34 - Gay Lib: National Lampoon

Editorial by Tony Hendra and Sean Kelly in “National Lampoon” May 1977

In approaching the question of homophilia, or "gayness,” it is important to remember that while it is in execrable taste to make fun of cripples, there is nothing reprehensible about ridiculing Republicans.

So long as homosexuality was understood to be a result of childhood trauma or glandular deficiency, it was hardly a fit subject for humor, and those that indulged in "queer-baiting;' "fag-bashing;' or "fruit-looping" were to be deplored. Now, however, that we are assured by homophiles themselves that the love that dare not speak its name is simply a political act arising from political choices, the practices of queer-baiting, fag-bashing, and fruit-looping would appear to be nothing more than the healthy exchange of opinion in the forum of democratic debate.

The arguably naive question arises whether a man whose chosen form of political expression is shoving his fist up some loved one's rectum is fit to be president. It maybe that, as many gays profess, we have already had such presidents, in the persons of George Washington, Franklin Pierce, et al.; it does not follow, however, that enjoying some Greek qualifies any Johnny-on-the-street to assume high office.

But perhaps we are attacking a straw man. Perhaps, as the Reverend Malcolm Boyd privately emphasizes, frequent and prolonged oral-genital contact between members of the same sex is not a political act, but a religious one. Not, as it were, an unnatural act so much as a supernatural one. But in what sense is giving or receiving a blow job a religious act? Certainly there would appear to be a superficial precedent established in the immortal injunction "take, eat - this is my body"; those words, however, were delivered by and on behalf of the Savior of all mankind. The category does not appear to include Golden Shower Gil or that hot little number in the naugahyde knickers.

In a similar vein, can we say that pederasts should not be school-teachers, coprophiliacs proctologists, sadists policemen, or piss-freaks firemen?
Why cannot Eros be served by a tug on your buddy's nipple-ring? Can love sweet love not as well appear through a hole in the wall of a lavatory stall? May not the friction of two crewcut mons spark the same divine fire that burnt the topless towers of Ilium? Why not indeed?

For the majority, the vast and powerful heterosexual majority of us, these questions remain ineffable. Let us take comfort in the certainty that while the blacks, the native Americans, and the poor we shall have always with us, we shall only have to endure for one generation the puling of this by definition unreproductive minority.