executive suites, and the cocktail lounges of wealthy business males in America. An executive I knew who worked for a utility company in New York admitted that the men he worked with would never allow even token women in their world if they could prevent their entry, "They leave their wives in Scarsdale and Mamaroneck," he said. "They don't want them around the office. Women? Absurd!"

It is a male world which is, in fact, a dangerous homosexual (same-sex) world that keeps a new America from being born. We cannot go beyond the limitations of the fear and trembling associated with sex, and we can't face up to a world without man as boss. I talk about this as it exists in America, for that's where I am, though I suspect that things are worse in nearly every other country. The men are bosses nearly everywhere, aren't they?

Let's go back for a minute to the love affair between Newman and Redford that I mentioned earlier. Notice how often the two men are crooks and how often their being crooks is apparently justified since all the rest of their environment is populated by hoods. It's the Godfather Lie, the 24 VECTOR

present version of the American Dreamit's okay for the Mafia to kill since Congress is dishonest. Bullshit. This is a tenet of the Establishment-Homosexual-Pharisaism Code: that masculinity, dishonesty, avoidance of tender, honest motives is the only way to go, Bullshit. See how we got into Watergate, children?

I have seen college professors freak out at the suggestion that the gay poems among Shakespeare's sonnets are more earnest and honest than those written to a prostitute. And I have seen the same professors do their mating dances with their sexy, pantherlike male grad students, all of them nearly coming when they discuss the erection metaphors in John Donne. Liars, cheats, hypocrite lecteurs-none of them are my doubles, my brothers!

I have spent much too long watching students recoil with less shock at murder in literature than they do in the face of literature about gay relationships. Ridiculous.

And this brings us to the guts of my gripe. I've lived in a world that has been called homosexual all of my adult life, and I've only recently become aware that homosexual is a misnomer. Homosexual is the term for that world of liars, all male, who call themselves heterosexual; that's the biggest part of their lie, for they really hate and fear real women.

I live in a gay world where the gay women and men are aware that they love and participate in sex with people of the same gender. The dangerous homosexual world is all that other world that keeps a code of sexual role-playing. Mostly this world is run by straight, macho men, but straight women who can play a helpless, feminine role receive the second-largest rewards.

I am not saying that gays are automatically above this world; in the same way that the worst anti-Semites are Jews, the worst anti-gays are gay. Those are the gays who have to overact their masculine role if they are male or overact their feminine role if they are female. Yes, Virginia, lesbians can be pigs, too.

Anti-gay gays are the ones who have historically betrayed their sisters and brothers. When the Symbionese Army

scare was at its crest in San Francisco, lesbian bars were overrun with CIA and FBI-hired dykes. "They were rich, but frigid," a gay woman tells me.

What I see as the worst aspect of this world of Horrendous Homosexuals is the dishonesty necessary to continue the act. Time after time I keep looking at the science building at City College of San Francisco, where I teach, From the time it was built in the 30's, our science building has proclaimed, "The Trush Shall Make You Free."

Lately I've felt like a Peanuts comic strip as I say to the building, “Yes, yes, and when will we get at the truth? We can't wait any longer."

My theme song lately has come from a man I consider almost an archetypical Establishment-Homosexual-PharisaismCode hero, Dotson Rader, who hides in a straight guise even as he proclaims that he ain't marching anymore. My theme song is, "I Ain't Gonna Lie So Much No More, Nowhere, No Time."

Thanks, Dotson, baby, hypocrite lecteur, my brother, my pig.

All you folks out there in HomoPhariseeland, what have you got to be afraid of? Blouaugh!