Pretty In Suppurating Lesion Red.
Well, I guess I'm gay now. It's not so bad, I guess. I wasn't doing so well with the ladies anyway, since they always break whenever I bend them the way I like, and these lousy 'informed consent' laws have put a real crimp in my date raping style. Maybe with this new homosexual thing, I'll get lucky more often, as I understand the gays are much morepromiscuous, trying to cram in as much sex as possible before they get AIDS and die. Plus, I'll finally be able to take better care of my skin, which currently looks like I shoot heroin directly into my T Zone, instead of in the webs of my toes as per usual. I’ll get a better, non-Evil Ernie based fashion sense, and I'll becoming more open to the idea of gay marriage, and even gay citizenship, should that ever become an issue.
The reason for my conversion to the rosy side of the force is, of course, Pretty In Pink, in which Howard Deutch and John Hughes transplant Marx's theories of class struggle into an episode of Dawson's Creek. This is not the sort of movie I would normally have watched on my own, back in my heterosexual days, but I was still in the doghouse regarding two screenings of a 1984 Samhain bootleg and a live Dwarves DVD. Now that I'm gay, however, I look forward to exploring a lot more of the poofy relics of the 80s I'd once avoided. Like an archeologist digging for treasure but finding only tampons and pages ripped from Cosmo Girl, I will sift through the chick flicks and dopey teen movies to help me get more in touch with my feminine side, so I can really learn to take it like a slut from my new leather daddy.
I think it's probably a function of my new gay leaf that I don't think Pretty In Pink is all that bad. For once, it seems to be a high school movie made for high school students, so the language is as realistic and frank as a fluffy comedy can be. Molly Ringwald only kind of looks like her jaw is made of cement, and Andrew McCarthy appears to have the talented he possessed before Weekend At Bernie's sapped his will to live. Aside from Duckie, who seems to have been created by middle aged screenwriters trying to woo 12 year old girls, the film is fairly adult and reasonable, and manages to say a little something about life in high school around the mouthful of cock it's swallowing, though what it's saying appears to be that class mixing is problematic. Generally, I contain most of my opinions of mixed relationships to mimeographed pamphlets on miscegenation and race treason, but it's enlightening to see that such things are possible. And, with my new, more liberal attitude, I'm finding the socialist views of this movie, in which love conquers all class barriers, more and more palatable. As long as they're not allowed to marry.