Pride Indeed...

 The following takes place in a mythological setting; the events and circumstances are entirely products of my fevered imagination. It is, however, not difficult to believe that such things will soon become all-too-solid reality, given the current course of events.

The Overlord is not engaging in "Hate Speech", but is rather engaged in "parody". The intent is not to offend or "other" or ostracize, let alone incite violence towards others, but to ...umm...ah...engender (facepalm)...a clearer thought process about the road we are currently on, and where it will (not "might") eventually lead us.

This is Sarcasm.

It was Pride Weekend here in my new city.

A city, incidentally, which doesn't appear to have much to take pride in, nor displays any of note. The local politicians, who generally run screaming from anything which threatens to call attention to the city's reputation (because Legacy of Slavery), can suddenly show themselves, proudly and strutting like peacocks, in public on this day.

 The festivities that mark the Gay Bacchanalia were given the clever-but-still-stupid marketing device of "Pride Month" took place, and in the aftermath the hallelujahs of success of this Festival of Shemale is being laid on with a trowel.

And then laid on a bit thicker with a spray gun, for good measure.

The Overlord had front-row seats, so to speak, for the celebration and has thoughtfully taken copious notes to let you know just how well it all went.

And by "well", I mean "really good if you're not straight". 

To begin with, the Crowds.

Oh, the DIVERSITY of it all! People from all walks of life -- and many who apparently slithered out from under rocks -- were in attendance: the elderly, fat, purple-haired lesbians. The Lipstick ones were there ,too, all accompanied by their butchy consorts in rainbow-festooned overalls and work boots.

The Bottom Boys in their brightly-colored and highly-revealing "Come-Bugger-Me" regalia were well-represented.

The Trans contingent, marching in perfect lockstep of size 13-1/2 Kenneth Cole stilettos and the best faux-Chanel, garishly-colored, avant-garde raiment that ceased being any-kind-of-garde forty years ago after Phyllis Diller wore it so well in the center square she shared with the other holy icon, Paul Lynde.

The Queers were here in numbers  -- you couldn't miss them because they kept chanting "We're Queer; We're Here!" lest no one pay any attention to them, and besides the trail of glitter gave their route, progress and presence away, in any case.

Every leftist retard group in Creation was present, having set up tables and booths to do everything from hand out free condoms, to give you "the science" on "gender-affirming care" to register your new identity (or identities, depending on who you feel you are on any given day) to vote.

The food was fantastic. As always. It takes a good Pride Day March to bring out the all the best phallus-shaped food on a stick one could ever want: corndogs, frozen, chocolate-covered bananas, sausages of all sorts, hot dogs (served with an exquisite home-made garlic aioli mayonnaise for that "just sucked my boyfriend off" feeling. 

I was especially impressed by the entertainment at this year's affair.

This year's Village People Retrospective was a stunner, incorporating a newly-non-binary Indian Chief, a Pansexual-Minor-Attracted Construction Worker, and the Highway Patrolman frontman wowed the crowd with his dazzling array of disappearing-nightstick-in-multiple-orifices tricks while performing.

You had to see it to believe it! These guys belong on the Vegas Strip. A pity they are currently limited to stripping for toddlers without their parents' consent or knowledge in Day Care centers.

I also enjoyed the "Great Moments in Trans" displays, including the waxwork depictions of the infamous Eddie Murphy and Hugh Grant affairs.

The Parade, as usual, was a Tour-du-Camp, and this year's marchers were absolutely fabulous in their matching pink neon lycra crewtops and white leather chaps with plenty of air conditioning for the exposed posteriors. I'm told the local spas were booked solid for the previous fortnight as every marcher rushed to get their backsides Brazillianed in anticipation.

The Marching Bands were excellent. My favorites were the Rock Hudson Horns and Hemorrhoids, conducted by this year's Grand Marshal, Barry Manilow.

Then came the dazzling array of balloons and floats.

This year's centerpieces were the five-story RuPaul and Liberace balloons, each held by a contingent of the Greater Triangle Bigender Alliance, a non-profit group dedicated to helping young people deal with their sexual confusion and the trauma of sexual abuse by helping them get their start with gender confusion and sexual abuse.

They do splendid work.

The floats floored me, especially this year's Preparation H float; a tastefully-decorated, rainbow-floral hemorrhoid  The piece de resistance was the set of large rubber testicles hanging from the rear trailer hitch (this IS the South, after all).

But soon all the brass bands, bare asses, sexually-suggestive food and campy entertainment gave way to the REAL star of the Weekend, as the Pride Games took place. And let me tell you, this season's competitors were all in top form (unless they identify as bottoms, of course)!

First was the Lesbian Face Rodeo, which was fairly exciting and somewhat more dangerous this year, as we saw a vast increase in the number of facial burns and choking incidents due to rather poor grooming (and by that, we mean the competitors failed to trim the lawn, not sexually prey upon young children. That came...damn, he went there...later on).

This was followed by the annual George Michael Highway Restroom Gloryhole Whack-A-Mole competition, won by an impressive newcomer, who managed a record score of 35 men before lockjaw and a stomach pump brought an end to the festivities.

This was followed by the 1,000-Meter Bottle Waddle, in all 68 gender divisions. Sponsored by Coke, of course.

The star of this years games, however, was Harry Cox, the plucky body-dysphoric, questioning, feminine-presenting phenom who took the pole vaulting competition by a comparative country mile, managing to clear 18" (and two guys) in record time.

But, alas, all this Inclusive Tomfoolery eventually had to end. I mean, little kids have bedtimes, after all, one can only indulge in so much amyl nitrate and anonymous non-protected sex with complete strangers of indeterminate gender in a day.

The cleanup began almost immediately, with municipal officials screeching their triumph of having collected 17 metric tons of fecal matter-semen mixture (festively rechristened "Femen" for the event),  over 2 million used condoms and 43 tons of glitter. Local hospitals reported minor injuries, ranging in severity from "fell off my heels" to "If I didn't have a hole there before, I have one now" to "I don't know how it got there, just please get it out!".

Several transitioning men claimed to have Ovarian Cancer and requested immediate surgery.

All-in-all, a spectacular day that will certainly celebrate and advance the cause!