Internationally reknowned heterosexual cartoon slut Betty Boop, gooses it up with chauvanist pervert Kris Kringle. Here we go again: another hetero Xmas!
This breeder enemy occupation we've put up with for how long? A
thousand years? Two thousand? The Nazi regime has NOTHING over hetero
hegemony! A flash in the pan by comparison. Likewise for the paltry 400
or so years of black slavery.
So here we're supposed to ACCEPT as cute and totally appropriate for children
female images (cartoon or otherwise) that behave and dress in a
seductive "fuck the daylights outta me, big boy!" Yes, that's
entertainment...for hetero men ONLY. A capitalist system where
EVERYTHING has a price, and is grist for the bread-and-circuses mill, including of course the ever-ubiquitous PUSSY. (More honest to print on our currency "In TWAT we trust," than "God"!)
And where are the romantic movies, books, and tales promoting
delightfully GAY Christmas stories? Why must all the seasonal romance be
relegated to HETEROS only?
Xmas is the chief holiday of Our Hetero Overlords: established to ASSERT
the superiority of roughshod capitalist dogma, hand in hand with
breeder supremacy. Breeders may take some time off from work, but they
sure don't take a break from gay bashing! This is a "Fambly Valyooz"
holiday, queers EXCLUDED doncha know. When so accused (being the smug
fetus-poopers they are) they'll point to the rare exception of a
family here and there (probably totalling no more than a scant dozen
across the entire United States including Alaska, Hawaii, Puerto Rico,
Cuba, Mexico and Canada), who INCLUDE their gay relations...under
proscribed and severely restricted conditions. Such as:
Don't TALK about homosexuality especially gay marriage to
ANYONE...don't hold hands except in the privacy of your bedroom (and
don't be seen entering the bedroom together) and for god's sake don't
DARE kiss in public...don't wear ANYthing that displays pro-gay
sentiment such as buttons, stickers, key chains, or jewelry (which
includes the pink triangle or rainbow in any way, shape or form)...cover
up or remove ANY gay bumper stickers on your vehicle before you even
DARE come within five miles of our home...and for chris-sake, don't
DANCE with each other or even HUG! And NO faggoty behavior such as
lisping, limp-wrist gestures, crossing your leg above the knee,
sashaying like a vamp, or showing ANY interest in opera, ballet, and
broadway musicals. Oh, and one more thing: BOTH ears should definitely not be pierced; ONE however, is permissable.
Lest you forget you're mingling with the enemy, albeit FAMBLY, just
pretend you're an undercover communist homosexual gimped-out gypsy Jew
at one of Hitler's exclusive Gestapo galas in the Bavarian Alps.
Keep your guard up at ALL times, don't wear anything PINK (or lavender),
maintain a wan, obsequious grin...and don't speak unless spoken to. And
study this manifesto "Seven Litmus Tests"
before attending ANY fambly event. Writ by yours truly, it will help
gird your psychological loins upon infiltrating enemy camp.
I've never been big on Xmas, but for the fact that Randolph Taylor's
birthday is Dec. 30. If you are not one of my few close friends, and
haven't read much of my tales, you probably don't know WHO the frig this
"Randolph" is! He is one who I love more than any other man (except Larkin, who is NEW in my life, whom I consider equal
to Randolph): a Vietnam Veteran and gay rights activist, and a truly
gracious, heroic individual. Disappeared from my life in 1991, don't
know what happened to him, can't afford to hire a detective. My whole
life is dedicated to him, he changed my world tremendously, and for the
better. To learn more about him, click here. Here is the last I've heard from him, except for two brief (and mysterious) phone calls a few months later:
Open the card to read: "May the sweet warmth of Christmas touch your heart and stay there all year" followed by one single word writ by his own hand: "Randy".
Notice no return address, though postmarked San Francisco. Dec. 1990.
All the while, I thought he was back east, either in Arlington, VA or
NYC. The card now hangs above my bed (has for many years), and as you
can see, is yellowed from age. I am a pagan at heart, Xmas means little
to me...but for the fact that it means a LOT to my Randolph. His
background is humble: raised in Covington W. Virginia, among poor
whites, his father a coal miner who, diagnosed with black lung
and given a short time to live, consequently shot himself, that his
family may survive on the insurance. (Randolph was only 16 at the time.)
