What We Can All Learn from Oscar Wilde’s Poor Choice in Men.

PRE-POST NOTE FROM KAB: This post is brought to you by my dear friend EJD, who is not only a hilarious dude, but he is a FUCKING hilarious dude. When the sexy ladies of For Shame! dreamed big with our Dude Week, I immediately thought of EJD (and not just because he’s big, if you know what I mean). We had some technical difficulties with EJD posting on his own, so I am posting for him! But you should know this post is 169% EJD fresh. EAT IT UP!!!

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Alright, For Shame! readers, KAB has asked me to step in and give writing a try, even though it is something I have never really done nor am I trained to do. My true gift is science and mathematics, so if I can somehow work that in (such as a scale of doucheyness) then I have done more to invalidate my engineering degree than ever before.

In my research I wanted something kinky, something naughty, something FILLED with buttsex (to the brim!). Tragically, when I Googled “historical dudes who banged the shit out of other historical dudes”, nothing came up except for Top Gun quotes (“you’ll be flying a cargo plane full of rubber dog shit out of Hong Kong!”). Also let’s take a moment to appreciate Tom Cruise’s cute little buttin that movie.

First image that comes up when you Google “historical dudes who banged the shit out of other historical dudes”. Not joking.

Needless to say, I want nothing more than for my article to come up on Google search when someone chooses to Google “historical dudes who banged the shit out of other historical dudes”.

At this point I began to think about you, For Shame! readers. Who are you? What kind of people are you? Oh you’re readers. You must read things. So I began to think of authors. Hemingway? Cliché. Thoreau? Thor-NO (Also: Thor-YES). “Who is a gay old dead historical author?” I Wikied.

Oscar Wilde.

I just want to preemptively mention that I:

  1. am a male
  2. am a gay male
  3. have never read/seen anything by Oscar Wilde
  4. Beyoncé (readers, please note, every letter in her name is clickable. #obsession)

Who better to write about than someone I know NOTHING about?! BRILLIANT! But I took it a step further and decided to write about someone YOU may know nothing about: his lover.

ALFRED BRUCE. Coincidence? Probably.

Lord Alfred Bruce Douglas, codename nickname Bosie, was born in the fall of 1870 to John Douglas, the 9th Marquess of Queensberry (What a girly title. More like, Marquess of QUEENSberry, RIGHT? Wait. Did Scottish peerage just make a gay joke?). He was nicknamed Bosie by his friends, who described him as “spoiled, reckless, insolent, and extravagant”. (Doucheyness Level: 5, we’ll give him the benefit of the doubt for now.) In turn, Kelis wrote this song about him.

Alfred Bruce DOUGLAS met Oscar Wilde at the young and ripe age of 21 when he bumped into him as an undergraduate at Oxford. Wilde, a fully established author who was RICH (keep this in mind) befriended Alfie Dougie, the handsome, young, muscley POOR (connection established). Wilde became infatuated with Douglas who was flamboyant and reckless; basically everything Wilde wanted to be but just couldn’t (overbearing parents. We’ve all got them. Even old dead gay poets. Parental Doucheyness Level: 10.)

The queen of overbearing stepparenting

Douglas casually introduced Wilde to homosexuality. Okay not causally, he literally DRAGGED Wilde into the Victorian underground SEX DUNGEONS of gay prostitution. (Okay I Googled “Victorian Gay Sex Dungeons” and singer-songwriter Brandy came up. I’m really losing faith in Google at this point. Google Doucheyness: Yes.) This was a win-win for Douglas because he had a new rich consistent slampiece who could buy him alllllll the gay buttsex he could ever ask for. (Doucheyness Level: 7, ya little golddigger.) Meanwhile, Wilde “meet the boy, offer him gifts, dine him privately and then take him to a hotel room.” What a respectable way to bang the shit out of a prostitute. Snaps to you, Wilde, you hopeless romantic.

Oscar on the left, Alfred on the right. LOOK HOW CUTE.

But here’s where it starts to get ugly. Bosie just wanted to spend his (well, Wilde’s) money on men and gambling and Wilde wanted to boss Bosie around but Bosie just wanted to be Wilde and young and free and refused to be bossed around by Wilde who was bossing Bosie for being Wilde CAN I GET AN AMEN? The two frequently broke up and got back together, like a normal college romance, except Wilde is WAYYY old at this point. So slutty student-eager teacher kinda porno.

