Righteous Rightie expresses his shock and dismay at the gay mafia conquering the last redoubt of heterosexuality.
Dear RR –
In a week when patriotic Australians should have been celebrating the end of all that hippy, carbon-pricing nonsense and giving thanks for all the sober and impartial journalism The Australian has produced over the last half century, what did you make of the nation’s pre-eminent athlete forcing his pillow-biting lifestyle down the throat of the television-viewing public to the rapturous applause of the bien pensant?
As the young people say, I have to give Thorpie ‘props’ for brokering a $500K deal to confess to his degenerate lifestyle choice. Frankly, for that kind of coin I’d be tempted to provide a full and frank account of my own addiction to porn featuring midget Margaret Thatcher lookalikes. That noted, it is a matter of profound sorrow that not content with establishing hegemony over the fashion-entertainment complex globally, and seizing control of the ABC, Fairfax papers, ALP, Greens and hairdressing trade locally, the catamites have now penetrated the sporting arena, the last sanctuary of old-fashioned Aussie blokehood. Post the Thorpedo’s sordid revelations, my happy memories of boyish horseplay with the other members of my (private) school swim team have been tainted forever. Who can now gaze at a bunch of lithe and slippery young men playfully wresting together in the change rooms without the image of an Ian Thorpe, Matthew Mitcham and Ian Roberts threesome coming to mind? Not me, that’s for sure. And post Rock Hudson, Liberace and Ian Thorpe, who can now believe any man who vehemently protests his ladykilling ways? You’ve stolen this country’s innocence, Mr Thorpe, and driven a rainbow-flag covered stake through the heart of every beer-swilling sports fan with traditional values. I just hope that Armani ambassadorship and pearl necklace deal was worth it.