Just got back from a big gay club full of the gays. Managed to avoid catching the gay – it’s because I wash my hands in the toilet, obviously – and I’m now here to report on how I haven’t immediately died of Massive Gay To The Head.
See, even though I grew up in a small town where the gays were routinely shot on sight, I still managed to spend my 18th birthday in a gay bar. The only gay bar in Rotherham, as far as I remember. I don’t know why, I don’t know how, but I got with my girlfriend (not a gay in drag, miraculously) on that day/night/gay and fun was had by all. Plus, if I remember correctly, I stopped a big gay fight from breaking out. It was Rotherham, after all.
There’s no point to this, I’m a bit drunk and really should be asleep by now. I’m just upping the word count now. Safe to say, I like gay clubs and pubs. In ‘normal’ places you’re confronted with barely-developed apes who want to punch your face off for being alive. In the gay places you’re confronted with barely-developed apes who want to bum you. While you can turn the latter down, should you want to, you can’t turn the former down. As such, as long as you’re not on a mission to make all the ladies love you* you can have more fun in the gay haunts.
And there we go.
*As I clearly am EVERY NIGHT OF MY LIFE. Sigh.