If the word awful needs a new jingle, this song is more than worthy of consideration.
Heven’s (God help her and the spelling of that name) “My Gay Best Friend” is the kind of song that makes some people think about glitter, fun, and frolicking. That is, if they’re drunk out of their mind and high on stupid. Or if they have a strong affinity for pop radio.
For me, this is the sort of ditty that gets me to question God and the Lord’s choice to leave us saner folks without an option to mute the less fortunate.
I think the worst part about this song is that I could see it being played on the radio in major markets that are more likely to be gay friendly – especially if it were performed by a notable artist.
Say, if Kelis weren’t sending Nas to the blood clinic and sperm bank (despite him likely netting more from Coinstar given Negro sperm doesn’t go for much) regularly this is a track she’d probably consider to reboot her fledgling career.
Her milkshake…with a penis.
People would probably champion it as some pro-gay anthem if the right name and puppeteer were behind it. I suppose in comparison to all of them “fuck you faggot” themed songs permeating rap it is indeed a step up.
It’s those sorts of realizations that make me wonder if Fred Phelps had a point about God’s heavenly shade upon thee.
This song encompasses so many clichés and stereotypes that I don’t even know where to begin.
I suppose what really vexes me about this song is the fact that I could see a lot of women identifying with the lyrics. And quite possibly some of my own friends will listen to this and look to it as the soundtrack to our lives. The horror.
In a strange and arguably sad twist of irony, I’ve always gotten along more so with women than with men. I don’t spin around all day in ballet slippers in order to do so (no judgment if that’s your thing); but growing up in an environment where hypermasculinity was the guide to life for many I just opted to be myself.
Women tend to take to it more than some of the straight men who think gayness is highly contagious or the multiple closeted men waiting in the wings for some man to hit the daddy stroke in secrecy.
Even now, I still get along with women more so than I do men. In my defense, many LA men seem to have been bred and raised in a land called Cuntville before fleeing to California. Both gay and straight alike, ya’ll.
So, yes, I love women but while I do appreciate the company I keep there have been instances where I have had to wonder if a person was looking for a friend or a caricature the way the “GBF” is depicted in this song.
Ever since I confirmed my sexuality I’ve come across women who are quick to say, “OMG! You can be the Will to my Grace.”