Dorset gay man, Danson B Dainty, of Poole, today launched a scathing attack against his many detractors via an online forum discussion on his favourite website - gaymiserableandliabletomoodswings.con on a forum thread where gay men complained about the 'horrid' names acquaintances and workmates call them behind their backs.
Dainty, by profession, an uphill gardener and an enthusiastic cricketer, quite fond of bowling from the gasworks end, indicated that, much to his pique, acquaintances and work colleagues (Apparently, he has no 'friends' - not even on Facebook.) frequently referred to him as 'Sausage Boy.'
Dainty revealed that he found this nomenclature degrading and embarrassing, not to mention a slur on his gay manliness. (In a Julian Clary kind of way.) He went on to say that sometimes the jibes about him being a 'sausage boy' made him so angry that he had to go for a lie down, as he is prone to hyperventilation and hissy fits.
Insiders revealed that Dainty also has a strong inclination towards typing in bold type and italics, occasionally with underlining, and sometimes in colour, although given that his Poole council flat bears a nameplate inscribed 'Hampstead Cottage' they found this behaviour understandable.
Dainty apparently wrote on the website that if people didn't stop calling him 'Sausage Boy' that he'd 'thcream and thcream' until he is sick, a bit like Violet Elizabeth Bott out of the Just William books. And that if that didn't work, he'd hold his breath and pinch his nose until his face turned purple.
In order to find out what it is that makes some gay people miserable bastards with massive chips on their shoulders, whereas the vast majority are fun loving guys with a wicked sense of humour, Skoob News sought advice from the world's leading sexologist, Monsignor Francois DuBois SJ, of the Church Of The Roving Eye in West Virginia. DuBois remarked:
"He's probably really a hetero who can't git a woman. So he sez he's a gaylord. That's why the sumbitch is a miserable SOB. He cain't git laid! This dude's a pretend fudge packer on the Hershey Highway to hell and back. Give me a genuine butt-hole technician any day of the week. You know where you stand with them. As in usually behind 'em and you don't ever bend down to pick up loose change, or the dropped soap in the shower."
A one time acquaintance of Dainty told us:
"That sounds about right. I've never known a miserable, temperamental, witless, obsessive-compulsive, vindictive gay bloke before in my life. That is, until I met Sausage Boy. He once offered me a donut, but I declined. It had cream in it. Cream! You never know what he's done with the hole in the middle when you're not looking."
More as we get it.