By St. Sukie de la Croix

Contributing Writer

Several months ago I canonized myself—note the “St.” in front of my name.

I did this for three reasons: 1) Because I can; 2) The Vatican aren’t going to make me a saint, so I did it myself; and 3) I’ve done my fair share of kind deeds and charity work, i.e. I’ve mercy-fucked a lot of ugly people over the years. I’ve fucked people so butt-ugly they would never have been fucked if I hadn’t fucked them. I’ve done the nasty with some real nasty. I’ve shoved my dick into faces only a mother could love. Out of the goodness of my heart, I once took pity on a hungry homeless man who was bending over in the park to pick up a dime—I like to think I poured a little sunshine into his dismal and dreary asshole. So, in my humble opinion, I more than meet the criteria for sainthood.

And so, now suitably sainted, it’s time to take the next step. I need to become the patron saint of “something-or-other that’s gay.” I went out and bought “The Oxford Dictionary of Saints” and did some research. Who knew there were 10,000 saints? Did you know there are two patron saints of hemorrhoids? Oh yes! Doesn’t it give you a warm fuzzy feeling inside to know that faggot-ass speed bumps have two dead martyrs watching over them? So if your hems are playing you up, throw away the Preparation H, get down on your hands and knees and genuflect to St. Quirinus, a Croatian bishop who was drowned in 308 AD, or St. Fiacre, a 7th century Irish hermit who cured the sick. Then there’s St. Dorothy, the name-appropriate patron saint of florists. In fact, most occupations have a patron saint: actors, button-makers, astronauts, coffee house owners, gondoliers, dairymaids, arms dealers—they get St. Adrian, who asked his captors to cut his legs off, so he could really feel like a martyr. There are patron saints for people with gravel in their urine, for stable boys and choirboys, but I don’t see any patron saints of lesbians or gay men, unless you count St. Catherine of Alexandria, who is keeping a watchful eye over spinsters, and St. Christopher, who looks after all bachelors.

Whereas there are no patron saints of GLBTs, there are saints who were gay or lesbian: SS. Sergius and Bacchus, two Roman centurion lovers who were killed in 303 AD for being closeted Christians, SS. Protus and Hyacinth, St. Sebastien, St. Hildegonde of Neuss, St. Mary/Marinos of Alexandria, St. Joan of Arc, St. Lady Ga Ga of the Extreme Wardrobe, St. Adam Lambert of the Glam Revival, St. Elton John of the Wrinkled Birthday Suit—okay, so I made-up the last three.

As the Catholic Church is so homophobic, I propose we all canonize ourselves and choose “something-or-other that’s gay” to be a patron saint of. So, after much thought, I’ve decided I’m St. Sukie de la Croix, patron St. of the Gag Reflex. So if you’re having problems sucking down a monster dick, Take Five, light a candle on the St. Sukie de la Croix altar on your toilet cistern and I will come to you on a spiritual level and open your windpipes.

So what saint are you going to be? St. (Your Name Here), the patron saint of Exquisite Throw Pillows? St. (Your Name Here), the patron saint of 1950s Porcelain Poodles?

Contact St. Sukie de la Croix at stcroix@chicagowhispers.com or you can find him on facebook.