By B
Grade: C

TV On-Demand makes you do strange things. I never thought that I would be the type of person to watch 10 straight hours of Queer as Folk. In fact, watching just the opening credits is generally enough to make me change the channel. As much as I enjoy men in their underpants, they are not as appealing when they are dancing around with feather boas and sparkle makeup on their chests. This is what happens during the Queer as Folk theme, and the song that they dance to is the even more embarrassing version of the ubiquitous Queer Eye song. Things just keep getting shamefuller…

Despite my reticence, I found myself strangely addicted to the Queer As Folk show this past winter. I had already on-demanded every episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm, Six Feet Under, and the Sopranos. What was I to do besides chain smoke on the couch while watching an entire season of the Queer Folk? Here is the one and only thing that I learned from the program: we gays have nothing at all to be proud of. We are so crappy and retarded!

Because of this, the advent of Gay Pride Day mostly made me anxious and disgusted. I’d gone to the parade only once before, three years ago with Emily. It was the most boring thing ever to happen, and I didn’t even get a blowjob in an alley. Emily was more miserable than I, and insisted on leaving after about ten minutes. She is terrified of being labeled a FAG HAG, and as a result cannot bear to be around more than one gay person at once. She says, in fact, that I am the only gay person she likes, and even that seems to be a tossup these days. Does this make her HOMOPHOBIC? (Her many lesbionic classmates at Eugene Lang College have already voted yes, by the way.)

Several of my self-hating friends have been known to complain about the drag queens and leather daddies who proliferate at the gay pride parade and inevitably dominate the evening news. Apparently these Freaks and People You See on TV are setting the Gay Movement back by several decades. Whatever. Anyone who feels this way should go back to eating pussy. Obviously, the real thing to be ashamed about is the fact that homosexuals seem desperate to sell out to any evil megacorporation that is willing to slap a rainbow and some gayfacey couple on its advertisement and run it in The Advocate. As far as I can tell, Gay Pride is just an excuse for a bunch of rainbow waving sparklefags to bend over for Budweiser. We are so desperate for love that we will eagerly open our wallets (and who knows what else) to any brand that is willing to pander to us.

This year, I hit upon the should-have-been-obvious realization that the way to enjoy Gay Pride is not to attend. Duh. Instead, I celebrated my pride by getting drunk on the roof. I could hear the parade in the distance, and that was fine with me. Around six o’clock, the party made its way to the pier, where it was really crowded and I saw some poop that looked like Wendy’s Chili in the portapotty. This prompted me to leave to go to a bar. On the way, the street was literally blanketed with trash. Despite their reputation for fastidiousness, those gays seem to litter a lot! Maybe it was the L's that were responsible for this.

In conclusion, Gay Pride is okay as long as you have a roof to be on. Otherwise you should just ignore it. And after much consideration, here is what I am most proud of: I hold my liquor like a fucking champ. This is the main perk of being a gay Irishman. The down side, of course, is bad skin and a lifetime of loneliness. Happy Pride, Bois!