(Cut back to the motel room. Mulder is still reading.)Oh noes!
MULDER: "...thee. Before I knew it, I was aboard the hover vessel and was not heading into outer space, but inner space, heading towards the earth's molten core. For that is the domain of the third alien, whose name, he soon told me... was Lord Kinbote."
(Mulder looks up at Scully. Cut to the X-Files office.)
SCULLY: In short, Rocky showed signs of being what is known as a fantasy-prone personality.
JOSE CHUNG: Agent Scully, you are so kindhearted. He's a nut! I just read his manifesto!
SCULLY: How did you get a copy?
(He pulls out the manifesto.)
JOSE CHUNG: One was sent to my publishers. I don't know what was more disturbing... his description of the inner core reincarnated souls sex orgy... or the fact that the whole thing is written in screenplay format.
SCULLY: It definitely was peculiar.
-"José Chung's from Outer Space," The X-Files
One of our far-flung correspondents recently put us on the . . . scent of one Donald Douglas:
I am a pro-victory Associate Professor of Political Science teaching in Southern California. I love my country, and I fully support current U.S. military operations around the world. I despise the hard-left radical agenda and discourse. I also abhor irrationalism in argumentation. I welcome comments and debate, and I'll defend my positions vigorously. Yet in friendship, you'll find no one more dignified, trustworthy, nor loyal.Now Don has discovered that the hard-left is planning to get even harder in a Bacchanalian celebration of the Triumph of Faggotry over Decency and the crowning of Barack Obama as the King of Catamites.
It would be easy to read a certain Freudian latency in this clinically morbid fascination with gay sex. But we here at Who Is IOZ? are made of more analytical stuff. Although it's true that the Grand Ol' Party and its affiliates are home to more than their share of Mark Foleys, the issue is less one of repressed sexual "identity" per se than it is of a blander, but broader repression of individual sexuality in general. I hardly think it necessary to put on leather, hop onto the sling, and get fisted all night in order to achieve real sexual satisfaction. Lord knows, that's a forearm too far for me, being generally, if moderately, more vanilla in my tastes. That said, a degree of disinhibition is necessary for a decent roll in the hay; to get to anything other than the most mechanical of ejaculatory orgasms, you've got to be willing to lose yourself a little in the moment.
My guess is that Don can't dance either, another pasttime predicated on some personal abandon. What these folks find most disturbing about self-actualized queers is the absence of a veil of shame. How can it be just that these deviants act without it while I, an ordinary guy, feel it so intensely?