Those worried about the banshee shrieks heard emanating from West Hollywood and parts of Silverlake this morning can put your minds to rest; it was neither snake attack nor dreaded shriek-zombies but merely the rainbow brotherhood’s cries of joy upon learning that totally hetero (and that’s hot) hunky man Brad Pitt is a friend to their cause. Perhaps concerned that he’s losing his gay market share to Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson — or perhaps because his do-gooder wife pressured him into it –- or maybe just because even dumb-ass actors have the cognizance to recognize dimwitted moral policing when they see it — Pitt made a donation of 100,000 U.S. American dollars to oppose Proposition 8 – the measure added to California ballots by uptight assholes who have nothing better to do than tell people who they can or can not marry.

Good for Pitt. However I would like to voice my concern that we should go cautious into this gay night. Like most people with better things to think about, I couldn’t care less whether or not homos get hitched. And none of the arguments against it make a lick of sense. “They’ll be able to adopt children!” Hey, guess what: They already can adopt children. Not only that, they’re actually in possession of reproductive genitals of their own, which they’re constantly looking for any excuse to use, which means that with a little planning and elbow grease they can figure out how to make babies containing their own faaabulous genetic material. “If we allow same-sex marriage, next thing you know people will want to marry animals! Horses! Inanimate objects!” Again, so fucking what? If I want to spend a bunch of money to feed my friends and family as they witness my ceremonial declaration of devotion to a folding lawn chair, or my Xbox, that is MY business, not that of some dorky door-to-door Flat Earther with a clip board and bad tennis shoes. If two souls, regardless of the nature of the junk between their legs, want to commemorate their eternal love with a burning of American flags and ritual ass-to-ass double-dong dildo action, scat-eating, gerbiling and lemon meringue pie I also could not care less. I don’t care who gets married to what and what objects they use to consummate it. My only worry is the effect that gay domesticity will have on our nation’s parades.

As science has proved, second only to Communists, the gays throw the best parades. They are epic things full of frolic, merry-making, drunkenness, public nudity and high energy techno music. When gay people turn their attention to child-rearing, lawn maintenance and Bed Bath & Beyond coupons, I can tell you right now our nation’s parades are gonna suck. And unless all you Flat Earthin’ clip boarders are willing to hand over the keys to our nation to some militaristic Marxist despot (hey Obama!), we need to do something to ensure that the quality of our nation’s parades will not suffer. Proposition 8 just goes too far. Let’s not throw out the baby with the bathwater here, folks; even if the baby happens to be gay. We need to focus on the REAL issue at hand -– parades -– and stop trying to interfere with people’s personal lives. My grandfather didn’t lose his legs fighting Hitler just to have some maladroit who believes the earth was created 300 years ago by Fonzie tell me I can’t marry my fucking lawn chair. He did it for parades. And when our boys came home after DubDub2 you should have SEEN the parades they threw. They were the gayest fucking parades ever! Let me ask you something, Proposition 8 supporters: Do you love Hitler? Are you glad he turned my grandpap into a drunken legless asshole who stinks like old beets? Didn’t think so. So let’s focus on what’s important. Let’s focus on parades.

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