No not really, Stevie was 117% hetrosexual, even though you'd imagine he worked in a theatrical costume department, plus his name WAS Steve. The gay name.Stevie had a problem aside from his non-homosexual-homosexuality. He was on the waiting list for a delicate operation and was meeting with his consultant Doctor Apathetic - who was hoping, but wasn't massively bothered, to cure him of his unfortunate affliction. It was a terrible story.
Stevie, as a baby and just taking on solids, began to convulse and produce his first digested matter via his mouth. His insides were all wrong. He shat from his mouth. Everytime he opened his mouth, a smooth jersey-potato-sized turd would pop out! But he didn't let his unexpected face shitting get to him; over the years he found that some women, when faced with such vulnerability, gave him more of their time. Yes, it was the sympathy vote Stevie got, a cheap trick but one that had led to the contraction of over 15 sexually transmitted diseases. He wore his weather beaten cock with non-gay pride; his confidence betraying it's stump like-length but extreme girth, that gave his member the appearance of an undercooked american pancake. When he confessed his unique genital foible, usually in tears, sometimes in the bookies, women sensed a vulnerability so powerful they started lactating full fat cream. When paired with the disclosure of his aural digestive foible, women had been known to start contracting and produce a Kinder Surprise containing the rare crocodile-on-a-skateboard figurine. SURPRISE! That's right, Stevie Shitcad was a serious - yet really obviously bad - player. "You can't have your cake, and eat it!" was an all too familiar phrase to Stevie, who wished people would stop buying him cake and not letting him eat it.
Stevie died a fortnight later in the gruesome manner you'd expect, he had become too full of shit.
And the moral of the story? See Doctor Immediately. He's more prompt with medical action.
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