The Three Little Pligs = One Homeboy Mas Two Rucas

When I was pubescent, my dad unwittingly planned a family vagaytion to San Francisco. I excitedly bragged about it to my classmates, and an asshole wished, “Have fun in fag city!”

What happens in Sodom and Gomorrah, stays in Sodom and Gomorrah.

Fag city?

Do tell.

We stayed in a hotel near fag city’s financial district, and I felt hopeful that, though my gayness was still on the DL, I was among my paisas (Mexi-slang for COUNTRYMEN). Hope adrenalized my gaydar. It turned it hyperactive. It also adopted the cadence that Dad used to read us a bedtime classic-

Touring the city, my gaydar coyly asked, “Are you a faggot?”

It didn’t matter where in San Francisco we roamed. I stared at dead ducks hanging in Chinatown windows. Gaydar asked, “Are you a faggot?” I gawked at tourists reenacting Rice-A-Roni commercials on the trolley. Although they were clearly out-of-towners, gaydar asked, “Are you a faggot?”  I watched suicidal jumpers teeter along the edges of the Golden Gate Bridge. Gaydar sympathized: “Are you a faggot?”  We ate at John’s Grill, home of the Maltese Falcon, and over steak, my gaydar pondered, “Was Humphrey Bogart…a faggot?”

Recalling Lauren Bacall’s deep, Bea Arthurish voice, I realized, “Yes.”

In the same way that  potential faggots lurked everywhere that summer in San Francisco, I see potential polygamists lurking everywhere here in Utah. I blame HBO. Watching Big Love gave me plig fever. (Plig is to polygamists what fag is to fags).

How can one not be obsessed by Chloe Sevigny playing a bitchy polygamist?

My pligdar was flying off the charts this afternoon.

At a Wendy’s in deepest Utah, staring at a worn out woman in sweats, I wondered, “Are you wife number one or wife number two?”

Gettin’ pliggy with it.

I saw sister wives everywhere.

These rural beef sticks surely engage in multiple marriages.

TJ’s mind was far from polygamy. She awoke with pink eye.

Plig eye?

She clomped about, and I scrounged leftover eye medicine from my cat pouch.

Stink eye

I don’t know if we saw any pligs for sure, but to make up for it, I went to work out in our hotel’s fitness room with an FLDS style bun. FLDS hair inspires me. FLDS hair makes such a statement. It says, “I’m married. A lot.”

Ginger wife.




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