Hey, Faggot:
Hey, DFF:
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Your letter arrived yesterday afternoon, and some hours later, while I was sitting in a darkened movie theater, my thoughts returned to you. The film my boyfriend and I were enjoying was a hundred-million-dollar metaphor for your struggle: just as you did not let those bugs–HPV and herpes–get you down, the brave young men and women of Starship Troopers weren’t letting bugs get them down either. Of course, your bugs are internal and microscopic, and the bugs in Starship Troopers are external and enormous, but still, a metaphor’s a metaphor, and this one is worth cutting director Paul “Showgirls” Verhoeven a little slack. I mean, the man is an artist. The Federation, a protofascist world government, is locked in a life-and-death struggle with Planet Big-Ass Bugs, which is clear on the other side of the galaxy. Rather than nuke ’em, the Federation sends a starship full of lily-white teenagers from Buenos Aires (?!) to Planet BABs with orders to shoot the great big bugs with great big guns. Technology has advanced beyond our wildest dreams, except for two things: prom dresses and bullets. At a dance before the kids enlist, girls of the future wear dresses you can buy off the rack at Marshalls. And the great big guns of the future shoot eensy-weensy bullets of the present, so when the troopers get to Planet BABs they are required to shoot each bug they encounter about a hundred thousand times! Since the bugs attack in waves of hundreds of thousands, the troopers are at a distinct disadvantage–all thanks to those crappy bullets! Were I the supreme leader of the Federation, I’d arm my troops with cans of hair spray and disposable lighters before I sent them into battle with those cap guns!
Hey, DWI:
Hey, F:
