How I Became a Gay It was a perfectly average summer night. I was sitting at home watching football and drinking beer with my bros as I normally did, and we sat around the living room of my brother’s apartment yelling and throwing empty beer cans at the TV as the Rams fumbled and stumbled around the field like a bunch of idiots as they normally do. Suddenly we were out of beer and after a noisy arm wrestling match which turned into a UFC fight on the living room floor, it fell to me to walk down to DJ’s and pick up some more. So as I walked, I suddenly noticed a curious sight. I beheld a grand procession progressing down Main Street in Salem, the thump-thump-unce-unce of flamboyant electronic disco house music filling the air as a group of half-nude men on rollerskates and floats bearing endless blinding rainbow flags began to pass by. I stared in awe at this sight as it went until this insane mass of color and free expression seemed to stretch endlessly in either direction down the street. And as I stared at this sight, I began to feel a strange sensation overcome me. Football suddenly seemed irrelevant, spare the fact that it was essentially burly men in tight pants running around piling on top of each other and wallowing around in the mud. I glanced back at DJ’s, the taste of beer in my mouth suddenly seeming foul, and I craved Zima and mango daiquiris to wash it away with. As I looked back at the parade, my eyes were suddenly filled with the sight of the largest float in the parade, a humongous pink throne. Seated atop it was a the gayest man I had ever seen. He was slim, but lean, black and bald, with an effeminate demeanor about him, dressed in naught but a speedo, a pair of knee-high platform boots, and a tremendous feathered crown and above his head was a large banner which read “COREY - KING OF THE GAYS.” And he looked down at me and smiled. “Come my child, let your fabulous spirit soar free,” he said, his falsetto voice ringing out above the loud dance music. I leapt upon the flatbed trailer that housed the throne of the King of the Gays and, after an approving nod from the King himself, I removed my shirt and began to dance. I danced as I had never danced in my life. Suddenly out of nowhere, the festive dance music was overtaken by the blaring of a German tuba band playing “Deutschland über Alles” as the gay pride parade collided with another one heading down the same road in the opposite direction. I looked toward the front of our parade and saw that it was the Iuka chapter of the Aryan Nations having their annual parade through Salem. The two crowds, one consisting of thousands of flaming queens stared down the thousands of skinheads and assorted disgruntled white Nazis. It seemed at any moment that all hell would break loose. I knew what I had to do. I stepped forward to the space between the parades. Heading up the Nazi parade was Dave Von Hitlerguy, Supreme Führer of Iuka. I stared him down and furrowed my brow. “This ends here,” I said forcefully. “Jawohl,” he grunted as he stepped forward. “We ist going to have ein boxing match mein herr.” And so we were given a pair of inflatable Sock ‘Em Boppers and prepared to square off. As he leaned in to throw the first punch, I wrapped my arms around him, pulled him close, and kissed him square on his bigoted mouth. A feeling of pure liberation filled my body and mind, and my heart soared through the sky as I swapped spit with this Nazi. Dave Von Hitlerguy’s eyes went wide for a moment and he promptly exploded, killing me instantly in the blast. I don’t really know what happened after that because I died. And that’s how I became a gay.