And since My Most Beloved's birthday IS smack dab in the middle of
Yuletide, of course I honor his remembrance. Here's a painting I did of
him in 1993, called "Zeus Electric":
Do I regret the ordeal he put me through, his undeserved and unkind
rejection and anger towards me? No, not one bit. (Though I must place a
conditional tag on this: I did suffer inordinately for MANY years, in
order to reach a loftier attititude and altitude. Randolph made
me a BETTER man than I could ever imagine.) I'm proud to bear his cross,
no matter how long. When I cry over him, it's with tears of joy, and
because I miss My Little Chipmunk so very much. But more than anything
else, I am SO HAPPY to have met him, and taken upon myself some of his
own burdens...burdens which I never expected to be so difficult. His
spirit has finally brought another incredible man to me, one who WILL be
my very best friend of all time (one who will NOT disappear from my
difficult life) and who ADMIRES my eternal devotion to Randolph: that
would be Larkin Kelsey.
There is HAPPINESS afoot in my life: I can feel it in my boner...er,
"bones". (Sorry 'bout that Freudian slip!) My life has taken an AMAZING
swing into the most incredible miracle (with you, Eleanor C.,
being a sort of USHER into this New Reality, thanks to your kind
enthusiasm and support as comradely authors and suffering geniuses). I
will not go into this further (in this post), but if you want to understand My Miracle, you must read BOTH books contained in the incredible opus "Steal This Blog". It is free, it is FASCINATING, and you are welcome to make as many copies as you want, to share with others.
I DO look forward to the re-emergence of pagan beliefs...fairytales
are better than Xian (or any other monotheistic-based) stories. Rude
awakening: Jesus Christ IS a pagan nature-lover...attempting to bring
back matriarchal belief systems. That's why the utter import of his
friendship with Mary of Magdalene...for she was a prostitute
who Jesus befriended, and gave utmost respect. (As he did to ALL
downtrodden, rejected and marginalized souls.) But DON'T let this "Mary"
cult suck you in, for it's just an attempt to HETEROSEXUALIZE Xianity
by claiming Jesus and Mary boinked each other and had children. Jesus
was 100% GAY I assure you! His homosexuality was a major contributor
to his ultimate persecution and crucifixion! Sadly (and ANGRILY) I know
of NO church--even those that claim GAY FRIENDLINESS--that cares to
speak the truth about Our Savior's same-sex proclivities.
But let's not get our boxer briefs all up in a bunch, over the
realization that we gays (and their true supporters) continue to exist
under this evil regime of heterocentric bigots. For I ASSURE you, their days are severely numbered
and we will gain TRUE LIBERATION in our lifetime...perhaps even in this
transition into the New Year: 2008. But until that time, there are
three hetero singers/Xmas songs I absolutely CHERISH...not because of
their seasonal import, but because of the sweetness and clarity of heart
conveyed. I am also a devotee of "midi" music, which blossomed out of
the birth of PC sound cards (Creative Lab's Sounblaster
being pioneer). These three songs are listed below, with lyrics. Just
click on the title to hear it played in midi format. Sing along or just
kick back and listen to the sweet tunes caress your eardrums:
Have yourself a merry little
Christmas.
Let your heart be light,
From now on our troubles
Will be out of sight.
Have yourself a merry little
Christmas,
Make the Yule-tide gay,
From now on our troubles
Will be miles away.
Here we are as in olden days,
Happy golden days of yore,
Faithful friends who are dear to us
Gather near to us once more.
