I have lost count how many times someone has told me that the ONLY reason why I oppose the legal recognition of same-sex "marriage" is that I am a self-hating, repressed homosexual in deep denial. And every time such a claim is made, I go out of my way to see if it's true. After all, people who advocate the legal recognition of same-sex "marriage" are Enlightened Progressives, and Enlightened Progressives are never wrong. About anything. At all. So, when an Enlightened Progressive says that I must be a homosexual, then, well, I must at the very least take this very seriously.
I've always thought that I liked women. Every time a pretty woman crosses my path, I smile, have thoughts that are pleasant, and if they chance to be too pleasant, I try my darnedest to practice custodia oculorum lest I go to hell. I've never had such problems in the presence of handsome men. Never. And I go to the gym. A lot. But that could be simply because my denial and repression of my true homosexual identity is so very deep and thorough. If so, then my oppressive heteronormative upbringing has really done a number on me.
But how the deuce do I square all this with the infallibility of the Enlightened Progressive? I just assume that I am wrong. That all my desires to see, touch, and grope beautiful women in extreme states of deshabille are simply deceptions of a homophobic super ego that the nuns at my Catholic School surgically inserted into my frontal lobe when I was sleeping in class.
To get to my true identity, I must circumvent my homophobic super ego and go directly to the source of my true, unchurched desires, my id. But how do I do this? How do I shut off my super ego, which like Descartes' whispering demon deceives me into thinking I like pussy? Easy. I just watch really raw, hardcore gay porn. If that doesn't unleash my homophile id, reveal my inner gay, and vindicate the Enlightened Progressive Magisterium, then nothing can.
But I regret to report that every time I watch raw, hardcore gay porn, I am incredibly bored. Bored out of my skull. So bored that I long to read a manual on how to mix concrete or John Rawls's Lectures on Public Reason. There's no Mr. Stiffy in my pants. Not even a Mr. Wanna-be Stiffy. It just remains Mr. Sleepy. Sowwy, but gay porn does nothing for me.
The Enlightened Progressive is, thus, not infallible. My faith is shattered.