Singing Leprechaun

So, I watched the new episode of Game of Thrones at my friend’s house, and while a lot of the episode was sort of set-up and filler (Here’s what our characters have been up to on Game of Thrones while you’ve been away!), I still enjoyed it. And—as per usual—I had thoughts. Mostly, my thoughts ran along the lines of “Is it going to bother everyone’s watching experience if I get up to pee?” and “I should have brought a box of Franzia,” but I had other thoughts too. Game of Thrones-related thoughts. In the next few posts, I’m gonna give you some of the ones I found most worth mentioning. Previous posts can be found here.

Ed Sheeran

801Um, fuck this little cameo. Fuck it hard, fuck it good, fuck it dead. Because it’s completely unnecessary and dissonant with the tone of the show and it completely took me out of the mood of the show. It made me stop and think and focus on the fact that I was watching a television show.

I think the best forms of visual entertainment are usually transportive and immersive in a way that gets you lost within the story being told. It ceases to be a story, and you become so invested in the characters and the plot that you forget that it isn’t real for a bit. It takes you with it. That’s what any good story–in any form–should do. You never want to see the invisible wires that are making Peter Pan fly, you want to believe for a bit that he’s actually flying. Even if he is a child-abducting little freak. Putting Ed Sheeran in Game of Thrones is like having a boom mic hanging in the fucking shot. It takes you out of the moment.

Jeremy Podeswa, who directed this episode, defended the decision to cast Ed Sheeran in a phone interview with Newsweek‘s saying that he felt that he did a good job and, “I think people interrogated it too much, they’re bringing so much of his [superstar] presence into the thing which is far beyond what anybody was thinking going into it. He is known to the producers of the show and some of the cast, and he’s a gigantic fan of the show. As everybody knows, the show really eschews stunt casting—it’s never, ever done that.”

To be honest, that’s complete bullshit. The world does not fucking exist in a vacuum, viewers do not exist in a vacuum, and to insist that it is on the audience to suspend their disbelief and accept whatever is being fed to them by the showrunners is a cop out. It is the burden of the creator of a work to earn that suspension of disbelief, and Ed Sheeran popping out of the woods and singing a little ditty with Arya is asking too much. Podeswa later states that all the stars of the show are incredibly famous and recognizable and says that there is no difference.

He is wrong. There is a difference. We associate these stars with this show. They belong to this sort of world. Even Sean Bean, famous for multiple roles before starring in GoT as the doomed Ned Stark, is accepted and almost expected in a production such as this. You almost can’t have a sweeping, medieval fantasy without Sean Bean dying in the first arc of the story. You see Ed Sheeran, and you think a different kind of superstardom. You think of Taylor Swift and cats and dudes who cry after sex. Because Ed Sheeran most definitely seems like the kind of dude who cries after sex and I freaking hate that.

It is stunt-casting, and it robs the moment of the impact it was supposed to have on Arya’s characterization. I gather, from repeated rewatches and attempts to disregard the Keebler Elf plopped clumsily into the scene,

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Look at him, just waiting for his chance to bake some cookies and hide his Lucky Charms

that that scene was supposed to be a moment where Arya begins to see that not all those who are associated with the Lannisters are evil. That there are some innocents, on both sides of the battle line.

But you don’t get any of that. Because you’re too busy looking at everyone around you going, “Wait is that… oh fuck, it fucking is.”

Samwell Tarly: A-Shittin’ and A-Soupin’

So, I watched the new episode of Game of Thrones at my friend’s house, and while a lot of the episode was sort of set-up and filler (Here’s what our characters have been up to on Game of Thrones while you’ve been away!), I still enjoyed it. And—as per usual—I had thoughts. Mostly, my thoughts ran along the lines of “Is it going to bother everyone’s watching experience if I get up to pee?” and “I should have brought a box of Franzia,” but I had other thoughts too. Game of Thrones-related thoughts. In the next few posts, I’m gonna give you some of the ones I found most worth mentioning. Previous posts can be found here.

