Two weekends ago was Gay Pride Fest here in Denver. I didn’t say anything about it then because I was still put out about breaking Kevin’s tablet pen and not being able to drawr. I didn’t even feel like trying with this comic, as topical as it was. Maybe I could have at least made it legible.
It was surprisingly slow for me, but maybe that was because I looked too straight, which wasn’t a problem for some of the other pedicabers. By 5pm one of the ringleaders sent out a message reminding everyone that shirt, shoes, and pants must be worn, lest we would be sent home. Now I’m not gay, but most of the gay folks I know aren’t nursing pathological Tarzan complexes.
At least, I don’t think so…
No matter. The straight pedicabers wanted the gay customers, and the straight customers wanted the gay pedicabers. No real gay people required.
In fact, fighting for the cause seemed to be more straight, white girls from suburban backgrounds than real live homosexuals.
Sorry gals, I know gay subculture is fashionable, and I know you’ve been dying for an excuse to wear that rainbow thong, but “homosexual” isn’t synonymous with “prostitute.”
As much as Gay Pride rallies want you to think it is.
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