First off, I didn't name him, alright? That name was on his tag when I found him. That said, yeah--his name's Sparkles, he's a Chihuahua, and... yeah, okay, he's a fruit. So? You got a problem with my dog?

Yeah, big surprise. You "tolerant" and "progressive" Portlanders talk a good game, but tell me: Where are Portland's gay dog-friendly parks?

You wanna know what happened last weekend? Jamison Square, right? Sparkles went off, found a friend, and got down to business. Now, I wasn't starin' or nothin', but that Dalmatian Sparkles got on sure looked like he was enjoying it. (Sure, he kept trying to run away, and yeah, Sparkles couldn't hit the right target, but he was pumpin' away at that spotted leg pretty good.) But then this woman pulls 'em apart, drags Sparkles over, and says, "Err... I really don't think... well, another male... why, kids are playing here!"

Oh, fuck off, lady! Like you'd complain if that Dalmatian were female? Shit, if Sparkles was straight, breeders would be linin' up the bitches for just a thimbleful of his Chihuahua spunk.

There ain't any better parks, either: Mt. Tabor, Woodstock, Laurelhurst... I even tried Scandals, that queer bar downtown. They wouldn't even let Sparkles through the door. I mean, you'd think they'd understand.

So keep saying how "progressive" Portland is, but until Sparkles can openly frolic with other gay dogs, I ain't buyin' one goddamn word of it. Not until my Sparkles can find some other gay dogs for some pumpin' action in the great, gay dog-friendly outdoors. Then, Sparkles can proudly announce--at his moment of climax, and in his adorable little yips and squeals--"I am queer! I am here! I am Sparkles!"

Till then? Ain't buyin' one word, Portland. Not one goddamn word.