If I could beam handsome homosexuals into my house at will, I probably wouldn't have gotten married!
Well, these aren't handsome homosexuals, just the "regular" kind.
DAMN those gay commies. Damn them, I say.
Now, now. That's a bit strong, don't you think? ;P
*Not that I'm claiming that black people have souls or anything.
This reminds me of a blog
I happened upon yesterday and thought you would relish in your own special way:My racial savviness was hard won in my teen years. In what my friends of color would refer to in the remarkable idiom of the street, I admit that I was “whiter than white”. I was born an Aryan poster boy, with my blond hair and blue eyes. Think tingeless arctic sunshine falling upon a glacier, adrift in the azure sea – that is the chromatic palette, the juxtaposition of my peerless honky face.
I spent my days as many Anglo-Saxon boys do: wearing suspenders over an Alf t-shirt, squinting through my brick-thick glasses, speaking in a high-pitched, scrotumless whinge and calling the police every time a black person came to the doorstep. But then, one day, I was walking down the street and I saw a street Negro loitering on the corner. He was smoking a marijuana cigarette with a “Boom Box” pressed directly against his ear. And he was standing right in my way!
As might be expected, I felt a brief surge of panic. My mother had warned me of situations like these, so I knew what to do: 1) promptly evacuate my bladder, 2) roll up into a ball in the street and 3) start screaming until the police came. My mother was always so wise! “Even the African won’t attack someone soiled in their own filth,” she sagely explained. So as soon as I saw this guy, I put my hands on my hips and, with intense concentration and the subtle quivering of my loins, commenced Step One of my time-proven self-defense mechanism.
You know, I thank god every day that I had just consumed a Big Gulp at the Local 7-11, because Step One took me a good thirty seconds to pull off. And during that long micturating pause, I heard something. Something wonderful. I will always be thankful to that Street Negro, puffing away on his “magic jay bone” and listening to the most beautiful music I’d ever heard – this “rap” music. Because that was the moment that I realized we were all black with the lights out.
For the first time in my life, that watermelon grin made sense. It wasn’t the hideous leer of the subhuman at all! It was the infectious grin of someone who had found the true meaning of life, hauntingly captured in lyrics about “drinkin’ fohties” and “pimpin’ aitch to da izzos”. So even though he’s probably dead or in a penitentiary or living in the Astrodome now, I’ll never forget what that Street Negro taught me. I’ve lived my life since believing in the equality of all people – although in the case of the Mexicans, this is the more relative equality of Animal Farm.
Also, don't miss the entry a little lower down where he lists the two types of girls he'd never consider dating: "fatties" and girls who paint their toenails, "because it's like applying lipstick to your anus."
Can't we all just drink Bacardi like it's your birthday?
All is going according to plan.
Does this mean we get secret bases and snazzy paramilitary uniforms?
What? You don't have yours yet?
What about the handbook?
Just remember... act weak to gain sympathy. When they get close enough... the forced sodomy. Then we drink mimosas and redecorate.
It's not often you get to read an article in which, literally, just about nothing is true.
What, there isn't a "complex and well-thought-out strategy to make America 'gay friendly'"?
I mean, it's part of the broader agenda of fighting evil, but...
It's not that well-thought-out.
It's also a hilarious stretch to describe any facet of it, never mind the weak examples cited in that article, as "Maoist."
2006-03-10 09:53 pm (UTC)
Then explain this Maoist celebration of Harvey Fierstein!
2006-03-10 09:58 pm (UTC)
Re: Then explain this Maoist celebration of Harvey Fierstein!
A personal trigger of mine is anybody using the term "Madison Avenue" to refer to the advertising industry. It's like talking about "free love" or "modern art" or some shit, for christ's sake.
They're just letting the market take care of it!
You guys are now my favorite comedy trio.
I'm sorry, are you saying Transamerica is NOT about a "transvestite transsexual"?
But the main character is not from Transylvania!
My friend Marius is from Transylvania. He says he saw a drunk get his head smashed when the drunk fell in front of an oncoming car. That's about the only Transylvania story I have out of him.
We're both converting to Judaism, but since he's European, he had to go to a urologist recently, and now he's really impatient to get the conversion over with.
Their completeness is impressive.
And people are treating this like it's an important thing. I'd be more concerned about the South Dakota abortion ban. Bye bye, Roe V Wade!