The column was called, “Sons of Lame-Archy.” In it, I razzed the concept of biker clubs and gangs. The part that caused the brouhaha was a digression in which I lamented that none of the gay biker-gang names I saw online had any of that queer flair I love so much, like—and I don’t mean to re-inflame—“Hell’s Anals, The Sodomites and The Mangols.”

I meant no offense. They were just the kind of flamboyant biker-club names that I thought celebrated homosexuality, the kind of gay-biker-gang names that said, “In your face, homophobe! We are no longer going to ride in the closet!” The kind of biker gangs I would join if I happened to be gay or even entice my hypothetical gay biker son to join when if he was old enough.Among the swarm of angry emails, tweets, Face-pastes and blog-floggings were several responses from staffers of San Diego Gay and Lesbian News (SDGLN), including publisher Johnathan Hale, who reported my column to GLAAD (Gay and Lesbian Alliance Against Defamation), and assistant editor Morgan Hurley, who tweeted that “There is NO appropriate context for those types of words,” and wrote a column in which she criticized me for, among other things, not apologizing. That’s when the bees really started buzzing.

And while I received a lot of support from members of the LGBT community, a lot more sent very angry, accusatory missives, all of which boiled down to one or all of the following questions 1. Is Ed Decker a homophobe? 2. Is it ever permissible to use bigoted epithets? 3. Does Ed Decker owe an apology?

1. Is Ed Decker a homophobe? Not even close. My queer-friendly street cred is airtight. For starters, I have written dozens of columns in which I ferociously argued in favor of gay rights and viciously attacked its enemies.

Second, I, too, have been a victim of homophobia—in the workplace. True story: The company for which I worked at the time had transferred me to a new store. For reasons that don’t matter here, I was favored by the supervisor (who was thought to be gay), and an assumption spread that I, too, was queer. It didn’t take long before I was uniformly outcasted, ridiculed, sabotaged and—get this—poisoned.

Last on my list of pro-gay cred is the fact that—wait for it—some of my best friends are gay. Yup. I said it. Some of my best friends are gay. Why shouldn’t I say that? If I hang out with gay people, it sort of defeats the whole homophobe concept, no? Cases in point are two of my closest friends in the world, Danielle LoPresti and Alicia Champion (founders of San Diego IndieFest), who have appointed me as godfather to their newborn son, Xander Lucian, and have asked me to be a bridesmaid in their upcoming wedding. I haven’t decided whether I should go in drag; regardless, if a man agrees to be a bridesmaid in lesbian wedding, well, let’s just say it wouldn’t be long before he gets kicked off the Fallbrook Annual Aryan Homophobic Apple Bob and Barbecue Planning Committee.

The LoPresti-Champion family

2. Is there ever a time when it’s permissible to use bigoted epithets? Great question. Answer: Yes.

Ms. Hurley likened the FGGT-word to the N-word, which is a reasonable comparison. She also said that it was “never, ever” OK to use these words, which means I need only one example to prove her wrong. Of course, I have many (such as Louis CK’s hilarious and obviously non-hateful bit about the FGGT-word), Lenny Bruce’s various uses of the F- and N-words, but my favorite happened about a year ago, in the live-music bar where I worked.

That night, we had a touring band consisting of members of different lineages—two Africans, two Mexicans, an Arab, an Asian and a couple of crackers for good measure. When the night was over, the band and some of their friends drank at the bar while we bartenders stocked beer and closed shop.

Once we were all sufficiently intoxicated, one of the band-friends pulled out a camera-phone and announced that it was time to play the “Shout the Most Offensive Racist Slur You Can Think Of” game. Apparently, this is something they did after every show on the tour. It was an easy-enough game. Everyone took turns shouting the most outrageous racial aspersion they could think of, followed by a round of uproarious laughter, hugs and backslapping.

I don’t think I’d ever laughed that hard. There was something so freeing about it—especially the shouting part—as if the slurs were ostrich eggs we cracked against the wall and watched all the hate and anger—the yolk—of those words harmlessly dribble onto the floor.

When the camera pointed at me, I stopped what I was doing and shouted, “Niggers don’t tip!” The two bruthas leaped up from their stools and high-fived and hugged and complimented me for such exquisitely hateful hate speech—all of which felt so good I wanted to leap over the bar and make out with them both.

3. Should Ed Decker apologize? No, he should not. Because it would be the most bigoted thing he could do.

After having spent the last 17 years razzing Christians, Jews, Muslims, Mormons, Scientologists, Africans, Asians, Arabs, Latinos, Caucasians, Republicans, Democrats, athletes, musicians, sports fans, pot snobs, beer snobs, snob-snobs, women, men, cats, dogs, bikers, bar customers, bartenders, waitresses, MYSELF, my writing, my looks, my family, my friends, flight attendants, cartoonists,  parents, children, cheerleaders and guys named “Chaz” without a single “sorry” to share between them, wouldn’t it be patronizing to apologize now? Wouldn’t that assume gays and lesbians need coddling or special treatment? I mean, yes, absolutely, I am “sorry” that my words have been hurtful to some, but I do not apologize, because I did nothing wrong.

That said, I don’t want any apologies, either. For those who called me a “homophobe,” “bigot,” “hater,” “enemy to civil rights,” “ignorant” and “filth peddler,” warned me to  “watch my back” and spread my column around the country to stoke a response—no apologies necessary. In fact, I’m stoked by the ferocity of your response. I’m stoked that you mobilized against what you perceived to be a hateful voice, stoked that your  days of taking shit and cowering in shadows are over, that you’re increasingly more willing and able to shout, “In your face, homophobe!” Honestly, I’m so happy about that it makes me want to leap over the bar make out with each and every one of you.

