Reflexive decency.
Oh, yes, this is a wonderful govment, wonderful. Why, looky here. There was a faggot there from Boston—not a blue-blood Brahmin, neither, most as upright as a straight man. He had the whitest shirt on you ever see, too, and the shiniest hat; and there ain’t a man in that town that’s got as fine clothes as what he had; and he had a gold watch and chain, and a silver-headed cane—the awfulest old gray-headed nabob in the state. And what do you think? They said he was a lawyer in a big firm out that way, and could talk all kinds of languages, and knowed everything. And that ain’t the wust. They said he could get married when he was at home. Well, that let me out. Thinks I, what is the country a-coming to? Now, I’m sweet on Dolores, as you know, and I was just about to go and ask for her hand if I warn’t too drunk to get there; but when they told me there was a state in that country where they’d let that faggot marry a man, or let some bulldagger swoop in on sweet Dolores, I drawed out. I says I’ll never get married ag’in. Them’s the very words I said; they all heard me; and the country may rot for all me—I’ll never get married ag’in as long as I live.
With thanks to Teresa Nielsen Hayden, for reminding me; apologies to Messr. Twain; and a great big dollop of neener dumped all over Jonah Goldberg and all his icky, phobic ilk.
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That is BEE-YOU--Tee-full!
This hyear man was plumb tickled right down to the bottom of whatever he is.
Perfect. Just perfect. I don't think I've ever seen the bigots put in their place better than that.