Your Rainbow Flag Decal Won’t Get You Into Heaven Anymore


I made a mistake yesterday.  Of course, that doesn’t happen often, but it did yesterday.  I read Slate.  This isn’t usually a problem.   However, I read the Dear Prudence section.  That is always a mistake.

Let me just say before this goes too far, I have no problem with the Gays.  You will get my vote in November concerning the marriage amendment.  I don’t remember if I’m supposed to vote Yes or No, but I’m all for being against an amendment that would not prohibit you from not being allowed to not get married.  Or something.  Life is short and brutal enough.  If you are able to find love and happiness with someone and want to spend the rest of your life with that person in a committed relationship, what business is it of mine?  It’s your funeral.  Marriage is a wonderful institution.  If you want to live in an institution that’s your decision.

Like Huck, I’ve also tried to stop using the word "gay" as a pejorative.  It is a cruel and juvenile habit that takes a while for some of us to shake.  Although, after reading this letter to Dear Prudence, if you want us to stop using the word like that, you have to get your fellow co-gender orientationists to stop acting so goddamn….ok, I don’t have a word to describe it that doesn’t also mean "gay" in a pejorative sense.

If you are such a prissy freak show that the hat worn by the guy installing your granite counter tops and putting vintage tile on your back splash offends you so that you are driven to writing a letter to an online manners diva, you probably shouldn’t be allowed to get married or even to leave the house, lest something offend you on the way to the courthouse. 

If we reversed the roles in the example given, would it be acceptable or even rational for a Williamson County housewife to get her Ann Coulter cocktail dress in a wad if the guy who came over to install the alarm system to keep her children safe from Liberals, Negroes and Illegal Immigrants wore a shirt that said "Jesus had 2 Daddies"?  Would a call to Steve Gill be warranted in that case?  Sure, everyone in Westhaven would be scandalized, but at least the alarm system would be up and running.

I have to theorize that this letter was fabricated by Prudence herself.  Kind of like the letters to Penthouse.  Prudence is correct in her response.  If you can find a contractor who does good work for a reasonable price, as long as they don’t show up in an orange prison jumpsuit you need to keep them.

Is this why I can’t find work?  Stop discrimination against the oppressed contractor!
 0740-5901-front-sm.jpgmy actual hard hat.







9 Responses to “Your Rainbow Flag Decal Won’t Get You Into Heaven Anymore”

  1. brittney Says:

    Excellent post. Two thumbs up.

  2. Katherine Coble Says:

    The letters to Penthouse are made UP?????

  3. S&F Says:

    Not yours, Kat, I recognized your writing style immediately.Your description of a man in biker shorts was an example of perfect porn prose.

  4. S&F Says:

    Not yours, Kat, I recognized your writing style immediately.Your description of a man in biker shorts was an example of perfect porn prose.

  5. bridgett Says:

    I love your hard hat. My dad had a similar one when I was a kid. (Construction worker, height of ‘Nam, big f’in flag on his head, 6’4" and 210 pounds so no one ever said a mumbling word about it.) I’d forgotten all about it until now. It’s very shiny. Do you really wear that one on-site or is that just the pic from the catalogue?

  6. Sarcastro Says:

    No, that’s the pic from the catalog. Mine is far more worn, less shiny and has a sticker of Lady Death that says "Man’s Ruin" a sticker.

  7. bridgett Says:

    Good. You can’t trust guys with shiny uncustomized hardhats; they’ve come to inspect you, fire you, or otherwise fuck with you.

  8. Saraclark Says:

    A guy I used to work with got a full back sized tattoo of Lady Death in all her glory. His wife was none too pleased when she snuggled up at night.

  9. sgazzetti Says:

    "Shoot if you must–" Oh, forget it.

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