My mother loved Xmas. I have the great fortune of having grown up as an atheist because of her because my kooky grandfather forced her to go to a Seventh Day Adventist church. She was not having that, so I got to not board the religious homophobia train. Hurray for me. Christmas though not religious for us involved all of the normal stuff including singing hymns, her wreath, peppermint, and russian tea ball cookies. Christmas Eve dinner with all of the finery, and Christmas brunch with her special pancake recipe which involved sour cream and a liberal shake of four letter expletives.
They built their place in the Cascades in the late 80's and every year we'd schlep up there at first from LA (800 miles) and later from SF (500 miles), with last 150 usually on crappy winter roads. It was mother's first white Christmas. It was also Aric's first white Christmas. We'd often go out to the forest to get a fir tree for which my stepfather built this industrial strength holder since the trees were often 12 feet high. Many of the ornaments she made by hand, but the best one was from my grandmother who made one of a reindeer whose head hid a Hershey's kiss. we thought it looked better with an old cigarette butt too.
We had a don't ask don't tell kind of arrangement until I was about 28 when we were drunk while camping and I told her, and she then told me that my uncle was gay too which caused huge drama in the 40's. I can only imagine. She knew about all of my boyfriends and I never hid them at all from anybody and was fiercely protective of them, taking my then ex in when he was in a bad space, and getting right into the face of my homophobic prick uncle when he was making nasty remarks about Aric. A wasp was on her side and dutifully stung that uncle.
Toward the end Aric and I did most of the cooking, but our niece has picked up on the cookie making while I am constantly trying to get that darn standing rib roast cooked correctly. The Orrefors out, sterling laid out, with the choice of several generations of china, and then the whole spread ready. She even insisted that the damn football game be switched off. As adults, we had a banter especially after she had a little too much wine in her water and get up on some soap box or another much to all of our amusement. I was definitely good at pressing her buttons.
The traditions go on, but just without her now. After 7 years, it's still pretty raw knowing that something she'd know right off the top of her head is now probably lost forever, and especially a lot of her genealogy work (it's there, but how she figured things out is gone). This will happen to you too, and you're going to morn being able to tap into her knowledge for all kinds of family things. Make certain you remember she's going to be gone one day.
This is the story of Mike and Aric and how we met and eventually married. I call this a myth because in many ways it reads that way, and of course from hindsight things are always less messy than the reality that fed the memories. That and my timeline memory is really bad, so some of these things may be out of order, but don't really affect that much.
"How bleak was my puberty" seems the right place to start. Yes, Auntie Mame, it was indeed bleak.
Mike wire wrapping to the amusement of the EE's
In the mid 80's Aric and I had both settled into our respective long term relationships. I was working 100 hour weeks after creating a startup to build a state of the art laser printer controller and had recently moved in with my boyfriend Todd and a while later into the condo I bought on a lake in Orange County. Despite the hours, we still managed to socialize in Laguna Beach and go camping a lot with my folks driving up to the backside of the Sierra Nevada for weekend trips (this was several hundred miles, so it was a little bit crazy), and ski and sail enough to prevent me from going completely crazy with my work hours. I look back and wonder how this all worked timewise, but somehow it did. So I'm safely ensconced my in suburban paradise, a happy little worker bee really getting my career and life together at the ripe age of 25, and not terribly affected by the scourge that is ravishing gay ghettos across the world.
Aric. I kid you not, I've seen this happen unwillingly
Aric on the other hand had just turned 21 and ended up in the Castro in 1986. This was when the shit was seriously hitting the fan with the AIDS crisis. He had met his boyfriend Gary who had pretty much saved him from a really sketchy situation down the peninsula in Redwood City where he grew up, and they ended moving right on Castro street just above 19th. The house they lived in was an old Victorian but would go on to be an infamous sex club in the 90's called the Black House. The running joke was what else could it be other than a whore house after Aric lived there.
Aric worked retail at the old Emporium downtown and had a very big circle of friends where they'd all socialize and carouse at the bars right down the street in the Castro. His boyfriend was much more reclusive and pretty much resented them. The feeling was mutual with his friends. His best friend Bruce was Gary's chief detractor, but Aric wouldn't budge. Bruce was Aric's gay mentor and the two of them were inseparable having lunch, sitting drinking at the old Bear bar, and jabbering for hours on end. They were only ever friends because both of them were totally not each other's type. Since this was 80's and the Castro, the obvious happened and one by one all of his friends died. At the time Aric also found out he was positive and just like everybody else figured that he too would be dead soon. So he had no plans for the future because there was no future. In late 1993 the final straw happened: Bruce died. Bruce dying finally brought clarity and he left Gary soon after, running back down the Peninsula to live with his friend David, who is now his only surviving friend from those days.
Mike at the lake condo in Orange County
I on the other hand was busy doing my part of building the internet out in the burbs. But by 1993, all of those hours were taking their toll on me, and my business partner and I were constantly bickering mainly about stupid shit. I was a no-nonsense kind of person, but my business partner was really concerned about appearances which annoyed me since it seemed like a waste of time. In retrospect, I love appearances too so I'm not really sure why I had such a stick up my butt about it. Suffice it to say, our business relationship was souring. On the home front I was starting to have doubts about my relationship with Todd too. Nothing really serious, but it was just sort of meh. I wasn't working as many hours at this point since we had employees to share the burden, so maybe I was just seeing what our relationship was with something approaching a normal life, and wasn't so sure.
