The “ex-gay” known as Randy Thomas was just too much of a thooperthtar for Exodus International, apparently. To the delight of basically the entire LGBT blogging community, he who is “not gay anymore” has started his own blog, entitled, appropriately, “Confessions of an Ex-Gay ThooperThtar.” And what will you see when you visit?
Oh, my good sweet lord. What the HELL is that?
It’s just Randy Thomas, sittin’ around his room you guyz, definitely not bein’ gay, but bein’ a THOOPERTHTAR all the same! Even better, either Randy, one of the voices in his head or one of his various “not-gay” friends [which I imagine, for some reason, all look and smell like American Girl dolls], wrote what I can only assume is intended to be a song to introduce this glorious new venture:
If you made it through the horrifying song, that means you also got to see Randy, who yes, seems like a particularly tweaked out homosexual these days, queen out to and fro over whether Marcus Bachmann is gay or not. We can only assume he has a personal interest in the matter. Lady Birds of a feather, you know…
So far, it’s a pretty boring blog. He gives a “you go, girl!” to Alan “I Still Like Men” Chambers, giving his testimony at some wingnut confab.
In another post he shares one of his personal prayers:
“Dear Jesus, please help me to not see Edgar as an ass and for me to have the grace to not treat him like one either. Amen.”
I’m more of a chest man, but whatever.
Later in the same post, he says this:
But the truth is that being “ex-gay” is such a rare and stigmatized novelty that we as a 36 year old movement (at the time of this writing) are still figuring out what that actually means.
Oh, let me help, then. “Ex-gays” are the result of a really profitable industry that fundamentalist religious people use in order to convince themselves that they actually love gay people, even though they’re simply common bigots. They prey upon people who have experienced personal tragedy or simply made godawful choices and then they convince those people to spend LOTS of money with them, and to scapegoat all their personal shit on their sexuality. Most who go through these programs fail, and miserably. Many end up far more depressed than they were when they went in. Others end up committing suicide. Those who end up thoroughly brainwashed tend to find themselves on the payroll of one of the “ex-gay” businesses, until they get caught f*cking somebody of the same sex. Lather, rinse, repeat indeed.
Of course I don’t think of myself truly as an “ex-gay superstar.”
Nah, I was guessing the title of his new blog was more of a “fake it ’til you make it” sort of thing.
Aside from that there’s not much more in this cesspit of fail besides the fact that Randy went to the gym and worked with a personal trainer — he doesn’t share whether or not he got a boner that day — and that he’s all poopy upset about the mean gay blogs that are making fun of his new blogging venture. Here’s the funny part of that, because in just the last post I wrote, I discussed the bizarre wingnut habit of assuming that, when liberals are simply making fun of them, that we are actually angry. They do this, as Amanda pointed out, because they are passive-aggressive hypocrites, and because they can’t handle the simple fact that we’re mocking them. Here’s what the gay-by says:
So, dear gay reader who happens to be angry, if you are riled up and venomous, go ahead and bite. Get it all out. You won’t find anything but empathy and grace here.
Oh shush, you whiny little professional victim. You may be getting angry comments from a few readers — I mean, this is the internet — but the blogs that are making fun of you are not angry in the least. Moreover, the “empathy” and “grace” you market is a known sham, much like the protective guidance many Catholic priests offer children. The fact that you lisp around thweetly about your relationship with Jesus and your abandonment of the homoseckshul lifestyle, Randina, and the fact that you have sugary, meaningless things to say about “freedom” or whatever the hell it is you people prattle on about — all of this is irrelevant.
We are not angry. We’re laughing. At you, not with you. Because you are ridiculous.