Missy Koonce Breaks Her Silence
I have a big fan at bar Natasha named Missy Koonce. For months she has been silent. Strangely silent, if you know Missy. This week I discovered that she?s been under doctor?s orders to rest her voice, so imagine my delight when she performed at a birthday party for Michael Lintecum, co-director of the AIDS Walk and a 50-year-old man now. Missy?s smooth, buttery voice vibrated my soul, as well as loosened two screws in my artificial knee. I pray that she and her handsome business partner J.D. Mann will join me (on their knees) and repent their sinful ways.
This trashy rag is beneath me, really. A liberal judge issued a court order requiring me to write these words as community service after my unfortunate DUI. Although I?m halfway through my sentence, I may die from exhaustion before completing my servitude.
However, today I?m a petite, youthful Christian who is suffering, like all of you, from the gaudy colors of that gay rainbow flag of yours, which we?ll be seeing everywhere for Pride weekend.
Every time I walk into Trapps or Bergamot & Ivy or that cute little shop of Dan?s, I delight in the subtle, earthy hues that are all the rage right now. You gays and lesbians create the rules of color in design that we straights have to follow, and by allowing the rainbow flag to flourish, you?re leading the world into a hellish existence. Think of those nasty little brightly hued Teletubbies that created a stir with Tinky Winky, the purple, purse-carrying monster puppet.
Here?s an example of how the rainbow flag is ruining the world: Jelly Bellies. Garish and tawdry, they?re devoured by people worldwide who completely accept their coloring. After all, if the gays fly clown-colored flags to represent their lifestyle, why would anyone question a rainbow-colored sign held by the sad little Topeka church group led by Fred Phelps? Westboro Baptist Church has followed the gay lead, too, using Rainbow Brite as their sign designer.
Now, I suppose I?m making Gilbert Baker in San Francisco mad. He designed the flag in 1978 with the current six colors plus two more: hot pink and indigo. The pink was removed when they couldn?t match his hand-dyed fluorescent color, and the indigo was removed when the gays decided that an even six colors work better than an odd seven when hanging streamers on the street. I wish I was making that up.
Last year, I prohibited Jay-Jay, my pool boy, from wearing his Pride flag Speedo at my pool. Rainbow colors should not cover your privates. He was a bit miffed, but after I let him use one of the hot pink suede bath towels from my private salle de bains, he gave me a lesson on how gays used color to secretly identify each other. In Victorian England it was green. Pink, as in triangles, was the unfortunate color in Nazi Germany. Lavender was the color in the 1960s. And during the disco era, colored handkerchiefs in a back pocket identified a favorite sin you all wanted to commit with each other. I was enamored with his lesson: Jay-Jay knows more about the history of sin than my favorite Catholic, Bishop Finn.
With all this colorful history you?re still using the rainbow flag? As Kansas City?s straight gay icon, I demand that some of you Hallmark gays use your color chart and design me a gay flag with sage and amber and crimson. As you do this, I will pray for your little souls to switch straight (as the Lord intended). I?m sweet like that, you know.
Sweet Lord, the gays have lost their touch with color. What?s next? Lesbians breaking a fingernail playing softball? Take me home now, Jesus, I pray.