It was almost twenty years ago, but I still remember the moment like it was yesterday. The scene will always be branded onto my brain, like a scar, like a Duck Dynasty tattoo gone awry. I was sitting in the observation room of the local ballet studio, and I’d just come in out of the woods from bowhunting. I was dressed from head to toe in camouflage. Well-dressed, fancified city folk were staring at me as I ground my teeth, sitting in the corner. I looked out into the next room at the prancing young ladies, dressed in bright, happily colored leotards, their bodies flowing musically as they leaped and landed with the grace of gazelles. In any other circumstance I would have been too busy lusting to be upset. But not today.
I looked off to the left and saw my nine-year-old son talking to a teenage boy. Both of them were dressed in black tights. How did I get here? What carnal sin had I committed to be handed this punishment? My oldest son was performing ballet, gaily prancing in leotards with other males.
I had died and gone to redneck hell!
Today the United States Supreme court just ruled that two men can marry each other – two women can form a more perfect union. Forgive my bigotry, but that just makes my redneck hindquarters pucker up in revolt. I don’t get it. What’s the big draw here? Why do so many men want to perform unnatural acts with each other? Excuse me for a moment while I lean over and vomit into my shiny brass cuspidor.
I remember several years ago I was approached by a homosexual male who proceeded to scold me for my unfriendly writings toward the homosexual lifestyle. I recall him saying, “Admit it! You just can’t get over the mechanics of what we do and you never will!” He was right and I readily agreed with him. I’ll never accept it, and I’ll never get used to it.
A few years back I took my family to Portland, Oregon to visit friends. We were walking downtown after taking in the culture when my five-year-old son said to me, “Daddy, why are those two men kissing?” I quickly covered his eyes and turned him away. We haven’t been back to Portland since.
Now, listen folks, call me old fashioned, but I just don’t like watching two men kiss. It gives me that uncontrollable mother-of-all gag reflexes and leaves that nasty bile taste in my mouth. “Excuse me! Hey there! Young man get your tongue out of your friend’s mouth before God strikes you down and fries your dead body in the street like a worm baked on a shovel in the hot sun.”
Sorry. That just slipped out.
Society tells me that I’m an intolerant bigot, because I won’t accept men screwing men and women .. well … can one woman do anything to another woman? Do they even have the right parts?
I get up every morning. I work hard. I pay my taxes. I help little old ladies across the street. I open the door for people. What did I do to deserve this? And, more importantly, what can I do to make it stop?
Unfortunately, the cold, hard answer is – nothing. I can do nothing to stop the homosexual juggernaut from spreading like a virus across the land. Because, you see, this is just the most recent outbreak. Homosexuality, like all other forms of sexual immorality have been with us for most of human history. It’s kind of like playing sexual Whack-a-mole. He pops his head up on the left, so you hit it with a hammer to push it back down. Then it comes up on the right and you hit it again, but there’s no stopping it. Those pesky moles just keep popping up faster and faster and faster until finally, you’re all wore out and you can’t hammer anymore.