As I’m making my parents’ guest room bed w SEVEN throw pillows, I realize I have never – not once – met a straight man with a throw pillow.
Actually, if you ask straight men why expensive odd shaped extraneous lumps are even ON your bed, he will stare blankly at you, perplexed.
Those silly faggots and their extraneous decorative items! It amazes me how she’s got me and every other homogenous homosexual pegged (up the butt)! None of us have any masculine tendencies at all, because we were all too busy decorating houses, making mini quiches, styling hair and throwing theme parties. We are just like ladies, except more glittery and magical! Trying on our mothers’ fancy dresses and heels as little nelly prissy boys gave us magical gay powers for interior design. And we all prance around our homes in our kimonos at night, sipping appletinis and figuring out where to put those hundreds of Jonathan Adler pillows we bought online and getting boners because shiny and textured fabrics make us hard. She has us all figured out. I am so glad she recognizes us, the lisping, ascot-wearing, cock-gobbling ass pumpers of the world, as the silly exaggerated caricatures that we are. It makes us feel so much better about being second-class citizens who should only speak when something bitchy or sassy must be said. I am almost embarrassed that she knows us so well. I’d take my throw pillows off the bed in shame, but my wrists aren’t firm enough to lift them!