INDULGING IN A LITTLE POSTMORTEM GAYIFICATION

INDULGING IN A LITTLE POSTMORTEM GAYIFICATION

By:  Randy Gillis

 

I walked into the kitchen carrying a 55-gallon hefty extra-heavy duty trash bag full of our weekly laundry (because that's how we roll around here) and I see Patricia sitting at the counter with ‘Thank You’ cards.  “Who are you thanking, and what are you thanking them for?” I asked.  “I’m sending one to Pope Francis and one to Lucien Greaves of The Satanic Temple,” she replied. 

One of the reasons that Patricia and I have been together for so long is that she is always able to say something that makes my left eyebrow go up, and I love that.  I love it even more now, as I watch North Carolina plummet off of all of the good lists and sky-rocket up all of the bad lists as the dookie-heads in Raleigh keep spreading their dookie, led by Pat ‘I’m basking in the attention, North Carolinians be damned’ McCrory.  Well, at least I had a year to get used to it (remember Amendment One?).  So when Patricia offers me something like this, it almost makes the shame bearable.

“You’ve been moping around here lately,” she continued, “and I’ve figured out a way to lift your spirits and put some cash in our pockets at the same time.”  “From Pope Francis?” I asked.  “He gave me the first piece of the puzzle,” she explained.  “He is now selling indulgences.  Anyone who follows his tweets can have their time in purgatory slashed to an insanely reduced sentence.  Oh, and we are now official followers.”  “First of all,” I cautiously began, “I didn’t know purgatory was still a thing.  And, we’re not Catholic, but I’m dying to see how The Satanic Temple fits into this.” She told me to shut up.

She went on to explain how the members of The Satanic Temple performed a ‘Pink Mass’ over the grave of Westboro Baptist Church founder Fred Phelps’ mother, thereby turning her into a postmortem lesbian.  First of all, I always thought a ‘Pink Mass’ was not so much a religious ritual as the gathering of 3 or more evangelical, republican, politically teabaggy-type people. 

















Secondly, I always thought the Mormons were evil bitches for doing this kind of thing, but it seems so very, very right when Satanists have a go at it.  And lastly, any sex that produces a Fred Phelps would be, I would think, lesbian-producing as a consequence, all by itself.

Patricia went on to explain her plan of performing Pink Masses over the graves of the relatives of people our ‘clients’ don’t  like, turning them gay, and then something about karma.  “Isn’t that homophobic,” I asked.  “Only to them,” she smiled.  I had my doubts and Patricia obviously saw them on my face.  “Look,” she stressed, “haven’t you ever thought about turning a straight person gay?”  I looked off dreamily as the theme from RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK played in my head.  “Fair point,” I conceded.

I thought about it some more and finally decided that, what-the- heck, it couldn’t hurt, and besides, the spirit world can always use more gay.  I asked her what we should charge for this service and I’m still not sure how she came up with an estimated retail price of $37.50.  It had something to do with volume and the skyrocketing cost of camping equipment.

Then, other questions came to me:

1.      What exactly is a “Pink Mass”?

2.      Is there a certification process?

3.      Do we need classes or is it more of a ‘calling’?

4.      What about insurance?

5.      Can this be done without using chickens?

6.      What if their relative was already gay?  Will that rip a hole though time and will it hurt?

7.      Is ‘Posthumous Gay Done The Right Way’ too cheesy for the brochure?

8.      Can we call ourselves priests and can I wear a collar?

9.      Does gay sex on a gravestone count as desecration?  If not, what else will be needed?

10.  How heavy a hand will Satan have in this?

11.  Does vomit have to be involved?

12.  What if I get dizzy?

13.  Can we act as independent contractors or does The Satanic Temple hold the patent?

As I was studying these questions, Patricia said something that changed everything.  “What if,” she speculated, “that by changing a living person’s ancestor’s sexual orientation, the living person’s sexual orientation could be altered and what if that was enough to alter everything else?  What if they became someone totally different?  What if a few of North Carolina’s legislators could suddenly see the cruelty behind their political jockeying with the help of freshly gayified ancestors from beyond?” 

I stood up and bolted for my office.  I sat down and Googled as fast as I could.  Patricia was right behind me.  “What are you doing,” she asked.  “Be quiet,” I pleaded.  “I’m trying to track down Harrison Ford’s family cemetery.”

 

 

FETUS, LOVE THYSELF

FETUS, LOVE THYSELF

By:  Randy Gillis

 

I’ll never forget the first time I masturbated.  I was around 22 weeks gestation (I was a late bloomer), and thanks to Rep. Michael Burgess, R-Texas, I finally feel completely vindicated.  During the House Rules Committee debate  on the 'Pain-Capable Unborn Child Protection Act,' he asserts that he has personally witnessed male fetuses with their hands “between their legs” pleasuring themselves.  I was personally outraged and horrified by his admission….until I realized he is a former OB/GYN and was referring to watching an Ultrasound and not a website that requires a membership and features fetal porn.

This is also great news for the Westboro Baptist Church.  Now they can identify the damned before they’re born and schedule protests for everything from 1^st birthday parties to kindergarten graduations, because really, we're at a point in this society where we need just half a reason to protest anything.  But let me back track just a bit.

I was having another argument with Patricia that started with a sincere question on my part.  I asked her why women had such a hang up about the gentle art of ‘rotating the tires’ when she somehow twisted it into something squalid.  She accused me of misogyny and I huffed “just like a woman,” under my breath.

After she won the slap fight, I told her of all the women I’ve asked about this who either claim (rather angrily if you ask me) to have “NEVER” touched themselves “EVER!”  Or grudgingly confessed to liking the hobby horses just a little too much but thanks to Jesus, it’s all okay now.   

