A pastor in North Carolina recently made national waves by advocating that America's "lesbians, queers and homosexuals" be rounded up, placed inside an electrified fence, air-dropped food and left to themselves, on the theory that since they won't reproduce, once they all succumbed to old age, the US would be gay-free.
While this particular pastor's congregation is excited about the idea, I see several problems. Appealing as a gay-free America might be in the outback counties of North Carolina, do the rest of us want to live in a nation without Broadway musicals, bed-and-breakfasts or our entire antique industry? Not to mention the pastor's plan to air-drop food to the enclosed gays. This is fine for items like bagged salads or hot dog buns, but once you start dropping heartier comestibles, the kind of food favored by North Carolinians, like ham hocks and canned peaches, there are bound to be casualties.
Besides, it's hardly necessary. Go into any gay household. Look for a vat of broken plastic toys, a rug moldering with juice stains or a pallet of Pampers from Costco or any other sign that reproduction is occurring amid the spotless furnishings and the kitchen that cost more than an experimental aircraft. You won't find any.
The whole idea strikes me as a waste of barbed wire and electricity. However, similar treatment could prove useful in suppressing the population of minority groups that many Americans find more offensive than gays.
How about young guys in pickup trucks who tailgate you and flip you off when they finally pass you on the highway because you are not driving the ninety-mile an hour young guy in pickup truck imaginary speed limit? Put them and their trucks behind the fence, build them a few poorly-designed limited access highways, air-drop six-packs of Keystone Light and Red Bull, and their entire population would be eliminated after a few holiday weekends.
Or people who talk endlessly and loudly on their cell phones in public places. Not people who say interesting things while doing so, like the pregnant young lady I overheard the other day asking her cell phone confidant "Is there a test you can take to tell if your baby is going to be black or white?"
She can talk all she wants. I mean people who ramble on endlessly and loudly about their feelings, their uninteresting relationships, or happenings on reality TV shows I don't watch, which happens to be all of them.
Build a fence for them with a gigantic cell phone tower in the middle of it, so they always have signal. Air-drop food like bagel chips or kettle corn, anything they can eat one-handed. The point here is not to see if they all die off. The point here is to see if they ever notice.
Or my personal least favorite class of disagreeable Americans, people who tell you baseball is boring. "So are your frickin' opinions," is what I usually reply, although if assailed verbally after drinking a few beverages, I might go on somewhat endlessly about the superiority of a game you enjoy in the summer sun, amid the comfortable company of fellow aficionados, one that can realistically be followed without constant instant replays and continual broadcast chatter, over a game played in a freezing stadium full of drunken slobs, or viewed at home if you are willing to tolerate the ratio of two hours of beer and truck commercials for every hour of actual play.
Build the fence for them and air-drop footballs and thirty-packs of cheap beer until they're all concussed and limping from playing pick-up games.
Then make them watch a doubleheader.
HPZCPCC2TVDG
While this particular pastor's congregation is excited about the idea, I see several problems. Appealing as a gay-free America might be in the outback counties of North Carolina, do the rest of us want to live in a nation without Broadway musicals, bed-and-breakfasts or our entire antique industry? Not to mention the pastor's plan to air-drop food to the enclosed gays. This is fine for items like bagged salads or hot dog buns, but once you start dropping heartier comestibles, the kind of food favored by North Carolinians, like ham hocks and canned peaches, there are bound to be casualties.
Besides, it's hardly necessary. Go into any gay household. Look for a vat of broken plastic toys, a rug moldering with juice stains or a pallet of Pampers from Costco or any other sign that reproduction is occurring amid the spotless furnishings and the kitchen that cost more than an experimental aircraft. You won't find any.
The whole idea strikes me as a waste of barbed wire and electricity. However, similar treatment could prove useful in suppressing the population of minority groups that many Americans find more offensive than gays.
How about young guys in pickup trucks who tailgate you and flip you off when they finally pass you on the highway because you are not driving the ninety-mile an hour young guy in pickup truck imaginary speed limit? Put them and their trucks behind the fence, build them a few poorly-designed limited access highways, air-drop six-packs of Keystone Light and Red Bull, and their entire population would be eliminated after a few holiday weekends.
Or people who talk endlessly and loudly on their cell phones in public places. Not people who say interesting things while doing so, like the pregnant young lady I overheard the other day asking her cell phone confidant "Is there a test you can take to tell if your baby is going to be black or white?"
She can talk all she wants. I mean people who ramble on endlessly and loudly about their feelings, their uninteresting relationships, or happenings on reality TV shows I don't watch, which happens to be all of them.
Build a fence for them with a gigantic cell phone tower in the middle of it, so they always have signal. Air-drop food like bagel chips or kettle corn, anything they can eat one-handed. The point here is not to see if they all die off. The point here is to see if they ever notice.
Or my personal least favorite class of disagreeable Americans, people who tell you baseball is boring. "So are your frickin' opinions," is what I usually reply, although if assailed verbally after drinking a few beverages, I might go on somewhat endlessly about the superiority of a game you enjoy in the summer sun, amid the comfortable company of fellow aficionados, one that can realistically be followed without constant instant replays and continual broadcast chatter, over a game played in a freezing stadium full of drunken slobs, or viewed at home if you are willing to tolerate the ratio of two hours of beer and truck commercials for every hour of actual play.
Build the fence for them and air-drop footballs and thirty-packs of cheap beer until they're all concussed and limping from playing pick-up games.
Then make them watch a doubleheader.
HPZCPCC2TVDG
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