Why Don’t We Do It in the Road?

What more can I say?

Everyone is gay.

Kurt Cobain, Nirvana



Here in the US, our national politicians’ numbers have been in the tank. In a bold act of leadership — earning the admiration of thinking people everywhere — they promptly took to wrapping themselves in the flag and bashing homos.

Before comforting the afflicted, a bit of personal background: I was formerly one of the world’s foremost couch potatoes. I read books, watched movies, listened to music and talked a great deal. As my 30th birthday loomed, I learned the cruel truth of the classical dictum which teaches us: Use it or lose it.

I could not ascend a single flight of stairs without huffing and puffing.

Against all principle, I began working out. I even quit smoking. In short order I had to reinvent myself: Talking to a friend in a bar, I was all amaze as a young thing came up to me and began running her hand over my chest, exclaiming, “My God, you’re huge!

If that happened today, I’d say something witty, like, “You should see the rest of me.”

At the time, however, I stammered like a simpleton. (Imagine George Bush, after he’s had a few.) But I made a mental note: Lifting weights: Good.

That was 25 years ago. Today, everyone hits on me, all the time, but especially officially straight guys — usually muscular, handsome, fraternity boy, captain of the football team types.

Why this population? I have often wondered. I think it’s because they’re more confident.

Like this one guy: When he first started showing up at the gym, about a decade ago, he’d never look at anyone, never talk to anyone, never do anything but lift weights and leave. Quickly he got to looking really good and loosened up a little. Now and then he’d have a brief chat with someone. Still, a year went by and all that anyone knew about him was, “He has a girlfriend!”

Well, then he started entering bodybuilding contests… and winning! This painfully shy guy got up in front of God and everybody in a skimply little bikini to flex his muscles and show his stuff. He got to be not so shy. Then he hit on me. What a surprise.

Thinking about all this in the dim, lurid light given off by uptight, buttoned-down evangelicals (and the leaders of the people who pump them for all they’re worth), I wondered what might be done for all those nice queer couples out there who only want the same rights as everyone else.

Then, the other night, while watching the second part of Martin Scorcese’s documentary on Bob Dylan, it hit me how much more fun everyone seemed to be having back then, in the mythical 60s. There was music in the cafes at night and revolution in the air.

And how love is from God and how love will find a way and…

How about if all those gay folks just get married anyway? Preferably in pagan ceremonies with lots of flowers and music and in full view of the world media.

In sum, then: Screw the establishment! Do your own thing! Let anarchy reign and may sweet freedom ring!*

Finally, and most importantly: Up against the wall, mother fuckers!




* Keep your hands off the kids, though, or you will surely end up suffering eternal perdition.

Worse, you will do so in the company of televangelists, along with priests and prelates of the Catholic Church.

Dressed up as a choir boy, you will enact a perpetual part, set upon by horny devils on all sides. You will find the clime quite hot (though not in the way you imagined) and altogether funny (though not to you, being, as it were, the butt of all the jokes).

See my forthcoming musical: Dante’s Lost Canto — Land of Infernal Delight.



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