Vermont Getaway: Thirteen Gays Looking at a Blackbird

I. Okay, first off—it’s Onyx.
II. What, are you blind? It’s clearly Deep Noir.
III. Fred was just saying Black Olive or Licorice but I—
IV. Well, Fred makes everything about food. On our first date, he said my eyes were rum-soaked raisins. Chaaarming!
V. I should’ve said they were Blackbirds, darling. Two rum-soaked Blackbirds who shit on anything I have to say.
VI. Knock it off, you two. Can’t we just enjoy our lovely weekend away from the city?
VII. I saw a Blackbird once. On Fire Island. Or was it Provincetown? I dunno. But it was definitely at a Black Party—I know that.
VIII. Remember that drag queen who did pantomime? Wasn’t her show called Ballad of the Blackbird?
IX. She was doing Kabuki, imbecile. And the show was called Memoir of My Last Turd. I’d know, I dated her kimono designer.
X. Hey, don’t Blackbirds have a high frequency of homosexuality? Like giraffes?
XI. You’re thinking penguins. And that’s your last mimosa, Danny. You’re getting like really loud. You’ll scare the little guy away!
XII. Oh, he split ages ago. Soon as Fred and Jose started going at each other.
XIII. No! I wanted an Instagram pic. He was so sweet. That’s it—next time we drive up, I’m gonna build him the poshest birdhouse you’ve ever seen.