How to do the wrong thing right
This sweltering month, per usual, we’re once again preoccupied with those dog days’ matters of “size,” narcissism, petty politics and thwarted marriage proposals — oh, the burning dramas of gaydom. Let’s get right to it.
Dear Howard,
One of my regular booty-calls proposed to me the other night. The dude’s, like, only a standby emergency trick. I was, like, speechless. He dropped down on one knee, blabbering the whole spiel — the lock, stock and teardrops romance thing — straight out of a Hollywood movie: a ring, red roses and everything.
Somehow, I turned him down flat without laughing: I was being diplomatic-like about it, but he still looked just as wounded as a three-legged whimpering puppy shot full of BBs. I told him that it was just too soon, you know, and like I just needed more time to process it all — a total, bald-face lie. Howard, bottom-line, he’s hung like a light switch but otherwise is a giant man — kind, generous, chivalrous, even. Hell, he opens my car door for me! Am I, like, a gigantic asshole for turning down a perfectly good marriage proposal with no justifiable reason, at all, other than that Mr. Unhung packs a baby dick? — Fane
Dear Fane,
Yes, you are, Fantasia, you are a gigantic asshole — and of the elbow-deep-in-the-rosebud sort. In truth, you are even a nastier asshole than that, for you are also stupid and, unfortunately, stupid is forever. Fane, hear me: You’ve forfeited happiness with a man who loves you, sincerely, for a lifetime of ever seeking that bigger-and-better jackpot cock awaiting you ’round the corner but one more Grindr click away ’til, inevitably, that day last arrives where you’re still mysteriously single, somehow… and suddenly unfuckable, too.
You’ve seen the queens I’m referring to, Fane — so many Botox injections, their faces look like trampolines, hair plugs resembling a bloomin’ onion from Outback and sphincters so flappy-wide they can accommodatingly smuggle a full kilo, easily, while vogue-ing through TSA undetected. Here’s my advice: You should have never gone out on a second “date” in the first place with your so-called “standby emergency trick,” considering he never rises up high enough in the sack to satisfy your gutter-bottom ethics; moreover, you certainly should not have led him on to believe, via subsequent booty-calls, that a ring from him down on bended-knee could ever make a decent man out of you.
Dear Howard,
Am I the only gay Trump supporter in all of Dallas County? Everybody I know is for Hillary. I’ve even stopped admitting that I’m voting Republican, because of the holier-than-thou hypocrisy crap I’m subjugated to by my “friends” telling me constantly how stupid am I to support a “bigoted, racist, misogynistic, xenophobic, homophobic, sociopathic buffoon.” Isn’t this America? I thought it was every U.S. citizen’s constitutional right, and privilege, to vote for whomever he/she so choose to without being publicly castigated and shamed? — Todd T.
Dear Todd,
Did no one ever inform you, dear boy, that religion and politics are the only two topics one never discusses either at the dinner table or among “friends?” That said, I disagree with your “friends” on but one of their accusatory characteristics of The Donald: He’s actually not homophobic …. or, to paraphrase Bill Maher, Trump is so dumb he thinks LGBT is a type of deli sandwich. The Donald is so out-of-touch, he has no issues, problems, or even thoughts regarding gays whatsoever; regardless, it’s a totally moot issue, as the tangerine terror ain’t gonna win the presidency anyhow… and Hillary isn’t going to win Texas.
Dear Howard,
My new husband and I got married just a year ago last July. I love him even more now than when we first met; however, he has lately started suggesting us “keep things spicy” by maybe trying out a ménage-a-trois on occasion, or even hiring up a callboy some sultry weekend night to enjoy tag-teaming. Howard, I am a hot, hot man! How do I go about filing for divorce? — Adonis Dickright
Dear Dickstick,
Just where do you get off, Dicky, in presuming that your sexual charms are so magically seductive as to prevail over any other testosterone-raging male’s God-given, wanderlust libido, keeping him exclusively glued (throughout married life/eternity) to only your XXX bedroom-talents/schoolmarm-prowess? Grow the hell up.
— Howard Lewis Russell
Do you have a question — about etiquette, love, life or work — that needs an answer? Send your problem to AskHoward@DallasVoice.com and he may answer it.
This article appeared in the Dallas Voice print edition July 29, 2016.
