Guest Blogger: Woodward's Friend

Supergay Detroit is pleased to present our first guest blogger. "Woodward's Friend" is this guy I know (sorry, no other biographical information available). He wrote me with this compelling tale of gay triumph over modiocrity.

Dear Supergay Forum,

I never thought this would happen to me ...

About two months ago I had a craving for a big plate of buffalo wings. It's a straight guy thing - you wouldn't understand. Unfortunately I was over near Macomb Mall and the only place with with decent wings in the God-forsaken hellhole that is the Gratiot corridor is Hooters.

Here's the thing about Hooters: the food is good, but unless you haven't been laid in the last 36 months the waitrons are less than useless. Usually they aren't that hot and they wear these creepy kevlar pantyhose. They are always dumb as a sack of doorknobs. Worse, they insist on trying to strike up a conversation with you. I guess the duller members of our society assume that they can score a date with a talkative waitress and therefore order more shit. The problem of course is all of that disingenuous flirting ruins what could be an otherwise enjoyable dining experience.

Not real Hooters girls, but real kevlar pantyhose.
This is the last time you will see anything this straight and trashy on this blog.

Anyway, I bite the bullet and go to Hooters. It's a Saturday afternoon, I've got a New York Times, there was a baseball game on the big-screen, and a giant plate of wings sitting in front of me. Could I enjoy any of it? Good Lord no because every five minutes Jeni or Mandi or Tiffani has to stop by my table and "chat." Fucking-A these bitches wouldn't leave me alone. Apparently they all have to sign a cocktail napkin on your table with a sharpie - dotting the obligatory i at the end of their name with a heart. I'm still not sure what I was supposed to do with the signature napkin. Take it home and beat off into it? Not bloody likely. I've got better ways to abuse myself thanks to YouPorn.

So when Tiffani sauntered over for her obligatory 90 seconds of pretend flirting I'd had enough. When she asked "what brings you out today hun?" I replied, with a straight face and mouth full of chicken meat, "well my boyfriend is out of town so I get to eat what I want." Poor Tiffani had no idea what to say after that. Gay men at Hooters? In Macomb County? Good golly, a bona fide sodomite in an upstanding family restaurant like Hooters! Horror of horrors!

It may have been my finest hour. All the little couldn't-cut-it-as-a-real-stripper bimbo waitrons stayed away and I was able to enjoy my wings and New York Times in peace. It was wonderful and I thank homosexuality for making it all possible. So thank you gays. I hope its ok if I continue to pretend to be one of you at Hooters or equally ridiculous places that happen to serve tasty crap food like buffalo wings. And Supergay next time you're at the gay bar stuck in a dead end conversation with some douchey guy, give me a call. I'll pump you full of all the useless sports information you'll need to drive the douche away.


Woodwards Friend
Detroit, Michigan