“There’s nothin’ like having a nation of fags looking for you,” joked Eddie Murphy in his 1987 stand-up comedy film Raw. He was referring to a backlash over his previous stand-up film Delirious, which included the lines, “Faggots aren’t allowed to look at my ass while I’m onstage” and “I’m afraid of gay people. Petrified. I have nightmares about gay people. I have this nightmare that I go to Hollywood and find out that Mr. T is a faggot.”
He was forced to apologize and has since been embraced by the mainstream, but what was the big deal? Did anyone honestly believe Eddie Murphy woke up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat after graphic nightmares where he’s anally penetrating Mr. T, who then clenches up his butt cheeks and rips Eddie’s dick off?
Murphy had been scheduled to host the Oscars this year to promote his new movie Tower Heist. The film’s director, Brett Ratner, was going to produce the Oscars with Murphy but made the mistake of saying “Rehearsing is for fags” at a recent Q&A in LA. The subsequent uproar forced Ratner to resign his post. In solidarity, Eddie Murphy did the same.
Ratner’s resignation was combined with the faggiest apology letter I’ve ever read. The most nauseating line was: “I am grateful to GLAAD for engaging me in a dialogue….” Gag me with a spoon! Can the rest of us get a public apology for that sentence, please? I haven’t heard words like those since college. The insatiable Pink Mafia has decided Ratner’s self-flagellation isn’t cutting it, so beyond the apology and the resignation they are now working with him on “public discussions about LGBT issues.” Personally, I’d rather suck a dick.
I’ve known people who say they have worked with Ratner in the past. They say he is a lecherous pervert who is constantly trying to get fellated. One extra tells me Ratner offered her a promotion if she did the deed. She says she did and got the promotion but couldn’t take advantage of it because she was too hung-over to go to work the next day.
It’s called “Hollywood.” It’s a Sodom and Gomorrah cesspool where everyone knows the deal and shamelessly drops to their knees to milk it for all it’s worth. Who cares?
What bothers me is not Ratner’s horrible personality but the fact that we still have to nail ourselves to a cross every time we make a not-so-great joke. Did Ratner mean, “I fucking hate rehearsals. They’re as disgusting as those despicable faggots you see prancing around town”? No. He meant it as in, “Rehearsals are for pussies.” That’s it. One blogger said without irony that Ratner’s joke was almost as reprehensible as public flatulence: “How about next time he just fart into the mic?” GASP! Can the Poo Community get an apology for such insensitivity? Ratner’s flippant vernacular was a parody of the way we all spoke in eighth grade and the way most of us still speak today—duh! I don’t think I’ve ever entered a bar without saying, “Hey homos” to my friends or at the very least, “Oh, what are you guys doing here? I didn’t know this was a gay bar.” The fact that everyone got their panties in a bunch over it is, well, queer.