Hooray for gay! It’s the Pride March again, and time to raise the rainbow flags and celebrate perversity… er, I mean diversity.
Sometimes straight people resent us because we have our own special Gay Pride Parades, but really there’s no reason to be jealous. It’s a right pain in the ass having to walk all that way just to get to a flippin party. You walk and walk and walk, the homos are chanting, “We’re here, we’re queer, we fancy Richard Gere!”, the lesbians are shouting “We’re dykes on bikes, we fancy Wanda Sykes!” and I’m like “I’m beat, my feet! How long’s this fucking street?”
It’s all fun and flamboyant fabulousness for those half naked queens who get to ride on the floats and top up their sun-tans, but for the rest of us it’s just one big fat gay sweat fest, bumping into all those people you usually try to avoid, and having them kiss you hello and wipe their sweaty faces all over you. Bla!
“Oh hi Lizzy, not seen you since last gay pride!” and I’m like “There’s a reason for that!” The only time I want a chick to wipe her sweaty cheek over my face is if it’s her butt cheek.
And when you do finally reach the end of the march, it’s all a bit of an anti-climax. There’s no finish line to cross, no prizes for coming first and nowhere to pee. As if gays don’t suffer enough!
But I suppose the pride parade does have some good points. You feel a part of something big, unity, brotherhood & sisterhood, strength in numbers and all that. You realize that you’re not the only gay in the village and you realize that there are thousands of other gay people, just like you, all marching proudly together, all dying to pee as well.