(Special guest blogger Breda)
Now, this isn't just about me but I am
asking that the dirty dirty dirty dirty dirty dirty dirty dirty
dirty dirty dirty dirty dirty dirty dirty dirty dirty dirty dirty
dirty rug munching arse pokers my gay brothers and sisters allow
me to express my views. You know, I am not just asking here, I am
actually imploring. Tears are rolling down my face as I type this
just as tears flowed from the eyes of my good friend John after the
death of Katy French. That's quite a lot of tears let me tell you and
some of them are genuine. Genuine tears, how very sad. You would weep
too if you found yourself barricading your
entire family into your house like Anne Frank or
the cast of Night of the Living Dead had to. This, of course, isn't
about me but the other evening Ben, my little boy, asked 'mammy, are
the people from the internet coming to get us', and I was forced to
say 'of course not love, we're just playing a game'. I was forced to
lie to my child and, unless it is an exercise in mental reservation,
a lie is a sin. I might go to Hell if I don't receive confession
before the event of my death. Imagine the irony if I ended up in Hell
as an indirect result of trying to save a dirty dirty dirty dirty
dirty dirty dirty dirty dirty dirty dirty dirty dirty dirty dirty
dirty dirty dirty dirty dirty heap of pox ridden poo baiters my gay
brothers and sisters from that same eternal damnation. How fair is
that? 'How fair' I ask you as salty Katy French tears spout from my
doleful ducts. The Doleful Ducts of Breda O'Brien. Hmmm, that might
be a nice byline for this piece ...but I digress, this isn't about
me. This is about the nazi queer war against preservation of
traditional values. Traditional values like the right of a child to
come into this world at the foot of a grotto via symphysiotomy and be
greeted by both a mother and a father and not two dirty dirty dirty
dirty dirty dirty dirty dirty dirty dirty dirty dirty dirty dirty
dirty dirty dirty dirty dirty dirty objectively disordered salivating
micky gobblers gay people.
These are my values and I only want to
defend them without being accused of
holding the prejudicial and discriminatory views that I hold. Let me
make it perfectly clear that I reject, with every fibre of my being,
the intolerance and hate that I seek to uphold with every fibre of my
being. When will people realise that hate is not hateful when it
comes from a loving place. My hate is a hate of love and there would
be more love in this world if people learned to hate my way. But this
isn't about me.
I'd like to conclude by thanking Mr.
Fugger for allowing me this space to express my increasingly
maginalised views. With the climate of hate that currently pervades the
communications landscape, myself and my fellow Iona sufferers are forced
to avail of any platform, no matter how pitiful. (No offence
to Mr. Fugger, RTE, The Irish Times, The Independent, etc.
etc. etc.).
2 comments:
A most excellent post by Breda, who loves gay people enough to see past the gay bits and just focus on the nice non-gay bits underneath. Because when you think about it, the church loves everything about gay people, apart from their defining characteristics, habits and lifestyles.
I thought I'd give Breda a safe and non-judgemental space to express her views. She wrote her piece in tearful mascara on a scrap of bog paper and pushed it under the door of her besieged home.
I see Breda as Ireland's own Aung San Suu Kyi; placed under effective house arrest by formerly oppressed oppressors who seek to oppress their oppressors ...and that must feel oppressive.
I can only imagine how Breda must feel standing at a pedestrian crossing. What gives the 'anti-gay' away?
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