One of the oddities of modern life is the gay parade, an event supposedly intended to express pride in a particular sexual preference.

As far as I'm concerned, whatever you want to do in the privacy of your own bedroom is your business. Certainly, warmth, companionship and happiness are elemental to the human condition. Sex is good when it's good, but like the symbolic cigarette afterwards, is a totally unremarkable act.

Almost everybody does it.

A homosexual activist would put on a positive spin, saying the parade is an expression of pride in who I am, that I have a right to be, "who I am."

Fine! But do you have a right to be so trivial? I could never be proud of simply getting my jollies. You need something to be proud of above bump and grind.

How about a parade featuring only homosexuals with IQ's over 162, or homosexuals who've won the Olympic Decathlon, or homosexuals who've served as mayors of small rural cities, or homosexuals who have climbed Mount Everest?

Parades in the past used to celebrate truly important things, like the winning of a war, the first man to fly across the Atlantic in a monoplane, opening up the possibilities of flight, or the World Series-winning baseball team.

A parade celebrating any sexual persuasion is like a holiday honoring the ability to go to the bathroom. I'm not trying to be cynical. Bowel movement is just as important as sex, and relieving yourself in the john can be every bit as satisfying as a mediocre roll in the hay.

If it wasn't for this marvelous internal plumbing, you'd be full of crap.

Here's the bottom line. If you die and go up to heaven and tell God you're a homosexual, and God frowns, don't call God a homophobe, don't even try. It won't do you any good. If you die and go up to heaven and tell God you're a heterosexual and God frowns---blame your parents.