So as things were crumbling on both fronts, I did something completely uncharacteristic. I walked out of my office without saying anything, went home and packed up some clothes and left. I wasn't entirely sure where I was going at first, but ultimately decided to go to San Francisco as I had been reading Tales of the City. I told nobody. I had been to San Francisco several times, but really didn't know much about it. So I stayed at a B&B I had heard about on my gay Usenet newsgroup (soc.motss) which was located at Church and 14th called the Willows which is pretty close to the Castro proper. It was magical. The entire thing. Hanging out at bars and having a good time, accidentally finding gay a cruising ground by the windmills in Golden Gate Park, everything felt just right. The city was still reeling from the AIDS epidemic, but still life went on. I decided pretty much then that I wanted to move to the City.
The Fabulous view of Downtown from the Center of the Universe
After a year of anguish, recrimination, and stress of figuring out how to extricate myself from my company, Todd and I moved to San Francisco. I had found our place at 606 Sanchez which is at the top of the Sanchez stairs at 19th street. I was in awe. An unobstructed 180 degree view from Twin Peaks to Berkeley and all of the Castro, Civic Center and downtown in full view. It was magic. I had made many new friends from my gay newsgroup soc.motss, so I had sort of a built in set of friends from the very beginning, as well as immediately starting to make new friends while out and about. I have always been rather social in my shy-wild kind of way, loving to cook etc, but Sanchez -- or as it became known soon after as the Center of the Universe (CotU) -- was a hub of dinner parties and merry making. All of this change had taken a toll on Todd though and we were rapidly drifting apart given our new found freedom. Since I was a founder of my company, I was bought out and living a hedonistic care free life. But it was getting more and more obvious that Todd and I were done. I was getting more and more flagrant even taking a boy to NYC that I had a crush on and saw Angels in America/Millennium Approaches on Broadway and was utterly blown away.
Angels in America really resonated with me at the time because a really good friend from soc.motss named Howard was sick and getting worse. He lived in LA where we first met, but he'd occasionally visit San Francisco because he loved it, and especially North Beach. Howard was the first person -- believe it or not -- that I knew close up seeing what having AIDS was like. I put a brave face on it when he asked me to help infuse him while he was staying in North Beach. Howard was one of the smartest people I've ever met, and I have met many many smart people in my life. He knew everything about food, wine, how the perfect Grand Marnier Soufflé that was to be had was at Cafe Jacqueline on Columbus and that such a soufflé could only be accompanied by a proper Veuve Cliquot. He would rant endlessly about the war that would be coming if the crazies took away his veal and foie gras. Howard lived greedily and lustily in the moment because that was all he had. We bought up wine at the Wine House and at Kermit Lynch in Berkeley, shopped at Rockridge Market for goodies for a dinner I cooked. His attitude was contagious.
Aric and Mike shortly after we met
One night in July with my growing freedom, I decided to get high on
ecstasy and go down to the bars. I was of course horny because, you
know, ecstasy and ended up at the Badlands which was sort of a Levi bar
with stiff drinks and boys with low morals. I was there for a little
while getting a little buzzed when I noticed this cute boy up in the
front of the bar just standing there and sort of...snarling? Definitely
not saying "I'm approachable!". An Ice Queen. He was definitely just my
type though -- a total pretty boy -- so I cruised him for at least 5
minutes. He never acknowledged that I even existed let alone gave any
body language. But I was high and horny so I trotted out my best pick up
line and asked "Can I get you a drink?". He looked me up and down, and
then smiled and said "Sure!".
We had another cocktail or so, danced a little and then went back to the Center of the Universe. We had sex three times that night. The next day was like WOAH what the fuck was that!? I didn't find out until later that the reason he was so cold was because his ex had rejected him sex and he was pissed off. He didn't find out until later that I was high as a kite. But it was clear that there was chemistry right from the very beginning. Big time. Our first proper date I took him to a place called Abacque. I told him it was upscale Mexican which he was happy with. When we got there he found out that it wasn't your typical chips, salsa, and margarita joint. It had deconstructed enchiladas and other scary things. Aric was a picky eater. A very picky eater. This could very well be a deal breaker since I really have no patience for pickiness. He survived the date, barely, and we still kept seeing each other.
Around this time Howard was back in town. Aric had told me that he was poz, and I took it in stride. To be honest though I was a little weirded out but I really liked him so I was probably mostly thinking with my dick. His numbers were not good though as he had been on every new med there was. Serially. Leaving him resistant to each one. Howard was all enthusiastic about visiting this fabulous restaurant in Polk Gulch called La Folie. It was the first time Aric had met Howard, and Howard was going on and on about how fabulous the quail stuffed with foie gras and huckleberry reduction was. So Aric timidly ordered it, afraid to show his ignorance but was caught up in Howard's enthusiasm. He ate it and liked it, and eventually leaned in and whispered what was foie gras? Duck liver, I said. He practically turned white, but then decided he liked it so what the heck. It was truly an epiphany for him.
