Mars attacks: a missive from Marty Gras


Hiya, guys! Marty Gras here. Ya got a minute? Marty’s got some beef to share and some bones to pick with it.

Your ol’ pal Marty’s not loving life these days. I know what you’re thinking, “But Marty, you never love life!” Yeah, yeah, but today I’m down. More down than that time McDonald’s said they were canceling SuperSize. (Thank God that was all a stunt.)

I’m sick’n’tired of these skinny-ass club queens runnin’ around judging everybody. Can’t a guy have a personality anymore, even if it’s attached to a few extra pounds? Geez. It’s like just because I’m not strung out on coke and happen to let my love handles get a little extra lovely, I’m pushed into some torture pen to be tormented like baby veal. Sheesh.

 (Man, now I’m thinking about veal. Anyways . . .)

So I’m sittin’ at Taco Bell the other day having a light snack. I finish my Nachos BellGrande and go for a swig of Diet Coke when I realize I’m out (which wouldn’t be a problem if they’d just carry SuperSize). So I get up to get some more Diet Coke and I see these two hottie twink boys standin’ at the machine. They must’a been 19 or 20, tops. (No, not those kinds of tops. These chickens? Sheesh.) They looked like those evil G.I. Joe twins, Tomax and Xamot, only skinnier and faggier. So one of ’em says to the other, “Oh, Darren, we’re being sooo baaaaaaaaad! I can’t believe we’re splitting a whole taco.”

Don’t get me started. Now these boys were cute, and I knew we were out in public, but Marty’s been loud and proud since 1992 and he ain’t afraid of no public displays of aggression — I mean, affection. Plus these hotties were hiding their gay cards about as well as Tom Cruise with that whole Katie Holmes B.S. So I’m single, and I like what I see, so I say, “Hey, boys? You lookin’ for someone to split your tacos for ya?”

 (Man, you gotta admit I’m quick!)

So one of these meth-heads looks at me and goes, “Ew! I mean . . . ew! We’re no chub-chasers.” Then they start to giggle little girl-laughs through their twink teeth and the other one goes, “Yeah. No. I mean, ew.”

Well, needless to say, I didn’t get any taco that night. Just a seven-layer Burrito and some Gorditas. But the point is these dweebs had attitude, and I’m sick’n’tired of it.

Is it such a crime to be pleasantly plump? I mean, I don’t go for bears myself, but that’s just not my type. I like hot, fit, skinny guys who work out. Just ’cause that’s not me doesn’t mean I’m not entitled to like what I like, right? Opposites attract. One day I’ll find a guy who understands that.

One day I’ll find a guy who understands that it’s just as important for me to stay home and watch TV as it is for him to stay outrageously hot and watch his carbs. It’s all about yin and yang. Because in every relationship there are roles each partner plays, and each of those roles is equally important. Mine just happens to involve more potato chips.

 (Man, now I’m thinking about potato chips . . .)

Throwing the beads of love,

Marty Gras