Ed Decker
09.05.11

Epilogue: The letter from GLAAD

After I’d written the first draft of this column, I received a cordial, non-reactionary letter from GLAAD’s senior media strategist, Adam Bass:

At GLAAD we believe that a couple of your fictional gay biker group names used terms that were unnecessarily offensive.  The satire of the column was not lost on us, but we believe the jokes could have used different words to get the same point across.

The letter went on to ask that I not use words like “faggy,” “sodomite” and—this one took me by complete surprise—“homosexual.”

Because of the clinical history of the word ‘homosexual,’ it is aggressively used by anti-gay extremists to suggest that gay people are somehow diseased or psychologically / emotionally disordered…. Please avoid using ‘homosexual’ except in direct quotes.

Here is my unabridged response to him:

Dear Adam,

Thank you for your fair and reasonable letter. As a life-long hater of homophobia, I understand why so many in the LGBT community took offense to some of the language I used. However, I must respectfully decline your request as I am a firm believer that what really matters in these situations is context.

A good example is the revelation (to me) that the word “homosexual” is now on the list of words I am not permitted to use.

First of all—and again, I say this with utmost respect and with no desire to offend—I do not recognize GLAAD’s authority over my vocabulary. My opinion is that there is absolutely nothing offensive about “homosexual.” It is—by its etymology—exactly what it defines, with zero innuendo. Homo means “same” and homosexuals are people who are sexually attracted to members of the same gender. It just couldn’t get any less offensive than that.

I mean, if we’re going to start indiscriminately banning words, I can think of one that is far more offensive than “homosexual,” yet is embraced by the gay community.  The word is “homophobe” and here’s why.

I think you would agree that the word “homo”, as a noun (not a prefix), is currently considered as one of the more offensive anti-gay slurs. Well the word homophobe takes the word “homo” puts it in front of “phobe,” creating a word that means “fear and/or loathing of homos.”

Whoever coined the word “homophobia” didn’t know what they were doing because an etymological breakdown of the word shows that the word is actually made up of a prefix (homo as in “same”) and a suffix (“phobia” as in fear) without a root word.

Technically, homophobia means “fear of the same” which doesn’t make a lot of sense, unless, you know, it is applied to someone with an irrational fear of cloning.

But that’s not what the coiners were doing. Whoever coined it was using homo as a root word – as in, “that guy is a homo” – and attached it to phobia, making homophobia more of a slur than homosexual. However, it doesn’t have any anti-gay baggage so it remains acceptable – proving that context is what matters.

I also took issue with the reason GLAAD says “homosexual” is off the table, that it was “aggressively used by anti-gay extremists.”

Well, sure , any word can be aggressively used by extremists, even polite ones, or, in this case, clinical ones. That’s the point. It’s not the word; it’s the context. And the reason that “homosexual” is the next word on the chopping block is not because there is something wrong with it; rather, it’s that there is something wrong with the way some people use it.

If we ban “homosexual” and make “gay” the appropriate term, bigots will eventually start saying “gay” with contempt, and in 10 years we’re back to the same place, banning “gay” this time in favor of the next acceptable word, and the next—killing word after word without understanding that no matter how many words we kill, the bigots live forever.

Thank you so much for your letter and the cordial tone with which it was written. I have great respect for GLAAD and its endeavors. Let me know if you need the gratis services of a spunky writer—I’d like to chip in.

Ed Decker,
San Diego CityBeat

“Hey Ed, seems like you’re writing an awful lot about gay rights these days? People are starting to talk. Are you a queer?” –Jon

Not that it’s any of your business, Jon, but if I were gay you’d know it. I’d be proud of it. And I’d be good at it. I’d be the best damn gay in America. I’d bartend in all the hippest fem bars, wear all the crazy fem colors, say “You go, girl!” to all my fem friends and give these legendary blowjobs that’d make you go blind. Oh yes, Jon, if I were gay, you would know all about it.

I remember the day I discovered I was heterosexual.

Of course, I was always heterosexual. I just didn’t know it had a name until I started hearing the kids in school talking about this other breed of human beings called homosexuals. I learned that homosexuals were filthy, awful, rotten people who did rotten, rotten, awful, filthy things to each other and the best way to deal with them was to banish them from your clique, expose them as freaks and drive them to the brink of suicide.

But then came the day when I found myself asking a terrifying question, “What if I am gay?” I was about 16 years old and sitting in my room, on my bed, thinking about my pal, Jeff. People were starting to talk about Jeff and the long, ugly process of his exile was beginning. So I was sitting there trying to come up with tactful ways to terminate our friendship without hurting his feelings (how humane of me) and got to thinking how terrible it must be for him–how terrible to be losing your friends, and what if his parents ever found out, and oh man I could never tell my parents–thank Christ I’m not gay. Wait a minute. How do I know I’m not gay? I never tried it before. How do I know I wouldn’t like it? And if I did like it, would that automatically make me gay? Could I be gay? Holy Jesus Mother of Christ, what if I’m gay!?

I had to find out.

