Kosher Eucharist / יוקאריסט כשר

Anal sex is not enough.

Playing cunt-pong is no longer sufficient.

If you’re among the one to ten percent (depending on which rights group to listen to) of the world’s population consigned to an eternity in Hell’s Yankee barbecue, it’s not enough that you throw your deviant, techno-propagating lifestyle in the face of God and decent folk. It’s not enough that you march in the streets festooned with more feathers and sequins than the week before Lent in Bahia. No, if you want to be Gay with a capital G (and a lowercase “ay” in honor of all those who fell in the struggle), you have to be a radical.

Somehow, it has been accepted into Radical Canon that if you’ve had, at any time, some dude’s equipment in your ass, you’ve got more than enough room in there for the War, the Muslims, the Children and the Minorities as well. (”And if you’ll look over here, you’ll see our lovely collection of dild–” “No thanks, I’ve had African poverty lodged in there for a week and I’m full up.”) Radicals cultivate a similar attitude towards Jews, blacks, immigrants, women and anyone whose skin color wasn’t represented in the Crayola rainbow until a series of lawsuits, which is irritating for people in these groups who doesn’t feel that a placard reading “SHAVE BUSH” represents a nuanced expression of their political beliefs.

But back to them queers. Groups like OUT Against the War, and more blogs, websites and random sign-bearing protesters than I can count, carry on as if the blessed union of glans and prostate releases a massive surge of antiwarphins, flooding the brain like foam on the dance floor of a club named after some manner of power tool. And for our lesbian sisters, imagine how many radical political awakenings transpired something like so:

No fingers in: Free guns.
1 finger in: Free market.
2 fingers in: Free education.
3 fingers in: Free health care.
4 fingers in: Free abortions.
The whole damned fist in: FREE PALESTINE!!!!1!!111!

In case anyone was curious, I’ve got three fingers in. Politically.

Ironically enough, this phenomenon of claim-staking mirrors arch-conservative views of the radical community. Arch-conservatives look at a group of radicals and say, “Bunch of fags;” radicals look at a group of fags and say, “Bunch of radicals.” Nobody asks the fags, of course, who would probably tell you that radicals are a bunch of pussies and the arch-conservatives - you guessed it - a bunch of fags.

But the worst part, of course, is that small but vocal group of gay people who ascribe to radical politics and assume that their radicalism isn’t a result of being upper-class and white, but a result of being gay - as if their gay gene read CTAGAGTFUCKBUSHCTAGTA. These are the queer crusaders who insist that anyone with even an aesthetic appreciation for D’Angelo’s “Untitled (How Does It Feel)” video should be marching on Washington. This is the limp-wristed legion whose cognitive dissonance occasionally leads to the kind of breathtakingly shortsighted statements that make you think that maybe Moses had a key insight with Leviticus 18:22:

Queers for Iran should be coming soon to a rally near you.

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Funkadelic - Jimmy’s Got a Little Bit of Bitch in Him