The idea for this column, from summer 2003, was stolen from a fantastic short story by Richard Matheson called “I am Legend” (1954). The story, which was later turned into a mediocre Charlton Heston movie called The Omega Man (1971), is a post-apocalyptic tale about the last living human being who must spend all his time avoiding the mutants who now rule the earth.
“I don't know of any society that has embraced sodomy and survived.”
Day 1. Monday, March 27, 2007: I noticed it the moment I awoke-this peculiar feeling that somehow the very fabric of our existence had been altered in some terrible, irreversible manner.
I dragged myself out of bed, walked to the front room, looked out the window and couldn't believe what I saw: The sky was black and orange, emergency vehicles were whizzing by, a dozen or so stalks of smoke and flame were billowing from upturned automobiles and a dog was trotting down the street with a charred human leg between his foaming jaws.
I retrieved the newspaper and read the headline: “Supreme Court Decision Allows Gays to Marry: Very Fabric of Society Torn.”
“Wow,” I thought. “The conservatives were right after all.”
I remember when it all began-back in July of 2003, when the Supreme Court overturned an archaic Texas sodomy law, making it legal for homosexuals to have sex. Naturally, that decision enraged and terrified conservatives. They believed that this sodomy decision was the first step toward allowing gays to legally marry, and that that would be the end of society as we knew it.
“This is one giant leap down the slippery slope to Armageddon!” wrote columnist Harry Hardwick.
“This decision will have terrible consequences for our nation,” said Scott Lively, director of the Pro-Family Law Center.
“If we allow homosexuals to marry,” argued Sandy Rios, president of Families for the Protection of Marriage, “it will result in the disintegration of the fabric of marital sanctity. It will destroy the very fabric of society.”
The list goes on.
I remember thinking, Wow, what a bunch of stupid, ugly, asshole bigoted, backward, frightened, callous, homophobic jerks they were. Oh, how wrong I was-for today, March 27, 2007, all the dire predictions came true. The Supreme Court has made it legal for gays to marry-and the Apocalypse of Queer is truly upon us!
Day 2: It's only been two days since the fall of straight marriage and already the electricity is out. I put batteries in the radio and listened to the Emergency Broadcast System. Reports were coming in that homosexuals were getting married in droves and roaming the streets attacking heterosexuals. City Hall had been sacked and the grocery and department stores were looted bare. I nailed down doors, boarded windows, loaded my 20-gauge Remington single-barrel shotgun and leaned it against the wall.
Day 3: Attacked by a gang of roving, married queers today. I was rummaging the alley dumpsters for food and became encircled by a small gang of leather queens. They were shoving me between them like a medicine ball and kept calling me “Line” (as in, straight as a...). Then they shoved me onto the ground and kicked me repeatedly.
“No, no, no,” I pleaded, crawling to my knees. “I'm gay, I'm gay! Gay is great! Gooooo gay!”
They stopped kicking then, a look of curious indecision and empathy on their faces. Their leader-a hairy, leather dandy with “Judas Priest” tattooed on his neck-stepped forward and unzipped his fly. “Prove it, Line,” he said, waving his disgusting phallus in my face.
I stood there frozen, unable to move. “I... I... I can't,” I stammered.
“He's a Line!” someone shouted. “A Line, a Line!” the mob chimed in. “Let's get him!” The rest is a blur.
Day 15: Listened to the Emergency Broadcast again, but all they played was Cher, Liza and Barbara-24 hours straight: All Day Diva Radio, they call it now. I used to think homosexuals were just like regular people, but after listening to Diva Radio All Day, I've come to understand how truly twisted they are. I realized then-I must never let them turn me gay.
Day 43: I'm the last heterosexual alive. The rest are dead or cruising gay bars. A shantytown of queers has developed outside my house, and they take shifts throughout the night singing, “We Will Rock You/We Are the Champions” and slipping gay porn through the mail slot. I am sleep-deprived, malnourished, under-hydrated-but staunchly convicted: Must. Never. Go. Gay.
Day 71: All Day Diva driving me to dementia. Cher keeps asking if I believe in love after love, and I periodically catch myself staring longingly at the shotgun.
Day 101: Nothing left to read but gay porn. Found the articles to be well-written and informative. Also discovered I prefer late-era Cher to early Cher. Clutch rifle tightly to breast. I am the last straight thread in the very fabric of society. Must. Never. Be. Gay.
Day 138: Can't. Go. On. No food, but for spiders and flies. No water, but for tears. No TV but for the MANSEX channel. I reach for the shotgun, “Oh, how I love you, shotgun rifle,” I say, holding the stock to my chest. Oh, how your barrel is so long and firm against my breastplate. A perfect fit, I think as I push the barrel shaft to the back of my throat. Too perfect, I think, wrapping finger around trigger. Too disgustingly perfect, I think, gently squeezing off a buckshot orgasm.
Don't you worry, little readers-Ed's weekly column's coming back soon, bigger and badder than ever.