Gay Marriage Proposal- I Vote For Lloyd Lebow


So. I alerted my buddy Lloyd that I was posting about him yesterday by sending him a draft of the posting. Of course, his response was touching and thoughtful towards me, and it made me cry.

He told me that he is writing the last chapter of his current blog story line, (which you can find at ), and he asked me a question that stunned me with its naive simplicity. Lloyd asks if people will feel that he has the right to speak to the issue of gay marriage. He wanted to know if I thought he had the authority to address the issue.

“If not you, then who, exactly?” I responded.

I mean really, where would you find a better person to speak about gay marriage? Lloyd has been in a committed relationship with the same man for decades. He and his husband adopted two young girls, saving them from Child Protective Services and the horrors of foster care. Those young women have made him a doting grandfather. He is smart, and thoughtful and sexy. SAC Ellen and I agree on the sexy part.

And he came out of the closet in 1972, for shitsakes. Who could better speak to the issue?

OK, maybe I could make an attempt. My sister is lesbian and married to one of my ex-wives, there are ten ex-wives, I attend many gay oriented groups’ activities, and I vocally support insuring that gay people enjoy all of the same benefits of American citizenship as the rest of us.

Plus, during the entire time I was married to Anna the Amazon, a woman, I was sexually attracted to her, a woman, while at the same time Anna was attracted to my sister, another woman. I think that means that I was in a same-sex marriage. At least we both had the same sexual orientation.

Actually, it was a conventional marriage for a short time, and then Anna realized that she was in love with Sister. So maybe I had a same-sexual marriage, or a interested in the same sex marriage. Maybe that would be a bi-sexual marriage. Or would you call it tri-sexual, what with the three of us involved?

Who gives a shit, I still vote for Lloyd as spokesperson.

Which brings us to my burning points of interest. In today’s Austin American Statesman, two articles ruffled my feathers, and both of the Catholic persuasion. The first details how our local Catholic backed university, Saint Edwards, banned a gay rights organization from participation in a campus event to find volunteers. The Campus Ministry refused to be involved with Equality Texas, because ET advocates same sex marriage.

Why would you allow any gay organization on your campus, and then prevent them from participation because they support gay marriage? Isn’t that one of those, “Well fucking duh!” kind of dealies?

Now me, I don’t have the capacity to understand why a gay person would even wish to attend a Catholic backed higher education facility. Higher education, by definition, seems to hint at higher levels of intellect. Since it gained its early momentum in the early days of Christianity, the Catholic Church has had its head stuck so far up its ass, the collective Catholic intellect hasn’t seen the light of day since the Dark Ages.

Dim wits in enlightened times. Prove me wrong.

Then, a page or so later, is another Catholics behaving badly article, this a follow-up story on the fifty years of child rape committed by priests in Belgium. That country’s Catholic leaders acknowledged the widespread abuses, and pleaded for more time to set up systems for punishing the abuser rapists. Belgium’s Most-High Catholic Muck-a-muck, the right reverend Archbishop Andre Mutien-Leonard, whined, “… a feeling of anger and powerlessness has taken hold of the church.”

I’m so sorry, are you angry? Do you feel powerless? You don’t know what to do, and you are bewildered by the treachery committed by your shitball men of God? You are hurt by the actions of your sanctioned leaders?

Well isn’t that just too fucking bad.

Now you know the sense of hopelessness an eight-year-old boy feels when a clergyman, a man he trusts explicitly, pokes his God-anointed dick in the kid’s innocent face as prelude for a game of hide-and-seek. Now you can share the anger the rest of the world has for your head-in-the-sand attitude during the last fifty years.

You dress yourselves in your fine robes and sashes and cutesy little hats, and adorn yourselves with golden crosses and medallions to represent yourselves as the chosen ones. You hold yourselves up to your followers as God’s handpicked few, and you promise to sacrifice all of your worldly wants in God’s service.


If you were what you say, you would not be struggling with how to handle this issue in the year 2010. If you were honest, you would have developed a system to ferret-out and punish offensive priests decades ago. If you were honest, your beloved Pope would take a real stand, and actually fix the problem.

But, like Rush Limbaugh and Rick Perry, you hide in your closet, feeling angry and helpless- powerless to deal with the problems you caused. My barnyard animals can at least plead ignorance and stupidity, which they do. They are quick to admit they don’t know any better.

But you do know better. You Catholics need to strip off your sacred robes, store them in plastic garment bags, and get your ass out of the closet and into the light of today. Allow the sun’s cleansing rays to burn through some of your hypocrisy. Stop trying to cloak your issues of sexual abuse behind doctrine.

When I talked to my pet pig and ostrich last night, I read them Lloyd’s coming out story. By the time I finished, we were all crying. Rush Limbaugh, pig that he is, was crying so hard he was blowing these giant snot bubbles from his snout.

Rick Perry was making this sound that I can only describe as keening. I am unsure if I really know what keening sounds like. But if I were to make-up a word to describe the sound of my sobbing ostrich- keening it is.

“Wah, wah, waaaaaaa,” was all Rushie could get out. Big, sticky pig snot bubbles were bursting as he sniffled. He had his head in my lap, and my jeans were slimed.

Ricky, who was sitting behind me with his long neck wrapped around my shoulders, had his head draped on top of mine so he could look right into my eyes.

“EEEEEEEEEEEUUUUOOOOOOOLLLLLLLLL,” is my best spelling of ostrich keening. Half-cup sized tears spilled from his billiard ball eyes and mixed with my own, raining down my face and soaking my shirt.

I was crying, but not boo-hoo’ing like my closeted pets. “Don’t you want to come out of the closet now, boys?” I softly asked. “Doesn’t Lloyd’s story make you want to be better men?”

The only response I got was more snot and tears. I guess that Rick Perry and Rush Limbaugh are no more willing to do the right thing than the Holy Catholic Church. At least for now.

When I got up this morning, the two of them were snuggled up together on the floor to my closet, spooning and covered with my dirty shirt and pants. I should have rinsed my clothes last night. Pig snot leaves a tobacco-brown stain, and dried ostrich tears smell like cat urine.

Male cat urine.

I wish this story had a moral to it, a clever thought I could use to make a point. I guess my point is that there is no point in hoping the Catholic church will change its evil ways. Two millennium of oppression forges strong chains. Parking your head up your ass gives you shit for brains.

As for getting Rush Limbaugh and Rick Perry out of the closet, as long as Gram is gunning for them, they’re not coming out. If Lloyd can’t talk them out, they aren’t coming out.

Ugh. I need a Carta Blanca beer.

Manana, y’all.

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