So I scrunched my face with anxiety and began the agonizing process of envisioning myself in some horrifying homosexual entanglement–hoping with all my hope that I would not find even the smallest part of it appealing. At first I imagined that it was with a friend, but that vision was too revolting to even consider. So I quickly replaced him with some unknown imaginary male, which was only slightly less revolting, and imagined myself on my knees, preparing to unzip this unknown imaginary male’s fly, and–and just before his phallus could flop out before me, my eyeballs started sparking and my ears started smoking and my brain short-circuited and the whole torrid anti-fantasy shut down.
Whoop-ee! I thought. I’m straight, I’m straight! What a relief. I felt like jumping and dancing and singing the “I’m not gay” song. The one that goes, “I’m not gay/ I’m not gay/ Hooray for me/ I’m so not gay.”

Today I was watching that MTV reality show, True Life. The episode was titled, “I’m Coming Out.” It documented four or five closeted homosexuals, mostly young, who were about to reveal themselves to their loved ones. They all went through one familial wringer or another, but the parent who enraged me the most was this one woman who told her freshly outed son that being gay was contagious, like a disease, and that he could be cured and all this other ridiculous dark-ages bullshit, and I just thought, Wow, what a pathetic witch you are. That’s your son!

You know, being childless, I am certainly no expert on child rearing. But I know one thing–if I had a son and he told me he was gay, I’d say, “You go, girl!”

I’d say, “Atta way to have the moxie to be different and the courage to declare it.” Then I’d take him on a shopping spree. We’d come home with bags and bags-full of all the great gay clothes with all the great gay colors; a stack of CDs from all the great new gay bands, like Rave Against the Machine or Lollipop 6, a dozen or so homo how-to books and manuals; and subscriptions to gay magazines with articles like, “Going Gay in 10 Easy Steps” or “What to Do When Your Fag-Hag Becomes Unruly.” Then, when he was ready, I’d nudge him toward the front door and say, “Now go on out there and be the best damn queer you can be!”

Not in my wildest dreams would I make him to feel a freak as that troll on True Life did. To reject your son now, when he needs you most, will do more damage to his psyche than every gay-bashing baboon he will encounter for the rest of his life.

This is why I write about gay rights, Jon, because of women like that, because of guys like you, because it’s the right thing to do and because at this very moment there is a huge group of our fellow Americans being discriminated against right under our noses. So I will write about how totally and utterly fucked that is for as long and as often as I like.

EJD
12/15/04

Day 1 (Monday, March 27, 2018 ):

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 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 daddy with “Judas Priest” tattooed on his neck – stepped forward and unzipped his fly. “Prove it Hechro,” he said.

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 called it.

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 are the Champions,” and slipping gay porn through the mail slot. I am sleep deprived, malnourished, dehydrated – 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

There’s been much controversy about a Pentagon survey that was sent recently to enlisted men and women, seeking their views on the repeal of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell (DADT).

The survey asks such questions as how unit morale might be affected under a gay commander and how a repeal might affect willingness to serve in the military. One multiple-choice query asks, “If a gay or lesbian service member was living with a same sex partner on base, what would you most likely do?” with the answer options ranging from “I would get to know them” to “I would probably move off base” to “I would key their car and write ‘F.A.G.’ on their footlocker.” OK, the last one was not an actual option, but it might as well have been. The question is every bit as bigoted as if it had asked, “How would you feel if a couple of Jews moved next door?”

However, as obnoxious as the survey seems, the real question is: Why are we even asking the troops? It doesn’t matter what they think. It wouldn’t matter if every enlisted person, from brigadier general to the grunt who peels potatoes, were to express contempt for the repeal of DADT, because the military works for us. And by “us,” I mean the citizens of the United States, occupants of the land of the free and subscribers to an equality-granting Constitution, which, incidentally, every member of the armed forces took an oath to uphold and defend. It doesn’t matter what they think about DADT because, in the military, it’s Don’t Ask, Just Tell—as in, don’t ask the soldiers what they think, just tell them how it’s gonna be and deal with it.

Proponents of the survey say it’s important to learn how a repeal will affect the fragile egosystem that is troop morale, which is funny because I don’t recall any surveys asking how their morale is affected by crappy medical coverage and inadequate armor. Nobody asked them how they felt about the probability of coming home with a cranium-crushing case of PTSD. I never heard of a questionnaire that asked the soldiers, “How will your morale be affected when your buddy’s head suddenly explodes and his brainbits splash all over your face?” We don’t ask because the military is not a democracy. Neither is America, for that matter. We are, thank Christ, a federal republic

The founders knew there was a problem with democracy, and the problem is majority rule, which sounds righteous except I’ve met The Majority and The Majority blows ass-clarinets. The Majority is arrogant, selfish and stupid. The Majority is a mob without torches and pitchforks. If a survey had been given to the students of the infamous, all-white Topeka, Kansas, elementary school, circa 1951, asking if they wanted desegregation, the majority would have responded, “Are you flippin’ nuts?!” Ditto the general public, which felt integration would damage student morale and disrupt the classroom. But it didn’t matter what the students or the public thought. It mattered what the Constitution thought, and the Constitution thought segregation was fucked.

Still does.

Which is why it’s not important what the troops will say about repealing DADT, although I think I know. I think they’re going to say, “Are you flippin’ nuts?!” as if the moment DADT is repealed, a million gay boners will spring up in barrack showers across the country. And, really, isn’t that what their reluctance is all about? That all these big, bad, gun-toting, macho, combat-warrior types are all wondering, “What if a gay hits on me in the shower? What will I do then?”

