You could have knocked me and Phil, my secretary, over with a feather when we heard some guy on the radio freak out about the repeal of Don’t Ask Don’t Tell. It was the fact of the repeal, not the radio guy freakout (“we’re gambling with our national security over political correctness!”), that made us stop what we were doing (it was Saturday, so we were lookin’ at turkeys) and cock an attentive ear.
“Damn,” said Phil. “Didn’t see that comin’.”
It’s just so uncharacteristically progressive of the Central Junta to take such a wild plunge and throw its tacit approval behind the whimsical notion that homos are somewhat human enough to join the warrior class. So uncharacteristically progressive is this plunge that my suspicions are 99.7% confirmed: There’s been a breach in the spacetime warpmatter horizon-continuum.
Yeah, I’m pretty sure that a famous non-heterosexual spinster aunt from the future, Holly Clitoris, recently came back through a dark energy vortex-hole. She bought a bean-and-cheese with guacamole at a taco stand in South Austin, which set off a chain of events that altered our old universe into the kind of universe in which social policy reflects the idea that gays should sometimes be mistaken for people.
In Holly Clitoris’ time, being gay is such a non-event that “gay culture” is just culture, and straight people only have one TV channel.