Phil Flander, minister at the church over in Baker (actually Baker City, but I don’t much like the word “city”), he talks about queers pretty often and how disgustin’ they are. Sure as heck can’t argue with that one.
Phil gets pretty detailed about it, detailed enough to make me want ta puke. Can’t quite figure out why, especially when I find the pictures of two guys mixed in with the ones he gives us with the Nevada whores to help get us through the winters. Maybe he’s trying to warn us against goin’ to Vegas or Reno. Who knows, but Phil’s a good man who’s worried about how things are goin’ in America.
Phil’s Right: This is Disguistin’
Anyhow, Phil liked my last article about how we get rid a the queers that come out here from the city, and wanted me to write another one. So here goes nothin’.
Where do queers come from, and why so many? That’s what Phil wants me to write about this time. “Heck if I know,” I told him. But he wanted me to give it a try, so I asked my pa, and my grandpa, and my great-grandpa, who is still alive in the rest home up near Pendleton. We ranchers don’t die quick.
Great-grandpa says there weren’t any queers to speak of before World War I. Both grandpa and pa said World War II let a bunch of ’em loose, and then Vietnam was like an explosion. It started with foreigners, and spread through the cities. Pretty much that simple. Well, maybe the nuclear tests had somethin’ ta do with it too. Dang them Russians.
Darker They Are, Queerer They Get
We’s all foreigners, right? Came from somewhere. Great-great grandpa from Tennessee on the Oregon Trail, and his grandpa from Scotland. (Not the English. No way.) And so on. But they came here as Americans, not like the nigras who were never Americans, or the injuns who were savages and were mostly wiped out by the time the Wings got to the Oregon Country and stole it fer our own.
The darker they are the queerer they get. Great-grandpa has all kind a stories about the nigras from back East and the injuns out here. In fact the injuns died out ’cause the braves were doin’ each other and not them squaws. The Americans like the Wings weren’t queer then and ain’t queer now.
Think the Injuns Was Noble? Cavalry Knew Different
My great-grandpa has never been afraid to say what’s on his mind.
It was a fight to the death from the beginnin’. The Cavalry knew what happened if they surrendered. Yer balls or their balls. That’s how it was.
“First thing they’d do was cut yer vitals off and feed ’em to the dogs right in front a ya,” he told me when I called him at the home. “Next thing they’d do was fit yer back end for the trunk of a juniper tree.”
All that got fixed by Andrew Jackson, who made it known that he carried his tobacco in a sack made out of an injun sack. Wonder if they got that one in the National Archives somewhere. Word to the wise: If ya buy yer tax-free smokes at the reservation store, don’t pay ’em in $20 bills. Not unless you got yerself a steel jockstrap on.
This Country Fella Cannot Be Queer
It is impossible for a country American to be queer in my opinion. Issue’s in the city, and all that started when they sent Americans over to England (bunch a poofters is what they call themselves) and France where queer is a way of life. Some of the doughboys picked up queer ways and moved to New York and that’s how it got started.
The second world war come along, and they send more Americans to France and England. Plus they send a bunch to Japan, where the males have whangs about 2 inches long. Soon enough ya get some a the soldiers gettin’ it from the Japs in the prison camps and then they come home to San Francisco and you got another queer colony, like bees.
The English Royalty Is A Pack a Queers, Always Will Be
Then Vietnam and the hippies, and the spread it everywhere especially to Portland, which is now fulla queers. The Meskins, they started movin’ up here in the 1970s to pick fruit. The ones who were Spaniards, all they did was bang a sheep now ‘n then. Can’t hold it against ’em. We got Spaniard shepherds doin’ the same thing by the privacy a the campfire in Idaho and around here.
Still men, alone ‘n twisted but ain’t queer. Besides, as far as sheep go, it ain’t bestiality if it’s less than once a year and no one sees it. Gets lonely ‘n cold around here. Allowances got ta be made, as long as no one’s a queer.
Problem now is that a bunch of the Meskins are half nigra and half injun. Queer meets queer. We do our best to send ’em over to Portland or up to Washington. Lotsa Japs back in Seattle who love them big Meskin whangers or so I hear.
Ain’t A Queer Cowboy To Be Found
Like I say, it’s all city and foreigners. There is no such thing as a queer cowboy. Buddy will help a buddy out on a winter night like I said before, but it ain’t queer if it’s done once and no one talks about it. They got queers squeezin’ outta the woodwork in Portland and San Francisco who won’t shut up about it. Which brings up the jews ‘n the muslims (two sides of a coin), but I ain’t got the time for that right now.
That’s all I got ta say about where the queers come from. The topic disgusts me. Dang good we don’t got none of ’em around here. We’re red, white, and blue out here, straight arrows all of us, and we aim ta keep it that way.
Cowboy for Christ