Lgbt People

"All in all, finals come and go with much less fanfare than Alex imagined. It's a week of cramming and presentations and the usual amount of all-nighters, and it's over. The whole college thing in general went by like that. He didn't really have the experiences everyone else has, always isolated by fame or harangued by security. He never got a stamp on his forehead on his twenty-first birthday at the Tombs, never jumped in Dahlgren Fountain. Sometimes it's like he barely went to Georgetown, merely powered through a series of lectures that happened to be in the same geographical area."

"So, as I've warned you," Henry says as they approach the doors to the Royal Box, "Philip will be there. And assorted other nobility with whom you may have to make conversation. People named Basil." "I think I've proven that I can handle royals." Henry looks doubtful. "You're brave. I could use some of that."

""Just so we're clear," Alex says, "I'm about to have sex with you in this storage closet to spite your family. Like, that's what's happening?" Henry, who has apparently been carrying his travel-size lube with him this entire time in his jacket, says, "Right," and tosses it over his shoulder. "Awesome, fuckin' love doing things out of spite," he says without a hint of sarcasm, and he kicks Henry's feet apart. And it should be- it should be funny. It should be hot, stupid, ridiculous, obscene, another wild sexual adventure to add to the list. And it is, but... it shouldn't also feel like last time, like Alex might die if it ever stops. There's a laugh in his mouth, but it won't get past his tongue, because he knows this is him helping Henry get through something. Rebellion. You're brave. I could use some of that."

"Today, Henry goes back to London. Today, Alex goes back to the campaign trail. They have to figure out how to do this for real now, how to love each other in plain sight. Alex thinks they're up for it."

"There are no fireworks out here, no music, no confetti. Just sleeping, single-family homes, TVs switched off. Just a house where Alex grew up, where he saw Henry's picture in a magazine and felt a flicker of something, a start. "Hey," Alex says. Henry turns back to him, his eyes silver in the wash of the streetlight. "We won." Henry takes his hand, one corner of his mouth tugging gently upward. "Yeah. We won." Alex reaches down into the front of his dress shirt and finds the chain with his fingers, pulls it out carefully. The ring, the key. Under winter clouds, victorious, he unlocks the door."

"Go outside, stay safe, be gay. Have a Shiner on me."

"Shaan lookes like he hasn't slept in thirty-six hours. Well, he looks perfectly composed and groomed, but the tag is sticking out of his sweater and the strong smell of whiskey is emanating from his tea. Next to him, in the back of the incognito van they're taking to Buckingham Palace, Zahra has her arms folded resolutely. The engagement ring on her left hand glints in the muted London morning. "So, uh," Alex attempts. "Are you two in a fight now?" Zahra looks at him. "No. Why would you think that?" "Oh. I just thought because-" "It's fine," Shaan says, still typing on his iPhone. "This is why we set rules about the personal-slash-professional lines at the outset of this relationship. It works for us." "If you want a fight, you should have seen it when I found out he had known about you two all along," Zahra says. "Why do you think I got a rock this big?" "It usually works for us," Shaan amends. "Yep," Zahra agrees. "Plus, we banged it out last night." Without looking up, Shaan meets her hand in a high five."

"Chloe Green is going to put her first through a window. Usually when she has a thought like that, it means she's spiritually on the brink. But right now, squared up to the back door of the Wheeler house, she's actually physically ready to do it. Her phone flashes the time: 11:27 a.m. Thirty-three minutes until the end of the late service at Willowgrove Christian Church, where the Wheelers are spending their morning pretending to be nice, normal folks whose nice, normal daughter didn't stage a disappearing act at prom twelve hours ago. It has to be an act, is the thing. Obviously, Shara Wheeler is fine. Shara Wheeler is not missing. Shara Wheeler is doing what she does: a doe-eyed performance of blank innocence that makes everyone think she must be so deep and complex and enchanting when really, she's the most boring bore in this entire unbearably boring town. Chloe is going to prove it. Because she's the only one smart enough to see it."

"Outside Kensington Palace, Alex takes Henry's phone out of his hand and swiftly opens a blank contact page before he can protest or sic a PPO on him for violating royal property. The car is waiting to take him back to the royals' private airstrip. "Here," Alex says. "That's my number. If we're gonna keep this up, it's going to get annoying to keep going through handlers. Just text me. We'll figure it out." Henry stares at him, expression blankly bewildered, and Alex wonders how this guy has any friends. "Right," Henry says. "Thank you." "No booty calls," Alex tells him, and Henry chokes on a laugh."

"Alex wouldn't say he likes Henry, but he does enjoy the quick rhythm of arguments they fall into. He knows he talks too much, hopeless at moderating his feelings, which he usually hides under ten layers of charm, but he ultimately doesn't care what Henry thinks of him, so he doesn't bother. Instead, he's as weird and manic as he wants to be, and Henry jabs back in sharp flashes of startling wit."

