I Don’t Do the Gay Guys, Man

Yesterday I attempted a humorous post about the media’s coverage of Manti Te’o’s sexuality.  I was trying to find something funny in a situation that made me sick.  Even in this enlightened time when our President calls for equality for every human being, I realized that an NFL-hopeful, even a finalist for the Heisman, could never come out before the draft.  He’d probably get scooped up by a team eventually, but he’d lose millions, because to take on a gay player would mean more scrutiny, more vitriol, more interviews, and possibly fights in the locker room.  With dickfaces like , the CB for the 49ers, saying, “I don’t do the gay guys man.  I don’t do that.  No, we don’t got no gay people on the team, they gotta get up out of here if they do.  Can’t be with that sweet stuff.  Nahcan’t bein the locker room man.  Nah.”

I like how he said, “I don’t do the gay guys, man,” leaving the possibility that he only does straight dudes.

I also like how other players are getting asked if they’d have a problem with a gay player.  , linebacker for the Ravens, responded, “Absolutely not.  We don’t care.”  He said, “On this team, with so many different personalities, we just accept people for who they are and we don’t really care too much about a player’s sexuality.  You know who you are, and we accept you for it.”

His teammate, Brendon Ayanbadejo, has also been an outspoken advocate for same-sex marriage.  He’s using the Super Bowl as a platform to speak about equality for the LGBT community.  Ayanbadejo has even said Chris Culliver’s anti-gay remarks have inspired him to reach out to Chris Culliver, who apologized yesterday.

reported his words:

“[I was] really just not thinking. [It was] something that I thought. Definitely nothing that I felt in my heart,” Culliver said.  “I support gay people, gay communities, and different racial [backgrounds]. It was just something I feel apologetic to, and I’m sorry that I made a comment and that hurt anyone — that I made a comment that might affect anyone in the organization, NFL, or anything like that.”

The apology doesn’t erase what he said, but it shows that progress is being made.  Minds are opening.  One day a player will have the courage to come out, and an owner will have the resolve to give him a contract.  A lot of fans and players will scream and rage, but the bigots of the world need to realize their ignorance and hate will not prevail.

Is Manti Te’o Gay?

Answering a question as complex and historically important as Is Manti Te’o Gay? requires such advanced journalism skills that few would dare venture into this sexual labyrinth.

Luckily for us, pulled out her big balls and asked the stud from Notre Dame, “Are you gay?”

Te’o responded, “No, far from it.  Faaaar from it.”  He laughed.  The audience laughed.

Case closed.  Nothing to see here.

But Dr. Phil wasn’t satisfied, and Dr. Phil’s balls are almost as big as Katie’s. So he sat down with the man behind the girlfriend hoax, Ronaiah Tuiasosopo, a man so devious he’s taken a name so delightful to say you forget he’s an evil mastermind.  Speaking to NBC’s Mike Taibbi on , Dr. Phil recounted how he whipped out his hairy testicles for Tuiasosopo.  “I asked him straight up, ‘Was this a romantic relationship with you?’  And he says yes.  I said, ‘Are you then therefore gay?’  And he said, ‘When you put it that way, yes.’  And then he caught himself and said, ‘I am confused.’’’

Boom!

The earth rumbled as these two investigative Titans clacked their giant balls over the heads of us mere mortals, and we opened our mouths as the droplets of truth spilled over our tongues and down our throats.  We savored and swallowed the seeds of knowledge.

The conclusion to Manti Te’o’s sexuality, we would discover, actually consists of two completely different answers:

#1: Who cares?

and

# 2: Who gives a shit?

The Strip Club at JCPenny

When I was little my mom had to take me into the dressing room with her at the mall.  I couldn’t be trusted on my own.  I broke things, knocked over mannequins.  I wasn’t destructive by nature; I was clumsy.  My feet were growing at a disturbingly disproportionate rate to the rest of me.  I toppled into objects.  I hurt myself frequently.  My mom had no choice but to bring me with her to try on blouses.  I hated it.  There were pins all over the carpet.  I’d get stuck, bleed, and cry.  Mom would bribe me by saying, “If you be good, we’ll go to the toy store after this.”

I’d pout and mope on the ground.  Sometimes I’d spot a fellow prisoner under the partition – a little kid trapped with her naked mother.   A few of the boys tried to sneak peeks of my topless mom.

Over time, I did the same to theirs.  It was fascinating and completely inappropriate.  I saw big boobs and long boobs, droopy bellies and jiggly butts.  I discovered a world of panties – dirty ones and see-through ones; the kind that grannies wear; others with rips or tiny little hearts.

I no longer cared about the toy store.  I started suggesting outfits my mom should try on.  I needed to return to the strip club in the back of JCPenny, where I’d take my seat, lean over, and gaze at the delightful nipples.  A few women caught me.  One smiled.  Another shrieked.  Mom just shook her head and tried to hurry, often ending up with ill-fitting dresses because her son was a pervert.

But what I supposed to do?

I now wonder if my mom was jealous that I got to do all the peeking?

It also makes me realize how impossible it must be for parents to raise a child while tiptoeing around sexuality.  How do you moms and dads do it?

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