by D.L. Hughley
You and I sure have had our share of good times. I fondly recall the first moment I ever met you: it was at the Atlanta airport. I’d always heard about you, and was a little nervous to approach. You were everything everyone said you were and more. It was truly love at first bite. I told you I’d come back, and I did — time and time again. We met in various cities all over the country, each time better than the last, as if we’d never been apart. Isn’t that what true love is, where it picks up right it left off?
You can imagine my excitement when I heard you were moving west to my city, Los Angeles. I’d be able to see you as much as I wanted, with no shame or recriminations. Our love would no longer have to be in secret. We could love out loud, for the entire world to see. I was in bliss, and for a time I was truly truly happy.
But baby, lately you’ve been doing me dirty. You’ve been speaking with a forked tongue, spewing hate instead of frying love. Who would have thought that a chicken sandwich would become a symbol for both free speech and intolerance at the same time? It brings a whole new meaning to the question, “Do you it want light or dark?”
I don’t understand why you’re jeopardizing what we have. You’re forcing me to choose between my heart and my stomach. Your president has said that you believe that a marriage is only between a man and a woman. But if anyone keeps eating at your establishment, the only relationship that’ll matter is between a man and his cardiologist. It’s not like anyone, gay or straight, is getting married in your restaurant — nor will any gay couple ever be serving fried food at their nuptials.
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