C’mon, Army dude. You’re a big, bad, gun-toting, macho, combat-warrior type. Stop acting like a musophobic housewife standing on a chair, screaming hysterically as you whack at rodents with a broom. You want to know what to do if a homosexual makes a play in the shower? You say, “Thanks, gay army dude! I’m totally flattered, but I’m straight,” and continue washing yourself (being cautious not to lather near your sexy parts). If he persists, tell him to knock it off or you will key his car and write “D.O.U.C.H.E.” on his footlocker. Yeah, it’s a shitty position for someone to put you in, but consider it ironic punishment for all your unwanted attempts to steal third base with the unsuspecting club-guppies you pulled at closing time.

Brothers and sisters of the military, I have a dream. I have a dream that you will prove me wrong. I have a dream that you will see this survey, and the repeal of DADT, as your golden opportunity to ditch your meathead reputation. I dream that you will complete the survey in a way that tells the Pentagon, “Queers welcome here!” And then you’ll actually make a point to welcome them: You will be polite and kind. You will familiarize yourself with gay culture, learn how to speak Flamboyish, maybe paint one of the barrack’s walls chartreuse. Call it the Cpl. Klinger Society Wall and Bulletin Board, where your gay comrades can tack up their firemen calendars and Lady Gaga Fan Club announcements.

But if you don’t—if you marginalize and belittle, if you dehumanize or harm your fellow soldiers, fellow human beings—well, then, you are a hypocrite. You talk a big game about defending liberty, but you’re just another tyrant who shoots guns in the air and grunts “oorah” as you masturbate over the Soldier of Fortune centerfold, proving that it’s you, not homosexuals, who should have their military eligibility questioned.

Phobophobia  n. (fo-bo-fo-bee-uh) The fear of fear

Of all the results of Super Tuesday 2004, none so sickening as the overwhelming majority to strike down gay marriage. Of course, a lot of people don’t agree with this thesis. They say gay marriage wasn’t an important issue at all. That during a time when war is waging, the economy is teetering, our health care system is diseased, and The View is still on the air — that it was a huge waste of time arguing over such a silly non-issue as gay marriage.

Bullshit.

Gay marriage is as important an issue as any because it’s a civil rights issue. Perhaps you’ve heard of civil rights? You know, the ideology on which this country was founded. Power to the People and all that.

Of the 11 states that had gay marriage on the ballot, all 11 voted overwhelmingly for a ban. Eight of those states also prohibited civil unions. And now begins the nationwide movement toward a constitutional amendment banning gay marriage.

Basically, America has just told all its homosexual citizens, “Hey faggy, why don’t you just go back to Faglandia or wherever the Hell it was that you came from,” and I just want to take this moment to let all my homosexual brothers and sisters know that I, for one, am really happy to have you right here, in America, where you belong.

More than 20 million Americans from Oregon, Arkansas, Georgia, Kentucky, Michigan, Mississippi, Montana, North Dakota, Oklahoma, Ohio and Utah voted for the ban at an overall ratio of 2-to-1. In the four Southern states, the amendments received at least three-quarters of the votes, including a whopping 86 percent in Mississippi.

Of course, I’m not surprised that the religion-stricken commonwealth of Ohio voted for the ban — where state song is “With God, All Things are Possible” and the state bird is the cardinal. Nor Utah, a state so twisted by religious fundamentalism that a marriage between two consenting adult males is somehow more offensive than a marriage between a man and a dozen or so minor females. So no, it’s no surprise some of these states voted for the ban. But what I want to know is, how does a state like Kentucky, whose motto is “United we stand, divided we fall,” justify such an utterly divisive mandate?

And why is Arkansas so squeamish about sodomy when their state song is, “Arkansas (You Run Deep in Me).”

And Oregon?! Oregon is a blue state! It has the most fairy-friendly state motto ever written:

“Alis Volat Propiis (She Flies With Her Own Wings).”

But it is Mississippi who really twists my gonads. Good Old Mississip – where eighty-fucking-six percent of the voters voted for institutionalized discrimination and, given what I know about that region, the only reason the other 14 percent didn’t vote for the ban was because their was no provision to, “deport homos back to Homosexica, or whereever the Hell they came from.”

Sweet home Mississip, where the state bird is the red-necked peckerwood, the state sport is “Smear the Queer,” and the state motto is, “Mississippi: letting blacks marry whites since 1987.”

Ah Mississippi – you were one of the last* states in the country to repeal your obnoxious, anti-interracial marriage laws**and here you are again dictating who gets to marry who based on you childish, chickenshit fears.

That’s what you are Mississippi. You’re a chickenshit. Same goes to Kentucky and Georgia, and the rest. You’re all just pathetic little twerps afraid of what you don’t understand: You’re scared of strangers (xenophobic). You’re mortified by death (necrophobic). And you are terrified of terrorists (Osamaphobic).

You are afraid of the devil (demonophobic). You are even more afraid of God (theophobic). You’re afraid of sex (coitophobic) and drugs (pharmacophobic) and rock and roll (Ozzyphobic). You are damn near afraid of everything (panophobic) but no fear so ignorant as your fear of homosexuals (homophobia); or worse, your fear that a homosexual might turn you gay (homo-morpho-phobia), or worser still, that a homosexual may turn your children gay, (homo-morpho-pedo-phobia) or the ultimate of all your fears, that your son might be lured into the gay lifestyle by a swarm of queer spiders and be that way forever and ever (arachno-pedo-morpho-homo-infinito-phobia).

