Thursday, February 15, 2007

Look at the potatoes on that guy.

My attempt at making millions by announcing that I am a gay NBA player has fallen short. In fact, I can't be sure that more than one person even read my confession.

Tim Hardaway apparently hateth the gayeth. Of course, the predictable outrage will follow and his public speaking days are most likely over. However, I can't help but think that a huge percentage of people watching this story on ESPN were thinking to themselves, "Hell, I hate gay people, too! They don't belong in this world!" At least Timmy was up front with his feelings. What he said will do more to lead to understanding and sexual (orientation) healing than when I heard Rip Hamilton of the Detroit Pistons say that he couldn't know how he'd react if he found out a teammate was gay but that as long as the guy played hard and yada yada poop.

Gays are generally least here in the Midwest. I had an incident while visiting Purdue a couple weeks ago. After many beers, I went with a few friends to Triple XXX, a greasy diner for some 3am eggs and potatoes. The place was packed with drunken, jovial students. I ordered the breakfast special, got some coffee, and started cracking jokes. There was this girl a few seats down who was beyond Thunderdome. She was with her embarrassed boyfriend and I would soon learn a couple other people, and she was shouting at people all over the room. I mean, she was aggro shouting and trying to start a fight apparently. I don't understand girls like this, and I really don't understand guys that are with them. But, hey! If you're getting laid you're getting laid, right?

So the she beast starts yelling that someone is queer. I don't know who, but by this time I was ready to join the fun. I asked her, "Who's queer? I'm queer? You think I'm queer?" To which she predictably responded with "Yep, you queer! You're queer!" It's difficult for me to describe the tone and voice I was using for this next exchange. I call it blubbering hick, kind of a heavy crying, heavy whining, heavy Indiana accent, loud shout voice. Regardless, believe you me that it was hilarious. I used this voice to exclaim with fake tears, "She's callin' me queer, and I'm just tryin' to eat mah potatoes! I just came here to eat mah potatoes, and she's callin' me queer! I can't buhlieve it! She's callin' me queer! I just want some potatoes!"

The whole diner busts up laughing except for one guy I discover as someone grabs my shirt from behind and pulls back. I turn around to see who wants a piece of this, and see a thin farmboy with a whispy goatee who's drunk as hell. He says, "I think you're queer. I think you're gay."

I size him up quickly and realize he isn't a threat, so I told him to go outside and that I'd be out there in a minute. That's exactly what he did as I turn back to my friends and say that finally someone wants to fight with me and he actually skinnier than I am. Of course, I had no intention of fighting with a drunken stranger because I embarrassed some sloshed chicken who was asking for it. It was less than 10 degrees outside, and predictably he left after a few minutes while my friends and I finished our potatoes.

The morale of this story isn't that I almost got in a fight, because that happens almost everytime I go out in Indiana. It's just interesting how hate for gay people can come out completely unprovoked and unmotivated. Actually, one of my friends that I was with is gay. He stayed silent throught the whole thing, and I wasn't about to ask him about it.

For those of you reading this that are wondering if I actually might be gay, let me ask you this. Does it matter? Do you really care? For those of you who definitely think I'm gay, let me say this.

You're callin' me queer, and I'm just tryin' to make a blog entry! I just want to blog, and yer callin' me queer! I can't buhlieve it!


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