50 Years On: Why Did The Gays Kill Kennedy?

How a cabal of feisty homosexuals slaughtered America’s Camelot

It was six seconds that ruptured the American century. Shots ringing out in Dealey Plaza struck dead the youthful leader of the United States during the nascent dawn of that so-called “optimistic” decade the 1960s. This Friday the world will pause a moment or two and ask fleeting, mourn-filled questions to this blank spectre of history. The years since November 1963 have been consumed with convoluted conspiracy theories spread via the mental machinations of young men in darkened bedrooms and internet message boards whilst investigators have slowly but surely eked out the truth from within the stubborn apparatus of the American state. It is now a historical truth that it was a group of “gay rights” supporting homosexual activists who ended the bright young hope of the United States. The only questions that remain are why? And how?

John Kennedy’s entry into The White House in 1961 spelt a new era of glitz, style and ambition in the executive branch of the United States government. The contrast between the class of JFK and his glamour puss of a socialite wife was in stark contrast to the dark path America was increasingly finding itself treading with hippies, Woodstock, Watergate and the Civil Rights Act just around the corner. As Kennedy’s charisma enthused the US a pack of seedy ne’er-do-wells assembled themselves in New Orleans. Thanks to Jim Garrison the then District Attorney of “The Big Easy” - who as early as 1966 identified the Kennedy assassination as bearing the typical hallmarks of a “homosexual thrill kill” - we now know that erstwhile Communist defector and prototypical “twink” Lee Harvey Oswald hung around the rough trade haunts of Bourbon Street alongside other conspirators such as Jewish bad boy Jack Ruby, limp-wristed industrialist Clay Shaw and butch army helicopter pilot David Ferrie. All of the members of this manage of mincers were of course later unmasked as members of an American Intelligence establishment headed by that infamous transvestite and drug fiend J. Edgar Hoover. One can only imagine the camp conjecture and flouncing thuggery that took place in smoke filled bars and insalubrious “rest rooms” as these gays plotted to end the life of this most mythic of American Presidents:

“Do you DP? I’m a butch john.”

“Let’s kill Kennedy - it would be OMG TOTES historiclicious.” 

“Are you hung? I’m a nasty bottom.”

“ohmygod did you SEE what “she” did at The Bay of Pigs? What a bitch.”

“I went to a Catholic boy’s school - talk dirty to me.”

“Sweetheart, I can’t even find heels that fit me - let alone access to a high velocity rifle and an empty office building.”

The perverted motivation behind such dastardly behaviour is multifaceted and problematic to any student of history of this period seeing as we are forced to peer through the hall of mirrors of Hoover’s intelligence network. One can deduce that gays such as Oswald were deeply distrustful of Kennedy’s womanising ways and soooooooo jealous of Jacqueline’s shoes, hats and fabulousness. They too would have been irked by the President’s refusal to point the thrusting phallic American nuclear artillery eastwards and penetrate the Soviet Bloc hard, deep and with their pants down. Lastly and decisively it was Kennedy’s decision to end the Vietnam war during his second term of office that would have meant the end to all those flamboyant parades full of nice young men in uniform which for these far-right homos could mean only one thing - Kennedy had to go so that stern Texan “mack daddy” Lyndon Johnson could take over and turn The White House into The Brown House once and for all.   

Proof a roll-playing gay killed the President

During the 1970s technology and the passing of time meant that it was more plausible to reconstruct the physical circumstances of the shooting, piecing together photographic and phonographic evidence from a welter of sources. The analysis of Mary Moorman’s photograph taken at the moment Kennedy was killed indicated that the fatal shot was fired not from behind the Presidential motorcade, but in front on a woody hillock known as the “Grassy Knoll.” In contrast to Oswald’s rear entry from the Book Depository the knoll was the perfect shrub-land for clandestine gay “cruising” and the analysis of the Moorman photograph clearly shows a man in police uniform firing at the President - this fetishistic costume of course would later become highly popular amongst that ring of San Francisco perverts The Village People a decade later, forever cementing disco’s association with America’s darkest hour. After all - what could be more thrilling in rounding off a role-playing gay tryst with the brutal murder of the leader of the free world? Oswald was later himself killed by Ruby two days later in a catty “uh-uh not on my watch girlfriend” move, one supposes because Ruby wasn’t invited to the post-assassination brunch (and Oswald probably always thought he was fat anyway.)

A Village Person

As America (and the world) reflects on what happened and what could have been this week, the incredibly bitchy atrocity that we reflect upon is not merely the loss of this young, brave, virile leader who sits astride history like a silent colossus on an erect Washington Monument, but also the fact that the very perverse sub-grouping that murdered this great straight man now effectively “owns” the well oiled seat of government in Washington DC and dominates the political life of the world’s only remaining super power. Under Barack Obama’s leadership the gays have monopolised American power in a way not seen since the similarly kinky Borgias. In a blink of a cultural eye the gays of America have won civil rights, military service, incandescent amounts of lame and pink suede and now “gay marriage”, whilst all the while tap-dancing on the grave of America’s most vehemently heterosexual leader, a man whose legacy and achievements have well and truly been taken up the jacksy of history. For the gays did not simply kill the thirty-fifth President of the United States that Friday afternoon, they killed – and continue to kill – our hope for a better world.