Yes Mississippi, your life is ruled by fear and well, I just thought you should know – I have a phobia too: I’m phobophobic. I’m fearful of fear. I am afraid of the havoc that all you fear-mongers wreak. I heard what fear did to the Jews in Germany. I know what happened to the savages Columbus encountered, what happened to the wops, the gooks, the micks, the yellow man, the beaners, the coloreds, and now the queers in the name of fear and I just keep waiting for the day when all of us phobophobics band together and start oppressing your chickenshit asses. Because you are the ones, if anyone, who should have to sit at the back of the bus, you are the ones who should wear an arm patch that says “Phoben”, you are the ones we should corner in a dark alley and pummel with bats, you are the ones who should go back to the planet Phobos** or from wherever the hell it was that you came.

Originally published in San Diego CityBeat, 11/2004

* It was Alabama that repealed its anti-miscegenation laws last (2000)

** Phobos is not a planet, but a moon to Mars

Secondly, not everyone who opposes gay marriage is afraid of gays. There may be some people who are, but there are all these other people out there who just think it’s wrong, and other people who think it’s ugly, and other people that really don’t mind it at all but just believe that a different word should be used to define a queer union, and all kinds of other people with all kinds of other emotions regarding homosexuality that don’t have anything to do with fear.

But lastly, and most significantly, the reason I loathe the word homophobe is because I just so happen to be one. Yes it’s true, I, Edwin John Decker Junior — son of Edwin John Decker Senior, son of the son of Earl Decker, who sailed from Scotland in a tattered raft and battled bigotry with bare knuckles when he arrived – am a stark raving homophobe.

Literally speaking that is. . .

********

The word homophobe was coined in 1971 by Psychologist George Weinberg in his book Society and the Healthy Homosexual. He coined the term at a time when the country hated homosexuals in astounding numbers some two years before the American Psychiatric Association dropped homosexuality as a mental disorder and, with regards to psychology and civil rights, you could certainly say George Weinberg was ahead of his time. But as an etymologist? Well don’t quit your day job George.

Typically, when a word is coined, a pre-existing root word is married with a pre-existing suffix, or prefix, or both, to form a new meaning. Such as the word erotophobia (fear of physical love), which combined the Greek root for eroticism (eros) with the Greek suffix for fear (phobos) and voila! Erotophobia.

The problem with the “homophobe” coinage is that “homo” is not the root of “homosexual.”  Homo is the prefix. It means “same,” as in, homograph (words that have the same spelling), or homophone (words that are pronounced the same), and Homosexual (sexual attraction or conduct with someone of the same gender). So if homo means “same” and phobos means “fear,” then homophobe means fear of the same.

Well whaddya know? I am a homophobe. I do fear sameness. I do fear everyone looking and acting like everyone else. I do fear Clear Channel monopolizing all media. I do fear the homogenization of society: fear that someday all the houses on the block will be homochromatic (same color), that all the plants will be homogamous (same flowers), and that all the religions on the Earth will be Homoousian (a Christian who supports the Trinitarian definition of Jesus Christ as being consubstantial with God the Father). Oh yeah, I phobos homos all right, just not the homos you’re thinking of. I bet you didn’t even realize, all those years, when you called someone a homo, what you really called them was, “a samer.”

Homophobe: “Hey samer!  You’re so same.

Queer Guy: “So?”

Homophobe: “Samey samey same same! Look everybody it’s a samer.”

Queer Guy: “Same as who?”

Homophobe: “Uh, well, um, same as everyone else I guess.”

Exxxxactly.

As I said, George Weinberger may have excelled in the fields of psychology and civil rights, but he was a disastrous word-maker. The man no language skills does he got. And the damage he did to the English dictionary is yet untold. For instance, what will his sloppy word-coinage do to the meanings of other words with the homo prefix?

Will the word homograph become a synonym for gay porn?

Will homophone become a hotline for queer escorts?

Does homeostasis now mean – “the ability to stay gay, despite peer pressure, familial guilt, or shock therapy?”

Homologue is now, “The incessant chatter of your stylist as he cuts your hair.”

Homochromatic becomes, the queer version of the old Andrew Dice Clay line, “She could suck the chrome off a trailer hitch.”

And Homogamous is now the utterly futile attempt for gay men to stay faithful.

Anyway, the point is, we need a new word to describe people who fear and/or loathe gay people. Racist is obviously no good. Bigot kind of works, but not specific enough. Homosexualphobe is too long and clunky. Oh wait, I know. How about Homosexualnist

Or is there?

It just so happens that we here at the Sordid Tales Department of Social Engineering have the solution to this controversial cultural conflict. It’s called Marriage with an Asterisk. Problem solved.

Seems to me, the reason that homosexuals desire the right to marry is to enjoy the same privileges as everyone else and really to just be included in society, while the reason others oppose it is because they think there is something very wrong with homosexuals and including them into normal society is about as horrifying to them as having Lindsay Lohan babysit their kids
.
So where can a compromise be found? Marriage with an Asterisk of course.
I think Married* should be the legal designation of a union between two members of the same sex. The county clerk could stamp an asterisk on their marriage license and from there-on-out the new couple should use asterisks on whatever other formal documents and applications they may sign during the life of the union.

Such as, “In case of emergency please contact my husband*” Or “What’s your Marital Status?: single, divorced, married or married*?”

It’s truly the best of both worlds. With Marriage with an Asterisk, we can still allow gays to marry, and glean all the legal rights and benefits that come with it, but with an asterisk attached to signal to the bigots and homophobes of the world that there is something different about this particular couple so that they may continue fearing and loathing them in their usual bigoted, homophobic manner.

