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anyway, i was saying. gay over here is what it SHOULD BE. hip, cool, gorgeous- DIVINE. my theory on homophobes is always the same, they need to have gentle, deep, anal sex with the right person. they've repressed their homosexual dimension. our president would loosen up so much if we could just find the right black man to loosen him up so much. i'm talking about tenderness here, people. i'm talking about the consensual union of two men in one hot, erotic act that we might call the Oval Orifice. same goes for Cheney and Rumsfeld. but wait, need i even mention that Cheney and Rumsfeld are already so gay they make Sigfried and Roy blush? those guys...they love to play, they love to play in front of the camera, but the lights go down, they head back to their modern converted loft space in Soho, pour some Ginger Tea, have a biscuit, and then a couple tossed salads HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HAA HAAA. me? i love to watch. i love to watch what kind of shoes they're wearing. Cheney with his penny loafers, Rumsfeld with his asian sandles- neither of them wearing socks. Rumsfeld always says to me (after they've wiped off and we're looking at the tapes), he always says- "go stand in front of the mirror. now spin around real fast, and the first thing that catches your eye, take it off. just take it right OFF." i spin around, and when i've done my 360 and am facing the mirror again-sure enough, my pink chiffan socks pop out like a sore penis. "that's right" says Rumsie, "why do you think WE'RE barefoot?" then a pause, he points a lilting finger to the corner of the room to show me two more pairs of pink socks!! we all three look at each other, and BURST OUT_- HA HA HA HA HA we laugh and laugh like the silly japanese school girls we are at heart, flopping about on the floor, wiping tears from our eyes. our faces hurt from smiling! the saturnalia subsides, we drop some X and do a three-way enima with the homo-fetish bag pipes Cheney brought back from his last trip to Scotland. the bag is filled with holy water, and when Rumsfeld squeezes the bellows- so are we. "you know what?" grunts Cheney, "no, what?" whinces Rumsfeld. "homosexuality should be unconstitutional!" then another round of giggles so hard my portion of the bag pipe slips out of my butt. "you guys!" i say. then, my voice softens, as i realize what these two beautiful men mean to me. "you guys..." i repeat it, this time with a lump in my throat. we all look at each other- a recognition, a moment that brings us into each other's heart...for GOOD. Rumsie looks at me and Dick, and reaches for our hands. squeezing our palms, he begins to whisper...

sometimes when we touch
the honesty's too much

dick and i join in...

and i have to close my eyes
and hide

then, all three of us, louder now, finding our voice

i wanna hold you till i die
till we both break down and cry
i wann hold you
till the fear in me subsides

"oh, uh..." then Rumsie gets up, runs to sink and releases the holy water he's been moving around in his lower intestine. Dick and i watch, sharing a knowing look, that... real.

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Avant-garde pop mastermind... Davis is as unique and endearing a live act as exists in America today.

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