Gay Marriage and Clovis
Saturday, November 22, 2003 at 1:23PM |
If God hates homos, I now believe it's for being - per capita - just as stupid as the rest of the people on Earth. And that kind of stupidity should breed contempt in even the most forgiving of divine beings. High-five on your right to get married, Ladybird. Welcome to the club of fucking idiots. This is one of many reasons that I would rather be a dog or a silverfish than human. Let's try to make this simple. There is no reason for "law" to ever be involved in a personal relationship of any kind, ever, for any reason. If you want to give to give your relationship a title - whether it be "going out", "hooking up" or "seeing each other" - that is your own business.
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"Do you, Archibald, take this man to be your lawfully wedded..." |
If you think making a commitment to one another deserves a public celebration, go to Pistol Pete's Pizza, stomp on a glass in a hankie and declare yourselves "on the verge of finger-fucking" or whatever it is you want to call it.
The reason that marriage exists today is that one prick, somewhere in time, invented it and now you have to do it. Like Secretaries Day, some shitbean at a greeting card company invented it, promoted it and now you have to give her a card or a flower or you are an asshole.
The main reason it continues to exist is ego. There are very few moments in life where the average person has all the attention on them. Your birthday, graduation, wedding, childbirth and death. Those make up your 15 minutes. So you sign the contract and get all giddy because finally a bunch of people will be paying a lot of attention to you.
For no reason whatsoever.
Marriage doesn’t do anything, legal or otherwise. It is a cute sentiment at best. Terrell Owens of the San Francisco 49ers has dedicated the rest of the season to his Grandma who has Alzhiemers. Adorable and sweet or pointless and empty, depending on how dark or logical you are. Either way, it means nothing -other than sentiment. No matter how much he means it, it doesn’t effect the outcome of the game.
Now imagine that there were a government institution of “dedication”, where one would have to “legally” dedicate a season to a dying person. Sounds ridiculous, but you’d do it out of emotion and for the fact that someone invented it and now you have to.
Next imagine that, should you not win the rest of the season, you will be held legally responsible and have to hire lawyers and bargain away part of your earnings. You’d still risk it, because you love your Grandma and this is for her.
Now imagine faggots wanted to dedicate seasons to other faggots. Your Grandma weren’t no faggot! I’ll fight against any faggot getting the right to dedicate no seasons to nobody, much less other faggots!
Stupid faggots.
Stupid people.
They have you fighting on two sides of an issue that shouldn’t exist.
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I wish I were a silverfish. |
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Those of you who weren’t around may read this and say “Well, you’re married”.
I got “legally” married at 20 when I lived in Vegas, to a woman I had known 2 weeks, as a drunken goof. Marriage never meant anything to me, legal or otherwise.
I got married again last year to a woman I truly love, as a drunken goof . This time it wasn’t “legal”. We just said we are married. What’s the difference? The only difference is that I have to explain these long-winded yet simple points every time someone asks if I am married.
I think from now on I will refer to the woman I call my wife as my gay lover.
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My gay lover, Renee, is alive and well and on the air in Salida, Colorado. She's on Tuesdays from 9-11pm mountain on KHEN 106.9. She kicks ass. She has that dirty, sultry late-night radio voice that you'd jack to late at night as a low-teen. Call her at 719-539-1069 during those hours on Tuesday and request "You Dropped A Bomb On Me" by the Gap Band. That'll teach her to not read my site. |
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Spent a night in Clovis, NM on my way from Austin to Colorado. One of the most surreal moments in my comedy career happened here. I had a gig here about 12 years ago when I was first working the road. Becker was in tow and we were about 20 miles outside of Roswell on the way to the gig 100 miles ahead when the transmission took a big shit in the road. 20 miles outside of Roswell is absolute nothing. 360 degrees worth. No traffic, no call box, not even a hillbillie to rape you. I packed an overnight bag out of my shit in the trunk to hitchhike to the gig, leaving Becker behind to hitch backto Roswell for a tow. I stood on the side of Highway 70, wondering if anyone, much less anyone willing, would drive by. After a couple minutes of nothing but wind and tumbleweeds, I see a vehicle heading my way. As it approaches, I see that it's a bus. |
There's no remote control in Clovis |
A city bus. A regular Metro-exact change-10 cent transfer-bus pass-city-fucking-bus.
And we are about 300 miles from any city that would even have a public transit system.
It slows down in front of me and the doors open with a whoosh. Without a word, I look at Becker to make sure this is as fucked up as it seems. Becker looks at me and shrugs. I shrug back and get on the bus.
The doors close behind me with the same air-compression whoosh and we head north as I look out the window at Becker - still standing by the car on the side of the road in the most desloate chunk of desert you have seen in a RoadRunner cartoon - both of us with a look of confusion so deep it may have never come off.
Turns out there is a factory that makes buses in Roswell and he was delivering this bus to NYC. Not only that but it turns out that his route goes right past the club - the Clovis City Limits bar - so 100 miles later the door whoosed again and I was 20 yards from the stage, the only price to pay was listening to 2 hours of the bus drivers opinions on niggers and faggots and Marge Schott's ability to tell it like it is.
Sometimes it's important to speak up to shitheads like this.Sometimes it's best to just nod and change the subject. I don't care how big a patriot you are, if your lost at sea, you don't toss away a life preserver because it says Made In Korea on the bottom.
I walked away from the bus and across the parking lot and wondered what it must be like to lose.
This night in Clovis with a new car, credit cards, AAA, cell phone and disposable income, Clovis was nothing but a place to crash but on that day, Clovis was filled with something way too incredible to simply right off as something so boring as Jesus.
I took more back roads out of Clovis, north thru Grady and Logan and Mosquero, towns so small and out of the way that oncoming traffic will always wave.
At 70 miles an hour, I picked up a new hood ornament.
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Four days later, it was still there.
I'm back in LA now for the Commie Awards, hence the reason I am not in Baltimore. The Man Show is in repeats for another several weeks before the start of the second half of the season. I heard it may move to Thursdays because Sunday Football kicks it in the eggs. God knows football is beating the shit out of me, too. 0-11 on my bets two weeks ago. Not much better last week.
Doug
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