Samwell Tarly: Hogwarts Student and Shit-Taker-Outer Extraordinaire

I started to write about Arya Stark’s opening scene as my favorite thing about this episode until I remembered. And that would have been wrong. So wrong. Because this montage is undoubtedly the greatest gift GoT has ever given the world.

Lainey was the first one who really pointed out to me how wonderful this scene is. It is so completely… just ridiculous and I adore it. It at once manages to be waaaaaay too fucking much and just enough. And, as Lainey mentioned, they managed to get a really good consistency for the shit, and then the blurring between which is shit and which is soup… beautiful. This is so over the top, but in exactly the way GoT has always been over the top. All the titties, all the violence and murder, and now finally, all the shit. The circle is complete. Well-played HBO, well-played.

Other than that masterful montage of cinematic greatness, the other thing of note in Sam’s scenes was the fact that he actually seems to have wandered outside of the GoT universe and into the set of Harry Potter. Don’t get me wrong, I’m super into it, I fucking adore Harry Potter and Jim Broadbent, of Professor Slughorn fame, is a goddamned treature who manages to imbue every line with an arch sort-of gravitas (yes, I recognize the contradictory nature of that descriptor) that makes you want to really lean in and listen. Just the sort of guy you’d want to perform a little medieval autopsy action with.

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I tried so hard to find a screen grab of them cutting up the body you guys, I really did

It was a little frustrating hearing Broadbent-as-Archmaester that, although he does believe Sam is probably telling the truth about the White Walkers, he isn’t going to do anything about it. Like really? And then Sam’s robbery of the books and the reading and… it just all kind of has me thinking, do we have time for this? Not Sam, I mean he’s doing what he can for the cause of mankind and Jon Snow and all that, but the show itself. Does it have time to devote to Sam’s reading? I’m just getting nervous. We have a limited number of episodes left in the season and in the show. Are they going to be able to cram it all in without it feeling rushed? Because I’m starting to get nervous. Cersei is my ride-or-die for sure, but I’m not certain how much time we have to fuck around in King’s Landing without cheating the Ice Zombie Apocalypse of the time it needs to be a truly realized storyline.

The shit and soup definitely was needed though. Good call there.

Cersei’s Hair

So, I watched the new episode of Game of Thrones at my friend’s house, and while a lot of the episode was sort of set-up and filler (Here’s what our characters have been up to on Game of Thrones while you’ve been away!), I still enjoyed it. And—as per usual—I had thoughts. Mostly, my thoughts ran along the lines of “Is it going to bother everyone’s watching experience if I get up to pee?” and “I should have brought a box of Franzia,” but I had other thoughts too. Game of Thrones-related thoughts. In the next few posts, I’m gonna give you some of the ones I found most worth mentioning:

Cersei’s Hair

Reports have been made that the show’s budget has increased this season, and nowhere is that more evident than in the scenery, the wardrobe and the CGI. Those long, extended shots of Dragonstone as Dany meandered her way through the castle of her birth were immersive and gorgeously-detailed and I appreciated it. The wardrobe is going to be getting its own section later on, and the dragons actually didn’t look like clumsily-rendered cartoon lizards. It was a beautiful opening episode, by and large.

It was dismaying to see, however, that evidently the showrunners David Benioff and D. B. Weiss did not save any of that budgetary increase for hair and makeup. Specifically, Cersei’s hair. Because

hurr

WHAT.

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THE.

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FUCK.

Is this supposed to be a joke? I’m relatively sure Lena Headey wears a wig because she’s a natural brunette and recent photos of her on her Twitter depict her hair as much longer than this, but still. They couldn’t afford a better wig than this? Is that real hair? Because I have seen Barbies serving hotter looks than that. It’s not just the cut—yes, I understand her hair was forcefully shorn from her head by the Faith and that they probably did not go to the nicest salon to do it—but also the color. Did we have to make her look absolutely as shitty as possible? But, it isn’t like an intentional shitty. If I felt like that was the goal, to make her look shitty and tired and haggard, I would be down with it, but this doesn’t look shitty in that way. This looks shitty as in cheap.

