May 18 2005


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“So, how was the show?” Greg asked.

“Eh,” Brigid replied. “Better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick.”

“That good, eh? I’m guessing Roger didn’t turn out to be the vessel of your hopes and dreams.”

“No, more like a VW with a bad transmission.”

“Oh, good response!” Greg pulled out his pad. “I’m writing that one down.”

“Well, it’s not like he’s a bad guy or anything, but his values in life are peace, love, and vitriolic rants against the right wing. I’ve heard enough one-note songs in my life, that I don’t have a lot of patience for them any more.” Brigid shrugged and started making her coffee. “He started out from the assumption that naturally I agreed with everything he said about politics. When I didn’t immediately join in and go rah-rah-rah, he then moved to the assumption that I must be a gay-hating creationist Bible-groupie who wanted to put him into a concentration camp for daring to have an opposing opinion.”

“Tsk. Alas, poor Roger,” said Greg. “Not one for nuances, eh? If only he knew what he was missing. I am intrigued by the gay-hating aspect in particular.”

Brigid smirked. “Yeah, I don’t hate gays any more than the normal hatred I have for straight people, men, women, dogs, cats, and everybody else.”

“Exactly,” said Greg. “Nobody who knows you would think you were anything but consistent on that score.”

-The Gneech

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