Dr. Strangelovers

BY DEAN TREFTZ | APRIL 06, 2009 7:30 AM

It started quietly enough.

Instead of the usual cummerbund-cufflink-bowtie man and dress-veil-girdle woman, state parks and Unitarian churches started also wedding pairs of two men — both in tuxedos — and two women — both in tuxedos.

They had love, rice, flowers (and for all I know girdles) — the works — and people forgot the danger. The newspapers, of course, loved it, and while they were snapping front-page tear-jerkers and slowly substituting “controversial decision” with “civil-rights progress,” the lawyers that had descended like so many queer locusts moved on to the next states.

That first spring everything seemed just hunky-dory — or so they told us.

A few of us knew that these marriages made the millennia-old man-and-wife combo a sham, but no one listened. With the social structures no longer backed up by the law, it was only a matter of time before they started to crumble.

Before the Supreme Court’s coup was even a year old, the signs started appearing.

An Ankeny girl refused to marry her high-school sweetheart because she had promised to marry her best friend for her birthday. A 30-year-old Waterloo man sued Blackhawk County for the right to marry his Schih Tzu, Mr. Kibbles. Two women in Decorah even wagered to see who could marry the most people in a year (I think the winner ended up with 133).

Married couples suddenly started to realize that they were just two individual human beings in a contractual partnership, not the fundamental unit that was (until then, anyway) the bedrock of civilization. Divorce rates skyrocketed, and without the procreation haven of traditional marriage, single-motherism followed suit.

Parenting and community were rendered obsolete, and people replaced them with a nihilistic scramble for raw pleasure. Instead of saving up for that down payment, workers funneled their earnings into the booming prostitution (legalized in 2011), ice cream, and cocaine industries.
Society was on its knees, and that’s when they struck with a limp-wristed coup de grace.

As our institutions were crumbling, the gays were quietly amassing power and wealth with the newfound understanding that with marriage, gay estates would stay in gay hands. The biggest employers in the state started introducing sharper uniforms, sassier clerks, and dance breaks.

By 2015 the gays held or directly controlled more than half of the seats in the Legislature. Within months, they introduced the Divine Act, the giant drag queen of a bill that outlawed heterosexual marriage.

They didn’t even have to justify their brazen matrimony hoarding. Everyone was too busy rutting in their secular humanism to notice, so on April 3, 2015, the bill became the new Divine Law.

Husbands and wives had three weeks to divorce and separate or risk the shackles, Cher, and starvation of the camps. Births after February 2016 were banned, and existing children were shipped to the coasts for re-education.

I remember the day they took my son away. I lied and said I’d see him soon. Before he left, I slipped him a GI Joe. and told him to keep it hidden. Every night, I lay awake with the thoughts of what he’d go through if they found it.

Not long after that, gay scientists perfected their “GAYDAR,” and within months mobile hetero sweep teams became common sights in neighborhoods from Council Bluffs to Davenport. We weren’t even safe in our own (empty) homes.

Churches became sanctuaries, but the gays placed their own operatives in the pews and censored sermons to the point that the usable portions of the Holy Book made the Jefferson Bible look like good ol’ Revelations.

A few brave souls formed hidden nuclear-familial encampments at the end of unmarked dusty roads in western areas of the state. They didn’t last. Those who weren’t discovered by the all-woman roller-derby death squads fled across the Missouri River to temporary safety.

I write this as a fugitive too, with hopes not for myself but for some future generation.

If this story finds you somehow, please don’t forget what happened. Don’t make our mistake.


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