I’ve seen that color before. Know where? The crackhead gals who used to prance around my hometown streets. Forty-something women in their twelve-year-old daughter’s clothes, bodies like beef jerky wrapped in purple tank tops that bared their abdomen and shorts with cartoon characters on them, these haunting heroin hotties sauntered around town with the confidence and ego that only meth can provide. Their cheeks always had these iron lines carved in them, false illusions of bone structure given to them by malnutrition and constant teeth-grinding, and their hair was always this burnout orange-yellow that looked like smoker’s teeth and old, fried egg yolks. Cersei blonde. That is the name of that color and I, for one, am not going to stand for it anymore.

Producers and hairstylists of Game of Thrones, please, I implore you, do something about this. I will go down to Ulta myself and purchase a bottle of toning shampoo for blondes. You don’t even have to reimburse me. Just please fix. Kthxluvubyeeeeeee

 

 

Positive Schtuff Pt. Deux

So, luckily this is only delayed by a few weeks, but I HAVE SUCCESSFULLY DONE IT, DEAR READER (because I know that there is only one of you), I HAVE FOLLOWED UP WITH A SECOND POST ON WHAT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A SERIES OF POSTS.

Now, someone get me my own column in Harper’s Bazaar and a senior editorial position at Refinery29.com please. I’ve made it.

Oh, that’s right, I haven’t even told you what this post is. It’s positive stuff! The good shit in my life. Because sometimes I (and everyone else) forget to remember that positivity does actually exist in my life, it’s not all missed gym trips and late phone bills and my socks slipping down underneath my heel in my shoes. I’ve got a good life! So, I’m going to think about that, and highlight what I’m happy about this month(ish).

My Favorite Murder

So, if you haven’t heard of this podcast, you really should investigate it. It’s really gotten me through some tough times lately. It’s been a welcome escape. It’s two gals with an interest in true crime and famous murder cases, and every week they just get together and discuss a murder that each of them has done some (loose) research on.

It’s super casual and super chatty, so if you’re looking for well-thought out, investigative pieces on crimes, you’re listening to the wrong podcast. Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark are just telling each other and their listeners about some crimes that interest them, the way you would discuss something with your friends. They do do research, but they’re more focused on the heart and humor of the stories than being perfectly factual.

And it is funny. It’s hilarious, and strangely-heartwarming and moving and I’ve cried during episodes and I’ve felt super empowered by episodes. Listen to the episode talking about Richard Ramirez (the Nightstalker) and how an entire neighborhood in California rose up to catch this fool and tell me your faith in people isn’t restored. Because what I get, a lot of times, from this podcast is that while we make so much out of the people who suck, for the most part, people don’t suck. People kind of rock a lot of times, and that’s pretty awesome.

Also, if you can’t understand why someone would want to listen to stories about true crime, I can’t explain it to you. It’s a sickness, probably born out of an anxiety and fear of being murdered and so you want to find out as much about it as you possibly can. Or maybe I’m just a budding sociopath. Either way.

 

Bartender Friends

The obvious pluses of being surrounded by drunken boozehounds aside, it is very nice that not only am I a bartender, but many of my friends are bartenders. We get together and we play with ingredients and throw shit together and sometimes it is fucking delicious (shout out to Tyler’s blue margarita and Marshall’s Ramos Gin Fizz, holla), and sometimes it tastes like the ball soup of a fat man not wearing underwear in the summer (my own Robitussin-inspired drink of the other night, whaa whaaaaa).

It makes me feel creative and constructive and it is so fun and I fucking love it and, the best part, DRINKING. Like, how awesome is it that this ended up being one of my major interests/hobbies/day jobs? I could have ended up collecting stamps and, no offense to anyone who collects stamps, but I cannot imagine anyone who does it has ever had sex ever in their life. Feel free to comment if I’m wrong, as I’m sure you stamp collectors are lovely people with humongous dongs. Or… pretty vaginas, I guess? I don’t really know what people look for in their vaginas, because personally I just look the other fucking way.

