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Interviews Jack Nichols |
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WARNING: Dear Friends Of Baby Jesus,
(Papers shuffling) Sister Taffy: Well, they were here someplace.... I never give thanks without verifying it's merit. Jack Nichols: There’s no need to thank me for mentioning you because, after all, you are doing our Big Daddy-O’s work by preaching to all those many thousands of Homo-Baptists who love the Lord, are afraid to go out to gay bars, but who secretly abuse themselves behind stall doors in public rest rooms. They may think that only closet types like themselves peeking through the little round holes in the stalls can see them, but you and I both know that the Lord of the Universe is watching with a Hawk’s eye and is counting every penis stroke and poke. Sister Taffy: Really, Jack. Why don't we start when you were a young boy, dear. Please share with the world the very moment you decided to become a homo-sexual. What was it about that underground world of sin and fornication that made you choose a set of broad shoulders and a hairy chest over a woman's gentle touch? And Jack, please keep in mind that Christians from all over the world know good and well that this wasn't something you were born with. I know, you know, they know and most importantly, God knows. So please dear, tell us about how it felt the first time Satan crawled into your bed with you and whispered in your ear, "Young Jack Nichols, doesn't doing hair, arranging flowers, or rearranging furniture sound more fun than playing sports and chasing girls?" Jack Nichols: I must admit, sadly, that my dear departed dad was both a sportsman playing for the Chicago White Socks when I was born—and a no-dancing Methodist. He showed me how to strike balls with wooden bats and to catch them too, but when he tried too hard to push the lunatic ravings of his local parson upon my person—insisting, for example, that dancing is evil, it was then, perhaps, that those pro-homo forces whispered into my conscience that its better, in fact, to dance merrily than to hit balls with wooden sticks. The first boys to kiss me on the lips—I was only twelve—were, by Baptist standards—Satan's emissaries indeed. They were lapsed Muslims. Iranian diplomat's kids. They told me they didn't ever want to be separated from me and that I'd always be welcome in their homes. Granted they didn't play with my private parts, but their kisses were welcome, yes, welcome indeed. The kisses made me think about Jesus. "This is better than what I'm getting from my American friends on the block," I told myself. And you are quite right, Sister Taffy. I'd initially thought I'd liked girls, but when those hot-bodied Iranian studs rubbed up against me, their fingers playing with my hair, I decided, without further ado, that, dammit, I'd much rather have fun kissing guys like Jesus did. I didn't give up on girls altogether, however. Its just that back in the 1950's, girls wore thick pancake makeup and ugly girdles and I had to pay their ways to the movies. When I kissed them their lipstick got smeared and it came off on my face and, I noticed, stuck to their teeth. It was too horrible. And at least my boyfriends paid their own ways to the movies. Hell, I was able to save a few bucks by being queerer than thou. Allowances in those days were not up to current standards. Yes, I suppose you could say that my choice was, probably, partly economic. I'm Scottish to the bone. We Scots have a reputation as a thrifty lot, you know. And Robert Burns, the Scottish poet, had both his beloved John Anderson and Meg. He promised the Lord in "Holy Willie's Prayer" he'd never again lift a lawless leg again upon Meg, and so did I.
Jack Nichols: That was simply Old Testament claptrap. Everybody knows that Jesus never married and that he was a man-kisser. I’m a New Testament kind of guy. I think Jesus was perfectly within his rights to kiss his disciples. Twelve boyfriends? Jeez, I’d be satisfied with just ten. As for that so-called "Saint" Paul, he was a man-killer before he became a faux Christian. He never even met Jesus so he pretended that Jesus appeared to him after Jesus was dead. I’d say Paul was the anti-Christ. He tried to yank us Christians all back under the Old Testament’s spell. There’s a wonderful book about this Paul impostor Its called Live from Golgotha: The Gospel According to Gore Vidal and it begins with these telling words of the apostle Timothy’s: "Circumcision was Paul’s idea and not mine." Sister Taffy: Now don't you even get me started on those men who still have Satan's old wrinkled glove wrapped around their penis. That's a sickness for another interview all together. But tell me this since you've brought up touchy feely religion, What do you think of God's chosen people, the Baptists, Jack. And also, the Southern Baptist Convention, and that's the final word on Christianity in case you didn't know, has made their point perfectly clear; Homo-sexuality is an abomination. Just ask any Baptist and they'll tell you as much. Doesn't that make you ill at ease knowing all of these normal, loving people are sickened by what your Gay Today promotes? Why, what if a Baptist minister came across that smut - wouldn't you be ashamed? Jack Nichols: While I like it that Southern Baptists incessantly obsess on homosexuality, helping to