Last night ma and I decided to form a gay gang called the “Gay Gang”. Our gay gang will be dedicated to karate chopping, ass whooping, and tickling bullies who bully with feather boas in our hands and/or around our necks. Yes, Liza Minnelli will be our mascot because she’s the toughest gay man out there these days. We’ve decided upon a uniform for our gay gang, which is kind of gay, the gay gang and the gay uniform. The “Gay Gang” uniform will be all pants pulled down so that our butt cracks will show, but we won’t wear underwear. Instead, we’ll wear a sticker over our ass crack that says,”Crack Kills!” For more conservative gay gang members, they can wear a thong speedo instead of the “Crack Kills!” sticker. But that’s no fun. Ma and I have no idea why the gang will wear that kind of sticker. She said it will be fun. People will be like what and we’ll be like uh-huh as we slowly swivel our butts in their faces. They’ll remember us forever as the “Gay Gang” with the ass crack sticker that says “Crack Kills!” I think what mom really means to say by this sticker is that ‘we are powerful, we are strong’ no matter where you stick it. Think about at little then get back to us. We’re on our way to buy hot dogs for our church protest to protest their protest against the existence of gays. “Goddamn it,” ma says. “Even Christ was gay. I’m sure He’d join our gay gang and kick some freaking ass.” Bullies, beware. Ma’s got a nutcracker and she’ll use it. Turn you into gelded cows. Peace in/out.