on the subject of broccoli and being gay.
Recently on my way to one of my favorite mecifood joints to get a carne asada burrito ( carne asada burritos are soon to be blogged about by the way), I had a cat call of sorts from a gay man on the street, much like the ones construction crews will give to women on a street while they sit, ussually suspended on an iron beam hanging from a couple of steel cables. The brief conversation between he and I was like.
Gay man: Hey big guy, you look tense, how about a nice rubdown?
Myself: Uh, no thanks, I'm not gay.
Gay man (as I walk away): You never know until you try it, you might like it.
That was it, a very quick and pointless confrontation, until I realized that he had just refferred to being gay the same way my mother refferred to broccoli, IE. " How do you know you don't like it if you never try it"? Now, years later I find that I do like broccoli but I feel absolutely no sensual urges toward broccoli, nor have I ever felt a powerful emotional bond toward broccoli. I have never found myself eating califlower with cheese and thought how hard it was going to be to tell people that I am living a lie and have always been more of a broccoli and butter person. I have never felt the urge to lie in bed on a rainy afternoon with broccoli and discuss wether or not we should make an eternal bond, get married and look into adopting a young brussel sprout. I have never sucked broccoli through a hole in a bathroom wall, and if I was going to penetrate a vegetable in a sexual fashion, broccoli would not be my first choice, mabye a slightly over ripe cantalope, perhaps even a watermelon thats been in the sun for a while but never broccoli. In summation, gay man on the street, you need a new line for picking up straight men, mabye try something like " there's a hundred bucks in it for you" or " Hey frat boys, how about some tequilla?".
