Please do not pinch the fruit
Dear California,
You hurt my feelings. After this Proposition Hate business, I don’t think things can ever go back to the way they were between us. I know you’re trying to say that it’s not about us, it’s really just about trying to preserve some traditional values in these crazy times. But it seems to me that the right to get divorced is very traditional–in fact, de rigeur–and we can’t get divorced unless we get married. So you’re really just holding us back.
Anyway, if you didn’t want to get married, you could have just said so. Like, an email or a phone call would have sufficed. It is so embarrassing to go around canceling our registries in response to a constitutional amendment. Everyone knows….
But in an effort to understand what happened, I have been engaging in extensive ethnographic research about your culture. By this, I mean that I have watched a marathon of Million Dollar Listing, during which I also saw enough promo spots for the new season of Real Housewives of Orange County to figure I got the drift. What I have garnered from R.H.o.O.C. is something like this: Women in your country are very catty, so they probably need strong men to control them. Lesbianism would clearly lead to endless hair pulling and face scratching. Additionally, it seems that your sons are very prone to disappoint their mothers. Again, the need for strong male figures (but not in that Greek nasty-nasty way).
My ethnographic work with Million Dollar Listing has been more extensive. My research focused on three informants, whose names I have changed to protect their anonymity. I will refer to them here as the Ferret, the Monkey, and Wheaties.
The Ferret is approximately 12 years old and has an eccentric bowl-cut circa 60s Beetles which he is obsessed with having be “perfect.” In fact, he is generally obsessed with things being perfect, supposedly because image is important in real estate, but more likely because of his disapproving father (a classic Freudian set-up). His girlfriend, whom I will call the Chippy, could be replaced by a blow-up sex doll (model: female, blond) to no ill or even noticeable effect. His teeth are luminously, even psychedelically, white. Strong attachment to mother.
The Monkey, recently arrested for high-end art theft, refers to himself as a “dream weaver” and was likely raised by tranny hookers. He is prone to making statements like, “I bought these jeans on sale–for $600!” Spends a lot of time with overweight homosexuals and his Holocaust-survivor grandmother. In one notable interaction, his grandmother, whom I will refer to as Grandmother, insists that she is not leaving him a dime when she dies. The conversation might be paraphrased as follows:
Grandmother (strong non-distinct European accent): I am not leaving you anything. I’m giving it all to charity.
Monkey: It’s because of the war, isn’t it? The war is over, Grandma!
It is likely that the Monkey is being routinely raped by his dentist, Dr. Sam, whose contrived faux-British accent is clearly some kind of hypno-ray with which he stuns the Monkey into performing lurid sex acts. The Monkey and the Ferret have some sort of rivalry which erupts into embarrassing girl fights whenever they run into each other. I am guessing that they had a “just the tip” encounter which went badly.
Wheaties is by far the most wholesome of the bunch, although he admits to liking both men and women–which we all know is the second of three conversations you have with your friend before he finally admits to being full-blown gay. Wheaties has the body of a Greek god, and apparently enjoys being filmed while showering. He frequently refers to his “friends,” but when he is seen interacting with them, never seems particularly friendly. Following a blind date with a cute brown-haired gay boy, he completely harshed on him.
Cute Brown-haired Gay Boy: So, will I see you again?
Wheaties: Did you feel the connection?
CBGB: ….um, well, yeah. Didn’t you?
Wheaties: No.
(pause)
CBGB: The truth hurts…..
Then, they did the A-frame hug, which is never a good sign. As you know, California, when gay boys like each other, they hug peepee-to-peepee. Direct genital contact initiates the mating ritual, which is:
So, California, this is what I have learned: All of your men are ambiguously gay, except the few who are decidedly straight, and they are all douche bags. In other words, your society is in imminent danger of utter collapse. I get it, you are panicking. You are worried that if you allow gay marriage, all of your men who are basically gay already will run out, get gay married, and subsequently drive away the few remaining eligible Persians. All I can say to this is:
You’re probably right. But I’m guessing the earthquakes will get you first.
Kisses!
S.P.
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