That’s what it’s all about right? To allow homosexuals to marry each other is basically normalizing this type of relationship. And if we start sending that message, well what’s to keep everyone from going gay? I ask you, what’s to keep everyone from simultaneously leaving their jobs and families to go racing off into the forest to find the great homo swimming hole and diving in and splashing and thrashing around with gayphoria while civilization goes to Hell in a Hummer.

Sordid Tales understands your concerns.

But even the most carbuncle-brained homophobe can recognize that, as much as he fears and loathes the spread of homosexuality, it’s still probably wrong to deny them the basic human rights that marriage allows everyone else: like Power of Attorney, or inheritance rights, or the right to go on a scandalous humping binge while your wife* is home cooking dinner.

Hence Marriage with an Asterisk.

For instance, let’s say I am a bigot who owns property. What if someone of a homo persuasion dropped off a rental application with only “Married” written under the “marital status” section? How am I supposed to know not to rent to him and his husband*? The next thing you know my quiet little family compound turns into a Roman bathhouse: with greased-up, torch-bearing gladiators walking around in skimpy armor and the constant, throbbing cacophony of techno music and bleating farm animals keeping us awake all night.

However, if he listed his marital status as Married* then I would know that it would not be prudent to rent to this couple; even though it would technically be illegal to deny them (on the grounds of their sexuality). See how beautiful that is? This way I, the individual, may continue forth in my canker-brained bigoted ways, while at the same time the government can remain neutral on social issues.
Marriage with an Asterisk.

It’s like when we freed the slaves in 1862. We didn’t actually set them free. We set them free with an Asterisk. Because freedom without an asterisk means that we don’t make them drink from a different water fountain and we don’t routinely round up lynch mobs to keep them in check; because everybody knows a free* Negro is less dangerous than a free one.

I think we should employ the asterisk more often in this society. An asterisk helps us maintain a neutral position; like when we say, “Michael Jackson sleeps* with boys.” And maybe if President Bush had said that Iraq’s threat to America was imminent*, he wouldn’t be in the soup right now. And then there is, perhaps, mankind’s most valuable application of the asterisk: an asterisk on love.

You know that awkward moment in a new relationship, the first time your new boy or girlfriend says the L word to you and you don’t know yet if you can say the L word back? Well now you can say it — with an asterisk.

“Honey, I think I’m in love with you – coo, coo.”

“I love* you too babe.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means that I love you, but I still look at other women, but I won’t sleep with them (unless they let me) and even if I do, it still doesn’t mean I love them, or even love* them for that matter — I only love* you.

“Oh babe, that’s so sweet*”

See how useful that tiny little star is? Each one of them is like a hit of Ecstasy. It just makes everyone so happy. No more fighting over who loves who, no more hidden political double speak, no more arguing over who should be permitted to marry whom.

It’s marriage with an asterisk people, and everybody wins.

Until today, when I happened upon a statistic saying of the 31 states (including Maine and Oregon) that put same-sex marriage to a popular vote, every one of them shot it down!

Not to be confused with the five states (Massachusetts, Vermont, Connecticut, Iowa, New Hampshire) that legalized gay marriage via the legislature, the 31 states in question took the issue to the citizens, and the citizens denied it, as if to say, “Get back in the dungeon, gay people! You’re scaring the kids!” In my mind, the reasons for the countrywide smack down are: A) The medieval barbarians who ran all those anti-gay marriage campaigns blatantly lied and, B) The people who believed the lies were unbelievably stupid, idiotic and dumb.

Now, it should be noted that I normally don’t like to string three words together that mean the same thing but, in this case, if you actually believed the horsey sauce they were spreading, then three words for “stupid” are needed to describe you—not in the concurrent sense, but for their accumulative properties. What I’m saying is, you have to be stupid³ to believe the campaign battle cry that rallied conservative voters across the country. And what they said—on the TV, the radio and the rest, in each of the 31 states and beyond—was that same-sex marriage would be taught in elementary schools—taught to your kids—if it were made legal, which, of course, is a raging distortion, fib and falsehood. It’s a lie³ is what I’m saying.

There was nothing in the Maine, or any other, initiative about “teaching” gay marriage. What does “teaching gay marriage” mean, anyway? How is that done? And why would we? We don’t even teach straight marriage in school.

In a now-infamous anti-gay-marriage television commercial targeting the citizens of Maine, a Massachusetts couple is sitting on a couch talking about how the book King and King (a children’s story about a gay prince) was read to their son’s second-grade class, which gay-marriage opponents surmised had happened because Massachusetts legalized gay marriage.

“He’s in second grade!” gasped the mother, appalled by the evidence that gays are trying to brainwash her child to join the Army of Queer so that he might start goose-stepping around the neighborhood with his toy rifle, kablam-blam-blamming the homosexual agenda in everyone’s faces.

Nice try, anti-gay-marriage campaigners, except, exposing a child to the existence of gay marriage is not “teaching” it. That would be like saying Dr. Seuss was teaching climatology because there was a picture of a cloud on Page 6 of Horton Hears a Who! Exposing somebody to something, even condoning it, is not the same as teaching it. An example of “teaching” same-sex marriage would be if the headmaster stood at the head of the class pointing at diagrams on a chalkboard saying, “Now class, this is how you inhale amyl nitrate poppers” and “Here’s how to perform the ‘scissors’ maneuver” and so on. Teaching is more than “exposing,” and to portray what happened that one time in the Massachusetts classroom as “teaching”—as if the entire Massachusetts school system was brainwashing the student body to enlist in the Army of Queer—well that damn well needs to be called out, if for no reason than to clear away the lies³ and stupidity³ so we can get to the real crux of the matter, which is whether legalizing gay marriage will brainwash kids into believing that it’s OK for gays to get married, or even worse, that it’s OK to be gay, should they ever decide to go that way. And, of course, the answer is yes, you’re damn right it’s OK, and, yes, absolutely, the goal is to brainwash your children, and, yes, homophobes should be scared as crap about that.

