Fag Hags - from the Fifth Avenue Gazette

Volume One, Issue 10
October 7, 2005

SAN DIEGO – I should forewarn my more sensitive readers – this issue is shot through with vulgarity and stereotype-bashing. Now I know what you’re thinking – “Tony, how much more vulgar and stereotypical could you be?” Well, a lot, actually. So sit tight, take a deep breath, remember that they’re just words and they can’t hurt you, and we’ll just see where this little saunter leads us. Oh yeah, one other thing. I have decided that I like Southern better than English. So forgive me if I throw in a few homely expressions along the way.

Here’s the deal – I don’t think there is anything wrong with stereotyping. I believe that by pretending like we’re all the same we miss out on life’s richness. Richness is variety, and I, for one, am for variety. Most black people are bad swimmers. Most lesbians are bad tippers. Most Indians (the feathered kind) are bad drinkers. Most Indians (the dot kind) smell funny. Most Jews make a lot more money than I do. Most Asians are questionable drivers. Most fags can sew, and most of them don’t watch boxing. Cripples are bad dancers and midgets are bad tennis players. There it is. I said it, and by God, I’m sticking by it.

I don’t know why it is that people are so afraid to say things like that, even though everybody thinks them. All of you know that stereotypes, though verboten in our postmodern world of rectitude at all costs, are types. They resonate because they’re accurate. I’m not saying that all women cry to get their way, but a whole big fucking shit-load of them do.

And there’s the next thing. Cussing is fun, no matter what we heard from the bitch in Human Resources. Cussing is mostly fun because it’s so damned unacceptable today.

I guaran-god-damn-tee you that the quickest way to get me to do a thing all the time is to tell me that I shouldn’t do it. So I’m going to use the rest of this whole piece to cuss and make sweeping generalizations about a particular group of people.

Fag hags are fucking confused. I’m not talking about the big fat ones who hang around with queers because they can’t get a boyfriend. I mean the hot ones with the wet panties who hang around grinding their pussies on some fag’s leg and getting him all hot and bothered just so they can satisfy themselves with the obvious fact that they can get a guy who likes other guys to fuck them. You know the ones. You’ve seen them. You’ve watched them snail-tracking a queer and rubbing his face in their tits, all the while pouring vodka and cranberry down him like shit through a goose.

You know what’s going on in their addled fucking skulls too. You know they’re thinking to themselves, “God I’m so fucking hot. Even he can’t resist me.” They’re also getting off the whole time on the fact that a bar full of grown men is watching them and they can get away with acting like a complete jizz junkie right out in public without the fear of getting jumped. And after they’re through pumping that big gay cock up into a hot, pulsing python, they’re probably not really gonna give him a piece anyway. The smug cunts.

Now you actually get four types of chicks in a gay bar. First are the aforementioned big fat fuckers who hang around with gay men because gay men flatter them by telling them what nice boobs they have, because gay men don’t make them feel unfuckable (even if they are), and because they’re decent human beings who just enjoy the company of kind men. I like them, and I welcome them.

Secondly, you get straight women who go as part of an office party, or perhaps with their boyfriends. Maybe their boyfriends are bisexual, or maybe they’re straight guys who just like the company of gay men and enjoy everything about the community to which they belong. I like these women too, and I welcome them.

Third are lesbians and bisexual women. Actually these are two different subspecies, but for this piece they can be treated as one. They’re fine, although they do tend to hog the pool table. Usually they come in pairs and the lesbian pretends to tolerate her bisexual girlfriend flirting openly with men, although when the night’s over she’s coming home to eat clam.

The ones I’m fed up with are the fourth type. In case you don’t remember what you read a half-page back, they’re the ones who come in half nekkid, smellin’ like a whore on a troop train, who dance to every song some guy’s five-spot can buy them, who get drinks bought for them by grinding their beef curtains on some guy’s crotch, who rub their torsos on some guy’s chest and stroke their stiff nipples across his back, who wear their low-riders one inch above their dewy cooze, and who get some guy’s balls twitchin’ like a puppy tryin’ to pass an egg shell. They’re fun to fuck, but I don’t like them, the disingenuous bitches.

In fact, I think we should help cure them. There are two schools of thought on this one. One camp suggests treating them like Jodie Foster on a pinball machine (sorry, that wasn’t nice). But I opt for the theory that says we should make them feel bad about themselves. Here are a few fun things to say:

1. “Damn girl! Is that your vagina I smell or do you have a possum in your pocket?”
2. “I’m sorry. I just ate and your ass is making my stomach grumble.”
3. “Are you dancing, or do you have Parkinson’s disease?”
4. “What a nice jacket. What is it, yak?”
5. “So what brings you here? Couldn’t find any self-respecting straight man who doesn’t think you’re a stanky-ass, cum-swilling whore?”

Try them out the next time you get a chance. It’s fun.

So there you have it – cussing, stereotyping, gender bashing, line crossing - all the little things that make life worth living. I ain’t felt this cleansed since I swallowed the soap. And it didn’t hurt a bit, did it? I hope you’re all well, and I promise to keep it up. Thank you for your readership, and may your tribe increase.