A Right Wing congressman confronts the "evils" of homosexuality
"I can't believe them sometimes," the politician, Larry McBride, stood in front of his mirror, tweezing stubborn, protruding nose hairs out of his nostrils and into the bowl of the sink, "Can you believe they're actually asking for rights?"
"It's outrageous," his wife murmured, bobbing her head in agreement, "they're just trying to get attention." She examined the crimson polish she had just applied to her fingers and toes.
"And you know The Left is supporting them too," McBride walked away from the sink, his nose hairs still sticking stubbornly to the carefully Cloroxed porcelain, "and I keep telling them, first they're going to want to be in the army, then they're going to want to get married like us normal citizens." He called the last sentences into the bathroom after him as he walked to his chest of drawers and took out a red silk tie.
"Unbelievable," his wife chimed, following him out of the bathroom and sitting on the end of the bed, watching her husband as he buttoned up his stiff-collared shirt and tied his tie in a perfectly respectable half-windsor.
"I'm not going to let this happen," McBride continued, "No sir! I will protect our family values."
"Jesus loves you, my brave crusader," his wife stood on tiptoes to kiss her husband on the cheek, "just remember what's right. God loves us. He hates them, that's why he made them so messed up!"
"Don't be ridiculous," he pushed away from his wife, "he didn't make them like that! They're unnatural. Attention seeking freaks. Never forget that. They wished this upon themselves."
"Of course, darling, you're right. You're always right."
"I know that. Now I just have to prove it to all those Prius driving flower children," he picked up his bag and left the bedroom.
"Have a great day, darling!" his wife rushed after him, skipping lightly on her still tacky toenails. By the time she reached the front door, McBride was in his SUV in the driveway.
Two hours later McBride sat in Congress, watching the proceedings.
"I will filibuster this bitch!" her murmured to his assistant, a nervous-looking Ivy League graduate.
A timid looking man in a dress military uniform tugged at his tight collar as he stood behind the podium.
"My...name...is," the man was practically sweating with the effort of speaking, "Jason Powell. I...am...," he was gasping for breath, "a...private...in the...US army."
McBride leaned over to his assistant, "He's putting on quite a show, how disgusting. I can't believe the theatricality that some people put into these proceedings."
"Is...is...it...okay...for...me...to...switch...back," Jason Powell gasped, looking over at the Speaker, "I'm...going...to...lose...my...job...anyways."
The Speaker, the damn liberal, gave a sharp nod and Jason Powell wiped his forehead with a spotless handkerchief he pulled out of his breast pocket. A neatly dressed woman stepped beside Jason Powell, holding her hands in front of her body and looking at a spot on the wall just above all the representatives heads.
"Nehw I saw a elttil yob..." Powell began, his words now flowing easily.
"When I was a little boy..." the women translated simultaneously in a dry monotone.
Powell spun a story about a little boy who had always been different, who had struggled to blend in but couldn't quite deny who he really was. He tried for a long time to be someone he wasn't. He worked for years to be able to speak like all the other little boys and girls on the schoolyard but inside he felt like he was betraying who he really was. He had been to the doctor; there was nothing wrong with him. It was just who he was. He couldn't change that, though he could cover it up, and he was tired of having to hide. But, the little boy Powell grew into a man who wanted to protect his country. Unfortunately, the United States army didn't think very highly of "the backwards" so he was forced to go into hiding. It was hard to do, but he wanted to protect his country and do his duty to defend liberty. But liberty couldn't even let him speak the way he knew was natural. Powell finished his story, translated by the monotone woman, by saying that he knew he was going to be dishonorably discharged for his story, but he thought it was the right thing to do. It had taken the United States long enough to accept women and racial minorities; it was time for them to accept the silent minority, the so called backwards.
McBride didn't wait for a gap. He rushed up to the podium, practically knocking Powell and his translator out of the way as he rushed to the front of the room. The Speaker looked disapprovingly, but she bit her lip and accepted the fact that she only had to deal with the man for another year before his term of office was up.
"This is an assault on family values! These people should be forced to stop clowning around and accept their place in the real world! They're obviously just searching for attention and the way they live is just unnatural. We've just witnessed that they can overcome their handicap," McBride motioned extravagantly over to Private Jason Powell, who was still drenched in sweat and looking a bit faint, "if you even want to call it a handicap. Which I don't. They claim that they should be able to marry. Is that a world we want? They have a disease and we don't want that disease to be passed on. They should be quarantined, put in camps! they are unnatural and a detriment to society. Jesus spoke in full sentences, in the proper direction! So did George Washington. Abraham Lincoln. Franklin Delano Roosevelt! Never once have we had a backwards president! No we haven't! Why? Because it's unnatural, unholy. Do away with them, I say...do away with them!"
"Representative McBride!" one of the representatives from Massachusetts, stood up and interrupted, "this is outrageous!"
" It's okay," McBride smirked and left the podium, to plop down next to his assistant.
The Speaker leaned into her microphone and growled, "That's enough of that. I won't have anymore of this anarchy. We're adults, ladies and gentlemen, not petulant children."
"Very..." the assistant cleared his throat nervously, "very excellent, Mr. McBride. Very moving."
"Stop sniveling, you faggot."
It was time for the moment that McBride loved. Justice was just about to be served and the American tradition was about to be upheld. He could just feel it. The backwards were going to have to stay just as they were; they were going to have to change and accept the reality: they would never be anything unless they covered up their attention seeking abnormalities. McBride was grinning ear to ear as the votes went underway and the bill wasn't passed. It was a close vote, certainly, but the rush of adrenaline and religious superiority that flushed through McBride as a close victory was squeaked out made him blissfully happy. Now, all his precious American values were safe.
McBride slammed the door behind him. His wife looked at him, doe eyed from the kitchen. She was wearing her apron, covered in flour, and holding her baby on her hip.
"What's wrong, darling?" his wife asked as McBride hung his coat up on the coat rack, not facing his wife. She put the baby down in his high chair, where he instantly began to shove Cheerios up his nose.
McBride turned around so his wife could see him beaming. He rushed across the living room, his enormous feet thudding against the hardwood. He snatched his wife up in his arms, kissing her passionately and spinning her around. He dropped her back on the ground with a gentle plop.
"What's...what's gotten into you tonight?" she asked, her face flushed, flattening her blonde hair back down around her face.
"We did it! We stopped the fu..."
"Watch your mouth around Richard!" his wife chirped, cutting him off, "but congratulations, baby!" she stood up on her tiptoes and kissed her husband on the head, "it looks like Jesus has won again!"
His wife waltzed triumphantly back into the kitchen, "why, this calls for something special! I'm going to make a pineapple upside down cake!"
McBride strutted over to his son, who was grinning up at his father as snot trickled down from his nostrils to mingle with the drool and cheerio residue around his mouth. McBride didn't seem to notice this though as he picked up his son and swung him around in his arms, "your father helped make history today, little man! What do you have to say about that?"
McBride looked at his smiling baby. He certainly wasn't expecting an answer. Richard hadn't started to talk yet. But the baby reached his fat fingers up and put his grubby hands on either side of his father's face. He took a deep breath, looked proud of himself and uttered one phrase: