Most of you are heteros

Most of you are heterosexuals. You sit normally in your chairs with your legs simply hanging down like the condemned hanging from the gallows. You lumber about gracelessly, ambulating with a kind of languid purposelessness that would result in you losing a race to a slug. Your bodywash can be used as a shampoo, a conditioner, tooth-paste, a disinfectant, and motor-oil. You probably have neckbeards, and you think it's smart to mix plaids with stripes and oaf about in Walmart-brand sandals with shin-high Spaghetti-O-stained white socks . You begin every sentence with a long, protracted "uuuhhhh" and end with some variation of "I guess, or some shit, I dunno..." The only books you've read all year are the old car magazines you keep by the toilet, which you're practically cemented to because you suck at cooking and you keep giving yourself diarrhea to prove what a man you are. You feel compelled to remind everyone that you're not gay every time you so much as add some seasoning to your steak, and you remind your father not to say that he loves you because that shit's totally weird, bro. Your idea of a horror movie involves you fucking a member of the opposite sex that you actually like and get along with only for you to realize that they've got the same plumbing as you. Your head is an unorganized clusterfuck of soiled Jerseys your mother is tired of washing, jars you've pissed in while playing videogames, boring stock market predictions (see: astrology for straight people), and Nickelback lyrics. If Michelangelo were one of you, we'd have stick figures and anime-girl titties on the Sistine Chapel. PLEASE don't bust into my house through the wall like the Kool-Aid Man because you're too *straight* to learn how to turn and go a different direction for once.