Senator Inhofe: Public Servicer

The Tulsa Metro Chamber couldn't be sorrier that it implied that Senator Jim Inhofe (Rasty Old Fart--OK) was wrong to speak of homosexuality and bestiality in the same sentence, as though he thought the two were equivalent. The Chamber is abject. It won't happen again. Officials of the Chamber are looking into the source of the gaffe and have it narrowed down to a couple of pansies in the Diversity Committee. Sen. Inhofe is considering their apology.

The Senator is an earmark champion of the first order and a rabid opponent of federal spending, and you don't find that combination every day. The Tulsa Metro Chamber would like to stay on his good side. Inhofe steered massive amounts of highway funds to Oklahoma so that her citizens could still drive out to Walmart where they can still afford to buy the things they used to be able to afford before Walmart drove down wages and sent all their jobs to China. And in so driving, they are supporting the fossil fuel economy. It's a beautiful thing.

The remark that upset the pansy contingent was the Senator's contention that the repeal of Don't Ask, Don't Tell was not, as some might assume, an endorsement by the military of the practice of bestiality. Just because the queers are now allowed to prance around in their army boots with their weapons dangling from their wrists does not mean that anything goes in cross-species romance. Also, just because everyone has to wear pink camo and call each other Mary doesn't mean, necessarily, that it's now okay to beat the crap out of a known fruit even if you catch him ruining your marriage. The Senator would have you know he has been married to the same woman for 51 years now, and the Man-Burro Love Association can kiss his seventy-seven-year-old ass if it has a mind to, he says. In fact, he'd like to see them try. Senator Inhofe himself is righteous. According to his website, the Inhofe clan is free of divorce and sodomy "in recorded history," although to be sure a lot of that stuff doesn't get written down.

The pansies in Diversity were of the mistaken impression that even bringing up the possibility of bestiality being legalized in the context of gay rights could be seen as a slander of gay Americans.

But the only reason Senator Inhofe brought up the subject of bestiality, he says, is that it is something his constituents were anxious about. Sen. Inhofe, they clamored, if the rump-wranglers can serve openly in the military, doesn't it mean it's okay to tap farm animals? It came up over and over again. And that is the concern the Senator was seeking to address. It is not known whether his answer, that it is still not okay to tap farm animals just because the fudge-packers have taken over the military, was a relief or a disappointment to his constituents. This is not to say that he approves of allowing queers in the armed forces. From a purely military standpoint, he points out, they're icky. Maybe a squadron of Lesbos would be okay. They're big and scary and nobody wants them anyway.

But Senator, even if sheep are off the table, how about a small rodent and a roll of duct tape? How would that be? These are the questions pressed upon the good Senator, and this is why in all good conscience he must address the issue. And so he explains. Drilling the last ounce of cheap energy out of the earth is one thing; drilling guinea pigs another. It's not the same with guinea pigs. There's not that much profit in it. There is a tremendous profit in drilling fossil fuels, and that is why there is no such thing as global warming.

Senator Inhofe is the world's foremost proponent of the idea that all of the climate scientists are collectively pulling our legs. Those that profit mightily from the extraction industries are at best neutral on the question of whether we are engineering our own destruction with our wanton ways. But scientists--those smartypants that Sen. Inhofe knows for a fact made fun of him in high school--they've got everything to gain and nothing to lose from pulling off the biggest hoax ever perpetrated on the population. We've got another four or so decades of cheap energy left and these clowns are determined to pull the plug fifteen years sooner than we'd have to anyway, because they like to think they're so smart. And they're not fooling Sen. Inhofe. Nossuh. He is a man of principle who won't even employ an educated person on his staff long enough to clean the misspellings off his website. They can just go to hell.

The whole idea that he is equating bestiality and homosexuality is ridiculous. It's ironic that the diversity crowd would even bring up such a thing. The fact that the Senator would question the legal status of sheep-fuckers in the context of gay rights only proves that he honors diversity--in particular, the rights of straw-Americans. If he chooses to bring up the two items in the same sentence, he's just being economical. He's a busy man. The two have nothing to do with each other.

It would be like if I said if you vote for Republicans, it means you endorse the screwing-over of the entire younger generation. The two have nothing to do with each other. I just put them in the same sentence because some folks were concerned.

Bear Awareness

There's a GI Rights Hotline that soldiers can call if they suddenly discover that they are conscientious objectors and want out. These days the hotline is taking more and more calls from personnel who do not want to serve alongside (or beneath) gay soldiers. That is, the kind they know about. The threat level of becoming aware of fellow soldiers' sexuality is now surging into the orange zone since Congress has paved the way to repealing "Don't Ask, Don't Tell." As a recent worried hotline caller remarked, "If homosexuality is actually allowed, I will be housed with somebody who's sexually attracted to me." You can't buy that kind of self-esteem.

