From the Prologue, Page 2:
I smiled with pride at Shelly’s positive assessment of me. Although it took some time, I was a proud alumni of the Straight-Acting School for Gays. (Their alma matar: “If you’re too gay, no one hot will **** you..”) Although I didn’t graduate Magna Cum Laude, I did walk away with a strong B+ average. I had gained points for driving a Mustang and putting on some muscle, but failed the final exam when it was discovered that I still fell into screaming fits of orgasmic joy whenever I watched Gina Gershon and Elizabeth Berkely duke it out in the movie “Showgirls.” (As anyone who goes to online chat rooms knows, gay men are strictly macho, sports-loving lumberjacks who wrestle sharks for breakfast and just want to kick it with their bros in bed before going on camping trips with all the straight guys in their stock investment club.)
Special thank you to Michael Troy for helping me with that last line during a night in West Hollywood when we were watching all the "straight-acting" gay men (at least online) at a bar swish and swash with a demeanor that would make Jm J Bullock blush.
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