For some reason, Douglas was the editor for The Spirit Lamp, the Oxford magazine, and Wilde asked Douglas to translate his play Salome into English. Douglas was fairly uneducated, a.k.a. he had shitty French. So basically Wilde was just fucking him for his looks. He was like a Segway – fun to ride, but you wouldn’t want to be caught with one by your rich and well educated peers (I’m looking at you, Raven Symone. That is so NOT raven). Anyway, Douglas went along and poorly translated “One should only look in mirrors” to “One must NEVER look in mirrors” (FRENCH CONJUGATION IS HARD, non?). When questioned, Douglas said Wilde’s play was at fault, not him (Doucheyness Level: 10). This pissed Wilde off SO much that he broke up with him, then proceeded to exchange angry messages VIA HIS PUBLISHER AND ILLUSTRATOR. Typical “Could you tell Douglas that he sucks like a Hoover?” “Well you tell Oscar that he smells like my codpiece!” (Can we bring codpieces back into fashion? Like seriously, they’re great. They scream LOOK AT MY PACKAGE LOOK AT MY PACKAGE LADIEEEESSSSSS or in Oscar’s case DUUUUDEEESSS.) This became so extreme that the illustrator went on the record saying:

“For one week the numbers of telegraph and messenger boys who came to the door was simply scandalous.”

SIMPLY SCANDALOUS! My word. I’ve picked the perfect topic.

Then once, Douglas got sick with the flu, and Wilde nursed him back to health. When Wilde got sick, Douglas didn’t show up. (Doucheyness Level: 16). He instead moved to a hotel and, on Wilde’s 40th birthday, sent him the bill. (Doucheyness Level: 100). He also gave his clothes to the prostitutes he was fucking but forgot to take the sexy letters (Victorian sexting) Wilde had written him out of his pockets! (Doucheyness Level: You are a douche.)

Meanwhile, in Scotland, Daddy Queensberry (remember him?) was getting fed up with his gay son’s doucheyness, so he embarked on a campaign to publicly persecute Oscar Wilde. He even tried (unsuccessfully) to throw rotten veggies at Wilde during the premiere of The Importance of Being Earnest. Desperate to show him how mad he was, he left a little calling card that read “For Oscar Wilde, Posing as Sodomite”.

Look at her penismanship! It’s pretty poor, actually…

STUPIDLY, Wilde decided it was a good idea to take Daddy Queensberry to trial for libel, which was stupid because Oscar Wilde was ludicrously guilty of sodomy (which at the time was criminally criminal, which makes me feel sad for gay Victorians. A moment of silence.). Queensberry submitted like a BILLION sexy letters as evidence and found a bunch of prostitutes that Wilde had put his Victorian dong into who were willing to testify. Wilde admitted defeat and dropped the trial.

Going ahead to the following morning, Wilde was arrested for sodomy. WAY TO GO, OSCAR.

I bet you Oscar would have owned this.

Douglas had written a poem 3 years before in 1892 called Two Loves which has a famous line identifying homosexuality that reads “the love that dare not speak its name.” Wilde apparently gave a counterproductive explanation of the poem on the witness stand that was apparently SO confusing that the trial resulted in a hung jury (Lolololol HUNG LIKE A PENIS).

Tragically, the prosecutor reopened the case, and Wilde was found guilty and forced into 2 years hard labor in May of 1895. Douglas was exiled.

In 1897, the two reportedly reunited in Rouen, Normandy, but only remained together for a few months. Wilde died in 1900 and Douglas decided he was done fuckin’ dudes and wanted to fuck bitches, so he married some heiress named Olive Eleanor Custance and popped out a baby in 1902. This child apparently went crazy, was diagnosed with schizo-affective disorder, and died alone in a mental hospital. Karma’s a bitch, Bosie.

Douglas then proceeded to shit all over Wilde and condemned homosexuality. He was a witness for quite a few libel trials, one of which condemned Wilde’s old publisher as being part of “a homosexual conspiracy to undermine the war effort.” Of course? He also referred to this ugly ass lady as “bound with lesbian fillets.” …What does that even mean? Then he called Wilde “the greatest force for evil that has ever appeared in Europe during the last 350 years” and called Salome “a most pernicious and abominable piece of work.” (Doucheyness Level: ÜberDouche)

Somehow in 1923, Douglas got accused of libeling Winston Churchill, of all people, and was sentenced to 6 months in prison. At this time, he softened up and wrote a book called Oscar Wilde: A Summing Up. He said “sometimes a sin is also a crime (for example, a murder or theft) but this is not the case with homosexuality, any more than with adultery”. Douglas from this point on basically just got kinda old and died in 1945.

So I guess the moral of this story is that if you’re old, rich, and gay, DON’T fuck a crazy hot sexy college boy NO MATTER HOW MUCH YOU WANT TO. He will spend all of your money and publically call you a queer and get away with it.

And one last time for good measure, historical dudes who banged the shit out of other historical dudes. See you next time, Google.

EJD



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