Through the years
We all will be together
If the Fates allow,
Hang a shining star
Upon the highest bough,
And have yourself
A merry little Christmas now
Do you remember me
I sat upon your knee
I wrote to you
With childhood fantasies
Well, I'm all grown up now
And still need help somehow
I'm not a child
But my heart still can dream
So here's my lifelong wish
My grown up christmas list
Not for myself
But for a world in need
No more lives torn apart
That wars would never start
And time would heal all hearts
And everyone would have a friend
And right would always win
And love would never end
This is my grown up christmas list
As children we believed
The grandest sight to see
Was something lovely
Wrapped beneath our tree
Well heaven surely knows
That packages and bows
Can never heal
A hurting human soul
No more lives torn apart
That wars would never start
And time would heal all hearts
And everyone would have a friend
And right would always win
And love would never end
This is my grown up christmas list
What is this illusion called the
innocence of youth
Maybe only in our blind belief can
we ever find the truth
(there'd be)
No more lives torn apart
That wars would never start
And time would heal all hearts
And everyone would have a friend
And right would always win
And love would never end, oh
This is my grown up christmas list
This is my grown up christmas list
The mood is right
The spirit's up
We're here tonight
And that's enough
Simply having a wonderful
Christmas time
Simply having a wonderful
Christmas time
The party's on
The feeling's here
That only comes
This time of year
Simply having a wonderful
Christmas time
Simply having a wonderful
Christmas time
The choir of children sing
their song
They practiced all year long
Ding dong, ding dong
Ding dong, ding dong
Ding dong, ding dong
Simply having a wonderful
Christmas time
Simply having a wonderful
Christmas time
The word is out
About the town
To lift a glass
Ahhh don't look down
Simply having a wonderful
Christmas time
Simply having a wonderful
Christmas time
The choir of children sing
their song
They practiced all year long
Ding dong, ding dong
Ding dong, ding dong
Ding dong, ding dong
The party's on
The spirits up
We're here tonight
And that's enough
Simply having a wonderful
Christmas time
Simply having a wonderful
Christmas time
The mood is right
The spirits up
We're here tonight
And that's enough
Simply having a wonderful
Christmas time
Simply having a wonderful
Christmas time
Simply having a wonderful
Christmas time
Simply having a wonderful
Christmas time
Ohhhhhhhhh
Christmas time
For those of you with broadband access (or infinite patience), I now
provide several video versions of the above-listed Christmas songs:
I just adore Linda Rondstat's version of "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas"...but what on Goddess's green earth was she thinking of when she cozied up to that quasi-liberal hypocrite Jerry Brown?
(Whose first act as Mayor of Oakland was to invite the United States
Marine Corps to stage war games in a shut-down local army base.) But
goshdarnit, I can't find a video of her ANYWHERE on the web, so here's
that same lovely piece sung by "Celtic Woman," live from the Helix Center in Dublin, Ireland:
Just for my good friend John H. (since you LOVE 40's-50's swing band, be-bop, and doo-wap stylings), here's that same song sung by your favorite crooner:
Amy Grant's version of "Grown-Up Christmas List" touches my heart strings like few songs do (and I'm a hopelessly romantic
sap). Even though she's one of those conventionally DEVOUT Christians
(who denounce homosexuality as a great offense against God), her vocal
mastery of that song is profound!
And of course "Wonderful Christmas Time"
is by popular song writer/singer par excellence, Sir James Paul
McCartney. His music, more than any other Beatle, put Christmas in this
baby boomer's heart all year round. I even had a CRUSH on him, and sent
him a love letter way back in 1972! I wonder: Was I the only MALE in
the whole world to do such a thing? As soon as I get famous, I'll ask him!
As a special Yuletide treat to you who are so gracious to visit ZekeBlog, click on McCartney's immortal image
to load a page containing MOST (if not all) of Paul's wonderful songs,
in sweet midi format. Wishing ALL my fans (who number less than the toes
on both my hands today, but tomorrow the world!) a most spectacularly GAY holiday season and the QUEEREST possible New Year.
Always know that, no matter WHAT time of year (for I don't limit my compassion to the "Christmas spirit"),
ZekeBlog is ALWAYS here to cheer you up, inspire you to loftier
heights, and wish you the GREATEST success, fulfillment and joy for you
and those you love. AND for all your enemies, whoever those homophobic
sad sacks may be.(Just don't spend too much time forgiving them; it's not worth it.)
posted by: soulsought (reply)
post date: 12.12.07 (11:08 am)
Well, most hetero men I know hate Xcremas. It's all about expense to please their wives and kids.
If anything, it's a hetero woman's day, all about boring each other with
pics of their kids and grandkids, and futzin' around in the kitchen,
eating fattening foods, and gossipping about which bitch isn't there.
Their husbands are in a different room, telling tall tales about how big
the fish is they caught, or watching males humping each other on a big
screen football game, or complaining about who has the most expensive
ingrate of a wife.
There's San Claudio, Santa Claudia. (male, female) Then there's Santa Claus, or is it Santa Clauset?
posted by: ZekeBlog (reply)
post date: 12.12.07 (12:25 pm)
Don't forget "Satan Claws"!
SATAN CLAWS IS COMING TO TOWN
You better come out, you better not lie,
You better not doubt, so open your fly:
Satan Claws is coming to town!
She knows when you are fucking,
She knows when you dump a heap,
She knows if you are straight or gay,
So be queer or take a leap!
Oh, Satan Claws is coming to town!
