A man in purple shirt holding his neck.

Giving gay a bad name 


By Nancy Ford 

There are several names throughout history that we’d prefer weren’t known as being gay: Andrew Cunanan. Milos Yannopolis. Lindsey Graham.  

Recently joining this pantheon of losers is George Santos, the newly elected U.S. Representative from New York, who is elevating this gay badge of dishonor to dizzying new heights. 

Santos, a first-termer who has never been elected to anything before, has become a punchline du jour for his seemingly bottomless cache of lies he plugged into his curriculum vitae to mislead voter: his education, employment experience, financial status, surgeries — even his own mother’s death. No falsehood is too far-flung for Santos. What a piece of work this guy is.  

Santos goes by a number of aliases, including Kitara Ravache, his drag personae. But he says he never performed as a drag queen, which may or may not be true. Just because there is footage of him dressed in drag does not mean he performed drag, per se.  

He’s also lied about the source of a personal loan of $705,000 to his own campaign, but has so far declined to ’fess up who the real source is.  

Pro tip: If that $705,000 was in mostly sweaty, wadded-up one-dollar bills that looked like they may have been stuffed into a push-up bra, trust: Santos has indeed performed as a drag queen. 

Perhaps you’ve heard Santos describe himself as “very much gay,†which can only mean there is very much more gay to his very much gay story. 

For example, back in the early 1970s, Harvey Milk and George were walking through the Castro District in San Francisco, just chatting about cameras and whatnot, when Harvey accidentally stepped in a pile of dog doo. Well, he just went off, screaming and scraping his shoe on some old hippie on Haight-Ashbury. George told him to stop complaining — if he didn’t like stepping in pooh, he should do something constructive about it. So Harvey cut off his ponytail, put on a suit, and ran for City Supervisor. Before you could say, “Hey, Kitara Ravache!†ol’ Harv had scooped up enough poop and votes to be the first openly gay man elected to U.S. public office. Crazy how things happens, right? All thanks to George. 

Then there was that time he was at the Stonewall Inn in New York City in 1969. He had just come from Liza’s penthouse where he was teaching her how to perform a deathdrop on a bentwood chair. Anyway, he had a drag queen friend who was doing a show at Stonewall stage when she realized the stiletto heel on her shoe was loose. Well, he certainly didn’t want her to stumble, so he said, “Hey Queen, toss me your shoe. I’ll fix it.†Well, bless her heart, the queen threw like a girl, but not the kind of girl you’d find on the pitcher’s mound of a softball field. She flung that shoe wildly, Santos missed the catch, and it accidentally hit a New York City cop who had stopped by the Stonewall for a friendly drink. You know what happened next.  

There was another time when he was in Rome when Michelangelo was painting the Sistine Chapel. Poor guy, Mike confided in George that he was worried about missing his project deadline because he hadn’t slept in weeks. His neck was killing him from working on that old rickety ladder. George suggested that he erect a scaffold instead; nobody except maybe God himself would notice if he caught a few winks between frescos. It all worked out just fine. 

And one day in 600 BC, Sappho and George (in his Kitara drag, of course) were sitting under an olive tree in ancient Greece. Sapph was complaining that she had writer’s block — there were too many men running around philosophizing and interfering with her poetic muse. Kit was tired of Sapph’s bitching and told her if she wanted peace and quiet she should move to her own island somewhere. He was sure a bunch of women would happily go with her. Turns out George/Kitara was right. We all know lesbians love to scoop up real estate anywhere near the shoreline.  

OK, maybe all this didn’t happen exactly as George might explain it. But he can’t help being a liar. Google the meaning of the word “kitaraâ€. It’s a feminine name with Greek roots that translates to “keeping a baby’s sweet spirit in tune.†It’s also defined as a seven-string instrument — similar to a lyre — that was popular in ancient Greece. 

That’s right, friends. Kitara is a lyre. As in lyre lyre, pants on fire. 

George Santos is a very much gay lyre. And just like that, Donald Trump has his running mate.

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