By Leslie Robinson
Because I've occasionally referred to the gay agenda and any other hidden, mysterious gay stuff I could think of, some people have the idea that I know all the secrets.
They're right.
I think the time has come for me to divulge a biggie. I believe Americans can handle the truth. Don't try and stop me. I know it's risky. I know we've held this secret for centuries, guarding it carefully from straight people, and passing it on to each other through a complicated code employing burps, sneezes and hand shadows.
Now is the time. As a show of good faith to all straight Americans, I'm telling the truth. Yes, Virginia, (and the other 49 states), there is a gay headquarters.
I'm not saying a word about the rest of the planet, but here in the United States of America, the GLBT community has always had a headquarters. We report to it, receive instructions from it, and decorate it exquisitely. Actually, to be completely honest, we had a headquarters here well before this nation was established.
In the foyer of the present building hangs a painting by Andy Warhol, depicting two Native American men and two Pilgrim women. The figures may look like soup cans, but the meaning is clear: This is the historic moment when native gays showed immigrant lesbians the secret location of the rustic but imaginative GLBT headquarters. The name of the painting is "The Real First Thanksgiving."
As every American knows, the centuries that followed ushered in sweeping changes to this land. What every American doesn't know is that GLBT headquarters kept changing too, in order to blend in, and be near the happening spots.
For instance, HQ briefly existed at Valley Forge. The structure was bloody drafty, but it helped keep up the boys' morale, enabling them to soldier on.
Headquarters had a prime location in Washington, D.C., during the War of 1812, and as the British advanced on the city, the HQ staff debated whether to evacuate. Some advocated neutrality, but then Sarah Hamilton put down her pipe and spoke those immortal words: "By God, we're Americans. Quit yer snivelin,' grab the Revere silver, and let's get out of here."
The Civil War was a terrible period in American history, and I have to confess, a low point in the history of GLBT headquarters as well. The reason is there were two headquarters, one in the North and one in the South. The latter was, well, a moral mess, as it supported slavery, even though a third of the staff was black.
While Lee surrendered to Grant at Appomattox, a half-mile away the leaders of the two headquarters swapped recipes, exaggerated their heroics during the Mexican War, and agreed to unite their establishments.
The nearest HQ has ever come to being discovered was during the worst years of the Great Depression. Located in New York City and performing its normal secret functions, HQ also opened a soup kitchen for the general public. Well, word of this soup kitchen with unusually tasty food traveled. Also, it was the only soup kitchen in New York with a maitre d.'
Here in 2006, thanks to my trusting nature, the rest of the country now knows that there is such a thing as gay headquarters. I certainly won't divulge its location, however, known only to each GLBT American. I'm trusting, not stupid.
Of course, I can't resist offering some hints. It can be found where the hills are alive with the sound of something or other, the mouse ran up the clock, Johnny Appleseed planted pomegranates, and company loves misery. Turn left, and there it is.
