Dickinson seen doing unmistakably heterosexual things

Manly Rob Dickinson (note unshaved fingers).

Merck Mercuriadis
Contributing Writer,
Catherine Wheel manager

Forever dispelling all speculation in regard to his sexuality, Catherine Wheel guitarist and singer Rob Dickinson was seen in Los Angeles, California, doing several heterosexual things in the course of a single day.

I, Merck Mercuriadis, took the liberty of following Dickinson around for the day, witnessing these testosterone-heavy events. They are listed in bold. Any morons who don’t believe me will be banned from Texture.

First of all, after awakening to Lynyrd Skynyrd on the radio, Dickinson rolled out of bed and scratched his armpit hairs. Then he scratched the hairs of his other armpit. Then he picked his nose. Then he picked his teeth. Then he yawned, turning the end of the yawn into a bear’s roar.

Dickinson refused to shower or shave during his morning routine (Note that in the picture, Dickinson’s facial hair is decidedly ungay. Though he has stubble, the overall effect is too dark for the George Michael look. Yet he has no goatee or full beard á la early-90s David Geffen, either. In short, I defy you to find a gay man of any significance who has facial hair similar to Rob’s in this photograph!).

Rob sat down to breakfast (steak and eggs, of course), already wearing the very manly coat also visible in the photo (Do you see that? No self-respecting homosexual with any fashion sense would dare put that thing on!), and slobbered and belched his way through his meal. Then, after beating his chest with the back of his fist a couple times to make sure everything made it down the esophagus, he said, “I think I’ll go sit outside.”

Gay people don’t just go sit outside, you know. Not without a latte or something. But Dickinson sat there in the cold morning air, heterosexual beard on his face, exhaling big heterosexual puffs of air. Note the woman in the photograph sidling up to him, pretending she doesn’t notice him; she is obviously attracted by the manly smell of Jovan™ Musk, which Dickinson had applied heavily some minutes earlier, in lieu of a shower.

After breathing in a manly way for several minutes, Dickinson said, “I think I’ll go hunt a deer.”

Dickinson walked into his apartment and opened the living room closet door, and briefly reached for his large shotgun—but changed his mind and grabbed his VERY large shotgun instead. “This’ll blow a hole in that sumbitch,” Dickinson said (Note: The preceding sentence has never been uttered by a homosexual in the millennia of recorded history.).

Finding a deer in Los Angeles isn’t easy, but Dickinson’s steely, masculine eyes quickly zeroed in on one hiding behind a Dumpster. It was a great big deer with lots of those horn things on its head, whatever they’re called. They were all over the place, all branchy and pokey. The deer was normal looking, of the brownish, four-legged variety. It weighed 800 kg or maybe more, whatever a big deer usually weighs. Anyhow, Dickinson raised the very large shotgun to his shoulder, spat something onto the ground (Skoal, no doubt) and said, “Hasta la vista, deer.” Then he fired. He hit the deer right in the heart. There were witnesses, of course, and if anyone disputes the fact that Rob killed a deer, their IP addresses will be logged and traced.

Dickinson walked over to the deer and ripped its skin off with his bare hands. Then he ate the deer skin, I guess. Then he barbecued the deer on a big barbecue that just happened to be sitting there. Then he served all of the spectators giant deer steaks, medium rare. How was it lunchtime already, you ask? Well, it takes heterosexual men a long time to get a barbecue going, because they always burn their fingers and they don’t ask for help.

While eating, Dickinson brought out his Pioneer (very manly brand!) boom box and played a cassette tape of George Thorogood and the Destroyers’ “Bad to the Bone.” [Note to ICBINF editors: Please be sure not to shorten the name to “George Thorogood.” Please also include “the Destroyers.” It’s kind of important. Thank you.] When his neighbor leaned out her window and complained about the noise, Dickinson flipped her off while baring his teeth. Trés heterosexual.

After lunch, it was time to watch TV. Dickinson turned it to his favorite network, Bravo [Editors: Sorry, I typed the wrong network, but my backspace key isn’t working. Please erase. Thanks again!] his favorite network, ESPN, and watched several quarters of a Vancouver Blue Jays game.

Dickinson’s favorite NYC bar
(photo courtesy of Merck Mercuriadis).

Rob loves baseball, especially when they show the tight [Erase, editors! Damned backspace!] when they show the fights at the pitcher’s mound. Today he turned the sound off and pretended he was doing the play-by-play. He also yelled at the umpires. He was belligerent but not at all bitchy. I hope the distinction does not escape you.

After baseball, Dickinson watched other manly shows such as Andy Griffith, then Perry Mason. Finally, he changed the channel to MTV in order to catch the end of the REM video marathon [Fuck! Erase, please!] the end of the “Spring Break at the Beach” rerun. Rob loves the bikini contests because he gets to see women with large portions of their anatomies exposed. Heterosexual men enjoy that kind of thing, it seems.

Finally, it was time to have dinner and drinks at the local bar, the Manhole [Erase!] the New York City Men’s Bar and Grill. There are many oil paintings of naked women and dead deer on the walls inside the bar. As Dickinson ogled the pretty male [ALERT: Another mistake! Please add “fe” if you value your life!] bartenders, a waitress recognized him and had the cooks prepare his favorite dish: a large pile of meat on a paper plate, with a knife stuck in it that looked like a saw.

Dickinson ate the meat, belched, took a mug of Heinek[ERASE!] Coors in hand, and climbed up onto the stage, where a black guitar with yellow lightning bolts on it somehow materialized in his hands. As you might have guessed, Rob and his backing band played George Thorogood and the Destroyers songs all night long, between belches and beer swigs. Gay people looked in the windows and shook their heads. “Too heterosexual for us,” they seemed to say…

At the end of the night, Dickinson went home with a girl under each arm. I didn’t dare follow. Besides, my work was done, and there were some guys outside that I had to catch up with.

THE END.

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