At Chicago’s gay pride parade Sunday afternoon, I saw an outlandish collection of freaks and degenerates, out and proud for something inherently shameful. I’m talking about the protestors.

Near the end of the parade’s route on the corner of Pine Grove and Diversey, wooden riot-control barricades and a few disinterested-looking cops surrounded about 20 or 30 fundamentalist Christians. They yelled at the parade’s participants, often from a loudspeaker at the top of a rickety folding ladder. “You’re not really happy,” a frowning young man told a float of pink underwear-clad men who, from the passion of their dancing, were having a much better time than the demonstrators.

Cardboard signs proclaimed the evil of homosexuality, and left no uncertainty about what happens to those who choose to be gay: They have a really fun parade.

Actually the signs warned of eternal damnation, a topic that mattered a lot to the protesters. “Hell is real, people,” one of them helpfully explained from the ladder.

“Burn in hell,” shot back someone from a radio station’s float. The two sides had begun a dialogue. This was good.

Most of the floats seemed innocuous and would have easily fit in any parade: Bands, local politicians, and businesses ranging from neighborhood shops to major banks. I asked one of the more docile-looking protestors if he did business with National City, which sent a kelly green car as part of the procession. “I cancelled my account with them,” he said. Apparently his 2.00% interest rate was an abomination.

The rest of the floats were more pride-specific. There was approval of the California Supreme Court, who recently overturned a ban on gay marriage, and the crowd seemed to universally support pending Illinois legislation to legalize gay civil unions. Some raised awareness of HIV or breast cancer. The WGN float even featured an appearance by Bozo the Clown, recently returned from a trip to Los Angeles to marry his long-time partner, Ronald McDonald.

The protestors taunted and jeered throughout the day, but their message fell on deaf ears. I don’t know the actual numbers, but if I had a dollar for every gay person the protestors turned straight, I probably wouldn’t have any money in my National City checking account.

After the floats reached the parade’s endpoint, many participants walked back up Diversey. A mother from a float of supportive parents lingered in front of the protestors’ zone, where they told her about how mad all this was making the Lord.

But she stood her ground, and held her homemade sign so they could read it. They saw her message in large, thick letters:

“God blessed me with a gay son.”

Scott is a third-year law student. His sexual orientation is nobody’s business but his and his girlfriend’s.