Brighton Pride is tomorrow, so sorry breeders, you’re gonna have to deal with an onslaught of gay right up in your faces. You better leave the Mondeos in the drive, lock your fag-resistant doors and huddle under the 15-tog duvet with a box set of Top Gear. Or I guess you could follow in the footsteps of the knuckle-headed missionary three-times-a-week drones of Sao Paulo, Budapest and Yellowknife (that's in Canada, you dim fuck) and put on your own Straight Pride day.
People are always asking me why Brits don’t have a Straight Pride day and I always say: because it’d be totes fucking boring, that’s why. Every day is Straight Pride day. Anyway, you wanna know what a Straight Pride day would consist of? This:
Middle-aged men playing songs about microwaves and girls called Mary, an endless parade of earnest bros fucking their guitars 'cos they’re too afraid to fuck each other's bums. Everyone nods their head like it means something when all it means is “I like to pretend I’m deep 'cos there was this one girl called Mary who I imagine was great but actually she was a total fucking bitch/someone I was forced to marry. Also, how great is heating food up?” That’s what all straight music is. The only dancing you can do to it is moshing, which is the one acceptable way for straights to be gay.
Lots of cock-shaped meat shoved in lots of pussy-shaped bread.
Straight couples only fuck missionary style at home with the lights off, so the most action you’re gonna get at Straight Pride day is some light hand-holding. I don't know how you should prepare for that. Make sure your hands look nice.
I’m sorry fellas, but a soggy beaker of ale doesn’t count. You're gonna have to find the one single guy with a bunch of coke, disapprove of him and then, once you’re bored and drunk, feed on him. Then sing Oasis. Urgh.
Please, with all that testosterone and oestrogen flying around I give it about seven minutes before a rolling brawl breaks out. Some thug will snarl away about what a “cunt” some other thug’s favourite football man was and before you knew it, everyone would be rolling around in puddles of beer, the air pungent with clashing types of Lynx.
Team hetero can’t do anything organised these days without it being sponsored by a mobile phone company and some Irish cider. Straights don’t know what to do with a counter-cultural event because they’re so firmly at the centre of society. So what you’d end up with is the T-Mobile Straight Pride Day, the Shell Let’s Hear It For Breeding March, or the Foster’s Its Adam And Eve Not Adam and Steve Comedy Jamboree.
Actually, despite all known stereotypes, you're better at this than us.
Confused looking bald men wandering around looking for the nearest Wetherspoon’s, depressed immigrant workers in Barclays-sponsored bibs picking discarded hot dog buns up off the floor, harassed mothers shoving screaming infants into the back of people carriers. Lord, save us.
Too straight for you? Get your eyes on these: