“Hey, if someone wants to be an ‘out and proud’, flaming homosexual, who am I to judge?” I said to Tom Ford as he painted my toe nails, “I just don’t like having that deviant lifestyle thrown in my face, is all. It’s distasteful. I’m quite certain Rupaul is gay – but at least that bitch has the common decency to be subtle about it.”
Tom Ford took my hand and kissed it. “I love you.”
“Stop it, Tom Ford!” I snapped, “These displays of affection are inappropriate. Now run along and get me a martini. Dry. A little dirty. Just a little dirty though. I don’t want to bloat. And put some clothes on, honey. What would the neighbors think?”
It isn’t that I think celebrities coming out as gay is wrong, per say. It is 2010, after all. It seems like every time I turn around, I’m tripping over a well-known homo who wants to scream it from the roof tops. I just don’t know why we have to put such labels on things. When dear friends like Ricky Martin come out of the closet after years of skirting the issue, it puts me in the awkward position of having to come out against gay rights…and I just hate the tension it creates at dinner parties and orgies.
“You know how I feel about this,” I said to Ricky, one evening while we were making out in the hot tub, “It will be career limiting if you come out. And by saying it out loud and living honestly, you’re basically dooming yourself to burn in the bowels of hell. At least if you keep it a secret and just hook up in public restrooms like a good Christian, you’d have a chance at getting through the gates of Heaven. Praise be. But this. This honey, is a first class ticket to Satan’s crotch.”
But did he listen? No. Dumb bitch.
Love ya like hickeys from a Puerto Rican,
Link to story: http://ow.ly/1slZm