• Once, years ago, went out to a restaurant with some friends and had a couple drinks. Wasn’t paying close enough attention to my intake, and ended up a little too tipsy to drive (not, like, belligerent drunk or anything, just not safe to drive). Hung out sitting on the hood of my car watching videos on my phone for a while with a friend until he had to leave. Before he left, this super cute guy started talking to us. We hit it off, and dude and I started getting flirty. Went back to his place because it was walking distance, did the deed, and when we were done I went to get some water from his kitchen.

    Wherein I see not one, not two, but no less than a dozen coffee mugs, posters, fucking rugs, and all manner of paraphernalia with right wing nonsense. We’re talking he had a fucking swastika area rug. I begin the heavy breathing of a scared little gay boy (6’3 and nearly 300lbs/190cm 135kg), and he notices my discomfort. He acts like this is nothing unusual and says he’s just a collector of WWII shit.

    Yeah, bro, maybe you are. But that doesn’t explain the don’t tread on me poster, the trump 2016 merch, and fucking birth of a nation movie poster!

    I got the fuck outta there before his lawyers had a chance to try out a gay panic defense.