The Roman Empire didn’t just fall – it got pushed over by the hoi polloi who lost track of which sex they thought they were and decided that was the sex everybody else ought to be. Homosexuality is spreading across this nation like a pox. Homosexuals no longer regard America as our country, but their country – The United States of Gay – and they view heterosexuals as an occupying army. Homosexuals do not want equality. They want dominance, and they don’t mean gradually. With their attitude of condescension, they consider equality a demotion. Worst of all, gays must proselytize to justify themselves – which it does not manage to do.
Likely, when God created San Francisco He said “Oops!” (though it might be argued when He created Los Angeles He said something infinitely less Godly.) The ubiquity of sexual eccentrics in its environs has given San Franciscans delusions of normalcy. Put it this way – San Francisco is a charming city, but no heterosexual can get a fair trial there. What is disturbing is, in consideration of the present rate of cultural deterioration, when you look at San Francisco you’re looking at America in five years. Hence it’s important to examine this city’s sexual de-homogenization and project future events in the sexual realignment and the resultant blights that must inevitably be added to political correctness – among them, fancied heterophobic slights manifesting in a cascade of rabid “reverse genderism.”
Before you can discriminate against someone because of his or her gender, you must first be able to determine what gender that person is. In San Francisco that is precision work. In one case, love at first sight was just a result of two men who both needed their eyeglass prescriptions strengthened. Statistics show myopia often ends in marriage.
Despite the conventional wisdom, the reputation of homosexuals is greatly overrated – particularly in the performing arts. A case in point is the theater where gays are not as humorous as they are ubiquitous. Nevertheless, cocktail party twaddle illustrates that the sexually ambivalent cannot resist bandying the names of their gay icons, although many gays don’t know an icon from an acorn. They are prompt to point out the gays’ contribution to Civilization, particularly their darlings in the arts such as Michelangelo and Andy Warhol. (Michelangelo painted the Sistine Chapel and Warhol painted the Sistine Soup Cans.) Nevertheless, whichever icon, past, present, or future, the middlebrows are eager to embrace the latest hood ornament of Gaydom -unlike same-sex marriage which to the ruck and rabble is as welcome as a crack in a glass eyeball. [Note: Gay lore has it that even Santa Claus was gay, that his favorite reindeer was named Prancer, and so was his boyfriend.]
In his time, Michelangelo got as much respect as Rodney Dangerfield and Walt Whitman would be writing cuddlesome verses for the insides of Hallmark cards. When looking for someone to smarten up the Sistine Chapel, Pope Julius II said, “Get some faggot to do it. Interior decorating is their bag.” It seemed a tall order to get Michelangelo up to the ceiling until they realized you just had to touch him in the just right place. Incidentally, the Pope ran up a big tab – and stiffed him.
However often Michelangelo trysted with his boy apprentices, he didn’t invite any of them home to meet his mother. Same-sex marriage did not grab him by the connubials. Why would Michelangelo ask for a lad’s hand when other anatomical accoutrements were available?
Inevitably, gays will join the minorities and disabled in collecting largesse from the government. Collecting three checks from the government is the socialist’s trifecta. (Gays will have tough sledding claiming eligibility for reparations, as it is more difficult to prove you are descended from oppressed gays.)
In all his studies of the homosexual relationship, Sigmund Freud noted nothing obligatory that requires male partners to pick out kitchen curtains together. Yet same-sex marriage is with us. In San Francisco, weddings are somewhere between picturesque and grotesque. A gender-challenged congregation sheds a smirk as the organist plays “Here Comes the Whatever”. The pledging of troth is followed by an exchange of nipple rings. The Best Man gives away the Groom – but only after he’s had his way with him. There is something less than romantic about a wedding ceremony that ends with “I now pronounce you Roger and Bruce.” Taking advantage of the best of both worlds, Roger and Bruce can go to Niagara Falls and honeymoon “stag.” The “newlyweds” will quickly learn what all heterosexual couples will come to know about marriage – that getting domesticated does not compare favorably with getting laid.
