Love is like rancid honey: moldy natural juices that can quite literally smother you if you trip and fall beneath its spell. Despite this, I love Love. Many of you look upon me as the source for goodness and compassion in Kansas City, and while I humbly accept this honor from you perverts, I must tell you that good deeds are not love.
They’re “like,” as in, “I like you so much that loving you would ruin our friendship.” Sorry to say, I’ve never had anyone just like me (men always fall in love with me as quick as a lesbian will say “yes!” to a free ticket to the Dinah Shore Golf Tournament). Can’t help you there.
But there’s the thing called love. Love has a mysterious aura. Maybe some people found it at the grand opening of the Red Head Lounge at the end of January. The acres of gorgeous, ripe gals eating tater-tots reminded me that we do not have enough opportunities in Kansas City for group meetings of the Fag-Hag Foundation. I’m thinking that this oversight has now been corrected.
Sex is the least of the ways we can show love. Take God, for example. Our Lord shows us love through volcanoes. And our house pets show us love by dropping half-eaten rabbits at our feet. Oh … don’t forget the parental love I had to instill upon the nation, repealing Proposition 8 in California. If that’s not true love, then what is, sinners?
But romantic love is impure, impractical and improper. That is why I, your humble Francine, am creating a new national holiday each Feb. 14.
Love is scary, but not having love is even scarier. This new holiday will combine the laughter of Lucifer with loitering lovebirds. And each Feb.14, as you lovebirds get ready for your once-a-year coitus, I’m going to rock your world, as the youth say on the television. Through technology created for the Batman movies, I’ll create a state of artificial panic in your community, setting you free from your bedrooms and getting you into Church, where you belong.
Us Christians, we don’t have sex, we have Jesus.
I know this plan sounds vague and half-baked, but to unfold my master plan completely would allow people like Rosie O’Donnell and Boy George access to the secret workings of my conservative mind, and that is as enticing as a Costco hotdog.
Never mind. We singles are restoring Feb, 14 to the day of horror it truly is. Valloween will take its place in history, giving singles the courage to destroy couples discounts, throw cold water on couples making out in public, and make the world realize that a party of one can still have fun … so get used to it, lovers.
(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.)