Rod, Howard, Mike and Ted at the HAF Bash
I threw a big party for Howard called the HAF Bash (Howard Arthur Faye). There were probably at least 50 people there and I cooked for everybody, new friends, net friends, foodies of all stripes while Howard held court. It was the first really big party that Aric had with me and probably the biggest one I had thrown since moving to the City. Aric and I were really starting to get close by then but Aric was secretly worried that it wouldn't last because it couldn't last; that I'd dump him when I came to my senses. On the back patio Aric poured his heart out to Howard boo-hooing about how he was sure I would get rid of him. Howard reassured Aric that I wasn't like that and I would do no such thing. Aric was mollified and I was clueless for litte a while that this had even happened. Howard saying I'm not like that actually steeled my own attitude that I'm not like that.
Aric and Mike in Vancouver freshly in love
Aric had been planning a trip to Vancouver, BC with a bartender friend he had the hots for. I think the bartender already had a boyfriend at the time (edit: his boyfriend had the hots for me as it turns out, but would have scratched Aric's eyes out anyway) and he eventually bagged on Aric. So he did something that I've never experienced: he asked me if I'd come with him. I've always loved Vancouver because it's so beautiful. We took a day trip up to Whistler and had dinner at a cute French Restaurant called Le Gavroche after wine shopping earlier in the day. Aric was starting to get this food thing after all. We really really clicked, and that is where we fell in love. I mean, here is this retail boy making no money at all taking me up to this beautiful city with our hotel down in the harbor looking over the bay. How could we not fall in love?
Aric, not in Paris but looking like it
Howard was getting sicker and had decided that he wanted to make one last trip to Barcelona where he had fallen in love with his Kevin who had died a few years earlier. He wanted his oily squid and a last trip to the Sagrada Familia where he had determined that he was just skinny enough that he could throw himself out of one of the spires. Myself and a group of several of Howard's friends, mostly from soc.motss came. Aric had never been to Europe so I took him with me. We flew into Paris and stayed on the Rive Gauche at a cute little B&B called the Hotel Bonaparte. We met up with a friend from Amsterdam, Michaeltje and touristed around the city from the Sacre Coeur to the Tuileries and the Tour Eiffel. We ate splendidly and Aric never balked, even at the Raclette place which had his mortal enemy -- pickles -- as part of the tradition (he didn't eat them). We went to a gay bar in the Marias one night and went downstairs to the somewhat seedier part of the bar as was our wont, and made our way to a bar in the back. As Aric started down some steps to get to the bar some of the guys at the bar started serenading him to Gloria Gaynor "First I was afraid, I was petrified...". Aric was mortified and charmed instantly with his gigantic grin. Welcome to the City of Light, honey.
We rented a car to drive to Barcelona. I even survived going through the Charles De Gaul Etoile on our way out of the city. It looked like it wasn't a big long drive from the maps, and I'm definitely used to long, long drives, but it was still March and the weather though sunny was cold and blustery. We were starving driving down the Rhone Valley trying to figure out a place to eat off of A6. We pulled over at some town and I started recognizing some names: Hermitage, Condrieu... Holy Shit! We had pulled over on hallowed ground! Viognier is a very floral grape that, like Chateau D'Yquem, you never ever forget. Howard had turned me onto it from one of their negociants Michel Charpoutier, and here we were. Everything was closed since it was Sunday, but a bar keep took mercy on us with our nonexistent French and empty stomachs and brought us some charcuterie and cheese and a nice draft of beer. There were several teenagers smoking and drinking who couldn't have been more than about 16. It all added to the ambiance, while the teenagers were probably saying fuck my life get me out of this boring place.
Aric at Park Guell in Barcelona with the Gaudi Lizard
We arrived in Barcelona that night in the Barri Gotic to find our hotel, The Palermo, which was on a large plaza where we all met up. Everybody but Howard. Howard was too sick at that point to travel. We went to all of the places that Howard had picked out and crossed the border back into France into Perpignan to have lunch at a restaurant that Howard was raving about called Chapon Fin. Aric was impressed by the silver dome service and even the after dessert cheese cart didn't freak him out. The side trip to see the Dali Museum in Figueres was a lot of fun where Dali is supposedly buried in the courtyard in a car with a fountain coming out of it and raining on the inside. What a hoot!
Howard's Memorial
We finally made it to the Sagrada Familia and went up one of the spires that Howard wanted to suicide from. Since he wasn't there, Aric took his place as he was rail thin too. I watched in abject horror as he managed wiggle his way through the slot while our friend Ken was holding onto his legs to make certain he didn't go overboard. We all met afterward and called Howard telling him of our adventures. Howard died a few months later, and I was tasked with giving his eulogy, which was the hardest thing I've had to do my entire life. Howard had just missed on Protease Inhibitors, but it wasn't clear that they would have helped him.
Aric with Stephanie aka MsPomPom at the Motss.con
Aric in the mean time, though at zero T-cells, was hanging in there. The bad news was that he was so drug resistant by that time that the Protease Inhibitors didn't help him either. At that point we were living together, though he nominally still had his place on Van Ness which he practically never slept at. We were inseparable and many more fabulous parties followed. The Pigeon Party, The Hag Ball from whence came the observation that when people are making chicken margaritas, the party is truly over. This all culminated in Motss.con X, the 10th annual get together of people from around the world with about 200 people packed into the condo and overflowing onto the cul de sac where the Dixieland Dykes were playing much to all of our neighbors surprise and happiness while helped themselves to the huge spread I had made, in the garage.
