Unequivocally…I would like to state here and now that some of my ‘best’ friends aren’t (ARE NOT!) Gay, Black, Alien, Handicapped, Women, Transgendered, White, Honky, Cracker, Puerto Rican, Asian, Russian, European, Indian, Latino, Mexican, Eskimo, Arab, Jewish, Catholic… or even Unitarian….Not to mention my least favorite ethnics – lawyers, and insecure lesbos …
There! I admit it… And, I ain’t apologizing.
Because I simply don’t give a damn who you are or what you do – except when you do it in the front yard and scare the horses!
And then you ain’t my best friend no mo’. You’re even fired as the caretaker of my aunt’s colostomy bag. And your severance package is being fired off as soon as I sight you in the cross hairs of my elephant gun.
I keep telling you: I come in peace…just don’t peee-ccce me off!
So…Keep your bent wrists off my superheroes. My comic book heroes. The heroes that helped me conquer the bad guys and our villainous world of crime. You did it to Batwoman, Hulkling and Wiccan on the comic book pages of ‘The Young Avengers.’
Now it’s the Green Lantern. He’s deep-tonguing another guy up against a tree!
Heavens to Betsy. From here to kingdom condom. Who in the hell lit the tampon on this Armageddon? Is every guy so out of touch with his feminine side that he can’t get a grip on it unless it has a ‘handle.’
Hey, I was once a man trapped in a woman’s body. Of course, that was before I was born.
Will somebody please inform the LGBT that everyone in the world is not either Gay or anti-Gay!
So, why do I even care? Particularly about what DC, Dell, Marvel and all duh rest of what the comics-aren’t-just-for-kids publishers do to pander to the markets.
Because it’s not just another example of gay and lesbian characters taking more prominent roles in the medium.
Because they are ‘my’ heroes. They weren’t in no closet when they brought the Green Lantern out in ‘All-American Comics’ in 1940. Now, the Green Lantern would be the highest profile openly gay hero. He joins the rising cauldron, including the likes of Northstar marrying his longtime boyfriend in the pages of “Astonishing X-Men.”
It’s a real coming-out party, isn’t it?
But what is really coming out?
This is as convoluted and dissociating as sticking your winkie into a bull dyke. Your haughty dumb-and-dumber thinking that it’s going to change things is as myopic as our ignoble psychiatrists, who, merely a very few short years back, were moronically certain that homosexuality was a curable, changeable disease.
Who really changes? What actually changes? …
The answer is: Nothing. Mostly nothing. And mostly everything and nothing.
But it is the experience of the moment that could change our course, our direction, our own destinies.One small step for man…one large step for mankind… So spoke the man in the moon.
It’s more like a streamer – a knotted parachute. You know it’s going to end badly. But your perception is off. You don’t recognize whether it is the earth that is speeding up to you, or that it is you that is speeding down to earth at 32 feet per second square to splash 6 feet deep, with the sickening sound of spit splatting on cement.
Our technological advances trick the mind into thinking otherwise. You’re lost. You know your latitude and longitude. But it’s definitely not the same as knowing where you are.
Well, I am here to tell you that wherever you are you have crossed the line – my line.
Some folks drew the line when Prez Obama decided that gay-brides were all right. You probably read all-about-it in my agree-to-disagree May 15th essay entitled: “Some folks insist there are only steers and queers in Texas…and you don’t look like no steer…”
We all draw our lines of I-have-had-just-about-enough-of-this-shit somewhere. Obviously we need to download and upload more Apps of human consciousness. But I don’t want to.
All I simply want to say is: If you want some swashbuckling crime fighter, then create your own gay caballero. Leave mine alone with his six-pack abs grinding down hard on some flaxen-haired, long-legged, stiletto-heeled wet dream. It puts the pup in my tent. Overstretches the elastic right out of my jock strap. Gives me some sneak peeks at men being men. And women allowing them to be.
Now-now. Don’t go sashaying away in a whirlwind symphony of lisps, broken wrists and bitchy acapellas.
I ain’t no homophobe. Nor am I some ancient Greek mariner who’s been out at sea too long. Don’t pigeonhole me — or anything else you might want to do back there.
I am not intolerant. I am just damn uncomfortable with heterosexual, homosexual, asexual, or any-sexual Karma Sutra positions and heavy tongue slurping in my bowl of soup.
Any of it.
