And, yes, I liked it. As you’ll recall, a few months ago I decided to touch my repressive roots and renew my vows with the hetero lifestyle. It hasn’t been easy, but let’s just say it’s been a very exciting ride. I didn’t quite know where to begin, but kissing a girl seemed like the natural first step. This proved harder than I had anticipated — perhaps my skinny jeans and oversized pink Vera Bradley tote turned them off? — and thus I decided to start by styling myself as the virile bachelor in order to fully embrace my new high-testosterone, possibly pussy-chomping lifestyle.

First I changed the background of my computer — It’s still Lindsay Lohan, but where once she nuzzled SamRo for the paps, she now splays her legs for her GQ centerfold. While I was on the computer, I unsubscribed myself from all gay-affiliated listservs: Human Rights Campaign, GLAAD, ManHunt, Barack Obama for President, etc. Navigating myself to the kitchen with a decisive, manly gait, I tossed out my pretty pink White Zin and swigged some deer blood-infused Jägermeister right out of the bottle, and I have started buying “Trojan Her Pleasure” in bulk. I sold my scarves and jock straps and bought red satin sheets and a lifetime supply of Old Spice deodorant. I also moved my Craigslist NSA ad from m4m to m4w, and replaced the faceless body shot with a picture of me holding a baby and the Bible. After all, I’m ready to find myself a nice Christian girl to settle down with, knock up, and eventually resent until I replace her with a hot gold-digging piece of ass during my mid-life crisis.

Now that I was in costume, I got down to the important stuff: making a “To Do” list to ensure that I exercise all of the new rights extended to me now that I’m no longer queer. The highlights: knock up Sallie Mae, abort the fetus of our own creation, adopt a baby in Arkansas, go to church, and be considered a “ho-tappin’ pimp” instead of a “nelly-bottomed slut.” I got to vote for the first time as a registered Republican! (RIP McCain-Palin — you did us proud.) I’m also free to complain about all of that there hullabaloo surrounding Prop. 8 — GET OVER IT! I campaigned tirelessly to get that thing passed, and I still proudly wear the shirt I made that reads, “A vote ‘YES’ on Prop. 8 is a vote for STRAIGHT!” I even started to embrace my potential future run for Senate on a platform of family values, warning people about the many dangers of homosexuality. I’ll say “I should know … I used to be one!” Now that I’ve been stripped of my status as a “permanent potential predator,” I can also become a foster parent or teach preschool. Better yet, I can become a Boy Scout leader! I can teach little boys how to whittle a bar of soap and survive in an ice storm without being ridiculed as a pedophilic perv.

Having both dressed myself up and set out the details of my new life path, I was ready to use the legendary “Axe Effect” and find myself a buxom woman. I man-perfumed myself and before I knew it I was ravenously sucking the tongue of a bartender named Krystal in the basement of Level B. The sensations were delicious, as was the taste of her Cherry Chapstick, so naturally I brought her back to my place and stepped up my game. I was a little drunk, so we didn’t wear a condom, but it doesn’t even matter because there’s no longer the looming threat of contracting AIDS! Plus, that abortion was on my list. There is so much more to do during straight intercourse. It’s so nice to have an additional orifice to work with. I don’t like having to beg for anal now, but I’m ecstatic about the mess reduction that makes shower humping and park sex more accessible. Straight fetishes like donkey punching and felching are way more fun than “daddy-slave” role play and discomforting anal beads. I’m also getting pretty good at giving oral female pleasure, zeroing in on the mystical oyster’s pearl with increasing speed and accuracy. Unfortunately there’s no lazy alternative to being a top, but I’m gaining more and more stamina as time goes on — I made it four minutes with Krystal last time!

Being straight is without a doubt AMAZING, but it does come at a price. Something I am still learning to cope with is the rampant Heterophobia. Gays and straights are both guilty of it, and I for one am tired of it. I can’t go into a Chelsea café without some gay boy calling me a “breeder” or getting sneered at for wearing tattered New Balances. I don’t care about what or who you do in your spare time or the clothes that you wear, so at least have the decency to treat me with the same respect. Heterophobia fills me with both fear and a sense of victimization, but I have learned to live my life despite these unkind adversities. If I want to make love to my lady in the movie theater late at night, I justly seize the opportunity because that’s my prerogative. If I want to grab my waitress’s ass or feel up a flight attendant, your straight hate is not going to stop me! All of you str8 h8ers should heed to my words: just because we’re straight doesn’t mean you can discriminate.

Straight life is a gift from God and I’m sad that I waited so long to explore it. Parents should teach their children about the many benefits of heterosexuality, encouraging them to live a long and fruitful straight life. At the end of the day, I’m going to die from lung or prostate cancer instead of AIDS or in the fiery inferno of God’s disdain. Although the cruel reality of a world filled with heterophobes is difficult for straight people like me, I’m excited to continue along the path of righteousness and breeding.

John-David Brown is a senior in the College of Arts and Sciences. He can be reached at jbrown@cornellsun.com. Country Club Cockfight appears alternate Fridays.