My Pet Homosexual

I have a pet homosexual. Not on purpose. My homosexual kind of glommed onto me when I was living in San Francisco. At first, I didn't realize he was a pet. I merely thought he was friendly because he welcomed me into the San Francisco comedy scene and became my first comedy buddy up there. He thought I was a new comic just starting out. Then he Googled me and discovered I had TV credits. Thanks to my D-list (probably even lower) celebrity status, I suddenly became important to him and he tried to dazzle me with his crowd work and arcane political observations so I would like him. I thought it was cute. After all, who else would name drop the lieutenant governor of Kansas?

I helped get him a job at the company, and the next thing I know, he's a writer on the show.

Why am I writing this? Truth be told, he's making me blog about him. See, pet homosexuals are needy creatures. When you agree to adopt one (he asked if he could be my pet), you think it will be loads of fun; you'll objectify men together, get invaluable fashion advice, watch romantic comedies, and have someone to get pedicures with...

The truth, however, is never that easy. I didn't realize, for example, that when pet homosexuals get wet, they multiply...like Gremlins. This is something the liberal media doesn't like to talk about. They're always "tolerance this" and "tolerance that". They hide the truth.

But I digress.

My point is that they are a lot of work. You may have to talk on the phone three to four times a day and tell them they're pretty. You might have to listen to the same stories over and over again, like the one where he tells you he got a perfect score on the LSAT. And you have to pretend to be impressed or he'll pout and, occasionally , turn on you. For example, if you don't create a blog entry dedicated entirely to him, he's likely to use his lawyerese against you.

I can't have that, now can I?