On Sunday night Miss California Carrie Prejean should have been crowned Miss USA, but lost because she answered the question posed to her by Perez Hilton, real name Mario Lavandeira, honestly—and to the majority of heterosexuals correctly. The question? Does she believe in gay marriage? Her answer: a polite no offence, but no.
With LA Live’s plaza empty, President Obama’s trip to Latin America, war with North Korea and Iran on my mind, not to mention a whole essay worth of economic discourse to write why would I write about a fat, no talent, gossip monger and his beef with a beauty queen? I caught Carrie Prejean being interviewed; she’s beautiful, articulate, and very smart. When she was shown a video of this vial creature who would be nothing, but the nobody that he truly is if he used anything other than a knock off of someone else’s name (Paris Hilton if you’re completely clueless) ranting and raving and calling her a bitch; Carrie Prejean, simply mentioned that she was a Christian and that she loved and forgave the cretin.
Well, I’m not a good Christian as you might have gathered and I’m weary of this trend in our culture where the best of the best, the Carrie Prejeans of the world, are brought down by the dregs and misfits, the Mario Lavandeira’s of the world. But let me go back a few years.
I was in the process of editing my novel “Stan Lerner’s Criminal”, I’ll spare you the plug, and I would often meet my editor Lawrence at the Coffee Bean on Sunset and Fairfax. Those of you who are familiar with my writing might have understood me, to have in the past, been one of the regulars at the legendary Coffee Bean on Sunset Plaza—don’t be confused, I was. But to meet with Lawrence I would trek down the street and subject myself to, what was, not as desirable a scene—no offence.
As we perused through the 800 pages of “Criminal” and the red ink of Lawrence’s grievances I could not help but to notice his constant distraction. “Why do you keep looking over at that freak?” I asked. “This is why I prefer you come down to my Coffee Bean.” I stared over at the potato sack with arms and legs that sat up against the back wall with some kind of queen fashion statement of a Hello Kitty hoody pulled over his head. “This is what’s ruining our country. I mean, I know it’s a free country but freedom without some sense of purpose or responsibility can actually be a terribly destructive force…”
“That’s Perez Hilton,” interrupted Lawrence. “You’re right. He does totally creep me out.”
“That’s what?” I asked.
“Perez Hilton,” answered Lawrence, not getting that I had never concerned myself with those who are known for being known—and that’s it. “He has a blog.” Lawrence directed my computer, which was also on the table to Mario’s website.
“So, he’s the queer version of Paris Hilton? Does he do a drag show or…” Lawrence turned my computer to face me and I stared at what might have been my first blog.
“He’s a blogger. He writes Hollywood gossip.”
I began to read some of the mindless drooling on the screen. Pure human flotsam all being generated from the gay degenerate sitting against the wall. I sighed as I looked at the pages of what would become an award-winning novel—four years of labor. “You know the sad part? The time people waste reading his nonsense is what’s destroying the world of literature that you and I are trying to make a living in.”
“And he makes money doing it,” added Lawrence, as if the sight of Perez Mario Hilton Lavandeira was not already disturbing enough to one of the most disturbing writers of a generation.
My mind drifted to that scene in the great novel “American Psycho” where Patrick meets up with the Perez Hilton type character walking a white poodle.”
And as the years have passed I have actually come to bear witness that this nothing but trash talking freak has been elevated by corporate Hollywood to the point where Donald Trump would allow him to be a judge at the Miss USA pageant. Now I know that The Donald is all about making a buck, but seriously Mr. Trump—have things really come this far since “The Art of The Deal”. And girls, why would you participate in a pageant that has a judge who can’t go by his own name?
So as I listened to Carrie Prejean speak to the situation with such class and I listened to the rants of Mario I concluded it’s time that the silent majority get behind the Carrie Prejean’s of the world. And yes Mario, we know how to blog too.
MAJORITY, STOP LETTING CORPORATE HOLLYWOOD RAM THIS SICKNESS INTO YOUR HOME AND YOUR MINDS.
Gay is a sexual preference. In Mario’s case his preference is to have another man’s penis inserted into his rectum. Or another man’s semen spilling into his mouth. Sound graphic? That’s what gay means. It’s not about talking with a lisp or wearing funny little clothes. Or somehow being thought to have taste because having sex with another man somehow imbues one with anything more than sperm. I have a lot of gay friends. Almost none of them are screaming queens and even fewer believe that marriage should be between anything other than a man or a woman.
But even if they do, I don’t take issue. What I take issue with, is when one group persecutes another group. And in this case straight, white, Carrie Prejean was persecuted for her beliefs, which most of us agree with. This is a disgrace to both gay and straight Americans—it is hate. And there is no better symbol of this disgrace that is being perpetrated on both the straight and gay public than Perez Mario Hilton Lavandeira. Don’t read his blogs. Don’t do business with advertisers that give him money. And don’t watch or participate in any show that he is involved in—HE IS AN INTOLLRANT HATE MONGER. He just cost someone, one of our own, a well-deserved victory. Imagine a society that allows this to go on. Personally, I don’t want to.