Hey dudes, what's up? How's sports? How's beer? Good, cool. I know you see me coming with the clipboard and you're like “woah,” but chill out, this isn't like that. I'm here to give it to you straight: If you vote Democratic this election, you can call me a faggot once, no strings attached.

Yep, you heard that right. I'm ready to take one for the team. You're already skeptical of Trump leading this country to shit, you just need a little push. Well, this is it, guys. This deal won't come around again for another two years.

I've reached the point where I have a lot going for me (in liberal elite circles we call this ‘privilege'). I have abs that can zest a lemon, and I can use that same lemon zest to make restaurant-quality risotto from scratch. My boyfriend speaks two dead languages and can rip a tree trunk in half with his bare hands like Chris Evans in Age of Ultron. If you call me a fag just this once—in exchange for some sweet, sweet political capital—I promise, I'll be fine.

I can tell you're wavering. (Was it the dead languages thing? Uugh, I know…) And I get it. You're not like Westboro-Baptist-types that are just screaming “faggot” all day every day. At some point your girlfriend probably told you it was mean—maybe she saw Moonlight or some shit? That's cool. I'm here to tell you that there's far worse stuff going on now, so I'm going to let you slide this one time as long as you defect from the GOP immediately.

Yeah, it's confusing—how did we even get here, right? One day I'm a “loser fag queer” and 12 short years later my nickname is “not allowed” and “a hate crime?” What's the deal with that? Well, guys, this is your chance to relive the glory days and call me a fucking faggot. There's no catch, except that I'm going to be in the booth with you making sure you check each and every one of those little “D” boxes, you hetero freaks.

There are a lot of ways we can get this done: You can yell “faggot” at me while carrying a neon sign and looking a little crazed—that's a classic. You can grab my arm, and scream it in my ear like we're in grade-school. You can even look me deeply in the eyes, run a finger down my neck and whisper it to me sensually, teasingly… almost… yearningly. The only requirement is that I see Democratic fucking Socialist votes all the way down that motherfucking ballot.

Oh—what? You're all registered Dems? Then keep your mouths shut and just show the fuck up on November 6th.