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.