The commitment to homosexuality is made with the uneasy realization that closets do not have revolving doors. Once you’re out, you’re out. People coming out of the closet are confronted with the trial lawyer’s favorite ploy, “Were you lying then or are you lying now?” [Note: One couple celebrated their coming out of the closet by adopting a baby and naming it Armoire. Isn’t that precious?]
Increased homosexual activism has made most Americans nostalgic for the time when a “gay bar” was just a five-cent candy eaten by choreographers. The recent same-sex marital merger of Rosie O’Donnell and her same-sex counterpart in San Francisco can only render more indistinct the fine line between illegal and disgusting. Before Rosie can apply for a marriage license, she needs a Learner’s Permit. Her sexual ambidexterity notwithstanding, there is no gender in which Rosie O’Donnell would not be found unattractive.
SAN FRANCISCO: AT WAR WITH THE LAW
They Deity in His Infinite Wisdom ordained one gender to a customer. God said, “Adam, you are a man, and Eve, you are a woman. Let’s keep it that way.” Irrespective of the number of sexual positions the Kama Sutra dreamt up, they still produce only two sexes but San Francisco has a variety.
In San Francisco’s cultural revolution, procreation has deferred to recreation. If the Marquis de Sade took the romance out of sex, the San Franciscans put it back in. The residents ask themselves, “If the Golden Gate Bridge can go both ways so can we.” The city has bisexuals who believe “better quasi than queer”, interracial gays who don’t wed unless an interior decorator has pronounced them color-coordinated, and gay jetsetters who describe themselves as “sexually transcontinental.” Nature has thrown San Francisco more genetic knuckleballs then it did the Galapagos Islands.
San Francisco has an “anything goes” atmosphere. Visitors arriving in San Francisco know the signs that say City Limits do not limit anything to do with sex. [Note: The only people there with a true dilemma are bisexuals who try to insert the batteries in both ends of the vibrator.]
San Francisco’s most popular boutique carries a full line of dragwear and kinky leather and chains fashions called Fredericks of Vermont. The clientele does their laundry in saddle soap and Rustoleum. One advantage of marrying a person of the same-sex is that the first one up in the morning is the best dressed. Their clothes need not be cleaned – but occasionally rotated. (A San Francisco museum already displays His and Hers towels as artifacts of the long lost tribe of the Gender Specific Era.)
[Note: Not everyone in San Francisco is sympathetic toward the androgynous hordes suffocating the city. One restaurant owner with a “biker” clientele made his sentiments known by labeling the restroom doors “Biggots” and “Faggots.”]
SEX CHANGE
These days medical science can determine the sex of a child before its birth. It is afterward that there’s a problem. The first indication your little boy may be gay is when he writes a letter to Santa Claus asking for a bicycle with the seat removed. In fact, each year younger and younger people become candidates for anatomy modification. In San Francisco, it is not uncommon to hear a parent say, “Never mind the diapers, dear, it’s time to change the baby’s sex.” Hence sex change surgery in the Bay area is a thriving business. As San Francisco is a status conscious community, surgeons take their cue from Cadillac dealers and advertise the genitals they implant not as “used” but as “previously owned”.
These days, doctors can bring together people who are dissatisfied with the sexual equipment Nature has endowed them, and swap, after which the recipients can challenge each other, “I’ll show you yours if you show me mine”.
In San Francisco, it is not abortion but gender that is pro-choice. When you enter the hospital for a sex change, you are offered a selection from their gender menu. Some adventurous souls tell the doctor, “That’s alright, Doc, just go for it.” A medical journal noted that one sex transplant operation lasted sixteen hours because the donor wouldn’t give them up willingly. Other than that, the procedure is safe and quite common, yet in the Bay Area there are approximately 20,000 men who keep urinating on their shoes.
[Note: Surgery has replaced sexual revolution with the sexual relocation. Some surgeons who have qualms about performing sex change operations, but still want the fees, perform the procedure from Oakland – presumably using a robotic arm. At all events, in San Francisco the Cultural Revolution is winning and Civilization is losing.]