Patricia assured me that uptightness is not specific to one gender or the other (or that 3^rd one). And she has the Carrie Prejean ‘educational’ bootleg video to prove it.  I conceded her point (not wishing to witness exhibit A) with the proviso that she concede that people in the entertainment industry are generally not the best examples of the general consensus on…..anything.

But back to the women I have spoken with.  Maybe it’s a small-town thing, maybe it’s a southern thing, maybe it’s a Christian thing, but these women acted as if just the thought of even accidentally ‘letting your fingers do the walking’ ranks right up there with murder and Satan worship. 

 I know it’s all a part of that whole ‘women are different’ thing and I believe it’s true, when it comes to this issue.  I recently read in Psychology Today that a recent study by Chicago sociologists revealed that out of a random sample of people across a wide age range that only 38% of women admitted to masturbating in the past year.  It’s the only way I can understand it because I can’t imagine why anyone would not want to spend quality time ‘adjusting the thermostat’.  I always considered it a part of routine body maintenance (one of the few that I actually look forward to).  I mean, for god's sake, if for no other reason, it's a better sleep facilitator than Tylenol Flu medication (and much cheaper).
 

The most shocking number was that only 61% of men admitted to masturbating in the past year.  The only conclusion that I can draw from this is that 39% of men in the Chicago area are filthy liars.

I know that Patricia doesn’t have a problem with it.  There have been many a night she has spent at my house when, in the middle of the night, I could swear I heard some kind of brawl happening in her room.  No wonder she can’t keep a girlfriend.  There’s very few that can match her intensity.



One of the silliest arguments I heard against ‘nursing the grudge’ was from a clinched, very prim churchy type.  She proclaimed with an authority earned from decades of self-denial, that it was a selfish act.  I told the woman that that was a lie, because all my male friends know that they barely have to ask and I would be more than happy to ‘lend a hand’.

So, all you fathers-to-be, the next time you are huddled around an Ultrasound screen with a roomful of strangers and Junior decides to launch into his solo, take a deep breath, hold you head high with shoulders back, smile broadly and proudly proclaim, “that’s my boy!”

 

RANDY & PATRICIA PASS WITH FLYING COLORS

RANDY & PATRICIA PASS WITH FLYING COLORS

By:  Randy Gillis

 

“This is all your fault!” I snapped.  “I wanted to go to Morrow Mountain, but oh no, it had to be Kuwait.”  Patricia looked up from her paper.  “This is a timed test,” she warned.

So, here we are, thanks to Patricia and her unbridled lesbian lust, sitting in the ‘interview’ room of the Kuwait International Airport, taking a ‘homosexual’ test before we can enter the country. 

 

 

For the first time in months we managed to get an entire weekend off together.  Patricia suggested a trip.  I should have insisted on details before I let her make all the arrangements.  I was thinking maybe a day trip to do some hiking or perhaps the Zoo.  It wasn’t until we took off from the Greensboro airport that I began to feel a bit apprehensive. 

Patricia picked Kuwait partly because of some sort of military memory and partly, as she explained it, because Muslim women are primed for possible ‘lifestyle’ changes due to their living in the Middle East equivalent of Mississippi.  Though, considering what the tea-baggots are doing to North Carolina, that comparison isn’t as satisfying as it used to be. 

“What did you put for number three?” I asked.  She actually put her arm over her paper to prevent me from seeing.  “This ain’t the SATs shug,” I warned.  “Kuwait will be deadly dull without me.”  “Sorry,” she replied, “reflex.  The answer is Melissa Etheridge.”  “Why do I have lesbian questions on my test?” I complained.  “Would it kill you to learn a little about lesbian history?” she scolded.  “Hey, I watch Ellen,” I shot back. 

Oh, I suppose I can’t blame Kuwait for wanting to keep out the gay rubbish.  Lord knows there are plenty of them.  We got lazy with our borders and look what happened.  Canadian trash swept in and shut down our government.

 

 

“If lesbian (A) leaves the Home Depot at 12:00 heading east at 60 mph on her Harley, and lesbian (B), leaves the lumber yard’….god, I hate word problems!” I screamed.  “It’s a trick question idiot,” Patricia scoffed.  “No self-respecting lesbian would crawl along at 60 mph.”  “I don’t know why we have to take a stupid test anyway,” I whined, “why wouldn’t they take our word for it?  Do you think the military guy at the gate misunderstood me when he asked if we were homosexual, I said, ‘is the Pope Catholic?  Of course a lot of Catholics are asking the same question these days.”  “I don’t think it was so much your response as your twerking during your response,” she said.  “Was that totally necessary?”  “I thought it would be a good ice-breaker,” I justified.  “These people are way too serious.  Besides, he could have been a little sympathetic when I threw my back out.”

 

 

“Oh screw it!” I yelled.  “I’m just picking ‘C’ for the rest of these.”  I started circling ‘C’ on my test on the remaining questions and turned my paper over.  “Are you sure about that?” Patricia asked.  “Don’t worry,” I soothed.  “I’ll make up the points during the demonstration section.” 

Two armed soldiers walked in and collected our tests.  I used this time as a chance to clearly state our case.  “I would just like to say that neither you nor your government, nor…” I go blank.  In a panic I look at Patricia when it hits me.  “….nor Allah, have a thing to worry about.  We are top drawer homosexuals!  We work, pay our taxes, have never served hard time and only went the full Monty once at a gay pride in San Francisco.  We love our families and friends, fight for freedom (when it doesn’t clash with American Horry Story), and we will proudly hold our ‘queer’ up for anyone to inspect.”  The soldier just stared at me. 

I can’t really go into what happened next because of that international court thingy coming up in November, but sufficed to say that I will be doing all the planning for our trips until further notice.