Random Bitchin'

Nothing is inspiring me to write this evening, so I’ll share with you a conversation I had with a local police officer, part of whose job is to go undercover to a gay pick-up area near the lake and bust men, usually married ones, who are living on the down low.

“There’s a special place in hell for you, where you’ll be buggered for all eternity by the men you collared.”

“Probably.”

“You know, what difference does it make? These guys aren’t hurting anyone. And if people weren’t so homophobic, they probably wouldn’t be doing that.”

“I know, but it’s against the law.”

“Do you ever get turned on while you’re doing it?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Isn’t there any other crime you could be stopping? Maybe they need to fire your asses and fix the potholes.”

This is the kind of shit that drives me fucking bonkers. Far be it from me to defend infidelity; it’s not good for a whole lot of reasons, not the least of which is the potential of a careless cheat to bring home a disease to an unwitting spouse—and in the days of deadly STDs, that’s no small matter. But the cops aren’t out tracking cheating husbands who are running around with other women, or cheating wives who are running around with other men (or other women, for that matter); even when cuckolding couples are caught in public, they’re usually sent home with a stern warning, not taken to jail and thoroughly humiliated by having their names printed in the paper. In fact, I’d wager one or two of the cops involved in such sting operations have dabbled in the adulterous arts, but that, of course, is different.

I’m totally annoyed that my tax dollars are being put to work to harass and embarrass gay men. Does it matter to my life or this community one way or another if a couple of dudes get it on in the woods, miles away from anything? Not a bit.

I would, however, be eminently pleased if the giant pothole in front of my house was fixed.