Ramble on…

— Publius

So why didn’t I vote? Hell everybody knows that the election’s already decided by the time California votes.

A man enters the bathroom, he shudders, for he has just realized the incredible challenge that now confronts him. He and his girlfriend are dinner guests of their lesbian hosts. Part of which means, of course, that he was the only man there.

“If I piss on the lid, they’ll know. I’m the only man here, I’ll be the only man here this week. And I can’t just wipe it up, because these are the kinds of lesbians that hate men. I mean most woman hate men and their peculiar habits, but there are some gay women that just hate men (and for good reason). They will know, they can hone in on that kind of shit.”

It took eight minutes for him to pee.

Speaking of lesbians. Before we became a columnist, we worked as a towelboy at that lesbian disco bar on Lombard & 40th. The one that has 50 giant TV screens blaring episodes of COPS and Rescue 911 over the dance floor . . . . Remember: coffee + after 9 o’clock = fucking . . . .

Did you hear that Bill Gates paid $7.3 million dollars for Norman Rockwell’s “A First Fisting” at a recent auction ?

I’m just waiting for the perfect girl to walk through the door and say to me, “Come, let’s go . . . I want to be with you forever,” so I can say, “Fuck off bitch.”

Cab Callaway died just recently. Let’s see, that’s him and Gilda Radner, and Miles Davis, and Dizzy Gillespie, and Stevie Ray Vaughn, and Jim Henson, and Thurgood Marshall, and and and…. And George Burns and Strom Thurmond live. Now tell me there’s a god.

Thought for the day: “What if there were no hypothetical situations.”

Everyone’s seen at least one of the rich phallocopia of penile enlargements. With promises of their technique’s superlative results, each preys on those struck by fears of inadequacy. Like so many modern day Ponce de Leons, small often balding men line up in droves to make themselves big. Perhaps this is why appendage augmentation is the fastest growing sector of the economy.

These ads started out buried at the ends of money starved white trash porn mags, so I’m told. Not before long they spread to the pages of every newspaper in the country. Oddly enough, their progression paralleled the explosive growth of the popularity of the ESPN network.

I bet ten years from now they’ll be a penis enlargement clinic in every mall. Starter(tm)-clad suburban mall rats will be so incredibly hung as to suggest elephantiasis.

Mark my word, by 2004, those human fat farms, people by the cohorts of Richard Simmons’ stormkommanden, that supply implant materials for these genital enhancing operations will have become so influential in our society that picking up the tab for their government subsidies will soak up 8% of our federal tax dollars.

Yet there will be only minor demand for labia enlargement.

(Editors note: The editors of this article made it longer than the one that was originally submitted.)