Congratulations Conservative Lesbian!

Today you’re the world’s only conservative lesbian, and boy does it ever suck to be you. Every day you wake up and look in the mirror and think “what can I do to make myself less of a person in the eyes of our culture today?” Then you think about how morbidly unattractive all the women on the right are by your standards (exception: Michelle Bachman) and breathe a sigh for all the time and effort you’ll have to put into faking that you’re someone else when you go to a lesbian bar this evening, just on the off chance that you might meet someone you’d like to take home.

Finally, completing your morning ritual, you’ll brush your teeth. Up and down then side to side.

By the time it’s all done you’ll be nice and safe and tucked inside your own head. Driving a Prius down to work in the accounting department of an ad agency, your mind will have adapted almost perfectly to removing thoughts of these internal and external conflicts from your daily consciousness. They will be there, sitting just outside your mind, outside the car. Thoughts of how you’ll deal with your aggressively gay male co-worker who still wears that fucking Hope t-shirt every Thursday like it’s his laundry shirt. Thoughts of what you’ll do to avoid being around your co-workers for an hour as soon as you’re given the chance.

These thoughts will rest as you focus on the stop and go of hellish Seattle traffic, the moribund crawl towards work that you’ve come to pride yourself on your ability to endure, the bombardment of hate from people you’d just like to get a little fun from, if only they’d set aside their fiscal politics for five minutes and examine your meticulously shaped bush.

But you’ll never think of stalling out your own opinions, of concealing who you are to these people. You’ll be deeply, self assuredly proud on a level that you’ll never be able to shake. And for that we say congratulations conservative lesbian. We hope you find someone apathetic soon!

Congratulations on Attending a Taping of Ellen!

You’ve done a lot for your girlfriend. You’ve taken it up the ass from her without lube, picked her up really early and really late from the airport and you once ate a live rat to save her from a group of mafioso (singular mafiosa) intent on killing her over a trifling debt. There’s even this one time when you totally could’ve fucked her sister and kind of wanted to because her sister has a lot of the qualities you like in her and she never would’ve found out or anything because you’re both great at secrets and you didn’t because you love her that much. But even that Herculean feat will pale compared to what you do today as you endure the taping of an episode of Ellen by her side.

It will begin with an overweight woman in a pants suit emerges from stage right and begins gyrating her hips.

“How’s everybody doing?” she’ll ask, clapping her hands and shaking her ‘thang.’

“Okay!” you’ll shout back down at her. Some of the audience members will laugh when you say that and the overweight woman will smile.

“Well, let’s see if we can do better. Everyone on their feet!” She’ll increase the volume of her clapping and do her best to get the audience members up and at it, gesturing up with her hands. A surprisingly large number of them will assent easily, regular attendees of the Ellen show almost all. Only a few stalwarts and the infrequent newbie will hold out. You’ll be among them.

The overweight woman will notice you almost immediately, turning her Draconian, clap-happy attention to you with a slow, purposeful kind of intimidation normally utilized by South American interrogators. She’ll point at you, crook her finger and issue a single call. “You,” she’ll say, gesturing without breaking her clapping rhythm, “Dance.”

You’ll look to your girlfriend, who will already be rising to her feet, with pain in your eyes, but she won’t see it, already under this walrus of a woman’s thumb. “C’mon, honey,” she’ll say. “It’ll be fun.”

You’ll bite your lip as you rise and stand next to her, shaking your hips back and forth as the massive lesbian directing the crowd smiles and laughs at your clear pain.

“Yes!” she’ll cry. “Good!”

A single tear will issue from your eyes and you’ll do your best to imagine you're far, far away, thinking of the time you watched The Brave Little Toaster with your girlfriend and you cried while she held you and then jerked you off later to make you happier. You’ll try to take solace in that purest of memories but it won’t be enough. You’ll still know, somewhere in your mind, that you’re in a studio being directed by a horrible woman with horrible purpose to do something vile to your very nature as a human being.

Congratulations Attending a Taping of Ellen!