Dykes tame their angry beasts.The crowd erupts as they tear up Oxford St, heralding the beginning of the parade. Floats glimmer, whistles squeal, glitter bombs explode in a cornucopia of colour. Marching boys in synch to Kylie and Gaga.

Bears growl with glee. Pecs, boobs, ass. Glamorous drag creations ooze in elaborate garments.

We make our way toward the pulsating ‘thump, thump’ of ye ol’ showground — no club compares. The culmination of our awesome festival — our gay Christmas — draws nigh.

It’s time to party.

Somewhere among the throng will be religious nutter David Madden. He’s spreading the good word, saving souls, apparently. Well, that’s his story and he’s sticking to it.

Yet while we celebrate, there’s something more sinister at work.

We party on blithely unaware that we’re jeopardising innocent souls. God is outraged by our flagrant, sinful ways; exacting His mighty wrath on humankind. And because He works in such mysterious ways, we never really know where He’ll strike next.

Another bushfire? More floods? A tsunami, perhaps? Or maybe Christchurch has made the holy hit list again?

This daft and acutely offensive stymie campaign recently surfaced on Christchurch Quake, an extremist website. That’s right, we’re now also responsible for seismic activity. And no, they’re not referring to the boner in your Calvins.

We’ve pissed off the big cheese, and God is cleansing the human race, you see — the victims of the Christchurch quakes paying the price for our debauched, homosexual lives.

Of course, now I see the error of my ways. The magenta throw was never going to go with animal print drapes.

And while we’re accustomed to this sort of homophobic BS, cunning stunts like this are also highly insensitive to the quake victims. More offensive, if possible, than Charlie Sheen.

Hijacking tragedy to enable a platform for propaganda is all kinds of egocentric crazy.

Play hard and play safe. Stand tall, look out for your mates. Be proud, be fabulous, and if there’s a camera in your face, declare your love — and our right to equality — to the world. Love one another, love the oppressor. The best revenge is living well.

By the above logic, a celebration of this magnitude will ensure we’ll all be struck down by lightning and go up in a puff of pink smoke anyway.

But hey, I’ve always loved a good light show.

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