"You listen to me," she says. Her jaw is set, ironclad. It's the game face he's seen her use to stare down Congress, to cow autocrats. Her grip on his hand is steady and strong. He wonders, half-hysterically, if this is how it felt to charge into war under Washington. "I am your mother. I was your mother before I was ever the president, and I'll be your mother long after, to the day they put me in the ground and beyond this earth. You are my child. So, if you're serious about this, I'll back your play." Alex is silent. But the debates, he thinks. But the general. Her gaze is hard. He knows better than to say either of those things. She'll handle it. "So," she says, "Do you feel forever about him?" And there's no room left to agonize over it, nothing left to do but say the thing he's known all along. "Yeah," he says, "I do." Ellen Claremont exhales slowly, and she grins a small, secret grin, the crooked, flattering one she never uses in public, the one he knows best from when he was a kid around her knees in a small kitchen in Travis County. "Then, fuck it."

"It's not a grudge, really. It's not even a rivalry. It's a prickling, unsettling annoyance. It makes his palms sweat. The tabloids- the world- decided to cast Alex as the American equivalent of Prince Henry from day one, since the White House Trio is the closest thing America has to royalty. It has never seemed fair. Alex's image is all charisma and genius and smirking wit, thoughtful interviews and the cover of GQ at eighteen; Henry's is placid smiles and gentle chivalry and generic charity appearances, a perfectly blank Prince Charming canvas. Henry's role, Alex thinks, is much easier to play. Maybe it is technically a rivalry. Whatever."

"She tosses the magazine aside, folding her arms on the table. "Please, tell me another joke," Ellen says. "I want so badly for you to explain to me how this is funny." Alex opens his mouth and closes it a couple of times. "He started it," he says finally. "I barely touched him- and he's the one who pushed me, and I only grabbed him to try and catch my balance and-" "Sugar, I cannot express to you how much the press does not give a fuck about who started what," Ellen says. "As your mother, I can appreciate that maybe this isn't your fault, but as the president, all I want is to have the CIA fake your death and ride the dead-kid sympathy into a second term.""

""That's not your emails-from-Zahra face," Nora says, nosing her way over his shoulder. He elbows her away. "You keep doing that stupid smile every time you look at your phone. Who are you texting?" "I don't know what you're talking about, and literally no one," Alex tells her. From the screen in his hand, Henry's message reads, In world's most boring meeting with Philip. Don't let the papers print lies about me after I've garroted myself with my tie."

"Alex clenches his jaw. He's used to doing things that piss his mother off- in his teens, he had a penchant for confronting his mother's cilleagues with their voting discrepancies at friendly DC fundraisers- and he's been in the tabloids for things more embarrassing than this. But never in quite such a cataclysmically, internationally terrible way. "I don't have time to deal with this right now, so here's what we're gonna do," Ellen says, pulling a folder out of her padfolio. It's filtered with some official-looking documents punctuated with different colors of sticky tabs, and the first one says: AGREEMENT OF TERMS. "Um," Alex says. "You," Ellen says, "are going to make nice with Henry." You're leaving Saturday and spending Sunday in England." Alex blinks. "Is it too late to take the faking-my-death option?" "Zahra can brief you on the rest," Ellen goes on, ignoring him. "I have about five hundred meetings right now." She gets up and heads for the door, stopping to kiss her hand and press it to the top of her head. "You're a dumbass. Love you.""

"Get some shoes, we're running," Zahra tells him. "Priority one is damage control, not feelings. He grabs a pair of sneakers, and they take off while he's still pulling them on, running west. His brain is struggling to keep up, running through about five thousand possible ways this could go, imagining himself ten years down the road being frozen out of Congress, plummeting approval ratings, Henry's name being scratched off the line of succession, his mother losing reelection on a swing state's disapproval of him. He's so screwed, and he can't even decide who to be the angriest with, himself or the Mail or the monarchy or the whole stupid country. He nearly crashes into Zahra's back as she skids to a stop in front of a door. He pushes the door open, and the whole room goes silent. His mother stares at him from the head of the table and says flatly, "Out." At first he thinks she's talking to him, but she cuts her eyes down to the people around the table with her. "Was I not clear? Everyone, out, now," she says. "I need to talk to my son."

"Well. It will matter, you know. It will always matter."

