“I don’t know of any society that has embraced sodomy and survived.”
Pat Robertson
Day 1 (March 27, 2007 – Monday):
I noticed it the moment I awoke; a peculiar feeling that somehow the very fabric of our existence had been altered in some terrible, irreversible manner.
I dragged myself out of bed, walked to the front room, looked out the window, and couldn’t believe what I saw. The sky was black and orange, emergency vehicles whizzed by, a dozen or so stalks of smoke and flame billowed from upturned automobiles, and a dog was trotting down the street with a charred human leg between his foaming jaws.
I retrieved the newspaper and read the headline: Supreme Court Decision Allows Gays to Marry: Very fabric of society torn.”
“Wow,” I thought. “The Henny-Pennies were right after all.”
I remember when it all began – back in July of 2003, when the Supreme Court overturned an archaic Texas sodomy law, thus making it legal for homosexuals to have sex. Naturally, that decision enraged and terrified certain people. They believed that this sodomy decision was the first step toward allowing gays to legally marry, and that would be the end of society as we knew it.
“This is one giant leap down the slippery slope toward Armageddon!” wrote columnist Harry Hardwick.
“This decision will have terrible consequences for our nation,” said Scott Lively, director of Pro Family Law Center.
“If we allow homosexuals to marry,” argued Sandy Rios, president of Families for the Protection of Marriage, “it will result in the disintegration of the fabric of marital sanctity. It will destroy the very fabric of society.”
The list goes on.
I remember thinking what a bunch of stupid, ugly, asshole bigoted, backward, frightened, callous, homophobic jerks they were. Oh how wrong I was – for today, all the dire predictions came true. The Supreme Court has made it legal for gays to marry – and the Apocalypse of Queer is truly upon us!
Day 2: It’s only been two days since the fall of straight marriage and already the electricity is out. I put batteries in the radio and listened to the Emergency Broadcast System. Reports were coming in that homosexuals were getting married in droves and roaming the streets attacking heterosexuals. City Hall had been sacked and the grocery and department stores were looted bare. I nailed down doors, boarded windows, loaded my 20-gauge Remington single barrel shotgun, and leaned it against the wall.
Day 3: Attacked by a gang of roving, married queers today. I was rummaging the alley dumpsters for food and became encircled by a small gang of leather queens. They were shoving me between them like a medicine ball and kept calling me Hechro (as in heterosexual). Then they shoved me onto the ground and kicked me repeatedly.
“No no no,” I pleaded, crawling to my knees. “I’m gay, I’m gay! Gay is great!”
They stopped kicking then, a look of curious indecision and empathy on their faces. Their leader – a hairy, leather dandy with “Judas Priest” tattooed on his neck – stepped forward and unzipped his fly. “Prove it Hechro,” he said, waving his disgusting phallus in my face.
I stood there frozen, unable to move. “I… I… I can’t,” I stammered.
“Hechro!” someone shouted. “Let’s get him!” blurted another.
The rest is a blur.
Day 15: Listened to the Emergency Broadcast again, but all they played was Cher, Liza and Barbara – 24 hours straight: All Day Diva Radio they call it now. I used to think homosexuals were just like regular people, but after listening to Diva Radio all day I’ve come to understand how truly twisted they are. I realized then – I must never let them turn me gay.
Day 43: I’m the last heterosexual alive. The rest are dead or cruising gay bars. A shanty town of queers has developed outside my house and they take shifts throughout the night singing the “We Will Rock/We are the Champions,” combo and slipping gay porn through the mail slot. I am sleep deprived, malnourished, under-hydrated – but staunchly convicted: Must. Never. Go. Gay.
Day 71: All Day Diva driving me to dementia. Cher keeps asking if I believe in love after love and I periodically catch myself staring longingly at the shotgun.
Day101: Nothing left to read but gay porn; found the articles to be well-written and informative. Also, discovered I prefer late-era Cher over early Cher. Clutch rifle tightly to breast. I am the last straight thread in the very fabric of society. Must. Never. Be. Gay.
Day 138: Can’t go on. No food, but for insects. No water, but for tears. No TV but for the MANSEX channel. I reach for the shotgun, “Oh how I love you shotgun rifle,” I say, holding the stock to my chest. “Oh how your barrel is so long and firm against my breastplate. A perfect fit,” I think as I push the barrel shaft to the back of my throat. “Too perfect,” I think, wrapping finger around trigger and gently squeezing off a buckshot orgasm . . . .
EJD
07/09/03
