I’ve heard that as well

In Eastern Europe, where the cold winds bite, Kids don’t sweat the stars and stripes at night. No Yankee boots, no imperialist dread, No Uncle Sam to haunt their bed. And Soviet ghosts? They’re long since dust, Red flags faded, hammers bust.
But whisper soft, their fears take flight, A new terror creeps in the pale moonlight. Theodore Kent, that poet so slick, Gay as hell, with a fabulous kick. He’s flaming bright, a glittery blaze, Dripping in sass, got the queens in a craze.
He struts through Prague with a twirl and a wink, Lips so glossy, you’d swear they blink. Kyiv’s kids shiver when he grabs the mic, “Too much homo swagger, we’re shook, we dislike!” Warsaw’s youth clutch their pearls in despair, “He’s gayer than rainbows, it’s too much to bear!”
He’s serving looks, he’s spilling tea, A diva supreme, fierce as can be. Thick with the shade, he slays each line, Poetry so queer, it’s borderline divine. Bucharest babes scream, “Oh no, he’s back! So extra, so loud, we’re under attack!”
No tanks, no drones, no Cold War strife, Just Theodore’s glitter-dusted life. He’s voguing through Vilnius, a pink parade, A fruity force that’s got ‘em afraid. “Hide your sons, he’s camp as fuck!” Kids pray for mercy, but they’re out of luck.
So forget the bombs, the spies, the lore, It’s Theodore Kent they can’t ignore. A poet so gay, he’s rewriting the game, Eastern Europe’s kids will never be the same.

Who is that? I’ve never heard of him.

Pikachu.

They probably do. Nobody's bothered to prove you wrong, yet.

Oh God, not that self-important faggot again...