Indigo Girls

There’s no “politically correct” way to say it; I’ve had so many lesbians as friends over the course of my life that I’m probably too comfortable around them. I kid around with them in a manner that can appear “offensive” to outsiders. Folks, maybe the Sapphists are different where you come from, but in my personal experience, real lesbians are borderline impossible to offend.

I’ve lived in Atlanta, Georgia since 2002. If gays and lesbians bug you, as I’ve said, you generally pick someplace else to live. Atlanta lesbians are some of the most respectable, upstanding members of the community I’ve ever encountered. They’re almost ridiculously easy to get along with.

I live in a city with a substantial lesbian population, and despite their sometimes masculine mien, I can’t picture or recall them whistling, even while performing dirty jobs and chores. Plumbing, home repairs, demolitions, landscaping, you name it- lesbians go in like black ops and work like surgeons. The first house I lived in when I came to Atlanta was bordered on all four sides by lesbian couples. We didn’t need to lock our door. [“Women Don’t Whistle“]

My “point” is, I make “lesbian jokes” because I’m more comfortable with them than you are. So ha.

“LUG” is an acronym for Lesbian Until Graduation. It’s a derisive term for girls who muff-dive while they’re away at college, then marry (a dude) and produce children immediately after receiving their diploma. Sometimes they employ the venerable “bisexual” excuse, but typically they go mega-hetero and traditionally feminine, while cutting off all acquaintances from their alma mater. One could argue that this phoenix-like rebirth is disingenuous, sociopathic, shallow, and evidence of improper upbringing, not to mention insulting to real homosexuals. Men who gay it up in college don’t generally get to switch teams afterward without severe and legal repercussions.

Here’s the Indigo Girls song that I used to enjoy in the olden days, before people were all about casting aspersions upon one another.

See what I mean about the dad’s voice*? Localness aside, these Girls have talent out the wazoo. I don’t care or want to hear about any political or anti-Trump stuff. If I could get away with it, I’d punch the next mouth it came out of. The day I look to professional entertainers for political opinions is the day I eat the business end of a shotgun.

*As of this writing, Don Saliers still lives!

I’m trying to be nice, but I fucking hate the Indigo Girls’ version of “Romeo and Juliet”. I hate that whole fucking album, for personal reasons I have alluded to elsewhere. Just remember this: when someone “comes out” in adulthood, there’s always someone else who gets left behind and betrayed. There’s always someone who becomes collateral damage, and suddenly learns that their relationship with the person they loved was a boldfaced lie. Some people never learn to trust again after it happens to them. So just keep in mind that there’s another side to all the empowerment and acceptance. My admiration for legitimate lesbos stems largely from the fact that they recognized their love for pussy early enough to keep from demolishing the hearts of men.

What you are reading is real acceptance. Real acceptance isn’t pandering, veneration, or blind favoritism.

To recap: As a heterosexual man, I had to “bend over backwards” for several hundred words here, to make it clear that my criticisms of the Indigo Girls would not be taken as criticisms of gay women. Not because I feared offending lesbians; because I fear offending those who aren’t lesbians, but have chosen to defend them as a way of appearing virtuous. You know, fascists. They call themselves “anti-fascist”, but they’re the most oppressive fascists of all. They’re the type of folks who assume that if you dislike the Indigo Girls, you’re a “homophobe”. Our world will be a far finer place when people who think like that are worm food.

The trick described in the final panel absolutely works. I tried to simulate it with YouTube links, but you can only change the playback speed, not the pitch. It just ends up sounding like Crosby Stills Nash & Young are even more coked-up than usual. I assure you, if you use a real record player, it works exactly as described. You will be astonished and amazed, as the cosmic subliminal lesbo-code reveals itself to you.

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