Sunday I'm Open Thread
By: Jerry, Section: Me So Horny
Kudos and Cooties, Kids!
When I'm not busy drinking the Piss flavored Kool-Aid for Dear Leader, I like to involve myself in many charitable organizations.
Sadly, few organizations appreciate a woman of my immense talents so I've had to start my own organizations.
Chief among them is Cocks Not Bombs. In this one, I argue that instead of dropping bombs on other countries, we should drop cocks on my bedroom. Specifically, cons. Ex-cons in a pinch, but convicts are fine and dandy.
When I learned that 1 out of every 75 men was incarcerated, I knew both that something had to be done immediately and also why I hadn't had a single date in the last two decades.
At the beginning of Cocks Not Bombs, I learned that first visits to prison were easy. Though they seemed confused by the name of my organization. I'd have to explain that it was "Cocks Not Bombs" and not "Cops Not Bombs." I'd go entertain the prison, walk around the yard and, you know, size the fellas up.
But, for some strange reason, second visits were a problem.
I began to realize that this was yet another example of how prisons interfere with the worship practices of the incarcerated.
And that really bothered me.
I decided I'd make a really big stink and turn it into the big issue for 2009; however, I made that decision while taking Cocks Not Bombs to Corcoran State Prison.
And moments after I made the decision, all bets were off as I exchanged looks with my soul mate.
It was like a moment out of Plato's Ladder of Love or a Shakesperian sonnet or, more to the point, a Lifetime movie. I felt just like Julie Warner in Uncaged Heart. Or Edwina on One Life To Live when she fell in love with Marco. Or Mario! Or Marco. Which one was the doctor and which one was the con? Twins are so confusing.
But it wasn't at all confusing that a man was interested in me.
He couldn't take his eyes off me.
I tilted my chin back, shook my head, licked my lips, smiled, and did a heavy sigh to shake the goodies for him. He just continued to gape. Obviously he was very smitten.
Walking over to the guard, I inquired of my Dream Boat.
Charlie.
Chuck.
Charles.
Mr. Manson.
How very Tarzan! Man-son. Man's son. Me Jane, you Man's son.
I was attempting to laugh loud and hearty so as to cause my rib cage to rapidly expand (again, the goodies) when the guard informed me that I was getting the evil eye from Chuck.
Evil eye? Oh goody, me loves the Bad Boys!
What you gonna do, what you gonna do, when they come for you!
Gasp for air.
I strutted over towards Charlie to introduce myself and see if he was interested in a conjugal.
He told me he'd "killed women finer than you." I giggled politely in an effort not to come off jealous. Chuck already knows about being caged, the thought of a clingy woman would probably be a turn off.
So to avoid looking jealous, I immediately proposed marriage.
Charles was obviously a little shy. I could tell by the way he whispered, "Get away from me, you're crazier than I am!" Well, the way he hissed it.
But he's had a hard life and shyness is probably a natural outgrowth.
I quickly explained to him that I would use my law degree -- he was surprised to learn I had one -- to work on getting him out of prison, but, in the meantime, prison didn't have to be a barrier to living a happy and fulfilling life.
"After all," I told him, "Look at Susan Atkins. She's managed to marry twice while in prison. First to Donald Lee Laisure and then, she's a cougar!, to young Jimmy Whitehouse."
And at that moment, I saw Chuck smile for the first time. And I just knew. The way you know about a pair of shoes you see in a window or that the ham you accidentally threw in the trash is still edible.
