the gayest thing I can think of...


Alright, enough already. There's a NY Post cartoonist, Sean Delonas, who is seriously burning my ass. I won't do him a service by reposting his cartoons here (for my legions of readers, holla!) but his homophobia manifests itself in low-quality art that is:



1. Sophomoric.
In a ruling on Wednesday, October 26th, the New Jersey Supreme Court decided that gay couples are entitled to the same legal rights and financial benefits as heterosexuals. To commemorate the occasion, Delonas busts out with some sophisticated, subtly-messaged comic art...Really? Gay people fuck sheep? Or do frat boys fuck sheep?


2. Unfunny.
It's very creative to dismiss a woman's qualifications for office by making reference to her physical appearance. Yes, Jeanine Pirro is pretty vile (and Republican (!)), and is under investigation for misappropriation of public funds (she wiretapped her philandering husband to find evidence of his philandering), but it's comforting to know that a bigot like Delonas will always get personal, in the least interesting, easiest, and most insulting way. At least bigots are consistent. In their fear of women, that is.


3. Very wise.
He seems to have an encyclopedic knowledge of gayness. For example, in this cartoon, we have a mincing Jim McGreevey (foot up in the air, apparently wearing a ballet slipper) trying to comfort a weeping Mark Foley (fucker). Now for the real genius, which, as always, is in the details. There is a cocktail with a supergay umbrella in it on Foley's desk, a painting of the Village People on the gay-amoeba-flocked wall, a gayly-empty hamster-cage (hamster suspiciously absent), and the pièce de resistance . . . through a doorway, a darkened bedroom is visible and on the bed is what appears to be a teddy bear (gay) or sheep (spouse/partner, see above) with a big black dildo. I kind of like the teddy-bear/dildo imagery, it's like something out of a high-school zine my friend used to have. Delonas's id is a frightening place, filled with frothing waves of crazy.


Now, write a letter to the Post that won't get read, get drunk on the pinkest cocktails you can find, wear a feathered boa and red heels on Halloween (like I don't always wear a boa and red heels), drive up to Westchester, and shit on some Republican lawns. Film it, call it "Oppression No. 3432: Proustian dreams", post it on your blog. Thanks to viral video, you get discovered, get a book deal, and get paid. Now that is gay.