PRIDE 2012

Fabby D has been on hiatus. Sorry, bitches. Life happens.

In this comeback edition we're going to go through the wonderful month of June, aka PRIDE Month. The first question to be answered is "What is Pride?" right? I mean when you look around the current geo-political landscape for we Butt Pirates and Muff Divers, it could seem a bleak and desolate landscape.

(The column is a penis. Happy Pride, gays!)



However, we GLBT folk are a resilient bunch. We've been tortured, burned at the stake, demoted to 2nd class citizenry, and I personally have lived through 3 presidential terms associated with a Bush. We know how to flourish, bide our time, and get what we want. Mostly we've cultivated this by gooning on str8 people at social functions, but some could say it's a survival mechanism. Whatevs.

The point is this: even though SCOTUS has yet to strike down DOMA, and even though we are, once again, fodder for an election cycle, we have a lot to be PRIDEful about.

In the spirit of all that is PRIDE and (more importantly) in the spirit of Fabulous Debauchery, I give you the FIRST installment of

Fabulous Debauchery's Top 5 Pride Guide:

(or How We're Better Than Breeders)

1) We all have Approximately 2% body fat when laying down.

Unlike our heterosexual counterparts, we in the GLBT community have certain powers. While standing vertical, we look like ourselves. We have all shapes and sizes, races, creeds even.

BUT get us in the mood. After the poppers have been sniffed, and the candle wax melted to the temperature where it hurts, but not too much, and the gun oil has been applied...WE TRANSFORM INTO SOMETHING A BIT HOTTER THAN THIS:

I hear that Lesbians turn into something equally sexy, but that's not really my scene. Use your imagination, Dear Reader, to conjure the nymph of Lesbos into your mind's eye.

Clearly we all don't turn into Nasty Pig models, we're actually much hotter. The point is that we become ultra sexy beasts when we're about to get busy. It's one of the reasons that MITTens & Co. are so jealous, mean, bitter, and hateful toward us.

I mean, c'mon...wouldn't you be if you knew the str8's all turned into Chris Hemsworth and Chris Evans when they got down with the get down?



Nerves

I find myself fretting about the future. I find my mind doubting the course of action I have plotted...not doubt because of anything, but doubt for doubt's sake.

The Killer

Last night I held a killer in my arms. I heard him beg for forgiveness that was not mine to give. I heard his story, and wept that I was the cause.

Last night I walked a killer home. I walked him to his door and embraced him as friend. He is wounded and I hope that he finds solace.

Last night a killer told his story to me. I listened not knowing what to say. The gurgled screams and tears of his victims now haunt me.

Last night a killer touched my soul. I am now affected by his misery. I am now accustom to his darkness.

28 years down

There is a sadness that corresponds with today: an ache that cannot be satiated. I can't help but miss the people I have lost to icy earth, and time's unfeeling influence. I miss them, these makers of memory. I miss them so.

To the Father I Never Knew...

Thank you for not laying your emotional baggage on me late in life. Thank you for not stifling my emotions or telling me to "be a man." Your absence lead me to be a real man: taking responsibility for my actions, being secure in my manhood to the point of showing emotion, etc. Thank you for not instilling any blue-collar machismo into my brain. Thank you for showing me exactly the type of man, and Father, I want to be.

Judy

Sweet void of sensation washes over me.
Numb tingles let me know the time is right.
The euphoria of the moment...
The moment lasting hours...
The hours stretching on.
Moonbeam giggle lifts from my lips,
and the Memory lives on.

Valhalla

I read today of a woman who died in New York state. She was 82, which is young by some standards. As I read I was consumed with envy that her death, too soon and tragic, happened where it did. She died in a place called Valhalla, NY. The poetry of place moved me to write a little verse.

When I die...in the far, FAR, future...I want this read:

Bare my ashes to Valhalla.
Build the pyre strong, and true.
Purge all moisture from my body,
That I may fall with Midnight's dew.
Remember me, oh dearest ones,
In prose, and deed, and song.
But bare my ashes to Valhalla,
When 'ere life's breath has gone.