As everything does, this reminds me of working in the post office. It was a staple of workroom comedy to report on the perils of delivering mail to certain taverns in certain areas of town. In a typical monologue, a carrier would cop to a case of the willies when he would go into one of these establishments and be greeted in what he deemed an excessively friendly manner. "Whatever you do, if you're in C. C. Slaughters and drop a letter, don't bend over to pick it up!" Ha ha! The classics never fail. The comedian would bask in the roars of laughter, scratching his butt through his stained, baggy trousers, his beer-belly in full gestation and quivering with mirth.

"What exactly is it about you that you think homosexual men find so irresistible?" I always ask, causing the gentleman to stare uncertainly, mouth ajar, a tiny trickle of tobacco juice following the crusty trail to his chin. Well. He can't point to a particular thing, exactly, but he's quite confident of his magnetic qualities.

I don't blame him. Without having tested it in the wild, I'm confident I am immensely attractive to bears. If Dave and I are walking in the woods, and we come upon a grizzly bear, I know I'm going to get the worst of it. Dave will be tough and stringy, even after being tenderized by mosquitoes. I, on the other hand, look yummy. I am the original Slow Food, undoubtedly delectable with the right sauce, and as a bonus, I am likely to produce the sauce myself. Some things you just know.

So I understand that when my coworkers, or our military's finest, rattle off fag jokes at a steady clip, they are essentially carrying bear bells. They are warning the bears of their presence so as to be less vulnerable to attack. Let's review what to do if you are in danger of being attacked by a bear:

Grab hold of your bells and jingle, jangle, jingle.

Look big. Hold your hands up high above your head. (Review The Village People's "Y-M-C-A" for an example. We are looking for "Y.")

If attacked, immediately drop to a fetal position ("C"). Some sources report that a better outcome can be achieved by lying prone and straight, legs together, vital parts protected by the ground. It's up to you to decide which are your vital or most vulnerable parts, but rolling over and over while you think about it is not recommended.

Anything that you are carrying that might attract a bear should be placed up high in a tree or a bear pole. Determine your most attractive assets, sling them over that pole and rest easy.

If assaulted, play dead. (This will probably work in any scenario.)

Remember, although these steps may gain you some advantage, there are no guarantees when it comes to bears. Face it, you're a hopelessly attractive dude. It's the mullet, you big redwood, you.

I Do Care. Just Not About, You Know, That.

We seem to be getting near the end of the "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" policy in our military. Already over ten thousand soldiers have been let go for admitting they're homosexual, and every one of them was fluent in Farsi. It's gotten to the point that when someone even looks like he's about to say he's gay, the military jams its epaulets in its ears and goes "La, la, la, la." So everyone is on board with unloading this policy. Unfortunately, it was put in place with no sunset clause, and the bureaucracy is loathe to get rid of something it might need somewhere else. So I propose a transfer. Let's just move "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" to the arena of political discourse. We can change it to "Don't Know, Don't Care."

Politicians are frequently accused of being sanctimonious, but they're just representing their sanctimonious constituency. Talk to anyone of voting age for long enough and you're liable to hear something along the lines of "I really don't care if he was caught in a three-way in the church parking lot with Mel Gibson and an underage burro; what matters is he lied about it." Let me stipulate right here that everyone involved in Burrogate is going to lie about it. There are certain things everyone lies about. We should just assume that if someone is asked about his sex life, he's going to lie. I'm going to lie. You're going to lie. If there's nothing much to talk about, we're going to lie about that. So unless our politician is running for director of the petting zoo, let's call such questions off limits. Let's not ask. It's fine to hold politicians to high standards, but let's keep the questions germane.

And perhaps, as much as we all enjoy taking a dip in the sea of piety, we might settle for allowing Barack Obama to be a role model by striding on the world stage like a grown-up and not insist that he also quit sneaking cigarettes. I've never had that particular monkey on my back, but it's easy enough to observe that it's a monkey with a lot of cling to it. People spend years trying to buck it off, but most of them have not had to report "I went five days without a cigarette, and then North Korea fired a long-range missile at Hawaii." Cut the man a break. Likewise, anything that has ever gone on under the desk in the Oval Office is nothing I need to know about. This is strictly a matter between the current occupant and the cleaning staff.

Let's just ask the questions that matter. "We're all behind you on this swell war you've got in mind, Mr. President. Where are you getting the cash?" Or, "Senator, could you elaborate on your personal financial stake in the tropical fish hatchery being proposed for northern Greenland?" Stuff like that.