Life was a funny sort of thing.
A funny sort of thing, Lance thought to himself, because the rules to which it was to be lived were completely arbitrary: fuzzy, misjoined and ass backwards.
These rules posessed, at least, to the best of Lance's observation, a structure of importance known only to the rich and the insanely powerful; calm observers of the anarchic pattern from atop perches of money. The ones below these perches, the ones in their shadows, weren't told anything.
It wasn't fair.
Especially not to him.
He had broken one of the rules.
People would stare, when they saw him. They would hide their children for fear of corruption. Especially their boys. The names, the slurs all around him, they were awful. He'd become a synonym for weird:
"That's so clay"
They'd go around denying him service at restaurants, and grocery stores, citing religious freedom and quoting the bible.
Leviticus, specifically. 11:7.
"And the swine," these bible-quoters would say ", though he divide the hoof, and be clovenfooted, yet he cheweth not the cud; he is unclean to you."
Well, he didn't think so.
And that was the rule he broke.
He was a porkatarian.
(Psst! That verse is real)
So I got to thinking, Who picks these things, anyway? How did one rule ever become more important over the other? I mean, if you think about it, it could've easily been pigs instead of gays. How'd they get to do that? Do you know? I don't.
Sorry if I confused you.