Kalah Allen

I was riding the MAX downtown with my straight best friend when we noticed you mumbling near the door. You kept giving us shifty eyes, then I heard some words along the lines of "dirty faggots." When your stop came up you stopped mumbling and quite coherently started cursing at me for my piercings, my hair, and my supposedly faggy tendencies. It's been so long since someone verbally assaulted me for my sexuality that I froze, not knowing how I could counterattack. Seriously? Do you know what city you live in? If you did, you backwards, homophobic piece of reindeer shit, you might have noticed how many queers make up your peers. I hope Santa took a shit in your stocking and you thought it was fancy chocolate. I hope your heat gets turned off and a polar bear with blood dripping from his teeth winds up in your kitchen. I hope the sexy lingerie your Nazi youth boyfriend left under the tree spontaneously combusts and sets fire to your pubic hair. But most of all, I hope we run into you again, because then I'll get every drag queen, bull dyke, muscle bear, straight ally, and tranny with an attitude that I know to show you what happens when the queers bash back.—Anonymous