Two days ago I received a nasty little e-mail accusing me of being a gay-bashing fascist because I used the terms "airy-fairy" and "shitpoke" in my bit The Good Joe.
The most annoying thing about the charge is what it was based upon. To begin with, "airy-fairy" is a crude synonym for "ethereal" or "otherworldly". To place it in context, I was describing ivory-tower ghouls who couldn't care less if their wonderful ideas get dirty little people overseas dead. And "shitpoke" is a variation on the venerable old slam "shitkicker", and means (as far as I can ascertain) someone who is so dumb that they would jab a finger into a cowflop to see if there's something bright and shiny inside.
So I really resented the implication. It wounded me deeply. I'm a big fan of writer Camille Paglia's work, especially the excellent Sexual Personae, and find her examinations into just why it is that so many homosexuals (relatively speaking) develop into great artists to be fascinating.
Hey, some of my favorite people are pole smokers. Let's just look at film directors. Bride of Frankenstein creator James Whale? Total fudgepacker. Polyester's John Waters? Butt pirate. Labyrinth of Passion's Pedro Almodovar? Turd burglar.
I do not harbor a particular animus towards queers. Any rumpslammer who is content to live and let live is OK in my book.
So, Mr. Peter McKnight (and that's a great porn name BTW, please say hello to Rod Longwand and Dick Felcher the next time you, uh, work with them), the answer is no, I don't despise gays more than any other identifiable group -- including my own, since I was raised Catholic, and loathing's a standard component of that package deal -- which you would've known if you'd bothered to read more of my stuff.
But I have taken a serious disliking to you.