A typical Melrose Monday working the kitchen
Aric was still working retail, and when he didn't respond to the new meds, I made a decision: he was going to stop working. Period. I had just started at Cisco and was making plenty of money so there was no reason for him to be risking his life in the face of sneezey tourists hawking Levi's for shitty wages. He became a housewife. I worked at home quite a bit and early on we started a standing dinner party to watch the ever cheesy Melrose Place. Melrose Monday's started as a few people where I was back of house and Aric was front of house. I liked back of house not least of which was because if too many people got into my kitchen, I could chase them out with my chef's knife. But the party grew. And grew. And grew. It outlasted Melrose Place, and at its height was about 20+ people. Every week. This went on for going on 10 years straight. I finally broke and we decided to end it and start playing D&D instead every week. It was pretty much the same routine, but D&D campaigns can only get so large so it was self-limiting. Not for others wanting to join in the fun though.
Aric was still t-cell'less and had had a bunch of AIDS-defining diseases by then. He was never really super sick like on the edge of dying, but some of the stuff he was getting was scary because we all knew where that led. In 2003 a new drug came out called Fuzion which was a fusion inhibitor and new class of drug. It required two injections each day into the stomach or the back of the arm. Aric usually did his stomach, and I'd do his arm in the evening. It finally started working. The regime was terrible, but his viral load was coming down and his T-cells needed more names than just Huey, Dewey and Louie. His doctor, one of the most renown AIDS doctors in the City (and hence the world) called him his Golden Guinea Pig. He was finally undetectable.
In the evening of February 12th 2004, Gavin Newsom married Del Martin and Phyllis Lyon at San Francisco city hall. Del and Phyllis were legends starting the Daughters of Bilitis in the 50's, one of the first lesbian groups that were open and proud. Word got out and the entire City was buzzing with what had just happened. The next morning I woke Aric up and made my proposal: "you can sleep all day, or you can get your sorry ass out of bed and get married!". We quickly dressed and made our way down to City Hall where there was a line wrapped around the block with couples waiting their turn. Each time somebody got married, a huge cheer went up from inside. While we were snaking along to get to our license all of the TV networks were there covering the craziness that had just descended on the City. NBC ended up choosing us to follow around from getting the license to taking our vows on the opulent veranda of City Hall. What followed was a national story that went worldwide, where my brother's inlaws saw us quite unexpectedly in Sāo Paulo, and we were world famous. In Norway. We were stock footage for NBC every time the Homosexual Menace wanting Gay Marriage came up for years afterward.
The Marriage Years
The marriage, of course, was invalidated, The conversation, however, was not. In 2008, the California Supreme Court overturned the prohibition on gay marriage. On the anniversary of our first meeting that fateful night at Badlands, in July 1994 we finally got married for real at our house at the Center of the Universe with friends and family. We were so unprepared for it that we forgot things like Best Man and writing our vows. It was a long, long ride to get to being married from that which straight people could get drunk, meet somebody, and get married by an Elvis impersonator in half an hour. But here we were, married after 14 years after we met, and 26 years as of this writing, and still sero-discordent. The angsty 16 year old writing letters to himself who couldn't even say the word gay is now married. Not in my wildest imagination would that happen. But were still here. Life is good. Aric made it, and so did we.
Epilogue
Gaymerican Gothic
There are a million more stories that this omits, both trashy and tasteful, but I wanted to keep it mostly centered on us. We have truly lived a charmed life with our friends and adventures. To be told that some of the best meals in their lives were spent at the Center of the Universe is an incomparable compliment, but we were definitely a go-to place when a fete was in order. Stephanie's 30th, Aric's 30th, Derik's 30th, Joel's 40th, Ken's 70th, there are just too many landmark dates to remember.
That Howard played a such central role is remarkable because in reality the actual amount of time was fleeting and a short few years at best for many of us. So many people were touched by him, and so many people who came after were sad to not be blessed by knowing him personally, but live vicariously through those of who did. It was like Howard literally passed the baton to Aric.
We sold the Center of the Universe in 2019 to retreat to our vacation house in the Sierra which we call Morningwood Farms. Aric putters around his garden and we use its bounty for dinners and to pawn off on unwary friends visiting. I'm kind of retired now, but haven't shut the door on doing something interesting, and maybe big again. The covids have definitely put a crimp in our entertaining style, but we'll get through this. I mainly think back about what a crazy life we've had and just smile. Maybe it's fitting to end with another Auntie Mame quote:
"Life is a banquet and most poor suckers are starving!"
We lived, lived, lived, and I hope that anybody reading this does the same.
I, Lucifer, find myself banished for one Heavenly day to Gay Bros for
transgressions wildly overblown by Yahweh, in my considerable opinion.
How was I to know that one of my Projects to occupy the eternal days of
Heaven would go terribly wrong by making one of the most pleasurable
pastimes of the Gay experience into the HIV pandemic simply by forgetting to
alter a binding receptor or two in one of my pet viruses so as not be
injurious to His beloved Gays as well? I was only intending to help Him
with his rigorous schedule of subjecting the Fallen -- those hapless vessels of procreation who readily bit into the Forbidden Fruit -- to their rotating issuance of plague and pestilence. Is it petulant and injurious to my case to point out that
He has made His share of miscalculations and enjoys His petty
jealousies? Are we not being groomed to take over His creation so He is
free to start His next Project? How are we to take the reigns without
well honed skills of retribution and wrath at our disposal?
