The Supreme Court Gay Rights Rulings Have a Disturbing Similarity…..

Universal rights for gay Americans are on the way, finally. The war may not yet be over, but the death-blow against hatred and exclusionary behavior backed by law has been struck; the rest is merely procedure. I’m sure in 10 years they are still going to find anti-gay laws hiding out in caves in the jungle in places like Mississippi, Wyoming and Texas, just like the Japanese soldiers they found hiding on remote Pacific islands decades after World War II had ended. The main point is that the bomb has been dropped and no longer can states legally justify keeping gays on the fringes of society via exclusionary laws. I love my wife and as a result she is legally able to provide care for our child at home under the banner of the health insurance that my company provides. So you’re telling me, with a straight face, that Lester’s partner Terry, home with their daughter Ling-Ling, should not be able to rest assured in the safety net of Lester’s company’s health benefits? My wife and my’s love is stronger and more pure than Lester and Terry’s? That Larry King’s love of his previous 8 wives is of greater consequence and thus legally kissed than that of our pals Lester and Terry? Eat shit. Justice, love, common sense, and the part of America that stands for the rights of ALL has carried this day, and the rest of the wraiths can crawl back to the Death Star to plot their next attempt at wiping out a planet using the Dark Side of the Force.

The disturbing similarity referenced in the title of this post has to do with the fact that in each decision, 4 people dissented. This was a 55% majority. Huh? You can legalese me until the cows come home but at the end of the day this has to do with excluding a minority from basic rights enjoyed by all Americans because they are a statistical aberration. “Marriage is between one man and one woman”. Okay grandpa, and slavery was a “Peculiar Institution”. “But God said….”. No one fucking knows what God said. No one. God also supposedly said that woman is subordinate to man and should do his bidding, you know, the making of from the rib and all. Sometimes we have to accept that God was probably a misogynistic, fuddy-duddy of an old man who said some rather assholeish things, and when we finally move out of the house and start paying our own bills, we can pretend we didn’t hear him and give women universal suffrage, let blacks eat next to us at restaurants, and make sure that Lester and little Ling-Ling don’t have to go to the free clinic, the one that smells like methadone farts and is devoid of windows. There is doing thy father’s bidding, and then there is doing what you know to be right and just. And what was father’s bidding in the first place? You have no clue because father never talked to you, and you are treating as law the interpretations of father’s bidding as told to you by your stoner brother Paul who claims that Father was very clear that you start paying homage to he, Paul, and also give him all your lunch money because he has basic needs to fulfill which cannot be met by him because he is too busy in his bedroom listening to Surrealistic Pillow, reeking of strong pine, and deciphering what Father said.

These fundamentalist christian dinosaurs can whine and bitch all they want, but hopefully these rulings have marginalized their hate once and for all. I know it, you know it, and whether or not they want to admit it, they know it as well: Jesus would have been the first, the very first mutherfucker in line, to drink mimosas with gays at the trendy al fresco brunch spot in Greenwich Village, or to teach woodworking to a vacationing group of lesbians in Saugatuck, Michigan. “My father says to love all people. Except the ones that like to make out with their own sex. Ewwwwww. Go do that in an alley in Provincetown. And no legally sanctioned union of love for you. Ewwwww, yucky. Oh, and love all creatures as you would love thyself. Could someone pass the frickin’ wine already?”

*Scalia, go fuck yourself. Seriously holmes, go to your nearest UHaul location and rent a truck. Drive it to the nearest pier, way out on the end. Leave it in neutral. Go around to the back and wave over a vagrant. Should be plenty, vagrants love piers. Give him $20 and tell him to push the truck towards the ocean. Before he begins doing so, jump in the back of the truck yourself, and close the doors. And if it isn’t too much trouble, invite Michelle Bachmann in for a drink before you close the doors. Asshole.

In the majority’s telling, this story is black-and-white: Hate your neighbor or come along with us. The truth is more complicated.
— Justice Scalia, in explanation of his dissent


About Zach

Male homo sapien. Warrior poet. I live in Chicago with one wife, one offspring, and Scout the dog. I enjoy various stuff. Besides skinny skiing and going to bullfights on acid, I also enjoy running, reading, drinking, eating and procrastinating on many things, such as starting this blog. I have a mom, a dad, and a younger brother who recently produced a sister-in-law. I'm the only person in my family, sister-in-law included, who doesn't have a post-graduate degree. I guess that makes me special. I grew up in a small to medium sized town in the middle of Ohio. In fact the even smaller town next door has a sign which reads "The Geographic Center of Ohio". Given this is what they choose to boast you can only imagine how exciting that town is. My town is infinitely cooler. For example on weekend nights people from my town and the surrounding villages and hamlets converge on the public square to "cruise" in their souped-up mini trucks, some bearing Confederate flags, despite growing up and living rather safely north of the Mason-Dixon line. This is high-minded stuff we're talking about here. I graduated sometime during the Clinton presidency from the local high school where I played football and participated in absolutely nothing else. This strategy paid huge dividends when I applied to numerous colleges on the eastern seaboard which were highly selective. When you show up to the admissions table with "HIgh School Football and Nothing Else" on your application, you get respect. After graduating from Ohio University with a degree in Economics that I've used for absolutely nothing, I moved to Boston. Boston is a lovely city. I was doing things I'm not proud of for beer money and I left after 16 months. My next move was to Chicago and 10+ years later there I still reside. I write this blog for therapeutic reasons. Much like some people paint to relax or smoke crack to unwind after a stressful day, I record my thoughts on Al Gore's World Wide Web for 9 friends, 4 family members, 1 person who accidentally clicked through after an unsuccessful Google search for something else, and a guy named Patriot1 who lives in a silver Air Stream in the Nevada desert and broadcasts his own radio show. Is there a point to all of this? I doubt it. Years ago and in a galaxy far, far away (College Park, Maryland, then Athens, Ohio) I was toying with the idea of being a journalism major. I enjoyed writing so it seemed the obvious fit. Then I attended career day and learned that journalism majors could look forward to a salary of $EA,TSH.IT per year with the promise of a fatal heart attack at 47 years of age. I'm not falling for that trick, I told them (them being no one, and told being saying it in my own mind in the shower). Approximately 15 years later here I sit declared the big winner in that battle: I never made any money doing anything else and now I'm writing entirely for free. So suck balls, journalism career day. The views expressed in this website are mine and mine entirely. I don't wish to be an even bigger black eye to my family than I probably already am. As a result of this I will never be able to run for public office and I accept that reality. But this website is a very dignified, well-dressed skeleton full of witty retorts and honorable deeds compared to the disheveled, stenching, staggering and loud skeletons who would come marching out of the closet to White Zombie's "Thunderkiss '65" if they ever unearthed the college years. So enjoy your train ride, your hangover day at work, your AA meeting or your dump. I'm here to serve.
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