She's gettin' real pissed,
Nails ready to slice,
Gonna scratch out those hetero lice!
Oh, Satan Claws is coming to town!
She knows how you are voting,
She knows when you bash a fag,
She knows if you hate homos
(And to Hell you shall be dragged)!
Oh, Satan Claws is coming to town!
She's ready to hiss,
She's ready to strike,
Gonna show who she hates or she likes,
Oh, Satan Claws is coming to town!
She knows what you are thinking,
She knows what is in your heart,
And if you are a homophobe
She'll rip your lungs apart!
Oh, Satan Claws is coming to town!
She's flickin' her wrist
Straight into your hearts,
Gonna wipe out you hetero farts!
Oh, Satan Claws is coming to town!
posted by: Eleanor (reply)
post date: 12.12.07 (12:40 pm)
Nice work. Me, I have deeply fond memories of my queer male friends
doing up "Christmas" in a way that would put the "Family Values" crowd
to shame. In exactly the same way that Gay Marriage, far from
"damaging" the so-called institution of marriage, would in fact
revitalize marriage in general by bringing fresh perspective to what
"marriage" really means, the lavish Queer Christmases I saw and was
invited to--fun, food, fabulous decorations--remind us that Christmas at
its best, stripped of religion and crass commercialism, is actually
about light in the middle of winter, celebration, friendship and
frivolity in the finest sense of the word. I speak as a "breeder" who
never bred (you rape 'em, we scrape 'em; no fetus can beat us!) and who
could have easily partaken of the lopsided societal perks of "marriage"
but did not.
posted by: ZekeBlog (reply)
post date: 12.12.07 (1:31 pm)
Happy Chanukah!
posted by: James (reply)
post date: 12.13.07 (5:16 pm)
Frosty the snowman was a jolly, happy soul til one day when the magic
in that old silk hat went dark. Then all the kids began to scream and
shout as he mowed 'em down that day!
posted by: ZekeBlog (reply)
post date: 12.13.07 (6:04 pm)
James, thank you for your most WELCOME contribution. Which plays right into my hand:
FROTHY THE RABID SNOWMAN
-or-
IN FROZEN BLOOD
(The First "Snowman-Splatter" Story In Literary History)
(c) 1989 by Zeke Krahlin
Christmas in Pennsylvania is always bitter cold...and white as virgin
linen spread across the dinner table of an Amish homestead. The
excessive snow is a terrible nuisance to most adults, but to children it
is a playland policed by smiling snowmen with button eyes and skinny
arms. In the early part of the Holiday Season, thousands of kids in
hundreds of Quaker State towns and suburbs, simultaneously roll the icy
lint of God's Great Quilt into legless, roly-poly men of snow.
These Rubens-ian parodies stand silent vigil before each picture window
blessed by a child's smile...until the first thaw of a false spring,
some time in late February or March--if a big brother doesn't knock them
down much sooner (usually the case). However, this story is not about
all children and snowmen, nor about some children and snowmen...but
about a particular snowman who, one recent winter, terrorized the good
citizens of northwest Pennsylvania with bloodshed and tragedy.
By the time Timmy put the finishing touches on his snowman-- with poker
chips, checkered hunting cap, two lengths of an old vacuum hose, and a
Groucho Marx false nose--his L.L. Bean mittens and outer garments of
recycled wool were soaking wet. And it was dusk...at which time, all
over the vast state of Pennsylvania, children just like Timmy stepped
into a warm kitchen and left their boots and thinsulate jumpsuits piled
in a puddle by the door.
Timmy, like all these other kids, ate supper and played Nintendo or
Etcha-Sketch, or read the latest Fabulous Four adventure comic book, or
listened to David Seville and The Chipmunks on a transparent red 33-1/3
rpm, or did his homework (unlikely); then peered out the living room
window at his new snowman, before slipping into bed beneath several
layers of Pennsylvania-Dutch-style comforters from J.C. Penny's.
Shortly after 2 a.m., while he slept the untroubled sleep of a six-year-
old boy, a red light suddenly blinked on the computer console of the
control center of a nuclear reactor too near the border of the suburb in
which Timmy's family lived.
It was a leak! But the reactor shut down so fast, and the problem
rectified itself so quickly without human intervention, that the alarms
never sounded, and the leak did not flow beyond the yellow zone of the
third outer wall of lead casing. It was a brief accident of the lowest
priority, and cleanup was a simple, automated process. Not even so much
as one-millionth of an increase in rads was detected by the geigers; so
the foreman on duty was not required to report this leak to his
superiors--only log it in the calendar, then put his feet back on the
console and resume snoring.