 

Kesha’s New Single

Listen, it’s called “Praying” it’s one iTunes, and it is beautiful and slow and I mean kind of fuck you to people who said she couldn’t sing. It is so nice to finally see some new music from this poor girl who has gone through so much. Except, not poor girl, that’s a bad choice of words on my part, because she is not just a victim, and reducing her to that is unfair to her.

It’s hard to talk about Kesha without talking about what has happened with her career the past few years, but if we did live in a vacuum, this song would be beautiful and phenomenal. Taken with everything else, I mean it’s pretty awe-inspiring. Super beautiful. I’m into it.

 

Buzzfeed Quizzes

I mean, what did I ever do in the bathroom before these? Just fucking go? Read a shampoo bottle? Was I a barbarian? What was wrong with me? How did I live without knowing “What Your Taste in Coffee Says About Your Future Financial Situation?”

Clearly, these quizzes are completely scientific and tested through a series of clinics and long-term research and development. I mean, they have to be. I won’t hear anyone saying that my future husband won’t be determined based on my answers to five random questions, because that is bullshit. Buzzfeed says so.

Even when the quizzes are ridiculous and just when I think I have had enough of Buzzfeed’s nonsense, here they come with a quiz about which Britney Spears song I am and I’m totally sucked in again.

To close out this post, by the way, I have posted links to a handful of my favorite Buzzfeed quizzes for you to take!

(In the famous words of Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark) Stay sexy, and don’t get murdered.

Answer 5 Questions And We’ll Tell You Which HBO Character You Are

(I got Madeline Mackenzie from Big Little Lies)

Are You More Blondeney Or Brunetteney?

(I got blonde cuz duh)

Which Posh Name Does Your Penis Deserve?

(I got Tarquin Wimbleknob, which unfortunately is what I already call my left kneecap so I cannot use)

Positive Sh*t That Happened to Me

So, most of my friends struggle with anxiety in one form or another. Several of my friends have actually been diagnosed with anxiety disorders. I myself don’t struggle with this sort of thing often, so I could very well be talking out of my ass here.

Currently, one of my closest friends, we’ll call her Brittany, is having some issues with this kind of stuff. She and I talk about all our shit: money shit, boy shit (or in this lucky broad’s case, relationship shit), school shit, future shit, etc. I really feel for her, and I know how hard it can be when you’re in that anxious sort of mood to see past your issues. You’re sort of always missing the forest for the trees, and the forest isn’t a forest, but the massive clusterfuck you believe your life is undoubtedly becoming.

With Brittany in mind, I’ve decided that I’m going to make an effort to avoid doing that, and hopefully the rest of you readers will try to avoid that as well—all six of you! In order to achieve that end, I’m going to try to start posting a weekly Positive Shit That Happened to Me post. Who knows how often this will actually be accomplished, because in negative shit that I create for myself, I am the worst about procrastinating and none of my attempts at a regular series of blog posts about a certain topic have so far stuck. But here’s to hoping!

So, rules. None of the big stuff. I’m not going to talk about the really great stuff that happens to me—the job offers, the marriage proposals, the trips to Milan—because I don’t think it’s hard for people to appreciate that sort of thing. No, I mean the little stuff, the stuff that you might not appreciate because your mind won’t let you take your attention off the thousands of negative little occurrences in life. This is for appreciating the good stuff, for encouraging you to appreciate the good stuff, for realizing that no matter what is going on, there is always some good stuff in life. This is to say, hold onto those little good things hard, no matter how tiny they may appear. Sometimes they’re the only anchor we have.

1. I washed my car

So, today for the first time in literal years I washed my car. You guys, I feel really good about that. Like, it shouldn’t have felt that good. I feel like how I imagine those people on Hoarders must feel once they can finally see their carpet again. I’m not exactly certain how they feel because I cannot handle that show and thus have never seen a full episode of it, but it’s what I imagine they feel. Just relief and accomplishment and fucking finally.

