By Randall Jobe

“Remember, rumors you hear about me are as true as the ones I hear about you.” —Anonymous

Set off a spark of gossip among a gaggle of cocktailed queens and it may start as a Boy Scouts’ marshmallow roasting campfire, but quickly spreads like a California wildfire on a windy hillside. If you’re the object of said gossip, prepare to burn, baby, burn! Start a smidgen of gossip in a gay bar and watch it spread like your favorite STD in Club Houston on any Sunday night. It can go from 0 to 60 in the time it takes the bartender to shake your dirty martini.

I would be a fool to believe, after 25+ years working in the bars, that I wouldn’t have been raked over the gossip coals more than once by some speech-slurred whore on her 18th cocktail. Most of the time I was, thankfully, not privy to the character assassin’s tongue, but occasionally it goes around until it lands firmly in my lap, like a dancing boy looking for a dollar tip.

A dear female friend of mine went to work at an upscale boutique in Rice Village and encountered her co-worker — a loud-mouthed, temperamental, high-drama queen (a retail prerequisite). One day she mentioned my name and loose-lipped Lucy started in.

“I knew him. I thought we were dating, but one night I walked in the bar he worked in and caught him in a below-the-belt lip lock (think, think!) with another guy!”

When my friend relayed the story, I had her shoot me a photo. I had no idea who he was. I explained to her that he had begun with, “I thought we were dating,” and that said it all. She delicately asked, because she’s a true Princess, what about the “other thing?” I informed her that element of the story could very well be based in some truth.

Who knows how many times that story had been recounted by the jilted non-boyfriend over soggy eggs and mimosas?

Avoiding gossip is like avoiding backsplash of a drink thrown in your face by the boyfriend of the boyfriend you slept with. You’re gonna get wet, so just prepare for a little cleanup and more than likely a permanent character stain. “That’s life. That’s what people say.”

How does gossip start? Sometime it is deliberate, started by a sad queen with no life who lives to start drama in yours. (I do not own the rights to that thought.) But, other times, I believe it begins innocently enough ignited by some witless gay boy looking to fit in.

I recently heard from a friend of mine that his friend was dating an empty-headed, hard-bodied, big-dicked twink (two out of three ain’t bad!). Twink heard my name and immediately shot off his wet, full-lipped mouth with, “Oh, I think I know him! Was he best friends with a guy named Ronnie? I think they met in AA, or maybe it was Narcotics Anonymous.”

My friend reminded him that the key word was “anonymous” (Hello, Clueless!) and that I had never mentioned a “best friend, Ronnie,” which I later confirmed. And that’s how it starts. I hope I never run into the chiseled, modelesque little darling. I’d hate to chew his pretty face off and spit it back at him.

“I am who I am. Your opinion is neither desired or required.” Bitch. Spread that gossip.