My uncle would visit us every couple of years and after knocking back a few drinks would proceed to tell us kids what exactly was wrong with the world.
"Don't get me wrong but what those poofs do to each other really disgusts me but look if they can keep their hands to themselves, stay celibate, you know then I have no problem with that," he took a sip from the beer that my mum had bought especially for his visit. As my dad had died a few years before there'd seemed no sense in keeping alcohol around the house anymore.
"There was this gentleman who lived in my town in Tassie back when I used to work at the mill. Now everyone knew he was a poof and while we might'n't have said it aloud, I mean he never pranced around or wore dresses but you could just tell in the way he would look at you. But you know he never did anything with any blokes at least not that I knew of; he just kinda kept to himself. You would see him drinking in the pub on a Friday night sometimes amongst a group from the mill but usually alone.
"Now I know that some of the guys from around the town roughed him up a few times but I had never had anything to do with it. As far as I am concerned if they keeping it in their pants I don't see anyone should have a problem with that but I suppose if he had been all la-de-da it would've made things worse for him."
But then it goes to show you can do the right thing by some people and still get fucked.
1 comment:
I'm glad that it's someone else's right to tell me whether or not I shall be "kept in my pants". I can't wait to go down the pub to have a drink all by myself, maybe I'll even get "roughed up" on the way! Life's so peachy, I think I might go prance around in a dress!
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