That's what he told himself anyway, as he pressed his body against the bars and tried to pretend like he didn't care about the dangerous cell mate.
He worried about "presenting" in such a manner. He'd logged a lot of hours with The Discovery Channel and he knew all about the mating habits of animals. Sometimes he got a little excited. Especially when he saw the special on how male sea horses get pregnant. So he did worry about whether his ass facing his cell mate would be seen as "presenting"?
But on Animal Planet, he'd heard that you weren't supposed to look another animal in the eye. So it was "present" or look in the eye.
He chose to present.
Criminal trespass! Criminal trespass! Busted for it!
Didn't they know who they were dealing with?
He'd expected both of the cops to blanch and shiver when he whined, "I am AlterPunky, hear me snivel!" But he'd been put in handcuffs! Booked! Finger printed! Mug shotted! Him! Lord Altherman.
It was so unfair.
He was a Private Party Resister! That's what he was!
A political prisoner. Just like Mumia . . . Wait, he didn't like that association. Just like Andy Gibb! After he broke up with Victoria Principal and eventually landed in rehab. He wished he could wear those open to the navel shirts like Andy but, not being a Gibb brother, he had to face the fact that an AlterPunky chest was a sunken, ghostly white, hairless chest. So he kept it buttoned up. Heck, sometimes he felt like rebelling. On those days, he'd unbutton the top button.
Political prisoner, that's what he was. Amnesty better be working on their strong statement, that's for darnny-dang sure.
A Private Party Resister. He didn't believe in private parties.
Well, he didn't believe in Private Parties that didn't invite him. All parties should be open to him, and other West Side elitist liberals like him, because he was as chatting and lively as any braless guest number three on the late night shows. He had no problem excluding people from his parties, but he was not to be excluded.
He was feeling very Alex in Fatal Attraction and began semi-pacing and whispering, "I will not be ignored." Whispering it over and over to himself. He wished there was a bunny he could boil right about now. Maybe not a bunny.
But he'd boil that mean old Joe Klein in a minute!
Joe Klein had probably heard about this, was probably laughing it up. In fact, he bet all of his enemies were laughing it up right now. He started to count them but there were far too many to remember. Basically, he looked down on everyone who wasn't him.
"As soon as I get out," he told himself -- trying to block out visions of getting shanked, "I'll leave a wimpy note at CNN. I know I have several outlets but I'm like manure and I like to spread it around."
He'd fight this. He'd fight it all the way to Supreme Court and they'd take the case too because this was about AlterPunk and he was the world and the world was him.
He just wished that mean looking man wasn't in the same cell with him.
The guard was walking up.
Could it be . . .
Yes! He was unlocking the door.
"Free at last, great God almighty," Alterpunky exclaimed, "free at last."
"We're not releasing you, we're just moving you."
Oh?
"Yeah, we've got you in here with that 11-year-old. We can't mix children and adults. We thought, for some reason, you were only eight years old. Must have been the strip search."
"A lot of boys develop late," AlterPunky whimpered.
As he walked down to his new cell, AlterPunky repeated his new mantra, "I am the new Lindsay Lohan, I am."
[Also see Cedric and Wally's "AlterPunk Busted!""THIS JUST IN! THE PRIVATE PARTY RESISTER!".]
