Straight Guy for the Queer Eye
Okay, enough is enough! I’ve had it up to the eyeballs with Reality Television so that I’m about ready to gouge out my own eyes with a soupspoon lest I should suffer through anymore of this broadcast nonsense. How insulting and condescending has this form of television broadcasting become? Pretty soon we’re not going to be able to take a shit by ourselves unless we’ve thoroughly researched the proper way to unbuckle our pants, shopped and accessorized for the perfect scented toilet-paper and have considered all the necessary fashionable etiquettes required in order to stylishly wipe our ass. I’m definitely NOT catching on to the whole “self-improvement” phenomenon popular on most educational channels.
Now don’t get me wrong, I’m all for improving and enhancing ones outward and inward appearances in this lifetime, but if five gay guys ever barged into my beloved humble abode and began critiquing my ragamuffin wardrobe and unkempt grooming style and proceeded to pick through all my acquired belongs an clutter with discouraging looks of disgust, I wouldn’t be so eager to simply laugh along agreeably like a mindless schmuck. No, I would be more apt to grab myself a shotgun and immediately begin bagging myself some big game homosexuals as if I were safari hunting on the set of ‘Sweatin’ to the Oldies Vol.5’. It would very quickly transform into the new Season Premiere of “Reality Mass Murder”, or perhaps “Reality Hate Crimes”. You get the point. This is not to suggest that I solely feel this way about gay fashion consultants, it's just that they seem to own the monopoly on this particular trend of television. I am just as apt to begin embedding things in the self-righteous foreheads of Swedish bikini models if they too ever started over-scrutinizing my handicapped sense of style.
There’s simply NO WAY that I would subject myself to the bitchy critical musings of anyone claiming to be part of any group calling themselves “The Fab Five”, particularly if their name is Carson, Kyan*, Jai, Thom, or Ted. Each one of these self-proclaimed “Queer Eye” consultants has a particular specialty or gay superpower** that he uses to enhance and improve the targeted heterosexual straight guy with. There’s the “Fashion Savant”, the “Food and Wine Connoisseur”, the “Grooming Guru”, the “Design Doctor”, and lastly, the “Culture Vulture”.
Pardon? What the fuck is a “Culture Vulture”? Since when did getting picked last in gym class designate you worthy of being a noted consultant for self-improvement? When exactly did culture become a particular legitimate area of study and expertise anyways? How does one go about becoming an authoritative expert on culture? Is there some kind of gay Bachelor of Arts degree that you can get by taking correspondence courses through the Rock Hudson University of Culture & Design? I predict that this particular faggy fashion expert was on par with the annoying little brother whose mother always insisted that he be allowed to tag along with the older homosexual fashion consultants.
Consider this, Adolph Hitler once considered himself an authority on culture too, and look what fiasco resulted from that! Can you imagine if Hitler were alive and well today and part of the self-improvement Reality Television craze? We’d all be trendy psycho killers with little mustaches, Swastika flags hanging on our Rec Room walls and blasting Wagner on our stereos. Besides, who decided that gay men were the these gifted elite bastions of popular culture anyways? Sure, fashion, interior design, food and drink, and maybe even the personal grooming*** I can understand; but culture? NEVER! I wouldn’t consider wearing skin-tight leather shorts and dog collars, sucking on Lollipops****, frolicking with Albino tigers, knowing all the lyrics to Abba’s ‘Fernando’, and lodging small rodents up your ass as being on the cutting edge of culture! I would rather be slathered in honey and staked out on an anthill while being forced to listen to Liberace perform all my favorite Led Zeppelin tunes than subject myself to that kind of “culture”.
I think in all fairness, there should be an alternate self-improvement reality based television show called “Straight Guy for the Queer Eye”. In this program, five burley trucker-type guys would ambush one lucky flamingly flamboyant gay male and give him a complete image makeover! In and among random gay-bashing commentary, they would systematically slob him up a bit by dribbling Buffalo Wing sauce down the front of his new wife-beater tank top, replace his “European Carry-all” with a weather-beaten leather man’s wallet, get rid of the blonde highlights and slick his spikey hair back with motor oil, add a fashionable ‘John Deer’ ball cap with the brim bent at a perfect right angle in lieu of his lopsided sun visor, liberally apply duct tape and random engine parts throughout their apartment, replace all the ‘Mens Health’ magazines on the coffee table with old issues of ‘Auto Trader’ and ‘Penthouse Letters’, and help prepare a gourmet plate of Kraft macaroni and hot dogs for dinner.
That’ll teach those tragically hip Nancy boys what’s “fashionable”!
* Is that even a REAL name?
