Those Rotten Fruit

Why lookie there, if it isn't US Supreme Court Justice Antonin Scalia, decrying the so-called homosexual agenda in his 2003 dissenting opinion Lawrence v. Texas.

It gives new meaning to the phrase oral arguments, doesn't it?

Is there a homosexual agenda — beyond the usual sing a little opera while I fluff the throw pillows, or perhaps strap on my birkenstocks and head out to the womyn's softball game?

There must be. Because the internet says there is.

I read all about it on the Conservapedia, a wonderful resource created just so home schooled kids wouldn't have to be exposed to any diversity of viewpoint. Because new ideas and anyone who isn't in your family — those are the last things you should encounter as part of your education.

You are probably expecting me to mock the whole idea of the homosexual agenda as ludicrous. Or, as Scalia etal. might have it, lewdicrous. But I will not.

Yes, Virginia, there really is a homosexual agenda. And I have fallen victim to it my very self! I will tell you all about it, so that you can protect yourselves and your children from the awful fate I now face.

It all started when I received an email from a woman I'll call "Monica."

Because that is her name.

Monica and her girlfriend invited me to attend a charity event as their guest. The charity is called p:ear - perhaps I should have guessed there was something fruity going on. Note the typographic reference to aural penetration.

p:ear purports to be a nonprofit that mentors homeless and transitional youth. Maybe in their spare time they do. But clearly they are mostly pushing their homosexual agenda onto people like me.

First by inviting me to their fancy fundraiser, even paying for my ticket.

Oh, and telling everyone that because they are raising funds for their new building, the dress code is "under construction" - as if I don't know what power tools are code for.

That's how they seduce you in.
Free ticket!
Free booze!
Free use of the electric drill!

The next thing you know, it's a lifestyle of fine wine and witty repartee.

That is the sick truth of what those people are all about.




But it's only funny until someone loses an arm.

And a leg.

Don't worry, I'm not talking about fisting. This was a far more depraved and degenerate form of seduction . . .

The charity auction.

They push the booze on you, feed you nothing but weenies and nuts (the weenies were small and the nuts were salty, and I think you know what that means). Then they get some platinum blond flitaroo to keep whispering in your ear until you bid more and more and more.

And more.

And the next thing you know, you wake up the next morning the proud owner of 1,001 tulips.

A garden abloom — how faggy is that?
I ask you, is there no Justice in this world?