Another Parade Disaster
Man! I get some really fucked up parade information. Yesterday wasn't the 4th of July Parade!! I spent hours in the morning caking on Uncle Sam make-up and BeDazzle-ing turquoise rhinestones into my red, white, and blue patriot landsuit to celebrate the birth of our nation. I get to the parade line-up at 50th Street in Manhattan and was completely dumbfounded as to why no one else was wearing our country's colors.
I got up on my stilts and surveyed the queer assemblage of a crowd before marching down the street.
"You don't look anything like lovers of America! You look like lovers of same-sex genitals!!" I pointed and laughed at the nearby dudes in thongs and rollerblades. "These colors don't burn!!" I chanted to the parade watchers.
"Whatever, Mary!" snarled a fabulous looking drag queen, as she kicked out my right leg. "This is the gay pride parade, you freak!"
"Whoa-a-whoa-a-whoa!!" I yelped as my stilts went in opposite directions.
The crowd cheered as I did the splits all the way to the ground. Could this be any more embarrassing? Yes! My pants had the biggest rip right down the middle of my crotch! The tear was so gaping and far-reaching, my pants AND boxers were literally divided into two. As I stood back up on the stilts, the waist of my pants peeled away to the sides like a banana peel, revealing my manhood to all of New York City and its rabid, undulating gays. The crowd cheered again.
What's worse was I couldn't get off the parade route. All the sidewalks were barricaded! While covering my face and my dingle, I stilt walked as fast as I could the remaining 50 blocks and escaped to a nearby subway station.
Mortifying! To think, this is practically a repeat of what happened to me on St. Patrick's Day, too. I should learn my lesson and just stay home.