spread the word, Unitarians and Quakers, not Southern Baptists, are the true Christians. And let me tell you something else about Baptists: Baptists are the fattest Americans. Did you know that? We reported on this fact in GayToday: gaytoday.badpuppy.com/garchive/events/040898ev.htm A university study proved it! Fat Fat Baptists. And certainly we must ask why? Its simple. Baptists are shameless gluttons. Gluttony. Its one of the seven deadly sins. When I think of Baptists I think of Whoppers and those lousy french fries served at Burger King. Baptists need to slim down a bit. Being unable to observe their own genitals because of their pot bellies gives them an unrealistic outlook on sexual matters. Sister Taffy: Now Jack, all Baptists are not fat. Just look at me. At 30 I am still the same size two I was in high school. And my husband still has the slim, athletic shoulders and chest of a...well, maybe we won't discuss my husband given your disposition, ok? Anyway, Brother Jack, I realize that this question has been used a thousand times but, "Who would you choose to spend a week with on a deserted island. And why? This must be a living person" (ooh this opens the door for my next comment!) Naturally, I choose Jesus Christ, our personal Savior. Now, if you are going to say some pornography actor like, Brad Pitt then don't even bother answering. (Silence) Sister Taffy: Now that we know who you would shack up with why not tell us who you wouldn't want to be cast away with? And why. Jack Nichols: Ken Starr. I hate his whiney voice and so I wouldn’t want to have to talk to him…and I wouldn’t want to have to hear him praying—as he told the Washington Times he does when walking outside. I’m dead sure he’d have our lovely deserted island bugged to the max—right down to the last fig leaf. Even though I’ve been—in my tomcat’s past life-- asked by certain Baptist Republicans to do nasty things to them, I’ve never in all my days wanted to beat up on a man. I’m afraid Ken Starr would just spend our entire week together begging me to beat him sillier.
Jack Nichols: Freedom, Future, Love, Health, Passion, Drama, Pleasure, Song. Sister Taffy: With one last question I would like to ask you what you think about Brother John Paulk, the AFA, and these Ex-Ex-Ex Gay ministries. I tell you there are so many "Ex's" these days I can't tell if these men are really Christians or if they have chosen to live the alternate lifestyle. What is your take? Personally, I feel that God made everyone the way they are for a reason. Some men he blessed with the ability to match fabrics and plan a room; others he granted a green thumb. So why is it that with these blessed talents, there are so many who can't make up their minds? Good Lord! It God gave you the skills to create the perfect prom "do" then why waste it on another man when you could have a lovely wife to practice on? Jack Nichols: Well, I must admit to a certain sympathy for poor Brother John Paulk. I think Jesus may have had him in mind when, from his cross-- that’s deemed so very necessary to our salvation-- he looked down on some Paulk-like bozo and said : "Father, forgive him for he know not what he doeth." Paulk, I hear, once attempted a career as a female impersonator. Granted, he was no great beauty, but, I’m convinced--and he’ll probably disagree with me on this-- that he ought to give up that stupid Ex-Gay career he’s already botched and quickly grab the damn lipstick tube from that former lesbian wife of his and then let them open a sexy cabaret drag act in Ohio again. How ‘bout it? I’d pay to see them. Ohio misses Paulk’s talents. He needs to know that. And a tuxedo would just do wonders for that once-homosexual wife of his.. I can just see her now lip-synching Elvis’ words: "You ain’t nothin’ but a hound dog." I’ll admit Paulk himself might not make a very convincing Marilyn, or even a Judy, for that matter, but its certainly high-time he tried to be a convincing somebody, don’t you think? Sister Taffy: I have no earthly idea where you got the notion that Brother Paulk would dress up in womens' clothing from. It sounds like something the LIEberal media has made up to make him look bad. I'll give you that. John's wife looks more the pants wearer in that marriage but really now, John in a dress. And he's so big too. It's downright laughable. (Laughter) Well, it really has been a pleasure having you here in my manse sharing your life's story with me. However, my husband is due home shortly and he gets nervous around men like you. Funny isn't it that Baptist men and being afraid of a homo-sexual go hand in hand. Anyway, before you go I'd like to show you my family room, we've been thinking of going French Country and I would like to keep some of the same furnishings........ Jack Nichols: I knew, long before visiting, that you were a woman of impeccable taste. Why, all I needed to see was your hair. Sister Taffy: And you are a man of impeccable taste, Jack. I will give you that. Now, let's go see that family room. You may learn more about Jack Nichols', THE GAY AGENDA, and why it was named 1997 Outstanding Book by Gustavus Myers Center for the Study of Human Rights in North America by visiting this site: CLICK HERE. Tell them Sister Taffy sent you! |
GayToday Editor Jack Nichols
is Sister Taffy's interview subject
Sister Taffy 
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