The good news is that homosexuals do not reproduce. The bad news is they go into show business.
THE FUTURE
Once arguably the nation’s most beautiful city, the homeless and the prurient have made San Francisco into Sodom-by-the-Sea, Bangkok-on-the-Bay, Haiti on a Hilltop, and Disneyland for Perverts. Previously the city was a reservation for the gender ambivalent; it is now a sexual Mardi Gras, a Knott’s Berry Farm for the Incorrigibly Sybaritic. By embracing same-sex marriage with all its inherent gaminess, San Francisco took the heat off Gomorrah. Love among San Franciscans is less discriminating than a lottery.
Some Alaskans say it is not all the oil drillers but lonely men from San Francisco that are a threat to the caribou. It’s reported San Francisco will soon have more bathhouses than cable cars and is the only city in America where you can get your nipples pierced by a vending machine (exact change, please).
It is a Communist dialectic that revolutionaries keep raising their demands on society – and each time they are met, raises them again. In San Francisco, they have mastered the technique of moving the sexual goal posts. Being required to enter your sex on an application is not enough. You must also fill in your previous sex, and your most recent sex. “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” in the military is not enough – the Pentagon will have to hire Tommy Tune to choreograph World War III.
If the trend expands:
it will be mandatory to have your sexual preference specified on your driver’s license, so that in the event of a fatal accident the Auto Club can dispatch someone of the same sex to French kiss you goodbye.
motorcycle cops will be able to pull you over and demand you produce your Proof of Sex.
the San Francisco Police Department will replace the SWAT team with the SWEET team and carry blow dryers in their holsters.
universities will offer courses in organic geography to inventory apertures and protrusions that have been surgically relocated.
men’s rooms will be decorated with nude pictures of Joey Buttafuoco. (Time was when men standing at urinals looked nonchalantly at the ceiling, now they look more like they’re window shopping. The problem will be academic as in due course stand up urinals will be memorabilia.)
PRISON
Prisons are reputed to be homosexual heavens. In the slammer, the euphemism for sodomy is called “San Fran tailgating.” San Quentin is said to be especially congenial to gays. When an inmate was asked how he got into San Quentin he replied,” It helps if you know somebody.”
An “enlightened” 9th Circuit Court of Appeals has worked diligently to close the gap between hospitality and homosexuality. As one judge said, “I believe there’s no such thing as a bad boy – and I’ve made it with most of them.”
DRAWBACKS
Nothing has slowed the HIV epidemic in San Francisco and they’ve tried everything from penicillin to bunk beds. It’s reported, most San Franciscans are fearful of social diseases, and even stray cats there won’t let you pet them unless you’re wearing surgical gloves.
Homosexuals have a puerile need to call attention to themselves. A San Francisco Gay Pride parade suggests what must have been Dorothy’s first reaction to seeing the Munchkins. “Look Toto, all these guys look like little Elton Johns. They must have come out of the closet through the keyhole.”
POLITICOS AND OTHER DEMAGOGUES
San Francisco’s Mayor Gavin Newsom determined that The United States Constitution is immaterial, but an illegal cardboard wedding certificate is binding. His next mandate will require, in the interest of fairness, same-sex marriage partners must always copulate with both partners on top. (Newsom may appear before the Legislature and propose making Harvey Fierstein California’s State Bird.)
After tsk tsk-ing about its present Mayor condoning gay marriage, no one fertilized San Francisco’s cultural environment for the present outbreak of gay lawlessness more than its former Mayor, Dianne Feinstein. After flaming homosexual, Councilman Harvey Milk, was assassinated, “Di Di” was ready to declare the seventies a decade of mourning and propose an edict making it law that in order to expiate their collective guilt, heterosexuals should be obliged to ride in the back of the bus. One heterosexual refused to do so. (By a curious coincidence the man’s name was Rosa.)
The current marital deterioration in San Francisco tends to corroborate a growing conclusion throughout the country, that in the future, the prime cause of homosexual divorce will not be cruelty – but absurdity.