Eeeek! Teh gayz! Run awaaay! (Part ∞)

Here are a few things we can say with confidence about fundies. 1) They really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really don't like homosexuals. 2) They really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really don't like evil librul Hollywood. 3) They really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really like feeling persecuted. 4) And (I'll spare you the "reallys" this time) they like complaining, especially when there's the possibility of putting facts #1-3 together, and the media happens to be paying attention.

Consistency is never a fundamentalist's greatest skill, which is why they love to complain about all the vile sinful filth coming out of Tinseltown's studios, and yet when one of those very studios puts out a movie about the baby Jesus during the Christmas season, none of them goes. No, they're much more empowered by all the stuff they can point to to prove they're the victims of an endless war against their precious values, stuff like The Last Temptation of Christ, Saved!, or Life of Brian.

This time the ire is being directed towards a little Canadian independent comedy, Breakfast with Scot. It's about a gay couple, one of whom is a former hockey player for the Mapleleafs, who are raising an adopted 11-year-old boy who apparently enjoys dragging up himself. If you think fundies have been quick with the picket lines in the past, this time they've set a new land speed record for "reactionary." Scot hasn't even wrapped principal photography! And already, a fundie onslaught, led by San Diego-based lunatic and "former homosexual" (what, another one?) James Hartline, is underway.

It's not enough that Hartline has the creepiest looking neck I've ever seen on a hominid. (Scroll down.) Just to give you an idea of the extent of his asshattery, he's the kind of guy who says stuff like this and actually means it:

While Breakfast With Scot is seeking to pervert society's standardized views on family, the film does more to reveal how intent the radicalized homosexual movement is in creating an epidemic of gender confusion to justify the institutionalization of its beliefs on transsexualism and transvestitism.

Remarkable how Hartline knows all about what a movie seeks to do, when he hasn't even seen it, because it hasn't even frickin' wrapped! But of course, the question that all sensible — did I say sensible; how about simply "non-insane"? — people find themselves asking when confronted with histrionic homophobia of this sort is: how in the hell can a movie "pervert" an entire society's "views" on traditional marriage and family? Let alone launch an "epidemic of gender confusion." Just because a guy like Hartline is so out of his fucking nut that he can go see a gay-themed film and walk out of the theater not being able to tell the difference between men and women doesn't mean the rest of humanity is similarly disadvantaged.

It's the same fear-crazed thinking behind the idea that gay marriage is some kind of "threat" to traditional straight marriage, as if, the minute gay people are granted marriage rights, all heterosexual unions will be declared null and void, and all children will be shipped off in bright pink government-issued Winnebagos to indoctrination camps, where they'll be subject to rigorous homosexualist training. Boys will be required to play with dolls, listen to ABBA, and get in touch with their feelings, while girls will be educated in the finer points of metalshop and power-tool use, have their hair cut into mullets, and upon turning 16, get their very own pickup truck.

Hartline certainly seems convinced that one little movie will have the power to demolish Western civilization.

The National Hockey League is now becoming a willing partner with the fringe elements of the radicalized homosexual agenda and their ultimate goal of worldwide sexual anarchy.

Worldwide sexual anarchy? Is that what gay people have been after all these years? Dude! And you'd think, with the push towards gay marriage, that what they've really been after is to, you know, settle down with someone they love as life partners, raise families, and live just like everyone else. Now I see, through the wisdom of Hartline, that that's all just a ploy. It's all about running around the streets like Bozo the Clown on meth, fucking everything you see — trees, lampposts, small foreign cars, indignant stray cats.

Where would we be without courageous men of action like James Hartline, watching out for our welfare though we mock him without mercy? Without Hartline heroically flinging himself bodily in the path of radical homofascianarchalistas, I might well have found myself unwittingly taking it up the old dirt road today while going out to fetch my mail! It's the kind of thought that makes you want to hug your teddy bear...if doing so weren't so gay!

I think I know where Capri Films, the producers of Breakfast with Scot would be: without the greatest publicity any indie film could hope for. I can only imagine how delighted they must be at the attention Hartline's given their little movie, which will now doubtless ride a wave of buzz into the Toronto Film Festival and wherever else they choose to submit it. I can only hope that when I'm ready to do my first narrative feature, I can somehow manage to rub some unhinged fundamentalist the wrong way. It's good for at least a limited theatrical release and a few hundred grand in DVD sales!