Yet, by the by, I have made the most of my unscheduled penitence by
observing the peculiarities of the Gay race as exhibited in the most peculiar group of Gay Bros. Had I but known that my negligence would result in
such crazed reaction by His sacred Gay Bros to ape the regular subject of His ire for the Fallen, I would have surely doubled down on my rigor.
Gays are untouched by Original Sin, and His ire is withheld from them. Alas. It should have been clear to the Gays that the Apple Biting and
Rib-Missing races of the Fallen were not their fate as well, yet they
seem to be rather unclear on that point. Had I been but slapped on the
wrist, I could have corrected my work so as to make plain that it is the
Fallen who are the targets of wrath and the Fallen alone. Yet here I am.
Letter 2: Methuselah Lived Nine Hundred Years
His creation is over 6000 Heavenly years old and Methuselah lived nine
hundred of the Earthly variety. The scales vary where a Heavenly Year is
2 million of the Earthly variety. Yet the young Gay -- a callow one
score of the diminutive sort -- has come to the conclusion that they
will become immortal during their Earthly journey. Where the idea that
their mortal coil is everlasting is a complete mystery as I'm sure that
none of us ever implied such a heresy. Their ashes and dust, after all,
are the fertilizer for upcoming entertainment of their ever varied nincompoopery. Idiocy after all requires constant replenishment and fresh
material.
That is precisely why He adjusted their time spans since
the days of Methuselah, as their maximum useful ability to provide hilarity was
determined to be a mere 80 -- four score -- Earthly years. Even then
Heavenly summer reruns are nearly insufferable in our quest for new
entertainment. We have considered adjusting to one score to quadruple
our entertainment quotient, but alas less than one score results in the
thoroughly explored topics of teenage angst, as well childhood tantrums.
As always, seen and not heard is not only an Earthly maxim, but a
Heavenly directive as well.
Yet one score Gays carry a belief that they will be young everlasting,
all evidence and intention to the contrary. Even more peculiar is their
notion that older Gays shall meet their maker in two score, rather than
the usual four score years. The one score Gays have this curious notion
that reanimated two score aged Gays will eat the brains of the one score
variety. No clarity of purpose for devouring their empty and
experienceless brains is given. What is the nourishment in this for two
score or better Gays? Surely one score Gays have heard that empty
calories contribute almost single-handedly to the deadly sin of Gluttony?
One score Gays also believe that with their new-found immortality they
were also imbued with omniscience directly from the womb. They believe that in youth, knowledge is slowly revealed until peaking at one score years, and quickly
declining until hitting zero at two score. Beyond two score knowledge
seems to turn negative and ushers in a zombie hereafter. Thus, the
importance of the belief in immortality is directly linked to the
importance of retaining His gift of omniscience. This is completely
puzzling since their fallibility is part and parcel to their
entertainment value, and would defeat our entire enterprise.
Time moves
very slowly in Heaven, so it is vital that new content is constantly
produced. Their misapprehension is a source of entertainment for us, but
never fails to amuse the two score gays as well. One score Gays
desperately cling to the hope that St. Oscar of Wilde's Picture of Dorian Gray
is something other than a sop to cheer their miserable destiny. It is
mystifying where they got this idea, but if there is some sort of
received knowledge from the womb it is that they will think they will
finally escape nature's destiny and that they will be the first ones to
use their newfound status to repel the zombie elders once and for all.
Worse, they forget that St. Oscar has long since been reaped and
repurposed to dissuade them of this notion.
Methus'lah lived nine hundred years Say, but who calls dat livin'
When no gal'll give in
To no man what's nine hundred years?
Scatty wah !
Letter 3: The Incels
The Incel of the Rib-Missing race is the most reviled
creature
on His creation next only to the infernal mosquito. Since His is the
province
of Pride alone, He defiantly decided not admit mistake and marched
both, two by two, onto the Ark in a pique. Of the entire race of those
missing a random rib bone, the incel's inability to acquire the barest
of social lubrication so as to court even the most meager and homely
Apple Biter is an offense against Him. In His celebrated days of yore, His wrath would have produced a pillar of salt in their insolence without second thought!
Yet in
His dotage after the changing of Testaments, His wrath has receded and
the trade in genuine Sodom Salt has passed into memory. Instead we are
left with dull witted, flatulent incels free to roam His creation with
their
toxic miasma wafting in their wake. Their constant insistence that "fuck
people" reign informs an
entire culture of mischief that would otherwise be dulled by the
Morpheus of post coital bliss. Incels should not be underestimated
because they have created a monumental decent into idiocy on His shining city
on the hill. Who but an incel with no discernible life could
pull off their ultimate revenge by promoting and installing a
leader who not only enthusiastically embraces all of the deadly sins
and
breaks all of His commandments, but declares himself to be co-equal or
better to Yahweh Himself! I swear that not even I could pull this
practical joke off, as it is above even my pay grade. It was only by
their hive mind persistence and malice aforethought that such a plot twist of unexpected insanity could be
executed. It is truly remarkable that Pussy Grabbing could be made into a virtue by those who have never so much as seen one!