"Alex rolls his eyes and sends back, the harrowing struggle of managing the empire's blood money. Henry's response comes a minute later. That was actually the crux of the meeting- I've tried to refuse my share of the crown's money. Dad left us each with more than enough, and I'd rather cover my expenses with that than the spoils of, you know, centuries of genocide. Philip thinks I'm being ridiculous. Alex scans the message twice to make sure he's read it correctly. i am low-key impressed. He stares at the screen, at his own message, for a few seconds too long, suddenly afraid it was a stupid thing to say. He shakes his head and puts the phone down. Locks it. Changes his mind, picks it up again. Unlocks it. Sees the little typing bubble on Henry's side of the conversation. Puts the phone down. Looks away. Looks back. One does not foster a lifelong love of Star Wars without knowing an "empire" isn't a good thing. He would really appreciate it if Henry would stop proving him wrong."

"Alex groans. "Please, for the love of God, do not ask me. I'm on vacation. I want to get drunk and eat barbecue in peace." His dad laughs ruefully. "You know, in a lot of ways, your mom and me were a stupid idea. I think we both knew it wouldn't be forever. We're both too fucking proud. But God, that woman. Your mother is, without question, the love of my life. I'll never love anyone else like her. It was wildfire. And I got you and June out of it, best things that ever happened to an old asshole lke me. That kind of love is rare, even if it was a complete disaster." He sucks his teeth, considering. "Sometimes you just jump and hope it's not a cliff.""

""It's public knowledge. It's not my problem you just found out," his mother is saying, pacing double-time down a West Wing corridor. "You mean to tell me," Alex half shouts, jogging to keep up, "every Thanksgiving, those stupid turkeys have been staying in a luxury suite at the Willard on the taxpayers' dime?" "Yes, Alex, they do-" "Gross government waste!" "-and there are two forty-pound turkeys named Cornbread and Stuffing in a motorcade on Pennsylvania Avenue right now. There is no time to reallocate the turkeys." Without missing a beat, he blurts out, "Bring them to the house." "Where? Are you hiding a turkey habitat up your ass, son? Where, in our historically protected house, am I going to put a couple of turkeys until I pardon them tomorrow?" "Put them in my room. I don't care." She outright laughs. "No." "How is it different from a hotel room? Put the turkeys in my room, Mom." "I'm not putting turkeys in your room." "Put the turkeys in my room." "No." "Put them in my room, put them in my room, put them in my room, put them in my room-" That night, as Alex stares into the cold, pitiless eyes of a prehistoric beast of prey, he has a few regrets."

"Even before Alex's parents split, they both had a habit of calling him by the other's last name when he exhibited particular traits. They still do. When he runs his mouth off to the press, his mom calls him into her office and says, "Get your shit together, Diaz." When his hard-headedness gets him stuck, his dad texts him, "Let it go, Claremont.""

"Someone else's choice doesn't change who you are."

"Blaire White: I don't know how much you know about me, but I'm probably the most vocal anti-children transitioning person on the Internet. Lauren Witzke: Good! Blaire: Well, I— Lauren: Great! The best thing you can do for us is grow out your mustache and tell people not to live like you."

"I'll go on any leftist podcast. Young Turks, hit me up! [...] Left-wing podcats, have me on! It doesn't even have to be a debate; we can just have a conversation."

"That's her gimmick. Being "one of the good ones" and "a credit to her people" and assuring those in power that our group's struggle for proper treatment is a ridiculous and absurd concept. She tells transphobes that it's okay to make fun of trans women who don't "pass". That any social concessions we demand, to increase our physical safety or mental well-being, are selfish. That our desire for anything more than baseline survival is laughable and ought to be rejected outright."

"I personally believe that the best possible thing that could happen for the LGBT community in acceptance in general right now is for everyone to shut the fuck up for a while. To stop showing their asses, figuratively and literally."

"I don't do groups; I do Blair."

"I truly to my core, and anybody who knows me knows this, there is not one bit of my soul that cares who likes, dislikes, rejects, accepts, enjoys, hates the fact that I'm a transsexual. There is not one bit of me that cares who's okay with me or not. [...] Seeking external validation, which seems to be a huge part of the community these days [...], that is a fruitless endeavor that will lead you to a life of loneliness, emptiness, soullessness, Because you will never ever get everyone to like you."

"stop transing kids, because you're going to hell for that."

"I think that if we dropped the kids transitioning thing, which they would never do, but I think if they did, that would be a huge win for us. I also think that dropping the trans women in sports thing, huge win. The idea that not dating trans people makes you like bigoted... Like just stop fucking saying that."

"[About Call of Duty displaying the rainbow flag in Western versions of the game but not in the Middle East:] They only support LGBT people based on profitability. How people don't see through that is amazing to me. How about, Call of Duty, if you actually gave a singular shit about LGBT people, stand on that where it counts. [...] Guess what we don't need in America, is more shoving of the pride flag down everyone's throats. Guess where we might need a little bit of pride flag showing up. The Middle East."

"“I was a chauffeur for the bridal party. When the bride stepped out of the house, the ladies laid kangas all the way to the car for the bride to walk on,”"

"“I’d never seen that before and was amazed at this poignant symbol, that her path to happiness was paved with beautiful messages on beautiful cloth.”"

