The Devil Made Me Do It

Listen, my children, and Pat Robertson will explain it all for you.  Never mind the studies that demonstrate homosexual behavior in nearly every species on the planet.  Never mind the evidence that homosexual desire is programmed from birth.  Never mind the Kinsey scale, which dares to suggest that sexuality—like race, gender, and nearly everything else in the world—is a question of degree rather than binary opposites. 

Forget all that, ye sinners, for Reverent Pat knows the truth.  No doubt he heard it on the Batphone, from God Himself. 

Homosexuality, you see, isn’t a choice, after all—despite what the rest of the Republican party says.  And it isn’t even an illness (finally, Pat agrees with the AMA, which declared such in 1973).  No, the truth about homosexuality is that it’s “related to demonic possession.”

That’s right, the Devil himself has taken residence in your soul, my homo brethren and sistren.  I think it’s because we made the mistake of finding Linda Blair’s self-flagellation in The Exorcist to be campy.  Little did we know, as we were innocently giggling at that spinning head and the pea-soup vomit, that Beelzebub was slithering off the movie screen and into our own naïve souls. 

So tell me, Reverend:  if the Devil made me gay, then who made you a hater, a bigot, and a mean, ignorant fool?  How is it that Jesus, that friend of prostitutes and criminals whose sole commandment was “Love one another,” became for you an excuse to judge other people’s sex lives? 

You can have your twisted version of religion, Pat, if that’s what comforts you, if that’s what gives you a sense of purpose in the world.  As for me, yeah, I’ve had the Devil in me a few times.  But at least he buys me a drink first.

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