Look at these happy gays and drag queens, fresh from giving the fuzz a kick up the cunt!
Yes, history-lovers, it’s forty years – to the day! – since a bunch of raggedy drag queens and the gays they hung out with decided, in the words of Donna and Barbra, that enough was enough (no more tears).
The police raided the Stonewall Inn – it’s still there in Greenwich Village in London’s glittering New York – one too many times; threw drag queens in the back of police wagons a little too heftily; and generally acted like a bunch o’pigs. They’re still defending their actions to this day, by the way: a top policeman from the time said only last week that they were only doing their job guvnor. And any money that may have been taken in bribes went direct to a children’s charity. Or something.
And so the gays, with their usual flair for comedy, calling themselves the Pink Panthers – you know, like the Black Panthers only foxier – started to chuck stuff at the police, barracaded themselves in the bar and generally kicked off days of rioting. OK, rioting lite.
Whatever. It was the birth of the bona fide gay movement, the first ever Gay Pride was held the following year to commemorate that night and here we all are with a legacy *dabs eye… watering from a previous plastic surgery incident* that includes Bette and Cher and tight swimwear and Madonna and cockrings and bumming in public and poppers… Any other suggestions?
*runs rainbow flag up a flagpole that has miraculously appeared from the ground*