closing opinion
by kevin perry
INVASION OF THE BRIDESMAIDS Sacred Queer Spaces Are Being Overrun by Bachelorette Shenanigans
gather for mimosas and gossip, but you just can’t seem to get your bottomless bottoms-up fix. That’s because the staff is too busy wrangling Stephanie’s drama. She only gets married once, you guys! Yeah, right. I give it six months, tops. To avoid bachelorette party No. 1, you relocate to gay bar No. 2. It’s a leather and
Y
Levi affair, strictly gritty and raw. Just as you lock eyes with a hunky bear across the shadowy space —OMG! A plastic tiara blocks your eye line (and your jock). Why are so many breeders getting married this season? Off to gay bar No. 3, but the pattern persists. If I wanted to stand in line behind
an entitled butthole, I’d go to a bathhouse. I know what you’re thinking:But I’m an ally! To which I say, “Pipe down, Becky.” Allies are fine and great on voting day, but now Daddy needs his drink! Don’t be offended by my judgment and sass. Isn’t that why you crashed my gay
bar in the first place? You want attitude, so I’ll give it to you, right up the lady- parts. Consider it a comedy roast … but I actually mean every catty comment I make. If you think I’m ranting just for the sake of being bitchy, then thanks for noticing! Guilty as charged, sexy as ever. But there are real ramifications to the growing creep of straight invaders encroaching on our homo havens. When you give heterosexuals an inch, they’ll take a mile (and who wants merely an inch, anyway?). Case in point: Jacque’s Cabaret in Boston. This hopping hotspot recently
hosted a drag event [pause for feigned shock]. The straights flocked to the fad like it was a 2-for-1 sale at The Gap. Meanwhile, the real party was happening in the basement, where all great things go down [pun intended]. A fetish party brought the real queers to the bar, and subsequently to their knees. So, what happened when Scary met Sally? The breeders went bonkers. Those sinister straights just couldn’t wrap their closed little minds around what was happening downstairs. As three proud gay men emerged from having some
ou worked hard all week. You made small talk with Hetero Greg from accounting. You’ve truly earned a boys’ night out … WAY out. So why is the bar filled with giggles and gal-pals? This phenomenon is all too familiar. You and your besties
good, dirty fun in their so-called safe space, they encountered a bout of violent harassment from the heteros. The bro squad yelled “faggot” repeatedly as they kicked and punched a member of our LGBTQ+ family. They even choked him. Do you still think I’m overreacting to a few harmless bridesmaids? It starts innocently enough. A few hags straggle into the bar, calling us “their”
gays, and generally exuding man-repellent wherever they slither. Pretty soon, they’re cutting in line and laughing it off. The next thing you know, they expect a clean ladies room — y’know, the room that’s designated for male-on-male intimacy. How dare they? Memo to the cis patrol: You have the rest of the boring-ass straight world where
you can hang out. Why must you beige our parade? Speaking of parades, this issue is directly related to that laaaaame straight pride gathering that recently infected Boston. Two mentions in one article? Get your shit together, Boston. As I was saying (before being so rudely interrupted), straight people have
everything. Well, everything except taste, creativity and Matt Bomer. They could literally frequent any other bar they want, but they insist on harassing ours. It’s almost as if heterosexuality is so déclassé that even straights have abandoned the lifestyle. Have we gays truly surpassed our counterparts by such a fabulous margin that they must clamor into our sacred realms to bask in our superiority? Perhaps I missed the announcement on Reddit. If you must join us in our naughty nirvanas, you need to learn your place. Get
to the back of the line unless you’re buying a round for the gay gang. Thinking of throwing a bachelorette bash at the Manhole? Think again. Are all of these rules confusing you? Well then, maybe you can’t spare the brain cells; avoid drinking and attend a(nother) Mumford & Sons concert instead (or whatever the eff you do). In any event, show some R-E-S-P-E-C-T for the LGBTQ’mmunity. Yes, that means you, Karen.
Hailing from rural Maine, Kevin Perry moved to Los Angeles with a screenplay as his copilot. Since then, he has written seven more features, 50+ TV episodes, and countless sassy tweets.
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RAGE monthly | December 2019
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