I personally equate sexuality with potato or corn based snacks – there’s loads of different ways in which you can have it. To me, homosexuality is much like Monster Munch for example – it’s perfectly wholesome… many people adore it… but it all seems a bit too big to put in my mouth. Stretching the analogy to its absolute limit – and then a tiny bit further – I prefer my crisps to be shaped like little ladygardens.
It’s all about personal choice… A little of what you fancy does you good… Warning: May contain nuts…
Some people on the ultra-extreme fringes of the Christian church, however, believe that all homosexuals are the living puppets of Satan. The gatherings along said murky fringes of Jesusville are popularly described as ‘cults’ – huge, gaping, bible belt, baboon filled cults.
I’m not talking here about ‘proper’ Christians (i.e. those who actually take a little bit of notice of what Jesus might have said). I’m talking about weak minded, homophobic lunatics who believe that a gay marriage reception would somehow look like a cross between Don’t Tell the Bride and Night of the Demons. The issue particularly annoys me at the moment, as gay marriage is very much in the news, meaning that members of the religious right are getting all the spare air time that us hacked off HB/NWs crave daily…
I have had some of these overzealous, crazed Satan spotters trying to warp my worldview in the past. When a great friend of mine came out to me, I agreed to travel with him on an impromptu five hour road trip to his new home, staying overnight with him and getting the train back home in the morning. The idea was to share a bit more about or lives now that new, exciting things were happening… All well and good, until the Pastor of a ‘church’ that I’m now ashamed to say that I visited told me that, as my pal had confessed to quite liking willies, he was now completely over-run by evil minions of the Darkest One. I was told in no uncertain terms that my demon possessed chum would try to touch me in the naughties should I get into his car that night.
To be fair, Pastor Numbnuts wasn’t a real homophobe, as he pretty much believed that everyone was possessed – therefore treating the entire population with equal contempt. Ironically, Numbnuts was being remarkably politically correct when it came to good old fashioned bigotry and hatred – sharing it around liberally so that no particular group felt left out. (I believe that civilised society will be judged on how we treat our idiots, so let’s be kind to the Pastor and just call him a very nasty man, shall we ?!)
There was, of course, a way out for all the Beelzebub bothered brethren. Whatever the particular affliction, anyone who had been grabbed by the ghoulies could come to the front during an altar call and have a hand laid on his or her fear filled forehead. The holy spirit of god would descend upon them (apparently) making everyone breakdance badly and wail like Kate Bush on her monthlies, at which point they would be cured of satanitis. Every week, grannies would shuffle forward, gurn a bit, do some bodypopping as if zapped by invisible deity rays, then shuffle back to their seats with a happy, simpleton smile. Well, it got them out of the house I suppose.
It was as if god – supposedly omnipotent and omnipresent – was looking down on the world like an overworked plumber, sucking air inwards through his teeth and telling us all that, although he could technically get rid of all demon blockages in the toilet of humanity, he had a terrible backlog and would only service the spiritual pipework of individuals if they were willing to speak to Pastor Numbnuts. The Pastor, a kind of holier-than-thou odd job boy that did all the dirty work and cleaned up god’s van at the end of every shift, could then wiggle his hand on the relevant people’s craniums and force them to do the electric boogaloo, during which any self respecting hounds of darkness would run like the wind. (I know I would under those circumstances!)
I still ended up travelling with my friend to Bournemouth and we had a lovely time. We slept in the same bedroom and I’m happy to report that no evil spirits forced him to put anything remotely near my bottom.
But you shouldn’t trust me on the matter – I don’t agree with Pastor Numbnuts on how the Universe works, so it probably means that I’m absolutely riddled with imps. As a result, you really shouldn’t listen to a word that I’ve said.
© Nova Amiko and The Has Been Who Never Was 2012. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Nova Amiko and The Has Been Who Never Was with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.