closing opinion

by kevin perry


s Valentine’s Day looms lovingly on the horizon, it gives us a chance to ponder life’s greater questions. What is romance? How can a couple maintain true passion?

And why the f*** should we give a s*** what Hallmark thinks? The ubiquitous greeting cartel rears its ugly

noggin every February. They sell tacky nothings featuring sassy quips and fluffy pink bunnies … but they’re totally not gay. Hallmark’s marketing minions guilt us into buying their empty sentiments year after year for way too much money, and the business model seems to be working. The Hall family is worth $2.6 billion. That’s “billion” with a capital B.S. Why am I so angry, you may ask? Please save your questions until the end, thanks. See, Hallmark is the same brand that invades our pop-culture conscious- ness every Christmas season with a deluge of vanilla poison in the form of holiday movies. Have you seen these absolute turds? They’re basically just 147 variations of Candace Cameron trying desperately to appear virginal. Drop the act, sister; you enter the bone-zone with a non-threatening twink at the end of every flick. The production values of Hallmark’s cinematic

cesspools are offensive enough, but their rancidness runs much deeper than the maddeningly shiny surface. At the peak of their 2019 yuletide mania, the Hallmark Channel turned its back on the gays … and not in a sexy way. One of the network’s sponsors had the nerve to feature a lesbian couple getting married

62 RAGE monthly | February 2020

in their Christmas commercial. The outrage machine ignited, fueled by ignorance

and white women. A group called One Million Moms gave birth to an epic hissy fit. They demanded that Hallmark take down the ad, and get this: Hallmark assented. The network caved like a rotten soufflé and yanked the ad like … well, use your filthy imagina- tion to conjure up yanking similes. Here’s the punch line: One Million Moms is actually

just a single c-word named Monica. Since Monica can’t get laid, she doesn’t want anyone else to feel the sweet caress of another human being. Monica masturbates with a frozen crucifix and douches with bleach (allegedly). Oops, that tangent got a tad out of control. When the news of Hallmark’s legendary cowardice

went viral, the company pulled a(nother) 180 and did what do best: They surrendered to pressure yet again. The channel reinstated the lesbian com- mercial and expected us all to grin and congratulate them. What the crap do they think this is, the conclusion of a g**damn Hallmark movie? And now the greeting card cabal is thrusting its

sticky fingers out for another holiday handout. Hallmark is extending a limp olive branch to the LGBTQ’mmunity by targeting our demographic with gay-themed gifts and non-essentials. How quickly they think we forget. Well, my partner Ted (hi, sweetie!) has a fabulous

idea to counter the conglomerate’s cynical ploy. Simply locate your nearest Hallmark store and take your significant other there on a date. Peruse the

aisles and try not to barf all over their noxious wares. Stay strong; you’ve got this. When you find the least-awful card in the establishment, display it with capital-P Pride to your lover. Read the trite text aloud, but imbue it with soul. Perform that shizz like Mariah on acid. Garner attention, play to the back row, and really gay the hell out of your chosen greeting card. Pause for a well-deserved applause break. Now that you have whipped the entire Hallmark

store into a frenzy of romance and pantie-dampen- ing, simply shrug and place the card back on its shelf (or the wrong shelf, if you want to be a real b-hole). Look into your same-sex partner’s eyes and share how you truly feel about him/her/non-conforming pronoun. Say something along the lines of, “We don’t need Hallmark. We have each other.” Congratulations! You have simultaneously

thwarted the evil empire’s efforts to profit from our feelings and shared your actual feelings. That’s some feels-on-feels action right there! All vitriol and venom aside, please have a happy

Valentine’s month. Nobody can dictate what’s in your heart, especially not the soulless automatons at Hallmark. Bleep, blorp, bite me!

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. Follow him @KevinPerryRules if you dare!

WISH YOU WERE QUEER! Hallmark Can Kiss Our Gorgeous Gay Asses!

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