Two years ago, I was standing in front of a sadistic, liberal judge. Driving home from church on a Wednesday night (our weekly Communion service) I was stopped for going too fast and got a DUI. You see, evil vandals replaced the Communion wine with grain alcohol.
A DUI, a speeding ticket and a tree-hugging judge forced me to write this column as a court-ordered community service project. My team of attorneys cannot sway the System to release me from this hellish situation, and this edition of “Camp” (celebrating five years of spewing nasty, filthy news) should get some sort of award. We all know that nothing in your LGBTQRS community lasts more than five dates. How you have been able to read this sewage for five years is beyond me.
Part of my sentence is to attend the Kansas City Gay Pride Festival. The last time I saw so many people making fools of themselves for free trinkets was when Oprah gave away KFC chicken coupons. You know who you are.
You sinners have no shame, and from the photos I took (and could legally print on this page), you have no clothing, either.
From misspelled tattoos to piercings and farmer’s tans, the queer tribe of Kansas City seem to think they’re on some nudist beach in that evil country of France. (My French maid just moved out, so I’m hating everything French this week.
“Gay” used to be such a sweet term, meaning merriment and laughter. But the gays are not making me gay tonight. I’m a crank monster, and this monster ain’t gay.
I love this picture. Folks are lining up to get a chance to win mouth cancer. You gays are so cute!
Francine offers her slightly skewed viewpoint on issues in the Kansas City metropolitan area’s LGBT community in each issue of Camp. And since you’re asking, yes, she’s a fictional character. Well, you asked.