Who Knew There Were That Many?

Wow. And here they say that homosexuals make up somewhere between 10 and 15 percent of the population. Well, apparently not in Virginia.

Who would have thought that 58 percent of Virginians were actually closeted homosexuals so desperate to hide their sexual orientation that they’d actually vote for such an overtly fascist measure as this Constitutional amendment?

Actually, you have to figure that the percentage of homosexuals in the state is much higher, as you’ve got to count on those who actually aren’t so uncomfortable with their sexuality (closeted or open). But man, that’s still a much higher number of gay people than I would have expected. And it’s so strange — in this day and age, we have support systems in place for people undergoing such a struggle. Sure, we may not live in an altogether tolerant society, but you don’t have to be an outcast.

So Virginia, you’re gay. And conflicted. We understand.

I think I’ll make it my goal in life to reach out to these poor folks and help them come to grips with their true natures. And the first step is making absolutely sure they understand themselves — and in no uncertain terms.

Take My Rights, Please!

Too bad I didn’t know about this before the holidays — it would have made a great stocking-stuffer: The Bill of Rights, Security Edition.

Fed up with overzealous TSA agents crawling up your ass with a microscope? (Tom?) Well, here’s a handy-dandy little gadget that will... well, okay, it won’t make even the most observant screener pause, but at the very least, it will serve to register a symbolic — even moderately absurdist — protest.

Your Bill of Rights (with Amendment IV given special red highlighting) printed on a pocket-size metal card. One guaranteed to trip the metal detectors, thus allowing you to dramatically hand over your rights under the Chancellor’s benevolent regime.

Hell, I might buy a whole bunch and mail them to Strauch, Gonzales, and the NSA while I’m at it. After all, I seriously doubt any of them have ever read it.

(Thanks to Penn Jillette — whose radio show is now available in handy-dandy bite-sized podcast form — for the heads-up.)

Never Let It Be Said That I’m One to Avoid Controversy

Two topics today. Neither of which is likely to win me a whole lot of friends, so be warned.

First, Mel Gibson’s pet project, The Passion of the Christ, or rather the attendant debate over its historical accuracy, anti-Semitism, and so on. First and foremost, if you haven’t seen the film, shut the hell up. You have nothing to contribute to the argument. Nothing. And no, I haven’t seen it, which is why I’m going to follow my own advice. Will I see it? Probably, though I doubt I’ll go to the theater; I’ll most likely catch it on HBO somewhere down the line. Then, and only then, will I have the right to make comments on its content. However, since I don’t attach any religious significance to the events portrayed, I’ll more likely concern myself with its actual merit as a film. I’ll view its historical accuracy (or lack thereof) in that context. Any period film takes liberties with history; the question is how well those liberties serve the story. (Note to my Christian readership: I don’t mean to imply by my wording that the picture — purported to be the most Biblically accurate rendition yet made — is necessarily historically inaccurate. I do not believe it to be so, but I wasn’t there; one’s interpretation of history depends largely on whom you choose to regard as credible.)

Okay, that’s one down. Now it’s time to really burn some bridges.

I said it before, and I’ll say it again, for the record: Support for an anti-gay marriage amendment is patently un-American. Sorry, I can’t allow any room for compromise on this one. Opposition to gay marriage is one thing. Amending the Constitution is a whole different animal. Duh-bya has now officially decided to throw his hat in with the most virulent bigots on the planet; not because their bigotry — in and of itself — is any worse than the more traditional forms of racial, religious, or gender-based discrimination, but because they want to formally enshrine that bigotry in the very fabric of the nation.

Yes, I know that — according to at least one recent poll — I’m denigrating nearly half of the U.S. population. I don’t give a shit. I also know that ranting against them isn’t going to change their minds. I still don’t give a shit; I’ll leave that battle to someone a little less incensed.

The Dixie Chicks generated a slew of controversy (at least among the room-temperature IQ set) for saying they were ashamed to be from Texas. Well, I’m not ready to say I’m ashamed to be an American — though I have been following news of the Vancouver film industry with curiosity.

But I am ready to say something to little George, along with Glenn Stanton, Matt Daniels, Maggie Gallagher, “Chuck” Colson, James Dobson, Gary Bauer, William J. Bennett, Tony Perkins, Sandy Rios, Paul Weyrich, Donald Wildmon, Representative Marilyn Musgrave, and Senators Wayne Allard, Jeff Sessions, and Sam Brownback.

I’m ashamed that you’re Americans.

You don’t think our Constitution embodies your hatred for others enough? You want to change it to reflect your narrow-minded, bilious world view, so that everyone will be forced to abide by your Neanderthal outlook? Worried about the eternal souls of all good God-fearing Americans (though my personal conception of hell would be any “heaven” shared with you)?

Hey, I’ve got a better idea.

Get the fuck out of my country.