Some Nazis and a Hands Free Orgasm

Some Nazis and a Hands Free Orgasm

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Nazis. Having a better come back than Tom Brady.

***

Having an opinion is like driving fast down a forked road. Some opinions go left and are welcomed with offers of fried cheese and reach arounds. While others go right and are met with a jab to the face cartilage and a visit from the Bear Jew.

“I just prolapsed your anus with a baseball bat. How do you like that, fuckface?Now pick up your lower intestine, go home, and rethink what you just said, you god damned nazi. Twilight is, and will always be, an American classic.”

Sorry. I didn’t realize you felt so strongly about it. I meant to say that movie was great. Kristen Stewart. What a fuckin’ gift…

***

Hey, Aaron! I didn’t see you come in. Welcome to the party.

Thanks for having me.

I see you’ve already got a drink.

Yes ma’am. You know, it doesn’t feel like a party unless you’re holding a red solo cup.

Oh. That’s, uh, that’s a cup of color.

A cup of color.

Yeah. You see, we don’t see different colors around here. We believe all colors are equal and, therefor, the same color. That cup is simply a cup of color.

I see. Well, if that works for you, cool. What I see is red. I’m holding a red cup. This cup, here, is a cup that is colored red.

No it’s not, it’s a cup of color! I won’t have you speaking that way around my children. What’s wrong with you?

***

What IS wrong with you, dude? You just got here and you are already antagonizing  the host. Stop opining on shit and just enjoy your drink…

***

I want to hear Aaron’s opinion. What is your opinion on women’s reproductive rights?

Oh. Well, is that really something we need to address at a party?

Of course it is. Dialogue is important, Aaron. Regale us with your words, Mr. BurpHole. What is your opinion on women’s reproductive rights? And remember, we will all judge your very existence by your answer, so think hard about what comes out of your mouth.

Thats sort of creepy. OK. My opinion is that I shouldn’t have an opinion?

Yes, but no! Wrong answer! You are a nazi!

Dang! This is a hard game.

***

Are you tired of apologizing for your opinions? That’s a bummer. Well, you better get used to it.

***

Tomorrow, I’m taking my son to church. It’s his first communion.

Well, if you guys want to pretend your taking a bite of Jesus meat and sucking on his blood like Nosferatu, knock yourself out. I hope you and mini Hannibal Lector over there find some enlightenment.

How extremely rude. I guess you want to burn in hell, you god damned pagan!

Oh. I’m sorry.

***

I will be martyred! 72 virgins just for me!

Well, what happens in year three when you’ve run through all those virgins a hundred times each and now your left with 72 angry bitches because their only choice is your punk ass. But, praise be to Lala, or whatever.

American devil! You will burn in hell! Infidel!

Oh. I’m so sorry.

***

BH: I had a pretty vivid dream last night.

TP: I like dreams. Tell me about it.

BH: Well, It’s daytime and I’m standing in a crowd. A huge crowd of people and were all smushed together like in a concert. But there’s no stage or band playing. Were just all there like sardines in a Coachella can.

TP: Ok.

BH: I look over to my right and there is this nazi looking up at the sky. And suddenly he points up and yells, “Incomzing!” I look up and see a rocket shooting through the sky. Everybody freaks out and starts running in opposite directions. Just hauling ass to my left and to my right.

TP: What do you do? Do you also run?

BH: No. I stand there right in the middle. And it’s coming right for me. As if I’m the target.

TP: Why don’t you run?

BH: I don’t know. It’s like I couldn’t give a shit. Like, fuck it, you know?

TP: Yeah, OK. And then what happens?

BH: I look at the people running, but there not people anymore. There sheep. Two giant flocks running. And there getting farther and farther away. A flock to my extreme left, and one to my extreme right.

TP: Extremists.

BH: I look up just in time to see the rocket hit me. But it’s a dream, so I see the explosion. A giant fireball. The huge mushroom cloud. Chunks of the Earth go flying. It’s very cinematic.

TP: Sounds like it.

BH: And when the dust clears, I’m standing there at the edge of this humongous crater looking at the destruction a missile can cause. I look back out to the horizon and see the two flocks of sheep still running, and I thought about how incredibly alone I was.

TP: Well, why didn’t you run after one of the groups. Join them. By a part of their flock.

BH: Well, this isn’t a nightmare, TP. I remember being very happy to be there next to the crater. Right in the middle, alone. I was so excited I glanced down to see my rock hard erection. And then, suddenly, I have a hands free orgasm.

TP: Wow!

BH: And then a naked Olivia Munn rides by on a unicorn that’s shooting a rainbow from it’s ass. And then I cried a single tear. Like that sad Indian in the pollution commercial. But a happy tear. A tear for Olivia and her unicorn.

TP: You’re a weird dude, Burphole.

BH: Weird like a fox.

TP: That’s not the saying.

BH: Whatever. I’m trying to validate your opinion.

TP: I see. OK, weird like a fox…

***

There’s a passage in Robert Pirsig’s book, “Lila: An Inquiry Into Morals” that has stuck with me for many years. The author is walking down a dirt road with the chief of an American Indian tribe. Running along beside them is a dog.

The author looks at the dog, but can’t make out what breed he is. Is the dog a pure breed? Or, perhaps, he’s a mutt. He finally asks, “What kind of dog is that?” The Indian chief looks at him quizzically. He doesn’t seem to understand the question. But after a moment of contemplation, he replies, “That is a good dog.”

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