I?m laughing in a bright, beautiful sing-song way right now, for my wisdom has helped someone. A sinless reader (Mrs. Verna McCorkle) used a recent Francine column as the motivation to kick her gay son out of the house. Praise Jesus!
Tears of joy streamed down my face as I read her e-mail, telling how she found a stash of gay pornography (a novel called The Front Runner, a greatest hits CD by Cher, the latest International Male catalog, and a Rainbow Brite doll collection), forcing her to take matters into her own Christian hands and deprive the 14-year-old of food and housing until he turns his soul around. She has no idea where he is, nor does she care. I applaud her mothering skills, for enabling gay youth does nothing but promote liberalism.
However, the last sentence of her e-mail clamped my heart like a frosty rat trap: ?I?ve been reading your column lately, and you?ve lost your touch, Francine. The Gays and Lesbians are dragging you down into the cesspool of sin ?YOU are becoming a mouthpiece for the Gay Agenda and Liberal Media.?
Silently, I sat in my dark study, staring at my face reflected in the window. She was right. I get more attention from you gays when I write positive things about the gays. I get gifts and bifocal corneas and gold highlights in my hair and car tune-ups when I talk nice about the gays, but I?m not here to be a babysitter to Lucifer?s children. I?m here as a Spiritual Beacon to mothers like Mrs. McCorkle.
Hate the sinner, love the sin, it?s all in the Bible. So let?s get down to business.
Sin, flesh and golf balls. The AIDS Walk Open golf pub-crawl was exactly that: a crawl into decadence and debauchery. I was so distraught, I couldn?t focus my thoughts throughout the day, so I will just transcribe the notes I took on various bar napkins wadded up in my Emilio Pucci handbag:
?Bright lights. Martinis at noon. Dimpled golf balls. Grandma lesbians. Girls kissing boys. Miller Lite everywhere. Boys in matching knee socks.
Tiaras. Bloodshot eyeballs. Loud laughing. Yellow school buses. Hole patrol. What would my Minister think? Where?s my credit card? Girls in matching golf gloves. Tequila tastes different with orange juice. Where?s my balls??
The list is unreadable after this point.
Although AIDS Walk converted fun into money with this spectacle, I converted no souls throughout the afternoon. In fact, when I asked one lady if Jesus was in her heart, she raised her shirt to show me that yes, indeed, he was in there ? peeking out.
With the haunting words of Mrs. McCorkle ringing in my skull ? ?YOU are becoming a mouthpiece for the Gay Agenda …? ? I decided to take control of Camp and called an emergency meeting of its staff members. It was so difficult getting everyone together at once, for I had to arrange permission from parole officers and AA counselors and get a temporary restraining order dissolved. Of course, I accomplished this quickly (and perfectly), with a group meeting held at the new Gordon Biersch Brewery Restaurant near the new Sprint Center.
Taming the people who produce this trashy Camp is not possible. My goal was to break down the thick, evil walls in their hearts and replace them with nice lattice made by Jesus (Jesus doesn?t do manual labor? like good Christians, he hires it out, even if the carpenter is his father). The group from Camp closed their ears to the Word, opened their mouths, and drank beer. And drank. And drank. Look at the photos and weep. I certainly did.
Mrs. McCorkle, thank you for the tough love. Gay-loving Francine is gone, replaced by the Christian that should have been there from the start. Gay-
loving dialogue will soon be replaced with tough talk by God?s sergeant-at-arms, Francine. And don?t say I didn?t warn you.
Francine offers her slightly skewed viewpoint on issues in the Kansas City metropolitan area?s LGBT community in each issue of Camp. This satirical column is meant in jest and non-thought-provoking fun! Francine?s opinions are her own, and they do not necessarily reflect those of Camp or anyone connected to Camp. And since you?re asking, yes, she?s a fictional character. Well, you asked. Would you like to respond to Francine or give her a tip on something that may be of interest? E-mail her at firstname.lastname@example.org.