I even did like the little brushy thing and the pre-soak and the spot-free rinse (which judging by the massive goddamn blotches on my windshield is ineffective, so thanks for taking my extra dollar you schemin’ motherfuckers). It doesn’t look as great as it did when I got it (there’s some dents and dings and paint scrapes and my rear fender kinda looks like a picture that’s been bent and then straightened out again), but it looks so much better and I feel so much better.

2. A guy complimented my car

You guys, I shit you not, as I’m pulling out of the car wash and onto the road, windows down (because no A/C and that shit sucks SO bad, but positive thoughts!!!),  a guy pulls up next to me in his silver van-type thing. I know because I remember making eye contact and thinking he’s cute. His windows are up, but he literally rolls them down to compliment me on my car.

Fifteen seconds after leaving the car wash! You guys, God is real and He rewards those who wash their fucking Mitsubishis.

“That’s a great car! What year is it?” yells confident, attractive hottie with his sunglasses tilted down his nose like the hot love interest in an 80’s high school movie.

“Thank you! 2008!” I say, all golly jee like the nerdy girl in the same 80’s movie.

(Except I’m pretty sure the nerdy girl in that movie didn’t have sweat pouring down her face from a lack of A/C. Or a penis. But I digress)

“It’s a great looking car,” he says again, smiles, and rolls up his window.

Literally, where is fucking Tom Cruise when you need him? Except stay away Tom Cruise you weird me out.

I felt so validated by this exchange. It was like the universe was saying, “Yes, you dumb twat! Wash your car and cute men will immediately talk to you.” Of course, right after this, his car slows down and I have to pass him or look weirdly stalker-ish, and I’m pretty bummed because that means he’s going to see the back of my car, which looks like shit, not just the one angle that actually looks decent. But positive thoughts! Compliments! Feed me compliments hot men. Flattery works with me.

3. I helped Brittany wash her old car

The reason I even washed my car in the first place is because last week I helped Brittany wash hers, and it inspired me. She was giving hers away to a nice man who was down on his luck, and wanted it to look presentable for him. She brought me back into the car washing fold, which brought me compliments and inspiration for this blog post! Which will undoubtedly brighten tens of peoples’ days (just kidding, no one reads this). All because of Brittany. So that’s your positive thought Brit, if you’re reading this, you helped me in a small way, and may even help someone else. Remember that, and build up from there.

(She’s totally gonna read this because I’m going to text her in fifteen seconds and command that she read it)

In closing, I encourage everyone to try this, at least for a day, on the hardest days. Because, the thing is, it is so easy to forget that there’s a flip side. It’s so easy to see the flat tire and the shitty day at work and the stubbed toe, and so easy to forget to see the nice people who stopped to help you, the friends who cared and wanted to make your shitty day better, and the kickass shoes you were wearing while you stubbed your toe. Remember that stuff.

Men’s Rompers: Thigh Meat, Gender Roles, and the Fashion Revolution

RompHim.com

romphim

Despite what the (I believe intentionally hilarious) name implies, it isn’t the latest and hottest gay porn website. It is the latest project from ACED Design, a company whose mission is, according to their website, “To revolutionize men’s fashion, one piece at a time.” They’ve started with a line of men’s rompers.

Well, I know what a lot of people are thinking, but sign me up. I think it’s kind of awesome. Here’s the thing. Men’s clothes can be so dude-sitting-in-an-office-eating-a-sandwich-on-white-bread-with-mustard boring. There are only so many shirt, short, pant, tie, button-up combinations you can get into before you start running out of options. As someone who loves clothing and expressing myself through clothing (not that you would know it based on the endless parade of work clothes I wear on a daily basis), it can be frustrating. I have often found myself envying the multitude of options women have in clothing, and honestly anything that proposes to expand men’s options is welcome in my book.

