(Hat tip to Superdickery.com)
No-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-NO! Ooooooo, I need another bath!
So, uh, what does Gordon have up his sleeve? I get the feeling I don’t really want to know.
what with all the gay jokes lately?
So it isn’t enough that Batman prances around in tights with a young boy wearing green undies and pantyhose? He needs to sound gay too?
In the holiday rush I’ve had to dip into my store of random panels culled (i.e. “stolen”) from Superdickery.com and most of those are gay-themed ones from the Fifties, when “gay” just meant “happy”.
You know what I like? That the hospital just lets Batman haul Robin out like a sack of potatoes instead of providing a wheelchair.
Or for that matter, that they treated and released a minor with no parental consent, no ID, and no insurance.
My Dad (who was definitely an old-school kinda guy) always said that he felt that the gay–er, homosexual rights–advocates had appropriated the perfectly legitimate word “gay” for their own use and he resented it.
Right. Because there was a committee, you know, who just took pages out of a dictionary and threw a dart. The amazing story of how those civil rights activists forced the rest of the world to use their brand-new randomly chosen term that had no previous sexuality-related connotation would fill volumes, I assure you.
(Sarcasm aside, the people I really feel bad for are the heterosexual Greeks who live on the isle of Lesbos. Now those folks have a right to feel resentful.)
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