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My mother’s guests’ son showed up wearing high-waisted black tights, a crop top, and body glitter. I have been desperately searching through my closet for my “GAY” NASA shirt because I do not wish to be so grandiosely out-gayed in my own home.

Did you out-gay him, son?

No. I can’t find my shirt!!!! This calls for desperate measures… time to break out the unseasonably warm Denim Jacket With Rainbows Pouring From The Nipples and High-Waisted Jeans.

It’s 8 PM and I wanted to change into my Data Star Trek Pajamas but those aren’t gay enough.

God dammit! Now he’s playing some kind of bubbly Carly Rae Whatshername pop. What do I do??? How do I relaliate….? Is Janelle Monae enough to save me? Joan Jett? Lads, I don’t think I’m gonna win this one.

Update: his mom inadvertently tipped the scale a little in my favor by saying, “Oh, nice jacket! Jake, come look at this jacket, you’ll love it!” and then I got to explain that I painted it myself:

I don’t think Janelle Monae helped much because the only songs of hers I have downloaded onto my phone are the ones about robots. I know robots are gay culture and all, but does he know that???

But then he pulled ahead of me by striking a pose in my dining room and I swear to god, his thigh muscles rippled like Glittery Gay Gaston. Ugh.

SCORE!!!! I switched to playing MIKA and moonwalked aggressively down the hallway and his own grandmother stepped out of the bathroom and said, “Oh, I thought you were Jake!”

Clearly she mistook my powerful gay energies for his, because we could not look more different.

Desperate times call for desperate measures. Time to Sit In A Chair Funny.

You know what?

He wins. He’s out here living his best life while I gave up using dating apps because I wanted to divert my emotional energy into making YouTube skits about noir detectives who eat cigarettes. 

Like ABBA said, the winner takes it all. I guess that means I’m straight now. 

are…are gay people cats?

Where did you get that idea?

I feel like this is a liveblog of the first event of the Gay Olympics. All we need are overexcited commentators.

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