Dear Vice President-Elect Pence,
I am writing this letter to you, and slipping it under the closet door, to let you know that it’s okay to come out. It is the year 2016 - the torture of gay youth has been outlawed, marriage equality achieved, and, most importantly, RuPaul’s Drag Race is doing its SECOND all star season (this year, the winning queen gets to choose who is eliminated)!
Sure, horrific things still happen to gay people: massacre, homelessness, suicide, and whatever happened to Ryan Murphy’s career. But these things can only be combatted when our nation’s public figures work to break down the stigma. You, Governor Pence, can do that by punching in the code to the padlock you’ve installed firmly inside that closet door. It’s dark in there, Mikey, and that pasty white skin tone just isn’t going to cut it this swimsuit season--especially now that all the White House studs have got their eyes on you!
I long to live in an America where gay men don’t hate you because you want to electrocute queer youth, but because you’ve broken too many of their hearts. And trust me - gay men are much more likely to let you shock them if you just tell them upfront that it’s your kink.
After all, it’s not like you haven’t been dropping hints. The gusto with which you agreed to be sandwiched between our bearish president-elect and our twinkish House Speaker was striking. I mean, you knew that you were just going to be tag-teamed by these two men for four straight years, and you still signed on!
So please, come out of the closet. I promise it gets better! Just maybe not in Indiana. They’ve got some real whackjobs over there.
"The two girls, who refer to themselves collectively as '704,' their room number, have begun the semester with conflicting class schedules."
"Modality modality modality modality modality modality modality modality modality modality..."
"Soon, sweetheart," cooed the 54-year-old professor's mother . "It'll come sooner if you fall asleep."
"I personally find it to be a very spiritual journey, as I pass the same Olive Tree Deli and Columbia Barber shop my forefathers passed years ago."
“This is Kimiko, my waifu,” said the Dean, switching tabs to a hi-res image of a scantily clad, huge-eyed vixen with gravity-defying breasts.
"Coach kept telling us, ‘Guys, you’re a damn talented group, and I know you can win games. You gotta stay focused on winning! Because if you keep losing, you’re gonna know the sting inside my spanking tent.’"
"Something about those cute little faces just gets me going about how much better public torture would work out than our current broken justice system when considering the utilitarian calculus."
“It’s just so unhealthy,” said Jablonsky, whose grandfather trekked across Europe with just two potatoes in his battered rucksack to catch a passage to America. “Too much saturated fat. And, oh God, the salt.”
"In an increasingly interconnected world, we at the Office of Global Programs are hoping that a trip up to Union Theological Seminary or down into Lehman can be reframed as its own rich adventure!"