It always comes when you least expect it, Dear Breeder. You could be sleeping comfortably in your home or RV. You could be tending to your child’s needs at a bargain movie matinee. You could be in a lovely restaurant, enjoying a lovely dinner with your okay-looking wife (see previous post, “As I See It”), when suddenly it comes crashing out of the blue: The Gay Scene!
You’re not alone in your befuddlement. Even we gays don’t understand the true physiological origins of The Gay Scene! and, at present, have a team of gay scientists in gay laboratories gay-working on this gay conundrum. The only thing we know, and know for certain, Dear Breeder, is that a The Gay Scene! can occur at any moment.
This is not a test, Dear Breeder, this is an emergency!
In times of stress, many gays indulge in 30 minute ‘emergency showers.’
In the event of an The Gay Scene!, you would be wise to think of the gay man or lesbian as a ticking time bomb of emotional physics, which must, at any cost, be defused. The gay man or lesbian, in this moment, is a nuclear catalyst, an unstable element defined by his or her explosive chemical make-up and expensive organic hair products. Whatever the cause of the disruptive force, any imbalance in the LGBT atmosphere may instantaneously produce a The Gay Scene! that will leave your surroundings in catastrophic ruin. In fact, you’d better hope, Dear Breeder, that you’ve read this blog in time to put the universe back in order and restore that errant electron to its normal, shifty, and somewhat suspect position. Read on as if your life depends on it.
Imagine that a normal gay is eating lunch at a normal restaurant with your okay-looking wife. (We work together.) Just as your wife is served her customary salad and half-a-sandwich, the gay discovers that his Welsh Rarebit is a tad undercooked, and that his Yorkshire Pudding has already deflated on its way out from the kitchen. Set your sanity aside, Dear Breeder, this is just cause for a The Gay Scene!, and we’re all in for a bumpy ride.
The Gay Scene! initially manifests itself as a sudden constriction of the muscles of the throat, resulting in the gay’s voice becoming high and screechy, like that of an ocelot in nocturnal heat. The syndrome then spreads to the lungs of its victim, where it causes the gay to pant and huff until he has the attention of the unsuspecting waitress. Without immediate medical intervention, The Gay Scene! will inevitably culminate in an acute episode, wherein the gay screams at the waitress, reduces her to tears, and demands to speak to her shift supervisor, all before an anonymous group of stunned diners. Check, please!
Why ocelittle…when you can ocelot?
Now imagine that an average, mannish woman is in an average ladies’ fitting room in the department store where your okay-looking wife shops (How are you guys doing financially?). She’s selected a few garments that seem to fit her approach to the world, and wants to try them on; or, more likely, her girlfriend has identified the shirts and slacks that fall perfectly in line with her approach to her girlfriend’s approach to the world, and is forcing said mannish woman to try them on. But wait! What’s this? The store clerk doesn’t realize that this patron is actually a woman, and gently redirects her to the men’s fitting rooms, saying, “Um, we don’t allow men in this dressing room.” Watch out, Dear Breeder, a The Gay Scene! has met its maximum boiling point, and everyone’s gonna get burned!
The dry kindling of this The Gay Scene! catches flame with the mannish woman’s initial, awkward attempt at diplomacy (“Oh, okay…”), which immediately stokes a raging wildfire in her girlfriend’s heart, as she confronts all that’s wrong with the world. A handbag is swiftly applied to the store clerk’s face, and everyone in line is treated to a heated lecturette on the untethered categories of Sex and Gender. Before too long, all are exhausted by identity politics, and the spellbinding ebb-and-flow of retail ecology returns to its natural equilibrium, where lessons are never learned, people behave as if they can’t see one another, and the blind consumption of goods rules the day. If nothing else, the straight bystanders will have an eyewitness scandal of their own to talk about during the nightly news, all thanks to a The Gay Scene!.
“When it comes to a warm front of this size, we’re looking at a 30% chance of gay visibility.”
In the event that a The Gay Scene! erupts in your presence, Dear Breeder, do not attempt to stop, drop, and roll. It will prove a distraction to the gays and will only serve to exacerbate the already dicey situation at hand. Instead, make sure you’re positioned safely outside of slapping range, and that your hands are free from their pockets, in the event that you must suddenly shield your eyes from sharp, flying objects.
Next time you’re lucky enough to witness a The Gay Scene! in your neck of the woods, Dear Breeder, relax! And enjoy the show! Remember, this has nothing to do with you, and has even less to do with the immediate situation at hand. Just sit back and watch the drama unfold as the gay makes his or her voice heard, in one of the few forums where what is said may actually improve our circumstances. We may not have the support of our government or fellow taxpayers, but we are never eating at this restaurant, shopping at this store, or paying to watch a Julia Roberts movie at this cinemaplex ever again!
Phillip, meet me at the car. We’re leaving!
January 25, 2009 at 7:20 pm |
SIMPLY POETIC!
I just had a gay scene in my pants reading this!!(sore)
January 25, 2009 at 9:43 pm |
I am so happy to inspire . . . and THAT is a faculty comment!
January 26, 2009 at 10:30 pm |
Love this post, but when I saw the subject line I thought you were referring to the moderately-sized group of people who drink heavily, get all in each other’s business, and switch partners every few months in a perpetual do-si-do.
My bad!
January 27, 2009 at 12:08 pm |
What happens if the waitress or store clerk are also gay?
Just…ya know…taking down notes.
May 6, 2009 at 11:25 am |
Oh. My. Gohhd. We had a _The Gay Scene!_ this morning right here at work, in which someone actually used the word “fiasco!” to describe a large absolutely nothing!