Gays Assimilating American TV
A Publication of the American Council on Family Values

      It reads like a science fiction novel.  A slow and gradual progression, almost viral.  The homosexuals are taking over America.  It started in the 60’s.  A little show called Lost in Space introduced a slightly neurotic, occasionally malicious “doctor” of dubious distinction.  Though he wasn’t “out” in today’s sense, who would ever really argue the good Doctor Smith was straight?  And who can forget Jack Tripper, of Three’s Company fame?  Larry was just a little too convenient, wasn’t he?
     We need to be vigilant, America!  They’re coming for us, each and every one of us.  The liberal media (this fine publication excepted) is their tool, their blow-horn.  We must shout louder, in order to have our voices heard!
     Case in point, Bob Rumpsford, Director of the American Council on Family Values, recently held a press conference in Grand Rapids, Michigan.  There, Mr. Rumpsford made his case – our case – the case for all good, moral, ethical Americans.  “It has been going on for decades!” he insisted vehemently, face contorted with emotion, rivulets of sweat pooling at his too-tight collar.  “It started off innocently, but then they targeted our young people – our own children!”
     “Who targeted our children?” a voice in the crowd asked.  A quick consultation of the seating chart revealed the speaker was among the most vile, most hate-worthy of the attendees – Maxine Bogsworth, of the Fairy Factoid, an online “news periodical,” passing itself off as a quality news source.
     “Cartoons!” Rumpsford said.
     “Cartoons?” Bogsworth asked.
     “Of course!  Have you watched cartoons, my dear woman?  For decades, we have slept, safe and secure in our beds, knowing our children rush to their televisions each and every Saturday morning.  We slept because we thought the cartoons were clean, innocent, God-fearing fun.  But they’re evil, I tell you!  They’re the Devil!”  Rumpsford’s yellow-edged blue eyes bulged from their sockets, so intense was his conviction.
     “Can you cite examples?” Bogsworth asked.  The other reporters assembled for the news conference, five or six at least, nodded.  Examples were important to validate the case.
     “Of course!  One need look no further than the average cartoon dog!  Snagglepuss, Huckleberry Hound, Deputy Dawg!  It’s like a parade of abomination, stealing their souls!  And now, look what has happened – these children, these forgotten youth, have grown and started to assume positions of power and their quiet assimilation continues!  First, there was a kiss between two women on Roseanne.  Then that frightful woman came out on Ellen.  Then there was Carter on Spin City, and finally Will & Grace hit and the gays took over the mainstream.  Now you can’t swing a cat without hitting a gay television series – Queer as Folk, Queer Eye for the Straight Guy, Trading Spaces, and soon, Boy Meets Boy.  Why, at this rate, there won’t be a straight television show left on American networks.”
     “You forgot Queer Duck,” one of the reporters offered.  “That’s gay and a cartoon.”
     “Bless you, brother, you see my point.  We’re the last line of defense, the final bastion of family morality in America.  It’s people like you and me, brothers and sisters, who will save this country!”
     “Remember, I work for the Factoid,” Maxine reminded.
     Rumpsford sneered at her.  “How could I forget, Ms. Bogsworth?”
     “Actually, the station I work for is gay owned,” one of the other women commented.
     “Yeah, I work for a gay newspaper in Cleveland,” the man who had spoken previously said.
     Another man, sitting with him, spoke up.  “I freelance for Entertainment Tonight, but I live in West Hollywood.”
     Rumpsford turned to me, panic in his face, as he realized we were the last two straight people in the room.  His breathing became short and erratic and he fell from the podium.  The collected reporters and this reporter rushed forward.
     “He’s having a heart attack!” Maxine Bogsworth insisted.  She turned to me.  “Do you know CPR?”
     I shook my head.  I’d never learned.  The man from the Cleveland paper spoke.  “Don’t worry, Maxine,” he said, “I know what to do.”
     That was the last time I saw Bob Rumpsford, at least as he was.  When he rose, he smiled at me, a little glint in his eye, and I saw his wrists were visibly limper.  “Don’t worry, everything will be fine.  It’s fabulous!  Resistance is futile.”
     They’re coming for us, America.  There’s nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.  Put on your dancing shoes, match your leathers, and get ready.  It’s just a matter of time.