Endless Errands of the Errant

Okay. So you're gay. And then it's like a cottage industry and a very expensive hobby.

First, you get married in Oregon legally.

Then it gets voided.

Then, you have to fill out a form for the State of California Family Code Section 297 that makes you domestic partners.

Then you have to go get the form notarized and mail it in with a check and all you get for the effort and money is the same state rights of divorce but not all the rights of marriage.

Then, you buy some life insurance because you're now 297 coded and you want to help out your partner in case you die.

Then, you get a phone call from the reality T.V. people.

Then, you go on television as a gay couple who had their license revoked on that new Thirty Days show by the Super Size Me guy.

Then, you get ready for them to come over. Straighten up. Bring out the voided marriage license.

Then, before they come, you have to talk with the producers and figure out what sort of "home project" the two middle aged queers are going to do that will look good on television, which shows both how stable your relationship is AND how gay you both are because you decided to clean out the spice rack together.

Then, it gets taped, you sign a release form so you will never get paid for spending a day with a camera crew knocking over the fired clay art fair canister set in the kitchen.

Then, you have to email everyone and tell them when it's going to air.

Then, all you get for your trouble is a whole bunch more states voting in legislation that declares you subhuman.

Then, what? You drive across the country in an old car with the words painted across it, "If Jesus hates my gay ass so much, why did he make it so damn fuckable?"

Then, someone sees your parked car outside your Motel 6 room and they come in and they murder you.

Then, your widowed Code 297 domestic partner collects your insurance money and buries or burns you.

Then, your widowed Code 297 domestic partner spends the insurance money on lipo, a neck job, a very subtle eye job and an ass lift.

Then, your widowed Code 297 domestic partner endures a series of disappointing dates with younger men who only want him for his bungalow lifestyle and piercing blue eyes.

Then, in a fit of despair, your widowed Code 297 domestic partner goes back on reality television and cries with humiliation and a deep gay self-loathing to the host of the show and he converts to heterosexuality and so is saved and the audience applauds violently.

Then, he signs a release and gets paid nothing for giving up his sexuality.

Then, he drinks himself to death in the bungalow.

Then, the loud federal government swoops in and eminent domains the property declaring all gay tainted land must be purified.

Then, the bungalow is turned into a Christian uber-fertility clinic funded by Congress and all embryos must comply with immediate implantation.

Then, no research is done on stem cells.

Then, the birth rate of white Christians is furious. People still get awful diseases, but the billions of Jesus goose-stepping children born outnumber the miserable diseases that kill.

Then, there's enormous overpopulation.

Then, there's scarcity and righteousness.

Then, there's the Chinese-American war.

After that, it should be pretty quiet.

Then, any living guy left who wants to can cut his losses and go suck a cock in peace.