Courtesy of Jason Crombie for Vice.


Hey man, I ain’t no fruitcake! Sure, I own seasons 1 and 2 of Noah’s Arc on DVD, but so what? Lots of straight dudes do. It’s a really good show! Did you see the episode where Wade went on a date with T-Money? Or was it Chance who went on the date with Trey? See? If I were gay I’d know that! Also, if I were gay, right now I’d be trawling Craigslist for blumpkins and rusty trombones instead of writing this article on the top ten reasons I’d move to San Francisco if I enjoyed having sex with men.


It’s no big secret that a large number of men in San Francisco have penises—gay penises. And if you’re the kind of man who likes himself a nice big blueveined junket pumper, there’s a whole bunch of them in the City by the Bay just waiting for you to show up! And let’s not forget: Wherever there are big penises, there’s bound to be some big ol’ nutsacks full of sperm dangling around too. Whopping wrinkled balls bursting with hot jism. And what gay man doesn’t like a nice warm pair of low-hanging testicles dunked in his face? I’m just sayin’.


The only people who hate rainbows are sociopaths and blind people. I know it’s the symbol of gay pride and all, but they’re still nice to look at no matter what the symbolism. Throw a rock here and chances are you’ll hit one. They are absolutely everywhere.

Healthy Gay Environment

Frisco is the healthiest and safest place for a gentleman of homosexual orientation to be active. Innumerable wellness incentives are in effect, and I have to say my favorite is the “Healthy Penis” campaign. Since 2002, the cartoon cock mascots of the HP campaign have been encouraging you and everyone to get tested for syphilis. It’s a good idea because if you catch syphilis and it goes untreated it may develop into neurosyphilis, which will make you crazy like Al Capone, and nobody has sex with crazy people except the graveyard-shift orderlies down at the nuthouse.

Holding Hands

Relax! San Francisco is a super-tolerant place and it’s safe for dudes to hold hands while walking down the street. When I see men rigidly holding each other’s hand with that preemptive “Fuck you! We’re gay!” look on their faces, it makes me sad. Holding hands with your main squeeze is awesome and I can’t imagine how much it must suck to be afraid of doing so. Anyway, you can hold hands and even skip like you’re fucking Pippi Longstocking if you want to, because absolutely no one gives a shit here.

Making Out on Twin Peaks

Two big hills known as Twin Peaks tower 922 feet above San Francisco. The summit offers a staggeringly beautiful 360-degree view of the city, and according to my gay friend Johnny it is very romantic up there (in other words, it’s a great place to stick your tongue in someone else’s mouth). He also recommended bringing some rosé and maybe something to nibble on. I asked if hummus would be a good choice and he said, “No. Hummus makes you fat.”

The Castro

Apparently during World War II the US military discharged thousands of soldiers for being queer little gays and dumped them in San Francisco where they immediately set up camp in the Castro District. Word got out and pretty soon fags from all over the country began packing their things and moving to the neighborhood in the hopes of meeting lots of cute gay boys dressed like Donald Duck. Today the Castro is still very, very, very gay. In fact, it’s probably safe to say it’s the gayest place in the whole city, if not the world. Start packing, girlfriend!

Pink Triangle Park

Hitler was such a dick. Every time I think I’ve heard it all, someone tells me about some absolutely abominable thing he did between 1939 and 1945. Recently I discovered that the gay prisoners in his concentration camps had to wear little inverted patches embroidered with pink triangles so everyone could identify them as homosexuals. Can you believe that? What an asshole. These days the pink triangle has been defiantly reinterpreted as a symbol of gay pride and San Francisco even named a park after it! How cool is that?

The Poppers Are Way Cheaper and Better!

It’s true. The poppers in SF are the real deal. And before you start writing a letter to the editor complaining that we’re pushing drugs on you, do yourself some research. Poppers just ain’t that bad for you. Booze fucks up your body a shit-sight worse, as do cigarettes, and if it was that bad to huff amyl nitrate you wouldn’t be able to go buy it from the sex shop. A buddy of mine used to live with a gay guy who kept a bunch of room-odorizer bottles in the fridge and we used to have competitions to see who could smoke the most bong rips followed by amyl bumps, and look at me now—totally normal.

Almost No Mormons

Actually, there are a few Mormons, but it’s not as bad as Utah! Utah’s lousy with them! But there aren’t that many Mormons in SF, probably on account of all those poofter heathens getting around, doing the devil’s work. What’s wrong with those damn Mormons anyway? Don’t they have enough trouble at home with their three wives all getting their periods at the same time? Where do they find the time to lobby against gay marriage? It must be pretty sweet having more than one missus, though. It’s like Neapolitan ice cream.

Out and Proud

Lastly, but most importantly, Frisco is the most outest-and-proudest city in the whole world. It’s a city where you can totally wake up every day and just be YOU! So what are you waiting for? Slip that gold-lamé G-string on, throw a pink feather boa over your shoulder, and start that long Rollerblade journey west.

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