a fucking creep, I guess is the message. Keep your creepiness to yourself unless someone wants to see it. Seek someone who actually wants to see your creepiness.

Drag Day – Part 2


Check out the first part here.

The show was over, the day had been long, but the night would make it longer still. We trudged back to the car, our sneakers freezing in the snow.

The party was at a friend’s, and we were one of the first to arrive. As people started filing in, we put Die Antwoord’s “Fatty Boom Boom” on the stereo to liven things up. The hostess was not amused. A slew of twenty people came in, and went for the liquor. I know a lot of people in the town’s queer community, but I didn’t know any of these fuckers. Hoss was getting the keg of PBR ready.

monkeys and shit

Drinks in hand, we went outside for a cig. The party’s number tripled, the sea of queerdom pushing out more people onto the balcony with us. It wasn’t long before the weed came out. A girl who was smoking in state for the first time shared her bowl with us. A couple we know shared a joint with us, which they dropped, and a woman with small hands had to pick it out of the boards of the balcony. I distinctly remember yelling at someone, calling them “silly prickly pear.”

Through the glass door we could see that a game of spin the bottle or Fuck the Dealer or something, the entirety of the living room floor full of people sitting cross-legged. Someone walked back inside, and a cheer of multitudes, like a battle cry, escaped the apartment. I had been drinking all day, so I shouted “Crikey!”. What can I say? It is in my nature to cry inane things when I’m inebriated.

The after-party was growing more and more insane. Somehow the whole girl’s rugby team from the local college was inside. (I later learned that they kind of show up everywhere. Good on you, female rugby team.) The crowd was getting much drunker, and rowdier. We decided to follow a guy who had been wasted at the show, devouring his boyfriend’s face (in a sexual manner, of course), and was now stumbling around the party. It was partly a matter of conscientiousness, but mostly it was just free fun.

I remember it was after seeing the pile of shoes that I started freaking out. It was gigantic. Clogs, heels, chucks, Uggs, and boots flooded the hallway to the entrance. The pile was at least one foot deep, and several feet across (get it?). It may have also had something to do with a bunch of youthful gays running around and pouring their tearful hearts and souls into drunken phone calls. With a gay couple with whom we are friends, and a couple beers, we shoved through the crowd of rowdy drunks.

We went over to a friend’s vacant house to wait out the storm. There was Netflix, thank God, and a bong. While we were looting her house for weed, I had several communal nature moments via her cat. Hoss found the weed, and the light of the heavens shone on his face.

After a while, we went back to the party. Things had happened, to be sure. When the host saw me, he gave a cry of relief and hugged me. I asked him what the sitch was. There was word of some skinny guy who had passed out drunk in the snow, and the cops had shown up, and the host thought I was dead.

Meanwhile, Hoss was getting into a drinking contest with some motherfucker with flowers in his beard, and was putting him in his place. The guy was out before the third shot.

Then, too drunk to drive, we went back to crashing in the missing friend’s house, the cats humping our legs as we slept.