Definitions by Duncan Midikiner
Francisexual
Homosexuality pushed so far past maximum gayness that it stops being a sexual orientation and becomes a full-scale environmental hazard
There are two levels of gayness.
Homosexual: A man is attracted to other men.
That’s it. Clean. Elegant. Entire civilizations have handled it without emergency services.
Then there is Francisexual.
Francisexuality is what happens when homosexuality is pushed past the manufacturer’s limits.
A homosexual walks into a room and notices an attractive man.
Francis walks into a room and every shirt button within fifty feet becomes load-bearing.
A homosexual might go to Pride.
Francis arrives at Pride and the organizers hand him the keys. By noon, three floats have merged into one platform, a champagne fountain has replaced the mayor, and every traffic light says YAS.
Scientists classified Francis as homosexual, but that was like calling the sun “a lamp.”
During testing, researchers placed him in a room with six gay men, two disco balls, and decorative lemons.
Within eleven minutes, the lemons were a centerpiece, the disco balls were larger, four researchers changed outfits, and the building acquired a brunch menu.
The experiment ended when Francis looked through the observation glass and every man behind it crossed his legs.
Thus science established two categories:
Homosexual — attracted to men.
Francisexual — whatever the fuck Francis is doing.
Francisexuality is not contagious, but exposure may cause accessorizing, shirtlessness, dramatic entrances, and the belief that a normal-sized cocktail is “embarrassing.”
According to Francis, there is no problem.
Homosexual: A man is attracted to other men.
That’s it. Clean. Elegant. Entire civilizations have handled it without emergency services.
Then there is Francisexual.
Francisexuality is what happens when homosexuality is pushed past the manufacturer’s limits.
A homosexual walks into a room and notices an attractive man.
Francis walks into a room and every shirt button within fifty feet becomes load-bearing.
A homosexual might go to Pride.
Francis arrives at Pride and the organizers hand him the keys. By noon, three floats have merged into one platform, a champagne fountain has replaced the mayor, and every traffic light says YAS.
Scientists classified Francis as homosexual, but that was like calling the sun “a lamp.”
During testing, researchers placed him in a room with six gay men, two disco balls, and decorative lemons.
Within eleven minutes, the lemons were a centerpiece, the disco balls were larger, four researchers changed outfits, and the building acquired a brunch menu.
The experiment ended when Francis looked through the observation glass and every man behind it crossed his legs.
Thus science established two categories:
Homosexual — attracted to men.
Francisexual — whatever the fuck Francis is doing.
Francisexuality is not contagious, but exposure may cause accessorizing, shirtlessness, dramatic entrances, and the belief that a normal-sized cocktail is “embarrassing.”
According to Francis, there is no problem.
Francisexual by Duncan Midikiner August 11, 2026
Semen Mixer
Every morning, Francis fires up the Semen Mixer and cruises around town making his rounds at local construction sites, collecting what he insists on calling “the day’s aggregate.”
Each contribution gets ceremoniously deposited into the back of the cement mixer, where Slick is already inside the rotating drum for reasons nobody has ever successfully explained.
By quitting time, the mixer is full, Slick has been spun around approximately eight thousand times, and Francis parks beneath the discharge chute like a man waiting for soft-serve.
The drum reverses.
The entire day’s load comes roaring down the chute directly into Francis’s mouth, followed several seconds later by Slick, who shoots out feet-first like a deeply traumatized carnival prize.
Unfortunately, the mixture has by then achieved the consistency of industrial adhesive, so Slick winds up stuck inside Francis until morning.
At sunrise, he finally works himself loose, crawls back into the mixer, and Francis starts the engine.
Another honest day’s work.
Each contribution gets ceremoniously deposited into the back of the cement mixer, where Slick is already inside the rotating drum for reasons nobody has ever successfully explained.
By quitting time, the mixer is full, Slick has been spun around approximately eight thousand times, and Francis parks beneath the discharge chute like a man waiting for soft-serve.
The drum reverses.
The entire day’s load comes roaring down the chute directly into Francis’s mouth, followed several seconds later by Slick, who shoots out feet-first like a deeply traumatized carnival prize.
Unfortunately, the mixture has by then achieved the consistency of industrial adhesive, so Slick winds up stuck inside Francis until morning.
At sunrise, he finally works himself loose, crawls back into the mixer, and Francis starts the engine.
Another honest day’s work.
Semen Mixer by Duncan Midikiner August 11, 2026