If ever there was a story of something good coming out of something deeply tragic, this is it. Meet Chris Birch of Ystrad Mynach, South Wales. He’s gay. I mean, really, really gay. He’s a hairdresser for crying out loud. Chris lives with his nineteen year old boyfriend in an apartment above the salon. They have lots of gay sex. Did I mention that he’s gay?
But here’s the thing about Chris Birch. He’s only recently become gay. Not that long ago, he was definitely a hetero–he worked in a bank, played rugby, and drank beer with the boys. He was also engaged to marry his girlfriend.
And then something amazing happened. While playing “footie” at the park, he decided that he could really impress his pals with a killer backflip. His attempt fell flat. He didn’t pull off the stunt but he did manage to break his neck and trigger a stroke. The amateur acrobat was racked with excruciating pain, blacked out, and was rushed to the hospital.
And then he woke up gay.
Sounds strange, I know. But there really was a whole new Chris.
“When I was finally let out of the hospital I moved back in with Mum and started physio. I had to learn to walk, eat, even speak again and all my family were supporting me, hoping they would see the old Chris come back soon enough. I had physio for five months and was really focused but every now and then I would notice my family shooting me a funny look or saying I was different.”
Yes. different. And what gay man hasn’t felt a little different? Not like the other boys. The old Chris Birch–the beer drinking rugby player who worked at the bank and dated women–was gone. Suddenly all that hetero masculine stuff just wasn’t interesting. He was a femme queer.
“My old friends would come round and visit me but the conversation would dry up straightaway. I wasn’t interested in the rugby scores, going down the pub to watch football or anything else I used to do.”
It didn’t take long before Chris realized that he didn’t care so much for the taco anymore. He was a fan of the sausage.
“I was watching TV one day when a really handsome guy came on. I felt my stomach flutter and the same feelings I used to have for pretty girls came across me. I had never felt like that about a man before but I knew immediately what the feeling was. I fancied him.”
His first crush on a boy. How cute.
Now, I have mixed feelings about this whole thing. On the one hand, I’m always glad to have one more person on our side. Making the whole world gay sounds just fine by me. Welcome to the club, Chris.
But on the other hand…this is very threatening to our theory that people are just “born that way”. Wait, did I say theory? It’s not a theory. It’s science. And if you don’t believe me, you must be a science hater. And you don’t want to be a science hater…do you?
The entire foundation of our movement is that our sexual activities are preprogrammed at birth and therefore not really our fault. Without this concept, we’re just another group of people defined by our behaviors, just like cigarette smokers, vegetarians, swingers, bungee jumpers and pet owners. No one would think we’re being “discriminated against” if, for example, an apartment complex didn’t permit smokers.
So we had to come up with something else. And this is what we decided: Gay is the new black. It’s a rather far-fetched concept that was initially laughed at and mocked when the political gays rolled it out three decades ago.
Butt sex is kind of like having black skin? You’ve got to be shitting me.
The worst part is that the blacks themselves were the least likely to accept that my taking it in the poopchute was somehow equivalent to the color of their skin. They laughed at us, and from time to time, kicked our asses for making such a stupid and insulting comparison. Believe me, I once caught a serious beating.
So we had to start firing the blacks from their jobs for failing to see the comparison. Just ask Crystal Dixon. She was fired from her job at Toledo University because she wrote a letter to the editor expressing her belief that someone else’s sexuality was not the same as the color of her skin. Yeah, what the hell would she know about being black? We had the bitch fired. In the future, the blacks will be careful not to question the analogy.
We pressed on, repeating the lie so many times that it started to ring true. We got ourselves into the schools and we taught it to an entire generation of kids who, by the time they graduated, had heard it so many times that it didn’t seem the least bit ridiculous anymore. It was probably the most successful propaganda campaign in the history of the world.
We were doing so well and then along came Chris from Wales. A stroke changed him from hetero sports fan slob caveman into a queerboy. Now, I’ve heard of strokes having an effect on personality. I’ve heard of people waking up from strokes with odd foreign accents and with newly discovered artistic skills. But I’ve never heard of a stroke altering a person’s DNA. And since gayness is predetermined at birth by genetic code, this whole story just does not compute.
Gayness is a just a genetically determined trait like any other–say, having red hair and freckles, height, eye color, or skin color. Unfortunately, there are no known instances of any of those genetically determined traits changing because of a stroke.
