I started hating Pride back in the early 90s when they told us we couldn’t do S/M on our float. I got all dressed up in a sailor outfit — and practically killed myself on a diet of white wine and salads so I'd look sexy in it. And my job was to go down on this dyke’s giant dildo. It was going to be so much fun. And then some Prissy Little Pride Monitor came up to us before the parade and said 'S/M is no longer allowed on floats!' and we were like — why? And The Prissy Little Pride Monitor said it was because of the kids, because Pride was a family thing now. We went ahead and did our S/M float, but after that it was just never the same.
And then one year I was on the roof of Glad Day watching the parade and I realized it was all just so boring — a lot of middle aged people with ugly knees in their bermuda shorts. You call that a parade?
And then of course there’s the commercialism that everybody complains about. Back in the day — in the 70s, the queers — like the hippies — hated capitalism, the military industrial complex, and organized religion. Nowadays we’re supposed to be so enthralled that The Toronto Dominion Bank hires a bunch of boys in green shorts to dance on their floats. But those boys won’t have sex with you. Even if they’re gay they don’t have time for sex; it’s all about their goddamn careers.
And then there’s all the sympathetic straight people. So happy to support they gays — as long as we are entertaining, don’t talk about our sex lives in detail, still appear as hosts on designer TV shows, and are still afraid of AIDS.
And I hate the way my neighbourhood is suddenly filled with people I don’t know. And lunch is suddenly hugely expensive and you can’t get a blow job because everybody is either too cute for their own faces or the place is too crowded.
Because the truth is I’m a PF. (Professional Faggot) The rest of them are just a bunch of AHs. (You know — Amateur Homosexuals.)
It’s just like alcoholism. As well as being a Professional Faggot, I am also a Professional Alcoholic. So when I go out on St. Patrick’s Day or New Years, I have to put up with a bunch of AAs — Amateur Alcoholics. They don’t know how to drink. They make a big show of it — you know, waving their arms around and yelling and interrupting conversations. But me, I’m a Professional Alcoholic and I know how to do the job, quietly, efficiently, and with style. I’m getting drunk, with a studied persistence. They’re just fooling around.
It’s really all about how much time you spend at it. I’ve got nothing against Amateur Homosexuals. After all, ‘amateur’ means ‘lover.’ But they just don’t spend the time on it I do. I’m a fully qualified, Professional Faggot. I spend a significant amount of time cruising, worrying about he way my pants fit, yelling about gay rights, and dying my beard. And I like to be around other faggots, even though I want to kill them half the time. But I need to be around them.
A lot.
Not just once a year.
Sorry guys, I wish this blog could be a more inspiring. I wish there was a rainbow or
something.
But the fact is:
I HATE Pride.