But several radical ions did manage to escape into the atmosphere, and,
had they just floated into the upper strata instead of being blown by a
random breeze onto Timmy's snowman several blocks away, there would be
nothing more to tell, and all would still be right with the world and
northwest Pennsylvania.
"The more advanced a technology, the more it resembles magic," goes the
famous quote (or something like that: I can't remember it verbatim, nor
can I recall who said it). And this is exactly what happened.
Somewhere, in the dimension that crosses the border between physics and
sorcery, those several radioactive ions (completely harmless in the
usual order of things) touched Timmy's snowman and, like the wand of a
Fairy Godmother, brought it to life. But a most unfortunate coincidence
turned this miraculous curiosity into a hideous curse, for a rabid dog
happened to be pissing on the snowman when it suddenly came alive. As
the snowman took its first breath, the mad canine jumped in shock, bit
off a chunk of living snow, then ran away.
By the time Timmy's snowman learned how to slide around (since it had no
legs to walk), it was Christmas Eve... and he was now delirious with
psychotic fantasies and frothing at the mouth (not particularly
noticeable, as the bubbling saliva camouflaged itself quite well around a
snow-encrusted mouth and face).
The nearest habitat was, of course, that occupied by the
presently-slumbering Timmy and family. The rabid snowman managed to
break in, and find the master bedroom. Without a moment's hesitation,
he bludgeoned the parents to death with a small Edwardian night table
recently purchased at an auction in downtown Philadelphia. (This was
not an easy thing to do, as the snowman had no hands to speak of, just
two uneven lengths of vacuum hose for arms. But he was very strong,
very clever, and very mad. He was a cold S.O.B.) Timmy's sister was
next. The police discovered some parts of her stuffed in the trash
compacter, and other parts stuck to her bedroom wall with Crazy
Glue...though her complete remains may never be found.
Timmy was awakened by his sister's screams, and had just enough time to
leave a message on his pillow, with the PlayDoh he was using to create
miniature snowmen: "IT'S THE SNOWMAN"... before the snowman smashed
down his door and dragged Timmy from the house. (There was also
evidence that the snowman tore apart the Christmas tree and destroyed
all the presents around the tree, before leaving the scene of the
crime.)
Timmy's body was never found until April, when the snow thawed, and a
Mennonite farmer was plowing up his field for the first planting.
Naturally, Timmy's message made no sense to the police, until reports
started coming in about a man disguised as a snowman lurking the streets
at night and breaking into houses...some witnesses (with binoculars)
claimed to have seen saliva frothing from the suspect's mouth, as he
suddenly turned and glared in their direction. (Needless to say, many
folks believing in Bigfoot and/or UFO abductions, had a field day with
the media, and were the center of attention at American Legion and John
Birch Society events.)
After several more families were brutally killed, in three counties
across northwest Pennsylvania, the police realized they had a serial
killer on their hands--now dubbed "The Rabid Snowman." He was never
caught, and the homicides continued, until, by March, over twenty-five
families and Christmas trees (with their attendant gifts) had been wiped
out. Suddenly, it was spring; the snows thawed, and the murders
stopped...forever.
The case of The Rabid Snowman remains unsolved, as the only evidence of
the suspect is circumstantial. In a vacant lot in one of the
formerly-terrorized suburbs, a little girl playing hopskotch found the
following items in a clump of weeds: five poker chips, a red-and-black
checkered hunting cap, two long pieces of an old Kirby vacuum hose, a
false nose with eyeglasses and a moustache, and one L.L. Bean mitten
with a piece of orange PlayDoh stuck in the fabric. All these items,
except the last, match the neighbors' description of Timmy's snowman.
And, thanks to a revealing speck of PlayDoh (in the shape of an "i" or,
as some investigators suggest, part of an exclamation point), the mitten
was identified, beyond question, as having once belonged to our tiny
Timmy: God rest his soul.
posted by: Peggy C. (reply)
post date: 12.16.07 (7:25 pm)
Zeke...that is the best Christmas card i have ever
received. The litmus test was so helpful to me in
struggling with all those dumb family issues that come
up at this season.
Black lung disease! Suicide for insurance!
What a tradegy of a wealthy eat poor world this
country allows.
