Cowboy, baby.

That’s it.  Laugh it up.  Tell your friends.  I don’t give a fuck.  I’m secure in my sexuality.  Your childish jibes mean nothing to me.  I’ve been verbally assaulted by the best, and you’ve got shit.  You’re a functionally illiterate redneck who apparently likes to expose his ass crack.  Pull your damned pants up.  Buy a fucking belt.  Dickhead.

I don’t need a beard and a beer gut to feel manly.  I don’t have a Confederate flag tattoo.  I don’t have NASCAR stickers on my car.  I don’t wear trucker hats or sleeveless-flannel.  I don’t flash my ass every time I bend over.  I can read.  I have teeth.  They aren’t tobacco stained.  I have never married a blood relative.  I’ve not had relations with a farm animal.  And I am one hundred percent hetero-fucking-sexual, you stupid, redneck, homophobe.

But go ahead.  Have a good laugh.

And just so you know, I didn’t say I wanted to see Brokeback Mountain.  I said I wouldn’t mind seeing it.

Big difference.

And it did have great reviews.

About the Author: Jon Carter Jackson

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