Mamas, Don't Let Your Gay Sons Grow Up To Be Cowboys

There used to be three things I could count on in my life: death, taxes, and cowboys were straight. I went through life happy as could be, I mean, I found three things I could count on, a lot of people can’t find one. I had three. I did, anyway, until Brokeback Mountain. Let’s get this straight (no pun intended) I have nothing against gay people at all, but why do they feel they have to infiltrate every single aspect of our lives? I don’t care if they get married. I don’t care if they adopt kids. I don’t even give a damn if they make a lesbian the pope, but cowboys are not gay. Oh, every once in a while they’ll show footage of a gay rodeo somewhere, which I think gives a whole new meaning to the event bareback riding, but those guys aren’t cowboys. Cowboys are tough. I’m not trying to be stereotypical, but when was the last time you saw a tough gay. I mean, really, I couldn’t care less if a sports star came out of the closet. I could care less if a movie star came out. I don’t know how else to put it, except COWBOYS AREN’T GAY. It’s ludicrous. I could go to see King Kong and Brokeback Mountain this weekend and I’d have an easier time believing there’s a forty-foot ape running around Manhattan than there’s such a thing as a gay cowboy.