Gay incels on the other hand are thought by the most reasonable and
educated to be strictly of the mythical imagination. Yet as He is my
witness, they are part of His Creation! I would have scarcely believed
it had I not seen it with mine own eyes! They are in all of the aspects
the chameleon who has badly miscalculated the worth of its disguise. To
what purpose does stubbornly giving up the blessings of gay sex gain
them? It is a mystery, but mysteries abound like why people want to
spend the hereafter listening to eternal harp music when not one in ten
of them likes the infernal strumming.
Their most puzzling attraction is
to the Straight Friend. Why in tarnation His chosen would want to
fraternize with the Fallen is inexpiable, let alone lead a miserable
lonely existence in hopes of... what? The Fallen serve but one purpose
beyond their entertainment value: procreating the next generation of the
Chosen. Beyond that the Fallen are just awaiting the cosmic discard
pile. His Israelite Chosen ones -- of the Apple-Biter and Rib-Missing variety -- are a mere %1 of the population and manage to keep to their
own tribe for millenia . He has given Gays 5% of the population and yet
Gay incels cannot stay within their own?
Gay
incels, like their Fallen incel brethren, express their unhappiness in most
the unseemly ways. While the normal variety hates Apple Biters, Gay incels
fill in all of the rest of the blanks. They hate the gift of sex. They
hate the thought of anybody else having sex. They can't abide the
thought that any people having sex unless they exited the womb within
mere
moments of their own exit. They hate the thought of sex with races they
perceive to be not of their own. They are, however, experts on
relationships. How this
knowledge is bestowed is a mystery: it certainly was nothing of our
doing. Apparently the lack of knowledge and experience is precisely what
gives you knowledge and experience! This may be His doing as it does
make tasty logic pretzels for enjoyment while quaffing a tankard of ale worthy of Bacchus himself enjoying His show!
Letter 4: Return of the Puritans
As
we've seen in all of our summer reruns, Puritanism was a particularly
entertaining attempt to get His attention, not that He gives it any more
pause than any other of their pleas and prayers. You must admit that
hell and brimstone, scarlet A's, and burnt witches were a good belly
laugh. In the Earth years leading up to my Project going awry, people
were having sex. Well, not the incels but their sad story I have already
chronicled. As human ingenuity grew they even managed to get past His
sexual plagues and pestilence to assuage his vexation for that damnable
tree. So it was that sex was then practiced freely and frequently in
those decades. Gay people reveled in their newfound freedoms as much as
the Fallen and all was good. When my accident happened, a curious side
effect happened. Sex ceased to be just a fun pastime as was its
original purpose for Gays, but instead become a moral failing that would
make Cotton Mather himself blush. Puritanical Gays stopped calling Gay sex, sex and
instead renamed it "barebacking" to underscore their new found piety. Condoms, like the Mormon's Underwear, are held as the way to
righteousness, while an ever present Sheath of Damocles hovers over the
head of would-be transgressors.
As I
mentioned before, He decided to let them figure out for themselves how
to deal with my inadvertent and innocently released plague. In retrospect that was a wise
decision as it gave His Gays a new found purpose and standing to finally
lead them to their birthright higher status. So it was that when they
finally achieved a treatment for my mistake, they were free to
go about having sex without any particular reason to not do anything
differently than before my mistake. Yet a very curious thing happened.
Instead of celebrating their victory, the Gay incels along with their
one score puritan Gay allies instead of disbanding doubled down! What is
the logic in this you might ask? Well it seems they believe that found a
loophole in that you might get one of the plagues or pestilences that they already conquered. Put aside that that was never a consideration
while having sex before my mistake. They then go on to darkly insinuate
that people having sex before my plague were in fact reckless and
deserved their slow painful deaths! One would expect that from His
Fallen false prophets, yet puritan Gays have internalized this silly
notion too!
Now none of this makes any
amount of sense unless you look at it through the lens of the Gay incel,
and the vacuousness of a one score Gay at the height of his
omniscience. Ceasing to consider the delivered wisdom of condom use
causes severe moral outrage with these curious creatures. Since three
score gays were actually around to gainsay this revision of history, the
one score Gays hold to their convictions citing that three score gays
are well into their zombiedom and are in fact trying to eat their brains
again with this heresy. The logic of the situation matters little. They
can be told till the cows come home that all of the other infections
and pestilence can be caught orally, for which nobody demands the sheath
of health. Such facts only enrages them into a furor that makes witch
burning seem tame. They bring about the rage of the incel and their one score brethren to man the defense with Tiki Torches and sounding the heresy button, the likes of which sound of a hen laying an asteroid! That they pass on earthly pleasures, but perplexingly to what end?
I can't even speculate. They are very, very curious creatures as I have
written.
Letter 5: I Know, We'll Call Them Bulgarians
The Gay incels and their one score brethren are a very
judgemental lot. In both cases their inexperience informs their
judgements. Yet there is an extremely curious phenomenon that transcends
their inexperience. That is, the more that they rail against some
perceived trait, the more likely they are to have that very trait! In
most cases this is done with complete lack of self-awareness.