Whether their children’s school is exposing, condoning or teaching, gay marriage, the bottom line is that the Army of Queer is advancing, one shiny, black-booted goosestep at a time. Homosexuals are inching closer to equality in this country, and the children are receiving that message loud and clear, thanks in part to activist books like King and King, warrior heroes like San Francisco Mayor Gavin Newsom and queer-friendly television programs like Sons of Anarchy, which depicts a queer motorcycle gang acting all queer and shit.

Thanks to all this exposure, when the kids grow up, they will not think of gays as creatures who should be stowed in a dungeon like some scary, gruel-eating gimp. They’ll remember gays walking hand-in-hand in the parks, holding political positions and riding around on motorcycles, acting all gay and shit, which is why homophobes are fighting gay marriage to the bloody end.

So, let’s be honest—yes, there is a gay agenda, and since it’s too late to brainwash adults, yes, the agenda is to brainwash children, brainwash them into being loving, tolerant human beings who embrace diversity. That is not the same as trying to turn kids gay, which you’d have to be a stupid, idiot, moron, fool, nincompoop, dunce, dizzard, chump, boob, bumpkin, dunderhead, fathead, brain-dead, ninny, nitwit, simp, juggins, dope, twit, goof, imbecile, pinhead, ignoramus to believe. Stupid²³ is what you’d have to be to believe that hooey.

A recurring argument by the traditional-marriage crowd, or, as I like to call them, the Anti-Gay Relationship Orthodoxy (AGRO), is that marriage has always been defined as a union between one man and one woman. And guess what? They’re right! In every dictionary I checked, marriage is primarily defined as a union between one man and one woman. What they don’t say is that most words have multiple definitions, such as the words in my trusty American Heritage 3rd Edition, which additionally defines marriage as, simply, “a close union.”

This is not the only problem with the AGRO argument.

Whenever somebody asks me what the definition of marriage should be, my first response is always, “It depends on what your definition of definition is.” Are we talking about a religious definition, a legal definition or a lay definition? Because they’re not always the same thing.

Take the word “mayhem.”

“Mayhem” has a different legal definition than lay. The California Penal Code defines mayhem as any act that “maliciously deprives a human being of a member of his body. . . or renders it useless.” However, the lay definition, which is to say, the standard dictionary definition, is less restrictive. There’s no need for someone to be dismembered or maimed to satisfy the lay definition of “mayhem.” It can just mean “chaos” or “riotous havoc,” as in, “Yo, dude–it was total mayhem in the Jonas Brothers mosh pit last night!”

Now take the word “marriage.”

The differences between the religious definition of marriage and the legal and lay versions are profound: The religious definition is a sacred union between one man, one woman and an invisible man with a white beard sitting on a throne in the sky.

Not true with the lay or legal definitions. When it comes to legally recognizing marriage, there is no requirement that it be sacred or include God. As far as the lay version goes, I certainly won’t be letting that crusty old God grouch into the Decker connubial bed any time soon. The Guy’s Dutch ovens reek like sewage spills off the coast of Smellgium for crissake.

So, I ask again, to which definition of marriage are the AGROs referring?

If it’s the religious definition of marriage, then sure, that should stand as is. The Catholic Church has every right to consider marriage as a sacred union between one man, one woman and one hairy old deity with a nuclear gastrointestinal system.

If it’s a legal definition, well that’s a no-brainer also. Laws and their definitions change all the time, and there is no reason we can’t change this law so that it’s, you know, humane and fair.

If it’s the dictionary definition of marriage you seek, well dig this: It doesn’t matter what the dictionary says! Dictionaries are not the boss of us. We are the bosses of dictionaries. Because their definitions are based on how we use words in the field, so we, as a society, can define any word any way we want.

The AGROs talk about the definition of marriage as though words are set in stone and dictionaries are flawless. However, dictionaries, like bibles, are imperfect. They are written by human beings who bring their prejudices and predilections to the tome.

“The English language is changing all the time and at an increasingly dizzy pace,” says language expert Bill Bryson. “In 1987 when Random House produced the second edition of its unabridged dictionary, it included 50,000 words that had not existed and 75,000 new definitions of old words.”

Point being, even if the dictionary definition of marriage had only one entry and that entry said, “Marriage is a union between a man and a woman and that’s it, nobody else can get married, we really mean it now so don’t even think about trying to change it or we will send bloodhounds out to track you down and eat your face”–we could still change it.

Samuel Johnson, the genius lexicographer, once wrote, “No dictionary of a living tongue can ever be perfect, since, while it is hastening toward publication, some words are budding and some are fading away.” Note Johnson’s gorgeously apropos phrase “a living tongue,” which is not to say that language is this grotesque, wet, squirmy red thing, but that it is alive, ever-growing, ever-changing.

Johnson, incidentally, is the quintessential example of how dictionaries are subject to their authors’ human failings. His magnum opus, A Dictionary of the English Language, had a myriad of problems: It contained several spelling inconsistencies. The etymologies were widely criticized. Johnson was given to fits of editorializing. “And his proofreading was strikingly careless, [as when] he defined garret as a ‘room on the highest floor of the house’ and cockloft as ‘the room over the garret,’” Bryson wrote.

