Disco Still Sucks Or Why I Have Always Hated Being Gay

I. How I Discovered The Retched Suck Known As Gay Disco

When I came out back in the summer of 1982, I was dating a guy named Ralph. He lived in Crystal City just outside of D.C. on the Virginia side, and I lived in New Carrollton just outside of D.C. on the Maryland side. I would take the 45 minute Metro ride out to his place, and sometimes I would stay there for a couple of days. Just hanging out in his apartment while he was at work during the day. He would come home at night, and we would fuck. I was 15, and he was 21. Now, to keep myself occupied during the day I had a small black-and-white TV with awful reception, a telephone so I could call a friend, and a turntable with a bunch of records. There was also always a fair amount of grass to smoke around the apartment.

So, one day I caught a good buzz and went digging through the pile of record albums expecting to see what was in most people's record collections. You know, some Zeppelin, Lynyrd Skynrd, Eagles, Fleetwood Mac. All the records that were standard issue to everyone back in the 70's. What I found was some Bob Dylan, quite a few Joni Mitchell albums, the Woodstock soundtrack and wait... what's this? Donna Summer's "Bad Girls", The Village People "Cruisin'" and "Macho Man.
What The Fuck Is This Shit?!? I know it had to belong to his lesbian roommate because no boyfriend of mine would ever condescend to listen to something that sucked as much as that stuff did. I kept on looking and found a few more obscure titles, some with very blatantly gay covers depicting men cruising around city blocks or guys in leather trying to look tough but coming across as rather cheesy in their pre-glam-metal poses. I put one of the records on. THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! Well, from a drummer's point of view, I was already yawning. Then, the high pitch scream of a banshee demon from hell started wailing over top of the minimalist music. It was worse then nails across a chalkboard. It was razor blades hacking my eardrums into bite sized morsels.

When Ralph got home from work, I found out that the records that were actually listenable like the Dylan and Mitchell records were actually his lesbian roommate's records and that all the sucky Disco records were his. I suggested to him that we could burn the Disco records and pray to the Gods of Rock for forgiveness. That wasn't going to happen though and this just provoked a series of ongoing fights between Ralph and myself. I was so much happier when the video revolution started to happen, and I was able to persuade him to buy new wave-ish pop records that that didn't suck as much.


II. The Evil Gay Plague Known As Disco

So, as I grew up and became more gay-cultured, I realized that everywhere I went this regurgitated, thumping suckdom known as Disco would follow me laughing at me in a high pitched screaming diva wail. It has became the bane of my very gay existence. It seemed to me like a form of "gay Muzak." A pedestrian beat always happening and not much substance over top of that. A constant sense of mindlessness for everyone to worship like a god. It seemed that everyone I talked to had listened to normal music at one point in their lives, but once they came out, they converted to this agent of Satan known as Disco dance music.

I became suspicious. I realized that the Gay Evil Conformist Headquarters (or GECH) must be putting subliminal messages into the music that made everyone turn into empty mindless Disco zombies who only craved drugs, alcohol and sex. Lots and lots of sex. I investigated further with my research and observations. Once, while observing a hot looking man subject, I noticed that when the shitty Disco music kicked in, the hot guy turned into a screaming, diva bitch right before my eyes. Fantasy denied! And, if you were out someplace and you heard the words, "Hi. We're you're weather girls, and have we got news for you", the whole place would erupt into pandemonium and everyone's mind would be taken over by the worst plague of suckdom ever imaginable to human kind.

Now, after a while of this, I noticed a lot of these Disco zombies started getting sick and dying. I mean a whole lot of them. I'm convinced that it was something in the music. Some sort of cancerous tumor caused by overexposure to repetitive thumping and high pitched, diva shrills. The music has continued playing, however, and changing names over the years. You may have heard it called Techno, House, Electronica or some other deceptive cover up name so no one will ever get suspicious of the deadly result it has on it's listeners. Beware of death from Disco!


III. How I Was Able To Elude The Death From Disco

Because I was conscious of the evils of the Disco menace from the start, I was able to set some guidelines so as not to be taken out by it venomous poison.

Here are some suggestions to help you avoid a painful Disco death.

1. Try to stay away from gay bars, because 9 times out of 10 the music will suck big time.
2. If you are exposed to the harmful vibrations known as dance music for a long period of time, the best thing to do is counteract it by listening to a very hard, abrasive rock or punk record turned up to 11.
3. Make sure that you tell anyone else playing dance music how much they suck and how they should be destroyed for spreading this toxic disease.
4. The B-side to the Disco record is the "Show Tune" which is equally as evil and frightening and should be avoided at all costs. Listening to show tunes is equivalent to having a hole drilled into your skull and having your brains sucked out with a vacuum cleaner.
5. Most important thing is, when dating, before you look at the bank account, before you look in the closets, even before you get in their pants, you better take a look at that CD/record collection. If there is anything that is questionable, you had better burn it. Then, put a red lipstick X your date's forehead, leave immediately and go take a long, hot shower and be glad that it didn't get too serious.

Well, I'm off to do my sacred duty of destroying Disco/dance/what ever you want to call it music. Yeah, someone has to have the balls to say that enough is enough. Tonight, that cunt from Hell, Mariah Carey will be dragged by her hair, naked, down a road full of broken glass with an I-pod duct taped to her head blasting her own music into her ears at full volume until she shits herself and promises never to do it again.

The world must be protected.