July 29, 2011

Jennifer Tipton and Olivier Odom

Jennifer Tipton and Olivier Odom

The rabidly politicized, mad-as-hell, accept-us-or-die quotient of gay Americans—at last count, somewhere between 97 to 99 percent of them—seem determined to prove that they can get just as offended as your average hillbilly breeder mountaineer, if not more so.

It’s as if they’re taking it to the streets, up into the hills, and down into the hollers to spread a simple message—“You think you can get offended, you stupid, hateful, one-toothed, inbred, Christ-worshiping rednecks? You ain’t seen an uptight bunch of whiny wah-wah emotionally retarded walking fetuses until you’ve tangled with us!”

Exhibit A: The highly publicized story of butch cunnilinguists Jennifer Tipton and Olivier Odom, the latter of whom on Tuesday apparently didn’t deem it an act of cultural provocation to attend Dolly Parton’s Dollywood Splash Country up in the generally Christian, generally conservative, generally heterosexual Appalachian Mountains while clad in a “[marriage is so gay]” sleeveless T-shirt that showcased Odom’s rippling biceps and tribal forearm tattoo.

At the entrance, a park official requested that Odom turn his her T-shirt inside-out in compliance with a park policy that bans potentially “offensive” apparel and body adornments. Odom complied, then filed a complaint with the park, and then apparently went crying to a receptive and empathetic press. Her partner Jennifer Tipton, whose voice isn’t nearly as deep nor her hair quite as short, said she found it “so offensive” that park officials found Odom’s muscle shirt so offensive. She also accused Splash Country of hypocrisy for not banning “rebel flags” and “offensive tattoos” among its other patrons.

“Clearly, offensiveness is in the eye of the beholder. So is the concept of whether acting like a barbarian when in Rome makes one an asshole.”

Clearly, offensiveness is in the eye of the beholder. So is the concept of whether acting like a barbarian when in Rome makes one an asshole.

Since the flapping lips—both oral and vaginal—of gay America’s radical wing don’t seem willing to relent even the tiniest bit and stop their childishly needy demands that everyone on Goddess’s Pink Earth accept them, we think it may be time to force-feed them a spoonful of their own medicine. 

We’re going to stereotype and assume that, despite yer occasional Log Cabin Republican oddball, an overwhelming quotient of gay America leans strongly to the left. We wouldn’t even be surprised if every penis on every male homosexual in the USA also leans to the left side of its underwear. Since radical gays have recently seen fit to run up into Appalachia and the Ozarks demanding tolerance, we wondered how they’d react if their own dreaded cultural “others” were to return the favor. So we encourage our readers to buy these T-shirts, don them proudly, and head down to lesbo-ghettos such as Atlanta’s Midtown, Seattle’s Capitol Hill, or every square inch of Portland, Oregon. Our instincts tell us you’d be received with far less kindness than Dollywood treated the aforementioned pair of Sapphic Southerners.

No sassy smock or provocative pullover in the known universe is likely to offend lesbians more than one which suggests Goddess didn’t make them that way and that their lifestyle may be purely a matter of choice—or of not getting enough good dick. The pink skull and penile crossbones add a thick spermy layer of douchey inappropriateness to the entire project. It would help matters tremendously if you’re also a fat and ugly dude like, say, Chaz Bono.

This item will molest several lesbian-leftoid nerves simultaneously—it features a phallic firearm, it mentions the notion of “liberty” (a term that shares the same root word with “liberal”), and it showcases the toothily grinning, 100%-hetero-meat Alaskan baby machine about whose offspring it’s perfectly acceptable to use the word “retarded.” Hey, it ain’t sexism when you call a gal a stupid twat if she doesn’t share your egalitotalitarian statist beliefs! Upon sight, this shirt—as well as anything depicting Michelle Bachmann in a positive light—is guaranteed to make any lesbian within a half-mile radius crap her boxer shorts.

Amid an array of literally dozens of “Che Sucks” tees, we settled on the golf-shirt design because it seemed to be the most passive-aggressively preppie. Bulldykes walking their bulldogs along Castro Street will have their pug noses rubbed in the fact that Fidel Castro, as well as his oft-lionized leftist T-shirt icon henchman Che Guevara, were mass murderers. If anyone hassles you, hold your nose high and sanctimoniously accuse them of endorsing mass murder. Whip out your handy laminated bar graphs comparing Nazi body counts to communist slaughters. Tell them that Che was a homophobe in order to elicit their rampaging homophobophobia. If all else fails, say you thought that “sucking” was a time-honored practice of the gay-male lifestyle.

Boldly stand against illegal immigration and reinforce negative stereotypes about Mexican laziness all in one shirt! When predictably irate and invariably Caucasian lesbians surround you and start yipping like angry chihuahuas, say, “Listen, Sappho Gonzalez— homophobia is rampant in Mexico. Even the hate-hunting souls at the Southern Poverty Law Center, who are never wrong about anything, acknowledge at least a “tiny” sinister undercurrent of gay-bashing amid the giant brown sea of Mexican nationalism.” Tell them the Mexican hate group in question targets Jews and uses the phrase “nigger scum.” If that doesn’t do the trick, inform them of the ancient Aztec practice of disemboweling homos. Lesbians hate that sort of thing.

If these mincing male sprites and steroidal female truck mechanics demand the right to run around promoting gay marriage while splashing their bodily fluids at Country & Western water parks in the unspoiled and mostly anti-Sodomite Tennessee hills, the spirit of free speech—and spirits don’t have genitals—would insist that heterosexuals have to right to walk into any of the Eagle bars that dot this nation’s urban areas like Kaposi’s sarcoma bumps and piss on the idea of gay marriage. Equal standards, equal treatment, and equal tolerance are the popcorn kernel of everything that we mean when we say “equality.”

We’ve never run across anyone who literally wants to exterminate liberals—it’s more like we want them to shut the frick up and quit pushing historically failed and logically implausible egalitarian social-engineering policies. But since an unfounded persecution complex seems central to liberal identity, why not indulge their perverted fantasies by pretending you want to liquidate them? If a bevy of lesbians—and “bevy” is the official term for groups of three or more—corners you and asks what’s up with your T-shirt, smile and say, “The camps are ready…but will you be ready for the camps?” If they physically attack you, mace them with a canister of male grizzly-bear pheromones.

There is no conceivable place in the solar system where this T-shirt would be considered tasteful. Its value in offending lesbians may not be as immediately overt as any of the aforementioned items of apparel, but its subtext is potentially more devastating than all of the others combined. Despite all the yippity-yap about equality and gay marriage, the fact remains that it takes a man and a woman—pigs or not—to make a lesbian baby.


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