You may have noticed, over the past year and a half, our conspicuous absence from the gay lifestyle advice for straight people blogosphere. We’re sure our separation hurt you just as much as it did us. But we promise—this isn’t like the time we didn’t blog for two months because we discovered what a dick Marc Jacobs had become. We really have been through quite an ordeal!
Shortly after we uploaded our last blog entry—a highly-public, poststructuralist critique of Meredith Baxter’s deeply-personal journey toward lesbian enlightenment—we heard a strange knock at the doorbell. Trembling with fear, we reached out to open the door…much like Meredith Baxter had just opened her life—and her bedroom—to People Magazine.
If these lips could talk…
John: I was knocked unconscious in the ensuing kerfuffle, so I don’t remember too much after that. I do recall the sound of my own sobbing, and the luxurious taste of diamonds upon my tongue. At least, I assume they were diamonds.
Emma: We were blindfolded and thrown into a vehicle. Based on the particular crank of the engine, I deduced that we had been packed like fudge into the rear of an ‘86 Dodge Grand Caravan, headed due east toward the great Guadalupe Mountains. Even robbed of my most basic senses, I could tell the carburetor needed replacing, and that the beast could use a good wax.
John: Once we arrived at our destination—a kind of commune in the middle of an asphalt dustbowl, which Emma later described as a “strip mall”—we were shown our meager accommodations and powdered down for lice. Life among the straights was unbearable at first—a seemingly endless parade of misheard song lyrics, awkward silences, and Old Navy fashions. I attempted no fewer than three times to make it look like I had attempted to take my own life!
John’s latest performance piece: Death By Luxurious Bath
Emma: After a year in captivity, things didn’t seem so bad. We ate three square meals a day, which for us was a first. I even got friendly with the female captor, helping her process through her body shame and deep-seated issues with male authority figures. As I felt my own own free will begin to diminish, I noticed myself starting to admire her drop earrings and flagrant misuse of the word “ironically.”
John: Over time, we began to earn their trust, and they ours. But soon that trust we earned made us bored–you know, mean bored. As gays with intense superiority complexes, our competitive edge became our best defense. Or is it offense? We started playing reverse psychological games with them, slipping subtle suggestions into their mashed potatoes, hoping desperately that we could out-kidnap our stupid straight kidnappers…
Emma: A little strap-on talk here, a fisting workshop and body healing demo there…
John: In no time, we had those straights eating out of our proverbial hands, as well as our literal ones on evenings when we hand-fed them fresh lesbian grains from the heartland of America.
Emma: And, of course, on peel and eat shrimp night.
John: If not then, then when?
Emma: As soon as they began requesting hits from Cher’s back catalog, we knew their total transformation was complete. Our heterosexual captors had succumbed to that most terrifying of afflictions:
Patty Hearst, shown to scale.
Stockhomo Syndrome is a rare psychological “superstorm” of symptoms, which tends to flare up whenever straight people spend too much time surrounded by homosexuals—for instance at day spa retreats, amusement park Gay Days, or fitting rooms at The Gap. Mild to moderate symptoms of Stockhomo Syndrome include:
– The ability to name two Kylie Minogue albums at a moment’s notice.
– Laughs when most straight people might cry.
– An inexplicable aversion to the word “beige.”
– Irresistible urges to “gallery hop” or “ground oneself.”
– A strong sense of self; limited interest in others.
Of course, as with any full-blown medical crisis, Stockhomo Syndrome isn’t all just fun n’ games n’ iron lungs. In some extreme cases, straight people may become inexplicably brainwashed into actually empathizing with gay people. Quelle horreur!
As always, Dear Breeder, this blog isn’t about us—it’s about you. In the immortal words of Joni Mitchell, we’ve seen something something both sides now, and we’ve returned to save you from yourselves. Let’s face it, we wouldn’t be who we are today without you constantly voting on and legislating our very existence. In the spirit of lesbian reciprocity, you can rest assured that we’ve rededicated ourselves to our singular purpose as homosexuals: Making straight people’s lives better.
Helping you help yourselves since 2008
(not counting our two year sabbatical),