I do think you’ll have to be careful with rompers. Frankly, I think that they have the potential to be very unflattering. I’ve watched the videos, I’ve viewed their media kit on romphim.com (once again, not a gay porn site, so don’t get your hopes up), and they all look great. But I’ve seen other photos of guys in them and unless you have spent the past three years in the gym, they appear to pull across the stomach in a way that emphasizes its roundness.

Also, they tend to elongate the torso, so if I didn’t have the legs to balance that, I wouldn’t want to wear them. Because there is no division between the pant area and the shirt area, it tends to look like one long torso, and if you have shorter legs anyway, you’re going to look like some rejected Bob’s Burgers character.

If you’re very physically fit with long legs, they are cute. I like them.

Not to body shame! Wear whatever the fuck you like and don’t be sorry about it, but I just mean personally, I’m going to wait until I’ve done about ten-thousand more crunches before I slip on a set.

The thing is, the fact that they are not flattering to every body type does not mean they are an unsuccessful piece of clothing. I also would not currently slip on a crop top, but can I just say I am so down for men’s crop tops and I will be on a healthy diet of a tapeworm, laxatives, and lemon water until I feel comfortable wearing one.

If it’s a gender thing—listen people, clothing does not have a sex. There are no sex organs, no ovaries, no biological determiners to clothing that assign them a sex. So, don’t try to tell me when and where I am going to wear anything. Maybe it’s because, in certain ways, I have been defying gender roles since I was goddamn born, but I just really don’t see what the huge problem with this is. Why do you care what other people wear? Why does it have to be so limited and limiting? Let people dress how they want to, and if you don’t like, don’t wear it.

So, if you think that men’s rompers are ridiculous because they defy those gendered limitations, you better buckle up you sweet little ignorant angels. Because that’s fashion.

Fashion is and has always been about pushing boundaries, exploring new ways of presenting yourself and your body. Fashion is an expression of the self, and consistently fashion has been about revolution and trying new things, shedding new light on what a person can look like through the use of clothing arranged in new ways. Men in rompers—that is fucking fashion. The erasing of lines, the blurring of borders, that is fashion. It’s not all fashion is, but it is a part of what fashion can be.

I mean, take the 1800s, women used to not be allowed to wear pants. They were men’s clothes. Strictly for men. High-heels were originally for men. Things change. What is strange and never done, is just one Kickstarter campaign away from being standard and done to death. Now, it’s taken men a little bit longer to borrow things from womenswear, probably due to the heteronormative patriarchal culture that pervades our culture, but it was only a matter of time before this started to happen.

Other pros to men’s rompers include freedom of movement:

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and thigh meat:

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One of my favorite things on a man are the thigh meat. It goes: height, teeth, biceps, thigh meat, bank account, taste in Netflix shows, sense of humor, intelligence and that’s pretty much it.

Oh, I guess personality, but whatever. That’s not a necessity.

So, I’m down with men’s rompers.

Also, in unrelated news, my new gay porn website, rompme.com will be up in just six short months! 

 

Dear Straight Men in Bathrooms at Bars: I Promise Not to Rape You

Urinal Ad

Dear Straight Men in Bathrooms at Bars,

Could you chill the fuck out please? Because I am so sick of this shit, it isn’t even funny. Let me explain to you some things.

Trying to engage in funny business in the grimy, grungy bathroom of a bar is not among the list of things that turns me on. Believe me, the list of things that turn me on is long and DISGUSTING, but that isn’t on it. Funny business with a balding dude named “Dusty Dan” in the bathroom of a Joann’s Fabrics, however, is definitely on that list. Also not on the list? Sexual harassment. Stop worrying about it. No, I’m not trying to “sneak a peek,” and no, I’m not going to suddenly be sucking your dick if you make the commonplace fool’s mistake of standing at the urinal next to me.

