I’ve been puzzling over why a Florida restaurant owner grabbed President Obama around his midriff and hoisted him above the ground. If he was one of the president’s supporters, as he claims, didn’t he realise that making the commander-in-chief flail about like a skewered insect would be bad for his image? Yet, I don’t believe he was a secret antagonist who intended to make Obama look like a sissy. An opponent of the president would not have had the stomach to embrace him in that peculiarly intimate way.
The manager of the safari camp has his own pet theory, believing that the incident was stage-managed by Obama as part of his re-election strategy.
“He was trying to win over swing voters by showing them his gay side,” he explained to me.
“Are you suggesting that swing voters are predominantly gay?” I asked incredulously.
“Bisexual,” corrected the manager. “They can’t make up their minds in either sex or politics.”
“I see you’re a disciple of the Groucho Marx school of political science,” I remarked. “I’ll mention your idea to any confused pundits I see wandering about in the jungle. It should give them food for thought before their heads explode.”
As a gorilla, I’ll be the first to admit that I don’t have first-hand knowledge of gay political preferences in America. Having said that, my gut instinct tells me that the gay vote is solidly behind the president, apart from a few bat-shit crazy lesbians who’ve been rabidly Republican since their first fisting experience. The reasons for this are fairly obvious. Like the gays, Barry is a member of a minority group. He sympathises with their history of having to hide their gayness, much as he had to hide his blackness when he was running for the US Senate. He also dresses well and has a moderately butch wife, which puts him on the gay side of the argument.
America has come a long way since the darks days of J Edgar Hoover, when homosexuality was firmly in the water closet. The nearest thing to a gay scene in the movies was when Laurence Olivier pontificated about snails and oysters in Spartacus. Only experts in Roman cuisine knew he was asking Tony Curtis for a hand job. How different things are now. Cinema audiences of today can happily watch a film in which cowboys have butt sex, as long as neither cowboy is Hoss from Bonanza, which would make everyone wince and bite their kneecaps.
The first openly gay American president is surely just a matter of time. Maybe 200 years’ time, but you can’t expect change to occur overnight. While we are waiting, President Obama should help things along by getting the nation accustomed to gay people in public life. If I were him, I would appoint some of those bat-shit crazy Republican lesbians as ambassadors to volatile middle-eastern countries. If anyone knows how to deal with mobs of rioting madmen, they will. Sometimes you’ve got to fight fire with fire.
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