Ask Francine - Francine's Homosexual House of Horrors
The Tiki Lounge Squeezing Chamber
Walk into this room, and it looks like an ordinary Tiki Lounge. Within seconds, the walls start closing in, and a staircase magically appears. As you try to escape, cigarette smoke makes it impossible to see the way out. (Watch out for the drag queens on the staircase, trying to stomp on your feet with their huge high heels!)
After a simulated 30-minute ride in an automobile, you are dropped off in front of a suburban strip mall. All of the doors are locked, except for one door, which has a picture of Abraham Lincoln. You open the door slowly to reveal a row of squeaky-clean white men decked out in Ralph Lauren, pointing rifles at you. You’ve just interrupted a meeting of the Mission Hills HRC Log Cabin Republicans! Die, you liberal scum!
Kidnapped Lesbian Hideout
You think to yourself, where are the lesbians in this haunted house? As you’ve been wandering through this evil maze of homo-horror, there hasn’t been a woman in sight. They’ve all been kidnapped! But in the distance, you spy an abandoned golf cart partially run over by a U-Haul truck. The truck is rocking from side to side, muffling the shouting inside. The truck’s back door is open, and you see that the screaming is coming from a mini-concert being held inside -- a traveling lesbian road show. Acoustic, of course. If you are a man and they see you, they scatter on their bicycles and motorcycles into the night. Women are much smarter than men, for they only have one room in this evil House of Horrors. You men have seven. Stupid testosterone.
The Entrance to Nowhere
Climb over piles of cowboy boots and soiled, extra-large gingham dresses to reach the door of an empty room loudly blaring country music. As you stand there trying to gather your wits, a burly monster suddenly pops up in front of you, demanding $5 to enter. You scream -- it’s a cover charge to nowhere!
The Chamber of Cavities
It looks like a shanty, and you wander aimlessly, trying to find the door inside ... which they’ve hidden in the back. The dark, hot, moist air inside smells like Altoids and morning breath. You turn on your cell phone to light the way and discover that the shanty is filled with rotted-cavity zombies, all wanting to eat your brains. Holy halitosis!
The Evil Clone Factory
This may be one of the most horrible parts of this haunted house. We watch as young gay men enter the factory and have all original thoughts removed from their heads, including creativity and personality. We watch them starve, lipo and shave their bodies, ending up like shaggy 12-year-old girls in American Eagle T-shirts. Our mouths drop in horror as they mirror the same laugh, learn to only associate with overweight straight women, and taunt other men who have not submitted to the cloning process. Like the movie “Logan’s Run”, where all citizens die at age 30, the younger Evil Clones disown the Evil Clones who have reached 30 years of age, and the older Evil Clones have no other option but to turn into Gym Rats.
After being pushed out of the Evil Clones, many find solace in the gym. Here, they can release the stress from the aging process and artificially prolong their youth through steroids and protein powder. This is not a popular room, for the scent of sweat, hemorrhoid cream and Minoxidil (the topical drug that promotes hair growth) have caused some visitors to gag. (This House of Horrors does not include the last room in the trilogy of aging, the Ancient Troll Room. We couldn’t find enough men to staff it. They were either dead, walking their terriers, or shaving each other’s backs in the basement of that building near Costco.)
This, dear ones, is my personal room. This is the torture I must endure each month as I write this horrible column for that monster, John Long, and his legions of demons and demonettes. This room is wallpapered with old issues of “Camp”, and a synthetic voice reads out the Facebook postings that this monster spews out by the dozen each day. The saliva in my mouth curdles as I think of interacting with “Camp” each month, for this is truly ground zero of the Homosexual Agenda. When I die, I know you’ll all burn in hell as I sit next to the throne of Jesus, laughing at how silly you look, writhing in pain. I can’t help it, I’m sorry, for I’m Kansas City’s best Christian, and you all deserve everything you get. See you in hell, darlings, and I mean that with most of God’s love in my heart. Happy Halloween!