Have you heard of something called the internet? It’s this amazing thing that people mostly use for one of two reasons: sharing misspelled political memes on Facebook, and looking at porn. So, I promise you, if I wanted to to look at a dick, I’ve got options.  Options that don’t involve urinal cakes and the hoping the puddle you stepped over was a spilled drink. If there’s one thing that gets me going, it’s not being anywhere near a urinal cake. Jesus Christ, nothing is sexier than being away from a urinal cake.

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Photo of me fantasizing about being away from urinal cakes

Look, not every guy does this to me. In fact, I am happy to say ninety-nine percent of the men I’ve come into contact with in bathrooms at bars have not had a problem with me being gay, have not even noticed that I am gay because they are there to use the goddamn bathroom. That’s how it should be, and usually, that’s how it is. And I live in Oklahoma. I think it says something about the general mindset of straight guys that even in this southern knock-off of a state, most straight guys don’t care. Several of my best friends are straight guys, and they aren’t worried about taking off their shirt in front of me or pissing next to me or sitting down next to me, because they are my friends and they know that “gay” is not synonymous with rape.

So, this isn’t a letter to all straight guys. Just to the weird fucks I encounter every so often who stand outside the bathroom door at my favorite local college bar, pronouncing loudly to his friends that,”I ain’t fuckin’ going in there. Dude’s gay. What if he tries to look at me?” This is to you dear sir, you know who you are.

I always wonder, where does this nonsense come from? Is it because the kind of guy who is afraid a gay guy will not be able to resist temptation is also kind of a gross pervert himself who would not be able to resist temptation if he had to pee next to a girl? I’m not saying that it’s that, but I’m not saying that it’s not that either.

Is it, as is often claimed, that these homophobes who are so hyper-paranoid of gays, are this way because they themselves are gay? And so they lash out at the imagined prospect of homosexual interactions that, on some level, they themselves yearn for? I’m not saying it’s that either, but I’m not saying it’s not that.

Is it because these dudes are just that narcissistic that they think anyone who is attracted to men will not be capable of controlling himself when faced with the prospect of their magnificent, golden dongs? Once again, I’m not saying it’s that, but I’m not saying it’s not that either.

Listen, if you’re a disgusting person who is interested in invading someone’s personal space in the bathroom, that’s between you and the list you will someday end up on. Not every gay guy is like you. I’m not going to lie, there are predatory gay guys, just like there are gay guys with blonde hair and gay guys with eczema. It happens. Unfortunately, gay guys who focus on straight guys are often vocal in their pursuit of them, making it seem that all gay guys are like this. We are not, and I promise you, predatory gay guys who pride themselves on “turning” straight guys are not the pride of our pack. But don’t assume I’m one of them. They are the minority.

If you’re a straight guy internally fighting doubt that you might not actually be straight, I am so sorry. I’m sure that’s incredibly difficult, and I wish you the best in your journey to find yourself. Just a little tip, don’t go looking for yourself in bathrooms at bars. And until you find yourself, don’t put your shit on me. Your hangups are your own.

If you’re the kind of douche who is so self-involved that you think you’re God’s gift to dicks, I have to say congratulations on your self-confidence. It’s amazing that you are so secure in the star-quality of your penis. Also, I have to say: get serious. I bet it looks like a mushroom growing in high grass. But you know what? I don’t want to find out.

I am tired of feeling shitty about myself because of your own internalized shittiness. Quit putting your shit on me! I just want to have good nights out with my friends, not go tricking for strange in the dingy bathroom of a dive bar. I am tired of not saying anything because I don’t want to cause a scene, and I’m tired of talking to my friends later on about how this ruined my evening because I’m tired of the evening being about me being gay. But it’s not about me being gay, it’s about you being a slack-jawed blackhead of a human being  and punishing others because of it.

So, I’m going to say this, once and for all, I’m going to make you this promise: I solemnly swear, on Britney Spears and the entire store Express, that I will not, now or ever, rape you in the bathroom at a bar.

But watch out for the bathroom at Joann’s Fabrics. I make no promises there.

joann