This is slavery, not to speak one’s thought.

There’s no real preparing at home for stand-up.
You just go and you just do it.
—Louis C. K.

Many of you may have suspected my peculiar orientation for some time. I’ve tried to keep myself in the mainstream, avoiding the obvious signatures often associated with my identity. Over the years I’ve downplayed associations with my more extreme and outspoken comrades and have attempted to project something a little less flammable. This has caused some confusion on both sides of the aisle, but give me enigma over stigma any day. But hey. The closet is so yesterday.

I have an announcement to make:

I am a pan-sectual, old rugged cross-dresser—a generally gay, queerly bipartisan religious individual who was snatched off the Broadway back in ’79.

I’m an immoderate imbiber of spirit and a zealous drinker of blood—a bona fide theological cannibal. I’m as alien and strange as you could ever imagine.

I’ve been double-checked, double-minded, double-faced, and double-crossed. I’ve double-dealt, double-parked, and double-talked. I was once double-trouble and double-breasted, but was singled out, double-teamed, double-dipped, and left for double-dead in the water only to come out a deity addicted diva. That means I’m simply divine, baby.

In short, I transitioned from transgressor to honest-to-God metaphysical tranny in one knee-bending transformational procedure. I’m now a drag on the enlightened social order, a leak in the progressive dike, and an inexcusable heaven is my home-ophile. I’m a category five windstorm of the wild Kingdom where there is no first or second class, no black or white, no male or female—only equal righteousness for all who believe. Even you.

So there it is. I’m glad we’ve finally got that straight.

Do not be ashamed of the testimony of our Lord.
—2 Timothy 1:8

.   .   .



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