Get 2 Choppin

Oh dearie me! It has recently come to my attention that the closed-mindedness of the 50’s and McCarthy’s communist witch-hunts has seeped into our society today in regards to the bromance. Did you know that Civil War era poet Walt Whitman used the word “lover” and “friend” interchangeably but it is only recently that he has been labeled a flaming pile of homoerotic poetic poop? He should have penned the simple lines, “If you are gay, it’s okay”.

     Why is it that when two guys are good friends and have each other’s back in a semi-slightly kind of gay way that they are labeled as having a bromance? This is ridiculous people. We might as well just start burning books and witches again, hell maybe even get crazy and throw a warlock or two onto the barbeque, if we are going to have this viewpoint.

The double cheek kiss has been all but ruined by the homophobic zealots that populate this world of ours. People, what is next? Are you going to take the hug away from us? For the love of God, men have already had to come up with the “side hug” so as not to appear overly gay, so you might as well take away all physical contact. Hell the butt slap in sports has come under fire. One slap to hard or a lingering hand and WHAM you are the gay teammate no one wants to shower next to or have towel-snapping fights with. As guys we live for that sort of jovial camaraderie. No girlfriend or wife will ever be able to fill the locker room void no matter how many times they let you win when you shower wrestle. It’s just not the same.

     I refuse to drink these societal pressures that are spilling out of the conservative cup that is America.  I will proudly put my arm around my broski and belt out “Hero” by Enrique Iglesias or do a duet of Celine Dion’s “It’s all coming back to me” without feeling one ounce of compunction. I will free to remark on how his ass looks good in those Capri sweats or how he is looking buff from the gym and that if I were a girl I wouldn’t even kick him out of bed for eating white cheddar cheez-its. I will tell him that I get lost in his eyes sometimes and that I want to have his babies if men could do that. I will tell him that I spell out Mr. and Mr. (insert friend’s last name) over and over again in my journal just to see how it will look. Okay that last part, I’ll keep to myself but I’ll leave my journal out and hope he reads it (but I’ll silently pray, “Please read it”).

     If that’s how it’s going to be I might as well move to France so I can do a little dance in my underpants cause they’re more accepting of the bromance. Yo America, you got no chance.