Sex in the Sub-City
Last month, if you recall, I
tried my hand at poetry. A few of your wrote to tell me
that you were not impressed with my poetic abilities, that
I wouldn't know a good rhyme if I was beaten with a pick and
a stick, and that the subject matter was in poor taste. I
can accept this. However, what I can't accept are those of
you who tried to undermine the poem's credibility by stating
that there is no evidence to support that Osama Bin Laden
is gay. For you disbelievers, I'll happily show you the tape
of the three-way between me, Osama and Mullah Omar, shot by
John "Gawker" Lindh.
Shot of the Month
Most of you, however, liked the poem, or at least pretended
to, and for this I am grateful. So this month, to continue
in this experimental and "anything goes" vein,
I'm going to try and tell a joke. The operative word here,
of course, is "try." For example, here is one
of my previous attempts at this subtle and delicate art:
*Emilio Estevez: How do you tell how old a German man is?
*Janet Reno: I don't know. How?
Emilio Estevez: Count the number of herrs on his head!
Janet Reno: (hysterical laughter)
Emilio Estevez: You like that? Huh babe?
Janet Reno: (nodding through her laughter)
Emilio Estevez: Well Emilio's just getting warmed up!
Janet Reno: Give it to me, stud.
Emilio Estevez: How do you tell how old a German woman is?
Janet Reno: Uh, let me think. I don't know. I give up. How?
Emilio Estevez: Count the number of fraulines on her face!
Janet Reno: (more laughter) Very clever Emilio. Now take
off your pants.
*Obviously the names are not important. Anyone will do.
Keep this in mind when writing your own jokes.
So you see, you've got no guarantees here. But I will do
my best. Of course, this might not be good enough for some
of you. Some of you I'm sure are already moving on to another
portion of this site, or are checking your e-mail, or are
checking out the newest pics on chickswithdicks.com. However,
I'm confident that most of you are still here. And it's
for you people that I wrote the thing in the first place,
so enjoy. And don't worry - it'll only take a few minutes
to read, after which time the chicks with dicks will still
be there. They're not going anywhere. Like all things we've
come to rely on - the porch light being on when we come
home at night; a mother's love; a thick coat keeping out
the winter chill - those dicks are staying right with those
chicks. And thank God for that.
His name was Wayne Bryant, and his favorite movie was Citizen
Kane. He'd seen the film hundreds of times, and was so impressed
and awed by it, so taken with the trajectory of the central
character's great success, that he based his life on it.
Unfortunately, while Wayne was fiercely intelligent and
amazingly ambitious, he had no head for business, and no
desire to go into publishing. So instead, he chose a similar
but different path: he became a lawyer.
Wayne was a shrewd and skilled attorney, and eventually
became a partner at a leading law firm. But over time, much
like Kane himself, Wayne's ambition proved too great for
his surroundings. So he set about working his way up the
legal ladder, and eventually obtained a position which he
thought better suited himself: he became a judge.
Once again, Wayne approached his job with great zeal, and
his command of the courtroom, coupled with his strong and
demanding sentencing, did not go unnoticed. In time he became
a State Superior Court Justice, and eventually a State Supreme
Helping him along the way were a slew of politicians, everyone
from freeholders and assemblymen to representatives and
senators to the governor himself. All of them loved Wayne,
and not so much because he was good at his job (which he
was), or that he was an eloquent speaker (which he was),
or that he was attractive and personable (which he was neither);
they loved him because he was a fellow Republican and a
staunch conservative, pro-life, pro-guns, pro-death penalty,
pro-business, and every decision he made was governed by
And these beliefs were so conservative, and so well-executed,
that when Judge William Rehnquist of the Supreme Court died,
Wayne became the president's number one choice to replace
him. After a tough fight, with much bickering on both sides
of the House and Senate, Wayne's nomination was accepted.
He was now at the top of his profession, at the top of his
game, and he couldn't have been happier.
With me so far? Good. Now here's the clincher: Somehow,
faulty evidence was discovered in the Roe versus Wade trial,
and it was re-opened. With Wayne on board, which meant five
known conservatives on the court, the pro-lifers were already
Cut to the actual case, which went on and on, and all of
the pressure, all the media coverage, the cameras, the reporters,
started getting to Wayne. In fact, he became ill. So ill
that he ended up in the hospital. The trial was of such
magnitude that it couldn't be postponed, all of America
waiting for the outcome, so Wayne was allowed to weigh in
on the events via satellite from his hospital bed. Unfortunately
for him, he wasn't getting any better, and as the trial
continued, he was near death.
On the last day of the trial, all the Justices were asked
their opinions, and, as expected, it was a 4-4 split. Wayne's
vote was the tiebreaker. With the entire nation glued to
their T.V. sets, the cameras rolling, he was asked to state
his decision. Wayne was so weak that he could barely speak,
and was instructed to just say a name, the name of either
side he wanted to win, Roe or Wade. And so, with his last
breath, Wayne said...
Wait, I totally forgot something. This is important. See,
at some point in the story, Wayne met this young woman,
this tawdry, down-and-out woman, who he seduced and married.
The woman was an aspiring something-or-other: painter, actress,
karaoke singer, and he financed her work, went to great
lengths to make a star out of her, even though she had no
talent to speak of. The night of her big opening or recital
or whatever was a disaster and she was publicly humiliated.
So was Wayne. They retired to a big, big house, which they
filled with tons of expensive junk and lived in virtual
isolation from the rest of the world. Do you see where I'm
going with this?
But back to the story. Everyone was waiting for Wayne's
important decision, and the dying man sat up in his bed,
took one last deep breath, and uttered the name: "Roe."
Then he died. Conservatives everywhere pulled out their
hair and screamed. Liberals and those who favored a woman's
right to choose cried out in victory. Wayne had inadvertently
become their hero.
So what happened? Why the sudden change of heart? Or was
it really a change of heart? Do you get it? It's good, right?
What? You don't get it? Think about it. Funny, huh? What
do you mean you still don't get it? You're simply not trying.
Got it now? No? Fine. Maybe you never saw the movie. Maybe
you just don't care. Whatever the case, what happened was
this: Wayne, while desperately wanting to kill Roe versus
Wade, to end abortion rights for women forever, wanted even
more to go out like his greatest idol, his hero, Kane. He
had been trying to say "Rosebud," but died before
he could finish the whole thing.
Thanks, thanks a lot. I'll be here all night.
E-mail: [email protected]