flashback friday vi – my only regret?

it was fun. it was cute. we all enjoyed it. it brought many a chuckle to our summer.

of course, i’m talking about “queer eye for the straight guy”.

in case you’ve been under a rock for the last several months, this is where a group of gay men (the fab five) ride in to the life of some poor, under-fashioned everyday joe and make him fab-you-less. each of our frolicking fivesome comes with his own super power – grooming, decorating, cooking, fashion, etc.

but for every action (or hit show) there is a reaction. and the public reaction was this…

gay boyz got SKILLZ!!!

not meant in the porno way…meant in the “what lamp treatment will go with the douvet” kinda way. the “what shirt defines my inner child” kinda way. the “what wine goes with quiche lorraine” kinda way. and all five flamers seem so fucking happy to do this. week in. week out. over and over again. no guy too manly. no house too sloppy. they do it all day, every day. and why?

because they get PAID

yes, along with the single-bullet kennedy theory, the exsistance of motown-singing raisins, elvis actually being dead and other tv myths, add the illusion that gay men live to improve your day-to-day lives.

this show has fucked them in the ass ROYALLY…

(wait…what did you THINK the title implied? you sick bastards!)

sad to say, not every gay man wants to help your tired ass pick out throw pillows. or match your socks and tie (or drawers, or whatever the actual rule is). but thanks to tv, just TRY to be gay and not get those phone calls.

just how many, “am i an autumn complection?” calls should a man get from a cattle rancher, anyway?

this was the diatribe i had to sit through this weekend when bret & leo came to town. you may remember them…my gay friends that are NOT that proud of the swishier of their tribe. in fact, they feel they kind of give them a bad name.

and i tend to agree.

but thanks to five swishers (not meant as a reference to the cheap “cigars”…and i put it in quotes for good reason) their phone won’t stop ringing. and so it goes for many of them. but let me act as a liason between their world and ours…

they don’t give two shits what color your shirt is. or how you coordinate. or how you decorate. or whether or not your cooking makes your girl regurgitate. they really don’t. their lives will go on the same one way or the other. your hopes, your dreams, your thoughts, your feelings, your plans for the future…these things mean NOTHING to them (or me, for that matter…but this is about them).

a generation back, they were queer, they were here, get used to it. the motto post-q.e.f.t.s.g.? we’re queer, we’re here, GET OVER IT. learn to dress yourselves. trust me. five year olds can do it, so can you…and if your wardrobe choice inhibits your ability to procreate, so be it. that pre-dates queer-eyeism…that’s called DARWINISM.

no need to fight nature.

and on a non-related note, this is being written at green mesquite bar-b-q. because they have all you can eat for ten bucks, and free wireless web service.

god DAMN i love austin.

have a happy and safe new years eve. get fucked up, get fucked well, and make her scream my name at least once.