So please, please spare us this red-herring question of what the definition of marriage is. It doesn’t matter. What matters is what it should be and what it should be is this: “A union between any two (or more) people who love each other (or not) and want to be bound together for life (or at least a few months) because, you know, it’s their business, so butt out or we will release the hounds to bite off your face!”

Anything less is an abomination.

Originally published in San Diego CityBeat

You’ve probably heard about the four firefighters who recently won a sexual-harassment lawsuit against the city in the amount of approximately $30K.

According to their complaints, the firemen, John Ghiotto, Jason Hewitt, Alex Kane and Chad Allison, were ordered by their superiors to participate in the 2007 Gay Pride parade, during which they were subjected to all sorts of, you know, gay stuff: cat-calls, blow-kisses, Excessive Butt Cheek Exposure, indecent exposure, Hairy Chested Auto-Erotic Nipple Stimulation, man-prancing and simulated sex acts—all the flamboyancy some of us actually look forward to seeing at a gay-pride event. Not the firemen, though—they claimed the event caused headaches, anxiety, nightmares, peer taunting and irritable bowels.

Upon learning of this lawsuit, my gut reaction was, Are you serious? Nightmares? Anxiety? Irritable bowels? It is incomprehensible to me that these manly-man-hero types, who rush into collapsing, burning buildings, could get all vag-damaged about a gay picnic. However, after reading the complaints, I must admit, they did have several legitimate beefs, causing me to rethink my opinion. Let’s examine:

1. Sexual Harassment?: On one hand, whatever, dudes. This is not a person going into his or her job every day suffering unwanted advances from superiors and being routinely touched or groped by some intra-office oaf or oafette. This was a one-time thingamajig—off premises, with no physical contact—where the worst that happened was their machismo got threatened.

On the other hand, fair is fair. If this was, say, the Oversexed Heterosexual Misogynist Construction Workers Pride Parade, and the city sent an engine full of firebabes into the fray, you can bet your daughter’s dowry they would have sued the city for a crap-ton more than $30,000, and won!

2. Courage vs. Cowardice: On one hand, it takes a special kind of chickenshit to get his bowels in a twist over a little man-prancing. On the other, it was courageous for them to stand up and fight for what they believe is right, knowing full well they would be labeled homophobes at a time when “homophobe” is as ugly an epithet as “racist” or “pedophile” or “Cheney.”

3. Frivolous Lawsuit: I don’t know which is worse, that these four hydrant monkeys might be faking the whole thing or that seeing gay people makes their colons go spastic. On the other hand, they were forced to participate:
“If you refuse the direct order than [sic] you will be suspended,” the Battalion Chief reportedly told Hewitt.

So, yeah, the brass knowingly placed these men, each one of them as straight as a boner on a stick figure, in the middle of a sea of queer. Have you ever seen a flamboyant gay man lose his shit over a fireman calendar? It ain’t pretty. Now multiply that reaction by tens of thousands and throw in a real, live flesh-and-muscle firefighter and, well, the SDFD, and City Hall, and every single San Diego citizen are really effin’ lucky those guys didn’t snap and turn the hoses on the crowd in an effort to extinguish the flamers—because that lawsuit would’ve taken everything but the petty cash.

4. Peer Hazing: In his complaint, Hewitt alleges, “derogatory communications by coworkers [for] being in the Gay Pride Parade,” to which most people’s reaction would probably be, “Aw, your little friends were making fun of you? Boo-hoo.”

But, it is a brutal homophobic culture in the locker rooms of manly man occupations like firefighter, soldier or professional athlete. The potential for serious hazing is truly there—the kind of Lord of the Flies-type hazing that doesn’t know the line between cruelty and humor, the kind of hazing that can really break a person in half.

5. Gay Paraders’ Culpability: Along the route, the laddermen were subjected to verbal taunts such as “Show me your hose,” “Give me mouth to mouth” and even more abusive comments like “Fuck you, firemen” when they didn’t play along. They also witnessed gestures such as “showing their penis, grabbing their crotch, rubbing nipples… and flipping us off,” wrote Capt. John Ghiotto in his affidavit. “I personally had a man approach me on the driver’s side… and state, ‘You look hungry, why don’t you have a Twinkie….’ I felt like he was insinuating something sexual.”

Do ya think?! Wow, Captain, how did you ever break that code?

OK, on the one hand, hey, it was all in the name of a good time, right? Nobody got hurt, homosexuals are harmless, Twinkies are yummy. On the other, anyone who yelled, “Fuck you,” or gave the finger, or intentionally intimidated or distressed the cinderfellas with overt, graphic, explicit sexual conduct or innuendo are, in my opinion, callous, classless, non-actualized, unsympathetic loser scumbag asshole jagoffs, not necessarily in that order.

6. Homophobia?: “This complaint isn’t about homosexuality or gay pride,” writes Hewitt. “This has to do with people in the workplace being threatened [and] sexually harassed,” and you know what, on one hand, I almost actually believe him.

But then, on the other, if this were the Hot Soccer Moms Who Just Got Divorced and Are Desperate For a Little Sumtin-Sumtin Pride Parade, well, I’m pretty sure everybody’s bowels would’ve come out of that one whistlin’ Dixie.    

Write to ed@sdcitybeat.com. For more, visit www.edwindecker.com. Come to O’Connell’s on Saturday, March 14, for Ed Decker’s most awesome music showcase. E-mail Ed for details.