I’ve never watched Grey’s Anatomy, so I really have no idea who any of the entangled actors are in the big fag scandal of 2007. I’ve never heard if this T.R. Knight, who apparently wasn’t even involved in the big on-set thespian-off between Isaiah Washington and Patrick Dempsey, two big nancy boys if you ask me. T.R. just stood off in the wings, clutching his pearls while Isaiah and Patrick angrily strut their feathers and demanded better lighting.
And somehow, Isaiah was so miffed that Patrick was cutting in the craft service line or stealing all the good scrubs from wardrobe that he screamed, “I’m not your little faggot like T.R.!”
Oh shit. That is not cool.
But apparently, the rift is handled on-set, T.R. comes out of his big see-thru closet and everyone forgets about it.
Isaiah “Einstein” Washington then waits for the outrage to die down, waits for the show to win a Golden Globe, waits till everyone is in the press room and drops it again.
“I never called T.R. a faggot.”
Here’s the thing. He’s not so much a homophobe as he is just plain retarded.
Obviously, the two go hand in hand, but I don't even think he gets what a dreadful, hateful word that is. I mean, how fucking stupid can you be to stand on stage answering press questions with your entire cast who HEARD you diss sweet, innocent T.R. and then grab the mike and say “I never called him a…what was it? Oh yeah! Faggot!”
So now of course Einstein has issued a statement he probably hasn’t read and he’s also agreed to meet with some queens from GLAAD. Here’s where I’d like to make my case for admittance into this meeting.
I’m a lifelong fag hag. I’m practically gay by default. And these bitches need me to call Einstein out in one of my great Julia Sugarbaker tirades, which I’d obviously memorize well in advance.
Picture it. Spots at the GLAAD offices conference room, backed by an array of Banana Republic clad queens. Einstein and his representation are at one end of the big mahogany table and me and my homos are on the other. Oh, and I’m wearing a brightly colored, 80’s style business suit with shoulder pads and coordinating pumps.
And then I’d suddenly rise from my swivel chair and march over to Einstein, sexily sitting on the conference table, crossing my legs and laying into him in my fabulous and sudden Southern accent.
“I’m not used to speaking with incredibly stupid people, so stop me if the words I’m using are too big for you. We, the homo community, don’t want your apologies or carefully worded statements of regret. We don’t want you fired and we don’t want to see your career slowly dwindle into appearances on the Surreal Life and prescription medicine commercials, although that’s probably going to happen anyway. We, the homo community, simply want one thing and we want it now.
We want you gay.
Now I’m not talking about dressing you up in fabulous frocks and parading you through West Hollywood, letting nellies throw their leftover field greens at you. And I’m not talking about turning your stupid-ass character on your stupid-ass TV show into a flaming queen either. We simply want you gay; to live as a gay person, date other gay men, be open and proud of your sexuality and have lots and lots of gay, homosexual sex. And then, and we’ll wait a while too, we want to put you onstage at the Golden Globe Awards.
And call you a faggot.”
Cue homos on my side of the conference table high-fiving…