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Our friend Eliot Glazer over at Urlesque -- Lemondrop's weird, 4chan-reading cousin -- recently stumbled upon a post over at our pals The Frisky that made him hopping mad, in which Friskyan Wendy Atterbury lamented her lack of a gay friend. Check out the post here, read Eliot's response below, and let us know what you think.

Hi!

I just read Wendy Atterbury's uh-MAAAY-zing essay at The Frisky, where she opined about -- whoops! Sorry, sister-girlfriends! Hold that thought while I wipe the glitter off my well-moisturized face. Now just let me turn down my Gaga, and ... OK, now I can think! *three snaps*

So, sister-girlfriends, I read this adorable post entitled "What Does a Girl Have to Do to Get a Gay BFF Around Here?" about how, after living in New York with her husband for almost three years, Wendy still doesn't have any gay male friends. Wendy, like many other women who think of gay men as accessories, publicly laments not having "a gay friend to watch the Oscars with next month" and "ogle the boys with over brunch in Chelsea" and "pick out fake fur coats [with] at flea markets!"

Those are all definitely things every gay man in history has done. (It's in the book we get on Sign-In Day.) If you don't believe me, I'd suggest you consult with Kathy Griffin, who knows a thing or two about "her gays" because she markets herself as a camp icon, thereby continuing the vicious cycle in which "conquering the gay market" is cleverly disguised as being "gay-friendly" by preying on stereotype.

Anyway, I've got good news and bad news. The good news is that I am a gay male and, indeed, available for new friendship!

The bad news is that this post was F**KING AWFUL.

Ugh, sorrryyyy, sister-gurrrls! Just give me a second to adjust my feather boa. Now I shall gently tip my beret forward and take a quick sip of this appletini here ... aaand I'M BACK, #fiercer and more #fabulous than ever!

Wendy claims to live in Manhattan, but I'm pretty sure she's living on Planet The Worst, where men who date other men are brandished as -- and I quote (because these are words you allowed to be published) -- "roommates, shopping partners, [and] hair stylists."

One of the best most mind-blowingly offensive parts of the piece is where Wendy points out that, upon meeting her husband, her gaggle of gay friends were "accepting," happy to see her finally land a straight guy who "gets" her and appreciates her "quirkiness." Having a gay friend doesn't make you fun and interesting any more than wearing a fake fur coat makes you Zooey Deschanel.

In Wendy's mind, gay dudes are every girl's best friend, the one who will -- in her carefully chosen words -- take you shopping, lend you his "Sex and the City" DVDs, provide "an honest opinion" on your hair, and include you in "impromptu late-night fashion shows." I just wish I could fit in your purse, y'know? Like a gay chihuahua!

Wendy is allegedly so desperate for gay friends that she will "bring brownies to my hair stylist in hopes he'll invite me to his next karaoke party," "make small talk with waiters about their accessories," and "chat up the owners of every home decor shop in my neighborhood. And still ... nothing." Isn't it crazy how this master plan still hasn't worked? Next time, she should "go niche" and bring fresh kimchi to her dry cleaner in case a gay Korean man happens to be behind the counter and -- POOF! -- Gay Korean BFF. (Point: This is no better than racism.)

In Wendy's defense, marriage probably can get pretty boring, but how would we know? Believe it or not, most of us aren't allowed to get married. Crazy, right? But that's cool with us because -- as you ladies probably know -- we're all VERY busy with interior design, voguing, handjob-giving, Cher, AIDS and (again, my favorite) "impromptu late-night fashion shows."

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm in the market for some new evening gloves. Wendy? Best of luck on your search for a brand new clutch pair of earrings gay BFF! I'll see you when I take my time machine straight to 1993, where sweeping generalizations of gay men as fey, materialistic sex machines fit in as seamlessly as "Sleepless in Seattle" and Peabo Bryson.

(Also, grown-ups don't say "BFF." Stop. It's almost as offensive as everything else in that post.)

All the best,
Eliot Glazer

P.S. Google "RuPaul" when you get a chance -- it's a MAN DRESSED UP AS A WOMAN! Believe it, sister-girlfriends! *three more snaps*

[Editor's note: You might also want to check out Gawker's response to Wendy's post, too.]

Eliot Glazer writes for Urlesque and is the genius behind the amazing blog, My Parents Were Awesome. He is the owner of the world's greatest tattoo. He does not want to be your gay friend.