"Billions of blue blistering barnacles, isn't it staring us in the face? Sometimes a thing's so obvious it's hard to see where the debate could start. What debate can there be when the evidence is so overwhelmingly one-way? A callow, androgynous blonde-quiffed youth in funny trousers and a scarf moving into the country mansion of his best friend, a middle-aged sailor? A sweet-faced lad devoted to a fluffy white toy terrier, whose other closest pals are an inseparable couple of detectives in bowler hats, and whose only serious female friend is an opera diva... . . . And you're telling me Tintin isn't gay?"
Tintin is one of those unfortunate characters which probably stems from the mind of a well ordered, well meaning, right minded, good natured and imaginative person. OR it could be the result of a restrained but sick paedophile living only on chips, mayonnaise, chocolate and mucky books about slim boys with neat hair, good clothes and no girlfriend.