Connecticut, Massachusetts, Iowa, and now Vermont. It's spreading like a malignant cancer, the results evident all around us. My neighbors, Bob and Alice, are seeing their own, 25-year marriage breaking under the strain.
I knew something was wrong as soon as I walked in the door, their once pristine living room hadn't been cleaned in weeks. Dirty clothes, unwashed dishes, old pizza delivery boxes strewn about everywhere, like a dorm room, or worse. "My God, what's happened!?" I blurted out.
Bob looked up at me, dully. "Seeing all these gay couples getting married on TV," he mumbled. "It's taken the love right out of ours."
"It's just so wrong!" agreed Alice. "It's driven me to start having affairs with married men," she added, "who've also been disgusted by these homos degrading us."
As they shared their pain, I could see that though it was still early in the day, they'd been drinking,
"It's like they came into our bedroom to have their gay sex in our marriage bed!" Bob's voice rose in anger. "The door to our bedroom has been ripped off its hinges, why not let everybody in?! Where do we draw the line?"
"We don't," answered Alice, filling a used paper cup with cheap whiskey. "We've stopped drawing lines. There's no sanctity. Everybody's invited into our marriage bed now, except the gays of course."
"At least we're still protecting what's left of our marriage against them," said Bob firmly, "but the rest of it is ruined. Why NOT have orgies? Step right up folks, take a look at what the gays have done to us! Bring your farm animals!"
"Not like horses, Bob," Alice corrected, primly. She turned back to me. "Smaller ones. You know, like sheep."
"The hardest part is what to tell our kids, " Bob sighed. "They're teaching the gay lifestyle in the schools now. Lucky for us the subject hasn't come up, since we've kind of lost track of them recently."
"Oh, I'm sure they're fine," said Alice, her words slurring a bit as she took another swallow, this one directly from the bottle. Suddenly, she removed her blouse. She wasn't wearing a bra. I didn't know where to look, so I glanced up, and saw a familiar painting of Jesus on the wall, but I noticed that now he was weeping. I stood up.
"Well, I really have to be going," I said.
"Sure you can't stay?" asked Alice. "We're expecting some friends."
"Heterosexual friends," assured Bob. "And some sheep."