The Very Hungry Caterpillar Is Gay Culture
A gay little worm with a terrible relationship with food
It’s Pride Month, which means it’s officially the season of brands Doing The Absolute Most for our money and attention. Which is why I’m SO excited to announce that this week’s newsletter is brought to you by the gay baiters at Blockbuster Video™… Blockbuster: Come do anal in our parking lot! We don’t give a shit! Thanks for being a supportive ally, Blockbuster. I rented Brokeback Mountain from you in 2006!
Anyway. On to the business of the day…
The Very Hungry Caterpillar is a faggot. But Matt, you can’t call him that! He’s just a little bug! And it’s Pride Month! Well, guess what, Mimi? Bugs can be faggots. And the very hungry caterpillar is a big hungry faggot. (A term of endearment in my book, just FYI.)
If you’re unfamiliar with the late Eric Carle’s classic children’s book The Very Hungry Caterpillar, allow me to summarize: one morning, a tiny caterpillar emerges from his egg and is immediately in a fuck-all mood because his blood sugar is extremely low. Naturally, as any homosexual is wont to do when he wakes up in a seething rage, the caterpillar launches into a hanger-fueled fructose bender, eating through an apple on Monday, two pears on Tuesday, three plums on Wednesday, four strawberries on Thursday, five oranges on Friday, and then finally, having basically deprived himself of any real food for an entire week, a processed sugar orgy on Saturday including a piece of chocolate cake, an ice cream cone, a pickle, cheese, salami, a lollipop, a piece of cherry pie, sausage, a cupcake, and a slice of watermelon. (It’s unclear where exactly Mr. Very H. Caterpillar is procuring all these foodstuffs, so I’m going to assume he’s stolen them from his local bodega because gay people are famously very good at doing crimes.)
Post-binge, Miss Catty Pillar spends the night doubled over with a horrible stomachache, wallowing in his life’s decisions before he wakes up on Sunday, eats one (1) single green leaf, and pretends like that’s enough vegetable to make Michelle Obama happy. But THEN… he looks in the mirror, sees that he’s gone up a couple of pant sizes in just seven days, and promptly builds himself a little fort to hide inside for two entire weeks because society tells him he should be ashamed of his curvaceous body. It’s honestly tragic because he doesn’t realize beauty is on the inside and also to never be ashamed of eating cake, pie, and ice cream in the same night, even if it gives you explosive diarrhea. After his brief two-week stint indoors, our little girl sashays out of the cocoon with a whole new look hoping that everybody will be distracted enough by his glittery new wings to forget about the fact that he spent an entire week in a manic binge. The end. Happy every after, etc.
So what exactly is the message of this gay little story? I mean, yeah, maybe it’s just about a stupid little worm who’s born with a very big appetite, eats too much too fast, shits his pants, and then becomes a beautiful butterfly anyway. Life is full of ups and downs, but it’ll all work out okay in the end as long as you’re hot enough. Case closed.
But *I* think it’s about a homosexual with a deeply toxic relationship with food. Miss Pillar is born on a Sunday and can’t even make it 24 hours before he’s forced into a fad diet because the other caterpillars on Instagram with six-packs and thigh gaps made him feel bad about his body. Instead of just living his life, eating as many carbs as he wants, he spends an entire week depriving himself on the One Fruit A Day diet. No, bitch! That diet is sorely lacking in the leafy greens necessary for solid pooping, and you will absolutely need Pure for Men fiber supplements if you want to avoid a catastrophe! Inevitably, because restricted diets are mentally and physically unsustainable, he cracks under the weight of it, goes on a crazy Saturday binge, pays the price with the violent shits on Saturday night, and then punishes himself even further with a single-leaf salad on Sunday. Absolutely problematic behavior.
But unfortunately, he is living out the gay experience. Participating in a crash diet because you’re trying to keep up with the hot caterpillars on the gay Internet? Hiding from society because you’re convinced your body doesn’t meet unrealistic beauty standards? Alternating between a week of manic eating and then two weeks of total social isolation before debuting an entirely new look and hoping everybody will just forget about your meltdown? Honey… that is gay culture.
So listen up, Catty P! You don’t have to do this to yourself. You are a fierce little worm, you should eat whatever makes you happy, and you never have to hide. If we learn anything from Lil Hungry C’s story, let it be this: eat whatever you want, eat it whenever you want, and fuck anybody who makes you feel bad about your choices.
But also… get that daily intake of fiber unless you enjoy disaster.
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And now, some other stuff from the week in gay culture…
Blessed By The Mythical Pride Raccoon
The albino Pride Raccoon is a genderless queer cryptid rumored to show Itself once every June 1st to a worthy gay virgin, thus marking the official beginning of Pride season and the end of the long Heterosexual Winter. It is perhaps the most mystical of the fabled queer rodents — Punxsutawney Phil, Bunnicula, Master Splinter, etc. — who are all responsible for predicting our weather, sucking our vegetables, and training our teenage mutant ninja turtles. The Pride Raccoon only reveals itself to one gay individual a year and has only been captured on camera once (above). According to legend, making direct eye contact with the Pride Raccoon causes instantaneous prostate orgasm and permanent loss of speech.
Bussin’ for Robitussin
The relationship between homos and Big Pharma is unfortunately well-documented: Truvada for PrEP, Fleet enemas, the Pfizer vaccine (reportedly the shot most likely to turn your child into Clay Aiken). But the latest drug to try to jam itself into the category of Gay Medicinals, apparently, is Robitussin. Because wanting relief from chest congestion is gay now, I guess.
I mean, to be fair, most gay medicines are about loosening up your fluids, and Robitussin is all about that mucous. But let’s be clear, this is really just a naked attempt by Robitussin to unseat the true queer icon in the mucous relief space: the Mucinex monster. Nobody is doing it like the Mucinex monster.
Anyway. It is objectively hilarious that a brand of cough syrup is like, no yeah, we’ll do the rainbow thing, who the fuck cares? Gay it up.
The Angry Bird Gay-volution
You’ve probably seen this abomination by now. It’s not even from this week. It’s three years old. And yet, it has lodged itself firmly in my hippocampus — the part of the brain that can’t unsee extremely gay shit — and I’m sorry, but I can’t let this newsletter end without acknowledging it. There’s absolutely no good reason for Angry Birds to have created this leather daddy biker bird, which, ornithologically speaking, I simply must refer to as a cock. There’s no reason for this cock to have my ideal body. There’s no reason why this cock should make me feel the way that I feel inside. I just know this bird would ruin my life. Alas, Angry Birds has created the ultimate Pride post, and we must honor it every year.