The game show of life

A bicyclist approached me as I was jogging. "Good morning," I greeted him. He blankly looked me in the eye and then looked away as he rode off.

"John, here are your choices in the Game of Life!"
Behind door number one:
What an idiot. I try to be nice--what does it get me? Probably thinks I'm queer, tryin' to hit up on him. Idiot. He's the one who looks queer, wearing that gay bicyclist outfit. Idiot. Only two per cent of guys are queer, and he thinks I'm one of them? Idiot.

And behind door number two:
If it wasn't for all the idiot faggots around, guys could be friendly without being so stinkin' suspicious of everyone being a pervert. I wish all those fags would just hurry up and get AIDS and die.

Finally, behind door number three:
Oh, well, maybe he's having a bad morning. I suppose there have been times when I wasn't as friendly as I should have been.

I chose number three, and guess what--That was the winning door! But I have to confess that I considered number one for a couple of seconds.