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Citizen Wayne
Sex in the Sub-City

Cheap Shot of the Month
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.

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 Court Justice.

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 these beliefs.

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 celebrating.

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.


--Russ Josephs

E-mail: [email protected]

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[email protected] | October 2002 | Issue 31
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