The Gay

I lived in West Hollywood, Los Angeles for about 15 years. If you follow popular culture at all, then you know I’ve probably met a gay or two. Boy gays. Girl gays. In-between gays. Lots of gays. More gays in a day than you can shake a stick at. … Bad analogy.

My dear friend “The Gays” are actually good, friendly, loving people. I have many truly gay friends. Great friends. Awesome friends. Godparent-worthy friends. They’ve even gotten married. They aren’t “they.” They are “us.” Why do people still refer to “The Gays?” Fuck that.

And, I have been in the locker-room at the YMCA. Naked. In Hollywood. Naked. Totally naked. In the shower. Among gay people.

Let me tell you. I have never had a single issue. And, if I ever got a glance from someone, then a polite “No Thanks” would more than suffice. People are actually more courteous that your darkest fantasy.

So, to my NBA, NFL, MLB friends: He doesn’t care about your sudsy junk in the shower. He missed the 3-pointer, dropped the Bomb, and struck-out with two-men on. He’s kicking himself.

He’s not thinking about your dick.

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