Self-unawareness was a blessing bestowed to the Fallen to give them some
respite from their otherwise drab existence. Yet Gays were not given
that sop as were the Fallen. Self-unawareness must instead be a learned
trait with Gays. To be gay is to have self-awareness almost by
definition: how else do you discover that you are one of the Chosen
unless you possess it?
For some of the one
score Gays self-awareness seems to be the first piece of omniscience
shed as they start their decline toward dotage. Take for instance the spectacle of the Bulgarian hustler. Now the Bulgarian hustler is near to a contradiction, I know, but such creatures do exist. The process of becoming a Bulgarian hustler requires the abdication of self-awareness necessarily. This leads to strange and incongruous behavior like hectoring young gays about having self-respect by dating people within their own age range. Yet the Bulgarian hustler must date people in the three to four score range in pursuit of their vocation. It does not occur to them there is an irony. Nor does the Bulgarian hustler giving any sort of relationship advice bring question to their mind. The Bulgarian hustler is also convinced that people will believe their claim to be the insertive party in transactions. Never has this been the case for any other of such transactions, yet the Bulgarian hustler deems himself unique -- to no one's belief. Nor does there seem to be any irony -- and hence self-awareness -- of the Bulgarian hustler taking the mantle of white supremacy. Does the pitiful creature not understand that Bulgarians are white only by lack of another category of His races? Were He more exacting, they would have been binned with the Hittites and the Assyrians, not the Viking and the Roman.
This
is but one particularly idiotic example of this phenomenon, but there are
many more. In particular, perceived femininity is very fertile ground. Throughout Gay history, there is an extremely strong urge to hide the
drag queens. Drag queens they say give Gays a bad name. I cannot
understand this though: do actors give people a bad name too? Must they
be hidden as well? Drag queens seem to be
emblematic of a larger issue which is that to have even the slightly
stereotypical feminine trait is to be a traitor to the cause. It also provides
a way to establish the Gay pecking order. In this scheme, it would seem
that John Wayne is the apex male and all others are suspect and impure.
Since John Wayne has long since been reaped and recycled this leaves
less masculine Gays to jockey for their position. Their only tool to that end is to recoil in horror -- in a very masculine
way, mind you -- to other Gays' perceived feminine flaws. It matters
naught if they are perfumed and coiffed immaculately if they can find
another of the race who is slightly more dandy, such as indulging in a
pedicure or the judicious botox or two. Self-awareness would prevent
this form of idiocy, but alas it is too easily jettisoned with the
foregone results predictable.
Letter 6: Boil, Boil Toil and Trouble
When
He set about to make the Heavens and the Earth, He had in mind that
they would be a special place for his greatest achievement: humans. When
the Fallen failed miserably and lead to Original Sin, He was brightened
by the knowledge that his blessed Gays would be free from that stain.
They could be fruitful without regard to multiplication, division,
addition, or subtraction. Thus was it not of any particularly care of
His to consider any carnal scheme of strictly mechanical permutations of
the act in high enough pertinence to issue edict and guidance. The
resulting vacuum led to an unintended consequence. Gays self-sorted into
two mutually antagonistic camps: Tops and Bottom. That may be a bit of an
overstatement, however. Gays self-sorted into Tops who were
mostly oblivious to the nuances and gradations that Bottoms ascribed to
their desires, and Bottoms who put each other on a scale of desirability
that is largely unknown and incomprehensible to their potential Top
assignations.
So this actually comes down
to what I have discovered and label the Hysteria of the Bottom. Hysterical
Bottoms inform almost the entirety of Gay Bros, and Abuse Bottoms the remainder. It is
quite a fascinating thing that they've engineered. Each Bottom comes up
with his own calculus of what are considered masculine traits, and which
are considered feminine where the factors invariably are weighted to
their advantage. The hilarity is that since there is no agreed upon
standard, the petty bickering rivals the Academic Dispute in its
ferocity. It is true that some Gay Bottoms have learned this is a
mug's game and that they keep their dance card full regardless, but for
the vast majority this is a blood sport without rival. Take for example
when hair #428 is out of place. Masc or Fem? Different Bottoms, different
results, same hysteria. Which brings us to the Abuse Bottom. It is a special subspecies of Hysterical Bottom who sole aim is to parlay its perpetual showing at the bottom of the Bottom Totem Pole into a virtue by way of being a play thing much as a cat bats around the hapless mouse, hoping for the pity and attention of the Top. Abuse Bottoms are a Hail Mary attempt to win and rarely succeed but they are attention getting at the very least.
Dynasty was a
soap opera that Gays held in the highest regard right
after my banishment. For all intents and purposes the main Apple Biting
protagonists and antagonists were drag queens by the names of Crystal
and Alexis, respectively. Drag queens
are reviled by the incels and one score gays as I've previously written, but yet... there seems to be a
connection never the less. Bottoms project all of their supposed
masculinity calculus onto the unwitting Top who must try as best he can
to make sense of this spectacle. More often than not, the entire sport
devolves into an Alexis and Crystal mud fight where the Top finds the
nearest exit as soon as manly possible. It would be much easier and
productive for the Top to just dispatch a Bottom from the herd rather
than subject himself to unnecessary trampling, dewiggings, bobby pins,
and anal carrots flying into his unguarded eyeballs. Yet most Tops are
as oblivious to these machinations as they are to the corsets and taping
of the drag queen, so are left vulnerable and unbeknownst.