For example, my mother had a stroke a few years back, and she still woke up a Caucasian woman with blond hair and blue yes. The stroke happened right after I came out to her, if I remember correctly. She had an aneurism and collapsed right there in front of me. Nothing much changed after the stroke except that she now drools out of one side of her mouth and she spends most of her time crying because her son is a homo. Now, if she had woken up as a black person, as a man, or as a red head, that would have been a really neat trick. If she had woken up as a Lakota Sioux chieftain that would have been pretty cool too. Or if she had woken up with a new eye color. Unfortunately, she can’t wake up as any of those things because her DNA won’t allow it.
But if a person can wake up gay, that must mean that DNA is not the culprit. No wonder we can’t find a gay gene despite the fact that we’ve been searching since before Chris Birch was born. All we’ve done is asked the government for more grant money and assured the public that such a gene exists and we’re going to find it…someday. Until we find the evidence, just keep believing in the theory, m’kay?
That’s how science works, right guys? First I come up with a theory then I demand that you take it on faith while I find the evidence to support it, no matter how long it takes. I have this theory that there’s a magic space dragon who lives on the opposite side of the sun from the planet earth. We can never see him because–duh!–he’s hiding behind the burning ball of gas in the sky. But don’t worry, we’re looking for him. We’re sure he exists and we’ll just need a little more time and lot more money to find him. In the meantime, you’d better shut your mouth with all of that doubt. This is science and you don’t question science.
The Stroke Association of Great Britain was asked to weigh in on the astounding revelation that strokes can turn people queer. According to spokesman Joe Korner:
“In a stroke, blood supply to the brain is cut off and in the areas starved of oxygen, brain cells die and brain damage can occur. But the brain is amazingly adaptable and during recovery it can make new neural connections, finding different pathways to achieve the same thing. So it’s possible those new neural connections can trigger connections to things people weren’t aware of such as an accent, language, or different sexuality.”
Geez, that’s strange. Accents and languages are not genetic. But gayness is. I know that it is.
It’s almost as if he’s saying that homosexuality is the result of brain damage. If your brain is cut off from oxygen for a while, parts of it begin to die, and then you wake up with the insatiable urge to slurp cock. That goes a long way in explaining why so many of the men I’ve dated over the years have been batshit crazy. Sorry, Michael.
Even so, I don’t like this brain damage theory. If people thought that being gay was a mental disorder–as it was classified by the APA until 1973–they still wouldn’t understand us to be a persecuted minority. They’d say, ‘Hey they need some help, but they’re still crazy like schizos’. No one would change marriage laws to accommodate the mental patient community. So it has to be genetic. It just has to be.
Still, there appears to be something to the brain damage theory. Last year, a study was conducted in Sri Lanka concerning the effect of mercury on male ibises. Shockingly, the study determined that the birds were significantly more likely to engage in same-sex pairings after being fed mercury in their rations than ibises that had not been exposed to the heavy metal.
I was initially thrilled with this news because I love to read about homosexuality in the animal kingdom. Whenever anyone says that two guys sodomizing each other is not natural, I point out that animals do it. And heaven knows that humans should not hold themselves to any higher standard than animals. If it’s so unnatural, how come it occurs in nature?
But then someone pointed out to me that a human pollutant was added in this instance. The point of the study on ibises is that mercury poisoning makes you gay. So when I say that being gay is natural, I mean that you might begin to exhibit homosexual tendencies after sucking out the contents of one of those new curly-q lightbulbs. That kind of natural.
Even so, it’s kind of hard to attribute the homosexual behavior of the ibises to their genes when it appears that mercury poisoning is to blame. Mercury may have a lot of nasty effects, but it doesn’t alter your DNA. So I think we should just ignore this study because it doesn’t fit my preconceived notions.
Hmmm…I just had a thought. There was that time when I was a kid when I found a broken thermometer on the floor and started playing with that fun silvery metal that was seeping out of it. It was so much fun to watch it roll across my skin in beads. I put it in my hair, in my mouth, up my butt. Might that have something to do with why I like boys?
If it is, I’ll just say that it’s better this way. I sure am glad I poisoned my brain because now I have my husband and we’re happy and fulfilled. At least that’s what we try to convince ourselves.
Chris Birch is happy too. He likes the new Chris.
“I think I’m happier than ever, so I don’t regret the accident.”
Good for you Chris. Take it from me–brain damage can be a wonderful thing. It can lead to rich and deep relationships with other men and eternal happiness.