Revelation on the Dance Floor

If you are a registered California voter and govern your decisions, even in part, by logic and rational thinking, then I thank you for voting ‘No’ on Proposition 8.

For today’s post, I’ve decided to write a letter to the devout and dedicated folks at “ProtectMarriage.com,” to be delivered on Wednesday, November 5th.

Dear Sirs:

Hello, Hallelujah, and God Bless You! I am writing for two reasons: first, to offer my condolences in this time of defeat. Though Prop 8 failed to pass, Our Lord and Savior will most certainly not fail to pass judgment on the gays. We’ll see how much they enjoy sodomy once they realize that it will be eternally thrust upon them by Satan—with his fiery pronged penis!

Second, I would like to volunteer to assist your organization in the continued struggle against sexual deviants, heathens, and career-minded women. I believe that my unique personal perspective could be useful in liberating people from homosexuality. Though in my youth I always partook in masculine activities (Boy Scouts, Greco-Roman wrestling team, pledging a fraternity, etc.), I have occasionally been tempted to stray from the path of righteousness. I don’t mean this in the traditional sense; I have never had a male appendage inserted into my rectum, other than the finger of a doctor (it was only later that I found out he held a PhD in Comparative Literature). My problem is that I am musically gay.

Alone in the shower I belt out Whitney Houston. There are multiple Britney Spears CDs tucked under the driver’s seat of my car. And I really, really like the mixes they play where I workout, at Gold’s Gym in the Castro. Worse yet, I often find my body moving to the beat against my will, as if the Devil himself has possessed my hips. Dance is wrong, it is not Christian; I know because I’ve seen the movie “Footloose” a dozen times. But gloriously, in these moments of quivering temptation, I bite my lower lip, beg for Him, and He comes: Jesus Christ! Really, He does. Sometimes at the gym when an ABBA song is playing, I conclude a fierce bench pressing with jazz hands. Ashamed, I pray to Him. I know He hears me because every time I’m able to overcome the yearning to flutter my fingers. Then He rewards me by giving me the strength to climactically push up a grunting vein-popping new single-rep max.

Recently it occurred to me that I could strategically harness my spiritual weakness for use in battle against the gays. The gays are drawn to music and dancing, or so I am told. Thus, I propose that, with your help, I produce and direct a “musical” (a play that contains musical numbers and dancing) in the heart of their stronghold—San Francisco. Ostensibly, this will be just another colorful theater performance with chiseled men in unitards. But beneath the surface, the musical will deliver a subliminal message in support of traditional marriage: salvation lies within the vagina.

The title of our production will be “Revelation on the Dance Floor.” The stage will be set for apocalyptic battle as we reenact the Book of Revelation with song and dance. Rather than attaching the entire script and illustrated choreography (which is currently being printed in Bible Script font at Kinkos), I will summarize the final scene so that you can get an idea of how the message will be conveyed.

The trumpets will sound as the four horsemen stand, clad solely in chaps, hands-on-hips, in the corners of the stage. Blinding bright light will expose the pagans to the rapture. The naked bodies of the non-believers (representing Jews, Muslims, Hindus, and that pesky Tom Cruise with his army of space druids) will writhe in agony as judgment cometh. [Casting note: the backup dancers will double as the non-believers.] As the Devil prods the heathens, who are now laid out collectively to form a human dance floor, Jesus will be lowered onto the stage. It turns out, however, that Jesus has updated His appearance…I have a feeling that the gays will really appreciate His makeover.

In lieu of flowing white linen robes, JC will be clad in the manliest of outfits: a wrestling singlet. He will be tone, fit, and muscular. I mean, what else is there to do but lift weights while you’re waiting for the rapture? Gone will be His long flaxen hair. Instead, He will sport a strawberry blond faux-hawk (apparently, these are quite popular with the sodomites). Strobe lights will flash as Christ begins to slowly tap His feet on top of the non-believers. The momentum will rise up His leg and His pelvis will begin to gyrate. The Devil’s eyes will grow wide with fear as he senses the power of dancing Jesus. Resurrected Christ will hold up His hand and the light from the disco ball will shine through the holes in His palms and He’ll say something hip like, “In your face, Satan!” The cowering Devil will plunge down through a trapdoor in the stage, leaving a glistening well-built Jesus victorious atop the heap of non-believers (backup dancers now in the fetal position).

An image this raw and vital will undoubtedly have a spellbinding effect on an audience full of the gays. As the spotlight dims on dancing Jesus, the photograph of a massive immaculately-groomed vagina will be projected across the white stage backdrop. The image of our strapping Savior merging into the giant vagina will leave the spectators hypnotically entranced. They will exit the musical inexplicably lusting after female genitalia. And they will find themselves married and producing soldiers for the Lord before they can snap their fingers and say “eternal damnation.”

Anyway, I hope you now have faith in my plan to rehabilitate these lost souls. Please do not question my methods. We must convert them by any means necessary. Deceptive manipulation is perfectly acceptable when used for righteousness. Our values will improve their lives.

Ultimately, we must prevent them from imposing their way of life on everyone else.

Thank you for your time.