We actually know heterosexual men. Straight males who love the furry clam, the pink taco, the innie, not the outie, the hole not the pole. Five of them – no, six – wait, make that seven. Maybe 6.5. One of the straightest of them made us a fabulous gingerbread house. God love him, he knew we could use a little Christmas, right this very minute and he came across.
My favorite part? The tiny little gingerbread man packing a tiny little gingerbread bazooka.
The artist claimed it was no such thing, that, instead, it represented him carrying in firewood, but considering how carefully he’s aiming it at his tiny little gingerbread wife, I am not fooled.
I recognize psychosexual dynamics, the madonna/whore conflict, the terror of the desired that straight men have to live with. Of course, we gays don’t have all that; we just don’t like pussy.
Unless it looks like this.
I snagged this photo from Kevin over at The Lisp and let me just thank him publicly. I think this will be my favorite Xmas present this year.
I genuinely am delighted with the house; the artistry is very impressive and it was most considerate of the old darling to make it for us. I had to have a very firm talk with Saki about not fucking with it. Negotiating with a cat: always your first mistake.
And it seems as if this will be the only gesture towards the season we will be presenting this year at Chez peenee. That’s fine with me, I’m lukewarm towards Christianity as a whole. Most of my religious instruction consisted of “Shut up and sit down” so once I escaped and understood the whole thing was a Jewish fairytale about a zombie starring in a snuff film featuring his cannibalistic ex-boyfriends, I don’t know, the magic sort of escaped me.
But let me go on the record as being firmly in favor of gingerbread houses.