Since fem shaming is a blood
sport, logic and sense enter little into the considerations and
equations of this competition. Anything that makes the Hysterical Bottom
potentially viewed in lesser regard is taken as a blood libel in need
of dispatch with the Heresy Button. Up and coming Hysterical
Princesses clamor to their Queen's side to participate in making sure
the Heretic is not only silenced, but banished for the violence
perpetrated against their Queen. The keepers of Gay Bros are mostly indifferent to
Hysterical Bottoms but will act as the porter at Hell's Gate and when enough
knock, knock, knock's are heard, the key will be turned after musing as to who
will be admitted. This property keeps the entirety of Gay Bros in
line with its ultimate purpose which is to ensnare the Top unawares and
devour them in their body count contest. Amazingly enough, it makes not
one whit of difference whether a precious Top is caught up in the
feeding frenzy! Or more precisely, a sentient Top is to be expunged with
prejudice so as to insure that only the most docile and tame Tops
remain.
Letter 7: Adam and Steve
Virgin
Gay incels as well as the one score variety are apparently imbued with
divine knowledge that the monogamist state of coupling is not only
preferred but is in fact morally superior. We took no mind of it since
there was no particular reason to care as no Issue would be produced
except on the rarest of occasions, and then only by the most
accomplished Hysterical Bottom. So this seems to be yet another piece of
revealed truth that their omniscience provides to them, but is of
surprise to us.
They claim that monogamy
provides the only possible firewall against the lowest form of
depravity: the fell "gutter slut". Gutter sluts apparently can scarcely
eat or sleep due to their nonstop search for carnal activities. If they
are not in the act, they are seeking the next. Gutter sluts are also
supposed to be the only ones who can catch our other plagues and
pestilence, including my transgression. Well, most importantly
my transgression, by the by. Curiously, the thickness of this firewall
seems not particularly robust in their telling as the only thing between
bliss and gutter-sluttery is a single incident. Pay no mind that there
seems to be no definition of what might qualify as an "incident". To the
most pious of them, a mere fluttering of the heart, or excess of heat in
the loins is enough to take years of wedded bliss and within seconds reduce the transgressor into mad lust, and falling into the nearest gutter as newly minted slut. Their reaction is
always clear and stern: burn the transgressor at the stake, the sooner
the better. When the slightly more experienced Gays -- and especially
the undead two score Gays -- suggest that relationships can be a little
bit more nuanced, the Heresy Button is pounded with a fury worthy
of the Furies themselves! By the by, their omniscience has given me new
insights that I would have never obtained without seeing it myself.
Another
strange custom is that once monogamous, all manner of carnal frivolity
can be pursued in complete safety. Monogamy must be announced on an
approved bridal registry within one week of knowing a partner, or upon consummation whichever happens first. Beyond the
formalities, the Sheath of Damocles is immediately removed from over
the conjugal bed and stored with pride upon the parlor mantle for all to
see and admire. They even believe that it immunizes them from my gaffe!
Yet have we not been told formerly that
any sort of transgression immediately leads to the depraved gutter slut
state of being? And since only gutter sluts can get and transmit our
various plagues, it seems rather difficult to square the circle of the
prophylaxis of monogamy against the instant descent into debauchery of
the gutter slut. I suppose that by "instant" it could be taken literally
which should make it readily obvious to the virtuous party, but that
doesn't seem to stand up to scrutiny since they often only seem to find
out spying on their True Love, and then much later. So I am truly
puzzled how to reconcile these two seeming contradictory facts. Perhaps
we can chat about this upon my return because it is one of the most
curious things.
Letter 8: Epilogue
Would
that this were a true epilogue since a Heavenly Day equals 2 million of
the Earthly variety, so my time here has just begun. However even in
the short time I've been here with Gay Bros there are many wonders and
puzzles that would have never occurred to me to give thought. How was I
to know that He gave Gays omniscience had I not witnessed it myself? I
surely wouldn't have guessed that their omniscience peaked at one score
years, and decayed to zero by two score. Nor could I have ever
comprehended that Gays -- of all of creation -- would celebrate being
incels with a misery approaching if not exceeding the Rib-Missing variety. Yet
to my credit, I had written you of Gay incels before my letter on
Bottoms so did not have a foresight of knowledge of the phenomenon of
Abuse Bottoms until I wrote to you about the phenomenon of Tops and Bottoms.
I
most certainly never expected them see them dressed in their felt
cockle hats, ruffs, doublets and breeches ready with kindling and pyre
to put down the threat of witches at a moment's notice. Nor would I have
guessed as scarcely possible that they give up the gift of
self-awareness that the closet requires to escape would be given up so
freely so as to not even be able to realize that hectoring people for
what you hate in yourself may not be wisest use of mental disconnects.
And Bottoms! I never knew they had a strict hierarchy, let alone how
viciously it was played and enforced! And finally I believe that I found
true magic on the Earth. Being able to be spared illness and death on the
one hand due to monogamist bliss and being cheated on in arrears is a
miracle worth of Him.
Perhaps I will write more
letters in the future because they are truly full of surprises, and I
know how desperate the need for fresh materiel is. Fortunately, I have
but just scratched the surface of the wonders of Gay Bros.