I mean, here is the new Green Lantern – my guy’s guy hero — up against a tree, right out of the gate, in the opening pages, in the park with his guy-friend. They’re licking and tongue-sticking so far down past each other’s tonsils, it’s a bloody endoscopy
Get a room! I don’t care what kind of lustful rear end positions you wanna back into. Where is your civility, if at least your tad of passable decorum. You don’t fornicate in front of folks with pace-makers. Do it in front of Congress. Those pigs are too busy screwing us at the public trough to even notice.
Ought to make ‘em kosher pigs!
Look, the other day in Philadelphia’s Italian Market on 9th Street there was this tall, great looking man-child in his mid to late 20s. He could have been Oklahoma City Thunder’s Kevin Durant’s long lost twin brother. And at his side was this gorgeous , Scandinavian, waxen, curvaceous long-blonde sidekick.
They engaged me in conversation. They were so deliciously striking I wanted to feast on them! A real, bacchanalian debauchery. Right then and there!
I mean it. I told ‘em so: “The way youse guys look you make me wish I was bisexual!”
But I ain’t. And even if I was, Life ain’t no Plato’s Retreat. We ain’t supposed to be like a bunch of dogs humpin’ anything and everyone in the public square.
At least that’s what dear ol’ pappy and mammy thrashed and bashed into me.
Look, I don’t care if the Lone Ranger performed unnatural acts with Tonto — or even Silver wearing nothing more than a pink mane and the Ranger mask. What happens on the lone prairie is something for only the coyotes to howl about, and the deer and antelope to play around with. Even on ‘Brokeback Mountain.’
Life’s heroes are both extraordinary and ordinary. They are also both irresistible and, at times, allowed to be invisible. That’s what heroes are, especially in the comic books. Especially my heroes. And heroines.
When destiny plucked them out of the barrel of obscurity to set them upon their mission – to be extraordinary — they are, like Achilles, in many ways invincible. But they are also vulnerable. And everyone’s gunning for the soft spots.
They’ve got enough to do and think about without being typecast for a new transgendered role — like Green Lantern, 72 years later. Without wistfully gazing down and thinking about: Who am I suppose to be? How am I suppose to act… this time?
And what made me suddenly so gay?!
Did I piss off the gods?!
In many ways I don’t mind if the new touchy-feely guys in the funny pages wanna body slam each other. Actually, it kind of brightens the pot. Doesn’t really bother me all that much if some new character – say, a pensive, but festively attired gay ex-cop — starts ‘broad’ jumping all over bad guys.
Hmmm…. Maybe that didn’t come out quite right. But I’d read it. Enjoy the adventures. Gain some novel insights.
But don’t touch MY heroes. You can have my wife, shoot my dog, burn my house. But I want my heroes to stay my heroes. Get your own. Create your own. Don’t go stealing my stuff. My memories…my honor, my decorum, my majesty, my self-esteem…
It gets too confusing… and if it’s confusing for me, think what tangled webs of misery and misunderstanding we are weaving for the future. Think about the putative victims of the Jerry Sanduskys and innumerable Catholic priests.
If everything is allowed – that is, if no one like me stands up, throws a stiff arm while exclaiming: Don’t do that! — then the world stops at nothing. Because evil succeeds when good men do nothing.
The LBGT portion is one of the smaller segments of our population. But they do possess the American fixation with being seen and recognized that make their numbers seem so turgidly grand, if not vituperate.
Indeed, we should protect them, embrace them and wish them well, as we would anyone and everyone else. But, personally, I don’t wanna be like anyone and everyone else.
Oh, yes, indeed, we have much to reap from one another. And we should respect one another. Empathize, sensitize….and such.
But I want to be me. In fact, I not only want to be me, I am going to be me. I am not a homophobe. I am not any more or less than people who make Jew jokes, or black puns, or try to talk honestly and forthrightly about issues along cultural, ethnic and racial lines — but are deterred and hampered by our tightass political correctness.
If we can’t talk to one another, laugh at ourselves and poke fun at each other, then why is it that you feel it is perfectly all right to steal my heroes … and with it, the characters that aided and abetted to help make me, me.
Some of my best friends are not any of the above. And that’s why we all are friends. Because those who matter don’t mind and those who mind don’t matter. Except every once in a while, when we feel we have to stand up – even against friends and divide houses — for some matter or other we just can’t put out of mind.
And dats yDrewIS on DIS penal colony…