"I dream of the day when To Revolutionary Type Love might become an icon, might be considered this different and powerful thing that came out of Kenya and spoke on behalf of many marginalised people, people who should be accepted as part of the fabric of society."

"Now, when the Sochi Games started I did a few tweets pointing out that Russia had a very crude and outdated legal system in its attitude to gays. And someone tweeted at me asking "are you gay or are you just pretending to be?" And I thought well, I could ignore this, but then again what the heck and I had this picture of Darren. So I tweeted: "What I can reveal is that I'm having an affair with a llama. But I won't say if it's a boy llama or a girl llama.""

"Been asked to resign as Vice Chairman, refused, so sacked over HS2 and my views on a recent Cabinet Minister. Still available 4 speeches etc."

"I could never appear on a discussion prog with @y_alibhai I would either end up with a brain haemorrhage or by punching her in the throat."

"A friend of mine is Matthew Parris (the newspaper columnist) who breeds llamas [...] And Matt had a llama called Darren. Incidentally he names his llamas after the first person of the same sex as the llama who sees them. Darren is the local plumber. Unfortunately Darren took a shine when he reached puberty to his auntie Vera… Vera being a cleaning lady when she's not a llama. So there was a real concern that they would end up with a llama with two heads as a result of an incestuous relationship."

"I am expecting a strong turnout of Conservative MPs at PMQs today [...] Not only to demonstrate their strong support for #Boris!! BUT also to prove they are NOT the one told by the Chief Whip to stay at home. I'll be there!"

"Sad @SayeedaWarsi has gone. I was her whip when Party Chairman [sic] & know she has v strong views on Muslim issues. But DC [David Cameron] is right on Gaza."

"Serious questions will need to be asked about the manner in which the investigation was conducted. These were no jurists as was apparent by the tone of the examination. The question of calibre, malice and prejudice will need to be answered now or by historians."

"[After the privileges committee report on other parliamentarians conduct was published ] I stand by my statement. Some of the members of the Privileges Committee treated their witness, Boris Johnson, with contempt by gestures and other actions. Had it been in a law court, the judge would have called them to order. Respect for the committee needs to be earned."

"[A]s I stood after coming off stage in a state of shock, a tall chap waiting in the queue … offered a few words of consolation, and then minutes later I was having coffee with my main writing partner for the next twenty years.My first impression of Graham Chapman was of physical strength. He was slightly shorter than me, but much tougher, in the lean, angular way of a sportsman. He did not surprise me when he said he was a medical student who climbed mountains and played rugby football. He was wearing a rather hairy tweed jacket and heavy brogues, and he soon lit up a pipe. He seemed dead butch, and slightly taciturn."

"Graham was getting through two bottles of gin a day, but those were the large ones that you get behind a bar. Pretty colossal. … He never used the word alcoholic, but he knew darned well that he had to clean his act up. As I understand it anyway, Graham already knew he would be playing Brian [in Life of Brian], and had to really stop drinking with that in mind."

"John rings. He’s been away in the country for the weekend. Has just returned to find a message that Graham has had a nervous breakdown."

"Dropped in to see Graham in Southwood Lane. He came out of hospital yesterday and is not supposed to drink ever again. He looked sallow and tense. It’s going to be a great struggle for him. Barry Cryer was there too. We sat and sipped tea and Barry and I joked rather forcibly. It seemed the only thing to do at the time."

"[The other Pythons all lead] boring lives, but Graham lives what we do on the screen for real. … It's constantly surprising, what he does. … Graham was at his best, usually, in very conservative restaurants when we'd be out dining, and there'd be some nice, middle-aged, middle-class couples dining, and you'd suddenly discover Graham was no longer at the table, but was underneath the table, and other people's tables, and kissing people's feet."

"Ultimately, I think writing is more … satisfying [than acting], … because if you write something, later on in the day … you can read it through again and you know that it's … good. That's a very satisfying feeling because [the work] is there, it's something you've created. … Acting is … a skill which a lot of people have. Less so with writing …. But, I'm enjoying acting now much more than I did. It was torture for me at one point, in the latter days of [Monty Python's Flying Circus]. But then, after sobering up, I really began to enjoy it again."

"[My parents] came to grips with the drinking … much more easily, I think, than [with my sexuality]. Yes. But, things are rather better now than in those days, of course. It was some time ago. And now, even the Church of England, I think, regards a homosexual as merely being handicapped."

"There was one occasion when John Cleese and myself actually felt guilty about laughing at something we were writing, because it was in incredibly bad taste. So bad was the taste that we just couldn't help laughing at it. It concerned a gentleman walking into … an undertaker's premises with his dead mother in a sack. And from there it got worse."