Arguing with a Liberal about the Overstretch of Gay Visibility
I just gave Errol a boxing lesson at Gleason’s Gym. He tells me that he is Albanian. I don’t know what that means. I think a lot of them got killed by whomever, whenever. I can’t keep track of all the worldly disasters. I should. But I’m not a phony good person. I do what I want not what I’m supposed to do.
I am impervious to criticism because I occasionally put my fingers in my ears. Liberals are so busy shouting into their own ears that they never hear anything. I am not saying that I am good. I’m just saying that I am better than ideologues.
Errol tells me that his people helped the Jews. He might be Moslem. What do I care? In the early nineties I attended Moslem sessions in jail. After 9-11 I abandoned Moslems because of their sick failure to denounce their suicide bombers on the 9-11 attacks. I thought Osama bin Laden seemed peaceful walking in the mountains with his cane. I did not realize that the Moslem religion was saturated with violence. They pretended kindness like President Obama pretends democracy. They have turned out monsters as a group. What other group of people would attach suicide vests to their own children? Who would honor kill a daughter for going to school?
I won’t hold it against Errol. He is nice. Besides, I don’t know if he is a Moslem. I can’t keep track of all the abominations in the world. I have to stick to my pet peeves.
Somehow Errol and I get to my favorite subject—the overstretch of gay visibility within America. Their pride in embarrassing behavior. Errol is a lawyer and he cross-examines me—“Do you think gays are perverted?”
“By definition,” I say. “The dictionary says homosexuality is a perversion from normal sexuality on a habitual basis. I’d say that male anal intercourse is not normal for at least ninety-nine per cent of the people. Let them do what they want to do but allow me to be aesthetically disgusted by it.”
“Don’t you feel sorry for them that they don’t get the same rights in separation and can’t will property to each other” Errol asks.
“You’re a lawyer. Why should I argue with you? You only care about the form of your argument. I care about the spirit and the soul of what I say. Their rights are superfluous to me. They are supernumerary like an extra tooth.”
“You don’t care about their loving each other?”
“Why should I care? There are children dying from cancer or being murdered by pedophiles. Why should I care if gays aren’t looked up to or don’t get health care if their mate’s working? Like it’s a big problem to me what they get in divorce?” I say.
“Shouldn’t they have the same rights as you?” he asks.
“They have more than me,” I say. “I’m bipolar and obsessive compulsive. I don’t ask people to give me money to pay for my pills or my analysis. I don’t ask them to enter my head and straighten out my contradictory thoughts. I’m sick of crybabies. The gays act like women. They are always complaining. They should be dust-panned back into the closet.”
“You sound like my father.”
“How old is he,” I ask.
“Fifty five,” he says.
“I am your father’s older brother. I am sixty-five,” I say. I can still do twenty pull ups. I am a strong son-of-a-gun. “Gays do what they want. They screw each other. Maybe I want to screw a dog. Should we be able to do everything?”
“Dogs don’t have a choice.”
“Maybe they like it. Anyhow, why do you care so much what dogs want? You cook and eat animals. Better to have gay sex than to be the dish of the day. Anyhow gay love is like a perverted hunger. What if you wanted to eat trees? Men eating men sexually is as bad as bark-eating. Perversion is a movement from the mainstream in a sick direction. It is gay sex. Why should I have to defend my dislike of it? The norm has become reversed under the liberal contradictions of the revolutionary, dim-witted, short-sighted liberals.”
“Why can’t people do what they want? Errol asks.
“Because we have limitations and values. You sound like a grammar school student crying to the teacher that it’s not fair that you got a ‘D.’ Nothing’s fair. And it’s not fair that you complain so much about it. You should accept the vicissitudes of life. When I went to jail I whistled. You got to take the good with the bad. You don’t give rights to weaklings. Let them enjoy themselves in the corner. Let them comfort themselves with their self-sympathetic tears.”
“You’re a strange man.”
“That’s because I’m the old definition of normal.”
“Maybe you’re the new normal.”
“It will be centuries before these fools catch up with me. They are stuck in the imitative patterns of their thought. They are cognitive sets of boredom. I have incorporated the past, them and the future.”
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