Bad News For Fag Hags! As if realizing you are a fag hag isn't bad enough.

Dick Biscuit, self described cyclical Vegetable Zombie Head, which I assume means that he likes to go on benders sometimes, submitted his guest blog. This post is reminiscent of the time I fixed up my white female friend with my one single black male friend because I knew that she had a bad case of jungle fever. The night ended with the white female taking the black male to a seedy part of town for a coke deal, a drug the black male had never even seen in real life, and guess who did jail time? What a mess.

Anyway, here is some wisdom from one of my favorite gays, Dick Biscuit.


Blue Velvet,



There is an issue of pressing social significance that would benefit your readers to be privy to, in my opinion. Not every homosexual male (totez. I’m a gay) may agree with the unusually high threat-level I’m attaching to this issue, but once you hear the story I KNOW YOU’LL UNDERSTAND.



The issue is, of course, straight women who think they understand gay men. Unfortunately, almost every straight woman falls into this category, even you, BV. How do I know? You most likely have gay friends, and you are a woman. I wish I could say otherwise, but the matter really isn’t any more complicated than that. There are many, many things these women think they know about fags.



Things they think we love, but we may not (including but not limited to):



Shopping

Clothes

Shoes

Martinis

Any character on Sex and the City, especially Carrie Bradshaw

Deciding who in a group of friends is most like a character on Sex and the City

Sex and the City

The word “fierce”

Fleeting interest in becoming a drag queen

ANY gay man



This brings me to my point. Women have a bad (yet predictable) habit of trying to set their gay friends up with each other. They always say, “I have a friend you would love!”, when the actual reasoning is, “I mean, you’re gay…. He’s gay….” Quite frankly, THIS NEEDS TO STOP. Hopefully this story provides some sage advice YOU can use:



So, I was minding my own business at home one night, when I received a call from one of my “girlfriends.” She invited me to a party and explained that there was boy there who she really wanted me to meet. I mean, I might have gone to the party even if she hadn’t been wagging a dick in my face, but I responded with a polite, “Awesome!”, and made my way across town to the party.



When I got to the party, I promptly grabbed a beverage, took a hit or ten offa dat joint, and wandered around until I found my “girlfriend”. I stepped around a rather sizable pile of laundry and went over to say hi. We hugged (as all women and gay men do), and she gestured to the large pile of laundry and said, “This is who I want you to meet!” I know they both must have recognized the look of disgust spreading across my face as I realized there had never been a pile of laundry— only a huge homosexual. How could “girlfriend” have made such an awful, awful mistake? Do you remember that kid Christian from Project Runway? Okay, so he looked like him EXCEPT THREE HUNDRED POUNDS. Upon collecting myself, I made a cordial-enough introduction to Trash-Ass-Faggot (TAF), and quickly left the room. Okay BV, this is not an anti-fat diatribe. You will soon understand why my feelings are less than favorable.



I found some friends of mine outside sitting around a patio table smoking some more marijuana, and I’ll be damned if I didn’t partake. I very quickly got very stoned. After a while I heard heavy footsteps from inside the house, and I knew TAF was coming outside. He locked eyes with me and hurried over. Panic struck as I thought, “Someone sit in that open seat next to me before he does!” Regrettably, nobody answered my telepathic command, and TAF placed his ample rear in the wicker (!) seat next to me.



Subsequently, he began to talk. And talk. And talk. And lay the flirt on as thick as his I.D. Glide. So, I did what anyone would have done. I stopped paying attention (please keep in mind how stoned/drunk I was). I really don’t know how long this went on, but regardless, I was jarred out of my trance by a shrill voice yelling, “HELLOOO!” I looked up at him, my eyes half closed, “Are you even LISTENING to me?” I had just enough time to quietly apologize before I a realized I was going to be sick.



When I’m drunk and stoned I will almost always get sick. I know this very well, yet it continues to seem like a good idea. Anyway, I digress. I scurried inside, found the bathroom, closed the door without locking it, and began to vomit. This turned out to be a pretty significant puke session (see Vegetable Zombie Head, VZH), and as most puking people do, I thought I was going to die. Mid-hurl, I heard a quiet knock on the door. I managed to let out an indiscernible sound to try to let whoever it was know that the john was occupied. Despite my attempt, the door opened. And there stood TAF. “What are you doing?” he said, as if it wasn’t obvious. (I know you think this is good, but it gets better.) Not only was he trying to have a conversation with me while I was barfing up what was sure to be Ramen noodles at that time in my life, but he was FLIRTING. I simply could not believe it. So, again I did what anyone would have done. I yelled, “GO AWAY.” TAF stammered, “HOW RUDE,” before finally leaving to bathroom and leaving me to my toilet BFF. Who knew Michelle Tanner quotes could be successfully worked in to snarky gay backtalk?



I guess the moral of the story is this: Anything resembling a blind date is unadvised, unless the matchmaker has a verifiable and documented history of successful matches. Also, women do not know gay men as well as they think they do. Sadly, the sort of situation I've described continues to happen because gay men buy into this sick fantasy! Here’s the bottom-line, guys. Chances are, straight women are only friends with you because they aren’t getting any and they’re starved for male attention. They would also love for someone to call them pretty. I am going to go ahead and request that my next entry be about fag-hags—actually, a very particular fag-hag. Trash-Ass-Fag-Hag (TAFH).

Yours Truly,


Dick Biscuit