** Much like each hero member in “The Fantastic Four”…only gayer.
*** You’d really have to be some kind of lower level primate on the Evolutionary Scale to require a “Grooming Guru” to teach you how to trim your nose hairs and to clean the fecal matter from underneath your nails…but I am willing to give the benefit of doubt.
**** Unless you’re Kojak, of course.
Now don’t get me wrong, I’m all for improving and enhancing ones outward and inward appearances in this lifetime, but if five gay guys ever barged into my beloved humble abode and began critiquing my ragamuffin wardrobe and unkempt grooming style and proceeded to pick through all my acquired belongs an clutter with discouraging looks of disgust, I wouldn’t be so eager to simply laugh along agreeably like a mindless schmuck. No, I would be more apt to grab myself a shotgun and immediately begin bagging myself some big game homosexuals as if I were safari hunting on the set of ‘Sweatin’ to the Oldies Vol.5’. It would very quickly transform into the new Season Premiere of “Reality Mass Murder”, or perhaps “Reality Hate Crimes”. You get the point. This is not to suggest that I solely feel this way about gay fashion consultants, it's just that they seem to own the monopoly on this particular trend of television. I am just as apt to begin embedding things in the self-righteous foreheads of Swedish bikini models if they too ever started over-scrutinizing my handicapped sense of style.
There’s simply NO WAY that I would subject myself to the bitchy critical musings of anyone claiming to be part of any group calling themselves “The Fab Five”, particularly if their name is Carson, Kyan*, Jai, Thom, or Ted. Each one of these self-proclaimed “Queer Eye” consultants has a particular specialty or gay superpower** that he uses to enhance and improve the targeted heterosexual straight guy with. There’s the “Fashion Savant”, the “Food and Wine Connoisseur”, the “Grooming Guru”, the “Design Doctor”, and lastly, the “Culture Vulture”.
Pardon? What the fuck is a “Culture Vulture”? Since when did getting picked last in gym class designate you worthy of being a noted consultant for self-improvement? When exactly did culture become a particular legitimate area of study and expertise anyways? How does one go about becoming an authoritative expert on culture? Is there some kind of gay Bachelor of Arts degree that you can get by taking correspondence courses through the Rock Hudson University of Culture & Design? I predict that this particular faggy fashion expert was on par with the annoying little brother whose mother always insisted that he be allowed to tag along with the older homosexual fashion consultants.
Consider this, Adolph Hitler once considered himself an authority on culture too, and look what fiasco resulted from that! Can you imagine if Hitler were alive and well today and part of the self-improvement Reality Television craze? We’d all be trendy psycho killers with little mustaches, Swastika flags hanging on our Rec Room walls and blasting Wagner on our stereos. Besides, who decided that gay men were the these gifted elite bastions of popular culture anyways? Sure, fashion, interior design, food and drink, and maybe even the personal grooming*** I can understand; but culture? NEVER! I wouldn’t consider wearing skin-tight leather shorts and dog collars, sucking on Lollipops****, frolicking with Albino tigers, knowing all the lyrics to Abba’s ‘Fernando’, and lodging small rodents up your ass as being on the cutting edge of culture! I would rather be slathered in honey and staked out on an anthill while being forced to listen to Liberace perform all my favorite Led Zeppelin tunes than subject myself to that kind of “culture”.
I think in all fairness, there should be an alternate self-improvement reality based television show called “Straight Guy for the Queer Eye”. In this program, five burley trucker-type guys would ambush one lucky flamingly flamboyant gay male and give him a complete image makeover! In and among random gay-bashing commentary, they would systematically slob him up a bit by dribbling Buffalo Wing sauce down the front of his new wife-beater tank top, replace his “European Carry-all” with a weather-beaten leather man’s wallet, get rid of the blonde highlights and slick his spikey hair back with motor oil, add a fashionable ‘John Deer’ ball cap with the brim bent at a perfect right angle in lieu of his lopsided sun visor, liberally apply duct tape and random engine parts throughout their apartment, replace all the ‘Mens Health’ magazines on the coffee table with old issues of ‘Auto Trader’ and ‘Penthouse Letters’, and help prepare a gourmet plate of Kraft macaroni and hot dogs for dinner.
That’ll teach those tragically hip Nancy boys what’s “fashionable”!
* Is that even a REAL name?
** Much like each hero member in “The Fantastic Four”…only gayer.
*** You’d really have to be some kind of lower level primate on the Evolutionary Scale to require a “Grooming Guru” to teach you how to trim your nose hairs and to clean the fecal matter from underneath your nails…but I am willing to give the benefit of doubt.
**** Unless you’re Kojak, of course.
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