One day, when working for the CCSO, my friend Joe and I were walking from the Headquarters Building to the CID Building. A short stroll or, exercise fiends that we weren't, we would've driven. We were behind two young Investigators. One was snorting and fuming. You couldn't help but overhear his rant. I asked Joe to listen.
This feller was railing about queers, and faggots, and crotch cowboys, and rump rangers and all things homosexual. I elbowed Joe and said, Let's have some fun. Joe, wary of my twisted sense of humor, gave me a look, but nodded okay.
Approaching my boisterous fellow travelers, I said, Excuse me, but I couldn't help but overhear your comments. Just wanted to mention that sayin' those things can be very hurtful to someone who enjoys an alternative lifestyle. Like myself.
After eye popping stares, one took off at double time. The other jumped backwards at a height and distance that could have qualified for some Olympic events. Then, he too, cut a choagy.
Joe was about to bust a gut but held it in until they were out of sight, then roared laughing. You don't have brain one, he said.
Ain't it true, I agreed. Now, promise me you won't say anything to spoil this. I want 'em to stew for a few days. It turned out to be so much fun, it lasted much longer.
I could encounter either of my marks on a sidewalk and they would leave said pavement, circumscribing a wide circle around me like I was Typhoid Gary. Or cross the street. Or in a closed meeting room, they'd find the furthest chairs from yours truly. And there was no eye contact, like I might possess some deadly Liberace Laser vision that would put them, instantly, in tutus and instill a compulsion to watch The View and sing show tunes.
Finally, their Captain told them I was yankin' their chain, and ruined the fun. Then, there was a complete switch of attitudes. Couldn't get enough of me. We knew it was all BS. Sure. Didn't fool me. Of course, not. Anyone can tell what a real sissy boy looks like. You bet. And, You sure are funny, Mr. Young.
Sure hope so. Some days are mighty long, otherwise.
This feller was railing about queers, and faggots, and crotch cowboys, and rump rangers and all things homosexual. I elbowed Joe and said, Let's have some fun. Joe, wary of my twisted sense of humor, gave me a look, but nodded okay.
Approaching my boisterous fellow travelers, I said, Excuse me, but I couldn't help but overhear your comments. Just wanted to mention that sayin' those things can be very hurtful to someone who enjoys an alternative lifestyle. Like myself.
After eye popping stares, one took off at double time. The other jumped backwards at a height and distance that could have qualified for some Olympic events. Then, he too, cut a choagy.
Joe was about to bust a gut but held it in until they were out of sight, then roared laughing. You don't have brain one, he said.
Ain't it true, I agreed. Now, promise me you won't say anything to spoil this. I want 'em to stew for a few days. It turned out to be so much fun, it lasted much longer.
I could encounter either of my marks on a sidewalk and they would leave said pavement, circumscribing a wide circle around me like I was Typhoid Gary. Or cross the street. Or in a closed meeting room, they'd find the furthest chairs from yours truly. And there was no eye contact, like I might possess some deadly Liberace Laser vision that would put them, instantly, in tutus and instill a compulsion to watch The View and sing show tunes.
Finally, their Captain told them I was yankin' their chain, and ruined the fun. Then, there was a complete switch of attitudes. Couldn't get enough of me. We knew it was all BS. Sure. Didn't fool me. Of course, not. Anyone can tell what a real sissy boy looks like. You bet. And, You sure are funny, Mr. Young.
Sure hope so. Some days are mighty long, otherwise.
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