Hold Up, Honeybunches: A Public Service Announcement for the Clueless
Alright, gather 'round, because I'm about to drop some truth bombs so hot, they'll singe your eyebrows. Apparently, there's been a slight misunderstanding in the universe, a cosmic hiccup, if you will. Some of you straight fellas seem to think that every gay or bi guy is just dying to get a piece of your… well, let's just call it "plain bagel" energy.
Newsflash, buttercups: I'd rather wrestle a greased pig in a mud pit while reciting Shakespeare than endure another one of your "wyd tonight?" DMs.
Let's break this down, shall we? Because clearly, some remedial education is in order.
Exhibit A: The Beige Brigade. You're like a bowl of unseasoned oatmeal – bland, predictable, and utterly devoid of any discernible flavor. I'm talking beige from head to toe. Your personality? Beige. Your wardrobe? Beige. Your conversational skills? So beige, they make sand look vibrant. I'm looking for a culinary adventure, a symphony of spices, a flavor explosion that'll make my taste buds do the tango. You're offering me a side of plain white rice. And not even the good kind of rice, the kind that clumps together and sticks to the pot.
Do you honestly think I’m going to trade in my dreams of passionate conversations about art, culture, and the existential dread of late-stage capitalism for a riveting discussion about… sports? Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure some people find watching grown men chase a ball around a field exhilarating. I, however, would rather watch paint dry. At least that has some visual texture.
Exhibit B: The 2 AM DM Debacle. Listen, unless you're prepared to share the juicy details of our hypothetical rendezvous with your wife (because let’s be real, she deserves some entertainment after putting up with your beige-ness), keep your late-night DMs to yourself. I'm not running a 24-hour hotline for your ego boosts. My sleep is far too precious to be interrupted by your desperate attempts at… whatever it is you're trying to do.
And speaking of your wife, let’s just say I have a sneaking suspicion she’s getting a much more… dynamic performance than you’re leading on. After all, someone has to bring the spice to that relationship, and I highly doubt it’s you.
Exhibit C: The “Hangout with the Boys” Hypothesis. Oh, the classic! The assumption that all gay guys just long to be included in your bro-fest, surrounded by a cloud of Axe body spray and the deafening roar of ESPN. Newsflash: Hard pass. I’d rather attend a Tupperware party with my great aunt Mildred. At least there would be snacks.
The idea of spending an evening watching sports, making small talk about… well, I don’t even know what you talk about, probably sports, and enduring the constant barrage of casual misogyny is my personal definition of hell. No, thank you. I value my sanity, and frankly, my eardrums.
Exhibit D: The Delusion of Desire. This is perhaps the most baffling of all. The sheer audacity of some straight guys to assume that I, or any gay or bi man for that matter, is secretly pining for their attention is truly astounding. Honey, you’re not even a blip on my radar. You’re so far off the grid, you’re practically in another dimension. I’d rather eat my own body weight in razor blades than entertain the thought of… shudders… you.
And the sheer volume of these DMs! Ninety-nine percent of them are the same tired, predictable lines: “What are you doing tonight?” “You want me to come over?” No, sweetie. I’ve seen what you have to offer, and it’s about as appealing as a week-old tuna sandwich left in the sun. It’s not pretty. It’s… well, it’s downright disgusting. It’s so ugly to look at gross disgusting.
So, here’s my final message, delivered with a generous helping of sass and a side of eye-roll: Go take a shower. Go play darts with your homeboys. Go find a hobby that doesn’t involve watching other people sweat. And for the love of all that is holy, STAY OUT OF MY DMS. Unless, of course, you’ve suddenly developed a personality that doesn’t resemble a beige wall. Then, and only then, we can talk. But until then, I’ll be over here living my best life, surrounded by people who actually bring something to the table. And trust me, honey, you’re not even on the menu.
