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Archive for June, 2012|Monthly archive page


In feet on June 1, 2012 at 8:15pm06

1. If you could style yourself what would you choose as the accoutrements?

A pair of Dockers pulled as high up as they can possibly go, a Ralph Lauren Polo firmly tucked into the Dockers, an Eddie Bauer belt cinching it all to within an inch of its life and a Verizon cellphone holster, belt clip.

2. Who is the most interesting person you’ve ever been worn by?

The senator who while waiting for his wife to pick up a pair of support hose spotted me dwarfed between Mutt and Jeff. You don’t know how happy I was to be rid of those two.


3. And you actually fit the senator’s foot?

Like a glove. That’s how I knew it was meant to be. Apparently, I reminded him of his days at Berkeley where he shuffled between various protests, sit-ins and marches in his Chinese, knot-craft sandals.

4. Is there a proud moment of the senator’s that stands out?

The day he decided to rage against the machine and pair me with Brooks Brothers. There he stood on the congressional floor, the talk of cloture looming, prepared once again to try to find a way to pass a much needed jobs bill. As he looked out at the bicameral mess he realized the efforts would be futile. And so he tried a different approach, pure honesty “Let’s all agree that we’re all self-serving, narcissistic twits and not one of us, save for maybe Barney Frank and Joe, really gives two hoots about what happens to this country and our constituents because if we did the first order of business would be making sure they could sleep easier at night instead of intentionally ratcheting up their fear levels just in time for them to go out into the world and hate everyone and everything while watching their pensions shit the bed!” 2 seconds later, “I apologize, everyone. *clears throat* I should’ve enlisted some self-control there but, to be honest, my wife’s been withholding for about 3 months now and so I’m a little frustrated to say the least.” Crickets meaning silence. In an attempt to lighten the mood, “At least it’s my wife and not a mistress and or a man of negotiable affections?” You’ve never seen more eyes nervously avert. “Oh, okay… I see how it is. Don’t kid yourselves into thinking these good-looking people you’ve either coerced or paid enjoy having your bumbling, sagging, drooling, pathetic, pandering, super pac forming, pork barrel loving bodies bobbing around on top of them!” At this point mouths were agape to say the least. And so, with a swift clearing of the throat, “It’s probably best I resign now.” He stepped away from the mic but a casual glance down to me propelled his return, “I meant everything except for the apology. And for the record, we are human beings! We have needs! And an infallible person is one who should never be trusted. We fall short and sometimes we might even make a mistake! The moment we accept that simple fact and cut ourselves a little slack the better we’ll be for the people who have chosen us to lead! Now I’m done.”

In newsrooms across the country – national, local and, oh man, cable – staffs were flying around, tripping over each other, trying to get this one on the air but quick. And if you don’t believe me, MSNBC put their best pun experts on the case, “I’m awesome and I went to Harvard. Now, what rhymes with negotiable affections?” In the meantime, over at C-Span they simply reported the story while once again proving to the world you shouldn’t look to them to liven up a party.

5. I’m curious. What happened over at Fox News?

They didn’t really give the story much attention as they were busy giving credence to (or wholly creating) the rumor of the president’s plan to implant itty-bitty, nitrogen bombs inside the brains of all News Corp. employees and every fox south of the Mason-Dixon. Priorities. We all have them.

6. What happened to the senator post outburst?

Great things, my friend. Great, great things. I broke the leisure time chains and started to be worn ’round the clock, giving credence to the saying, “Any time is leisure time.”

7.Was that an actual saying before?

Who cares?! The point is, the little lady lifted the withholding moratorium, doubled their Garlique intake and things began to go down morning, noon and night. And guess who was invited to every party?

8. Interesting visual. Anyway, were they able to maintain this stamina?

Well, as it happens, just yesterday while sitting in the garden reading and icing herself, the senator’s wife realized how grateful she was for the respite. The epiphany was interrupted by the intro to that song. The evil song that could only mean one thing.

9.  What’s the so–

I’ll get to that. Take a breath. Anyhow, moments later, the senator appeared in me and a pair of silk boxers. As per usual, he sensually danced over to the little lady and just as he was about to relieve himself of the boxers, she leapt to her feet and erupted, “I can’t, Richard! I’m sorry! I know my complaints of your neglect are what brought us here but at a certain point we have to take a break. I chafed, Richard. I haven’t chafed in 45 years.” My guy dropped his head, humiliated. Man, she felt awful, “Do you hate me now?” The senator looked to her and then — this is why I love him so – he smiled. Without saying a word, he took her hand, kissed it, lead her back down to the chaise, handed the book back to her, propped her feet up on his lap and began to massage them as she returned to reading. When you people get it right, a partnership can be a beautiful thing. Now, here’s the song. Happy?


In top on June 1, 2012 at 8:15pm06

*By request, we were only allowed one question.

1. If you had one wish what would it be?

For all to understand the importance of “Strange Fruit.”

Southern trees bear strange fruit,
Blood on the leaves and blood at the root,
Black bodies swinging in the southern breeze,
Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees.

Pastoral scene of the gallant south,
The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth,
Scent of magnolias, sweet and fresh,
Then the sudden smell of burning flesh.

Here is the fruit for the crows to pluck,
For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck,
For the sun to rot, for the trees to drop,
Here is a strange and bitter crop.

                                                                          — Abel Meeropol