Rondelet II

Utopia
In the footprints of Rex, we play
Utopia
Lucky we didn't provoke the
Felidae that day. Luck, they say,
We didn't die, and you did
Utopia

On Rape Jokes

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State of the Union

Thank you, thank you all so much. Thank you. Please. Thank you, again. Sit down, please. I beseech you. Thank you so very, very much.

Mr. Speaker, Mr. Vice President, members of Congress, distinguished guests, venerable companions, esteemed colleagues, friends of friends, enemies of enemies, our beloved families, thank you. Please. Thank you. Please, be seated. Stand up. Sit down. Amen.

Thank you all for coming here, for being so brave and striving against adversity, etc., etc. In what now seems like a distant memory, all the way back in 2001, sexy left. I don't recall the exact date, nor does anyone else, but we'll call it, for no reason, September 11, 2001. I'll never forget it (the general time, not the day), as I'm sure is true for all of you as well. In any case, we all suffered greatly then, from 9/11/2001 until roughly July 7, 2006, which is when sexy came back. Inexplicably, and to our shared delight and benefit.

Again, I'm sure you all remember the details, but for those who don't I'll offer a brief refresher. What I'm talking about is the Justin Timberlake album. Ah, I see you all nodding with recognition now, and speaking genially yet seriously with your seatmates.

[crowd murmurs respectfully, in a vaguely approving manner]

Please, hold your applause until the end. And no flash photography; it's distracting to the performers. Thank you. You're welcome. God bless you.

To return to the album that brought sexy back...it was released seven years ago, and yet I felt it necessary to address now. Its importance is undeniable, and its impact unprecedented. A year before the album's release, around July 7, 2005, (and then again, two weeks later) to compound the general unsexiness of the terrible events of around-9/11/2001, things were decidedly unsexy. To be completely honest, so much unsexiness occurred during those years that it all kind of blurred together. And yet we persist.

JT inspired us. We so greatly appreciated what he was doing. But it wasn't enough. Perhaps it was our failing. He did all that he could. Did we let him down? It's possible. For our precious youth, the future of our country, the brightest minds and purest hearts, always striving for perfection, this is a history lesson. Cherish it. Memorize it. Apply it in your schooling, because it will be on the final exam.

[rabid applause; hooting; a chair is thrown; glass shatters]

Please, thank you. I so greatly appreciate you. Thanks. Sit, please. Yes. Not a problem.

Somehow I keep losing the thread. Oh, right. Sexy. It left, came back, and then, all of a sudden, it was gone again. We didn't know when exactly it left that second time, or why, or where it went. It was just gone one day, suddenly and conspicuously absent from our lives. We all simply woke up one morning (the date which no one remembers) and slowly realized sexy had left us once more.

It was such a helpless realization, and people across the country stayed in bed for weeks and weeks. Society ground to a halt, with its crushing sexy deficit, and eventually it crumbled. Chaos reigned.

[scattered boos]

Please, shut up. I'm trying to talk to you honestly and candidly about this most recent crisis in our country's history. Thank you. Excuse me. Hello. Goodbye. Just kidding. I'm still here. Thank you, thank you so much.

Where was I? Oh yes. Roving gangs patrolled the countryside on motorcycles and other degenerate vehicles. Tanker trucks, for instance. Most eighteen-wheelers, actually. It was similar to a popular film whose name I can't remember but which will be the only reference to a post-apocalyptic world I make. It was the opposite of sexy.

Anyway, the remaining sexy few, those who held on to some semblance of sexy, who seemed to recall its elusive nature, they were sent to the camps, with the Jews and the Roma and the homosexuals and the communists and the dissidents, etc. May they all rest in peace, up in Heaven with The Big Guy and Jesus.

[loud praying and rending of garments]

Again, thank you. I do what I can. But I'm only one man fighting for sexy in a dark, unsexy world. I can't do this on my own. I need your help. All of you, from the lowliest parasite to the most valuable producer. Are you ready to bring sexy back...for good?

[momentary bewildered whispers; exponential crowd enthusiasm swell until the sound is deafening]

Alright then. Let's have a minute of silence then, for those we remember. Those we lost in the unsexiness. A literal minute. I mean it. I'm timing it. With my sexy watch. Nobody speaks! Don't shuffle around in your awful suits. Let's go...now.

[forty-five seconds pass; a man coughs and is executed on the spot; a minute passes]

Thank you...most of you. That was one minute. I even cut it short a couple of seconds, actually. No matter. Let's forge ahead. Uh...let's see. Here we go. For a time, I was the only one trying to bring sexy back. Everyone else was dead, or in hiding, or just not sexy whatsoever, with no chance of ever being sexy. But tonight I have some help. He's not dead, or hiding, or unsexy. He's here...now.

[dramatic pyrotechnics; JT descends from the ceiling; riotous applause; the ground opens up; the earth burns]

Legholes

So me and Merle were sitting around chatting, talking about horses and how they should wear clothes if they're already wearing shoes, and it got me to thinking. "Jesus Christ!" I shouted.

"What?" Merle asked.

"I'm about to blow your goddamn mind, buddy. Hold on and let me collect my thoughts."

So I set quietly for a spell, Merle eying me like he wanted to fuck me but also kinda like he was scared of me, so maybe like you might look at a mighty stallion that you're trying to have sex with or something. I thought and spat and said, "Alright. Let me break this down for you."

"I've been waiting so damn long already, Chet. I'm losing my shit over here. I almost got up and walked off while you was sitting there, staring into space like you wanted to fuck it. Get on with it, you slow bastard."

Merle's impatience angried up my blood something fierce, but I stifled my frustration momentarily and continued. I figured I'd give Merle what-for later on that night, when he least expected. He was dumb as shit anyway and had a memory like a well-fucked goldfish, so it'd be a grand surprise. "I was getting on with it, man. Sometimes these things take time. What I was about to say is, four-legged animals got four legs, right?"

"Yessir. It is right there in the name."

I nodded at Merle, impressed with his relative astuteness. "Precisely. So, if they're gonna wear clothes, what are they gonna wear?"

Merle's mouth dropped open and a giant wad of tobacco rolled out his bottom lip and splattered on the ground, a few spots dribbling on his boot. He poured a little chardonnay on the boot to rinse it off, and said, "Shame to waste this on boots, but can't do nothing about it now. Where were you, again?"

I sighed and cursed Merle for not drinking that wine, with its fresh lemon blossom taste, and that touch of butterscotch, and the transcendent finish full of orange zest and minerals. That was good shit. Still, I wasn't going to let it ruin my evening. "I was saying that since four-legged animals have four legs, we got to figure out what kind of clothes they're going to wear. Will they have pants, just for the back legs? Will they have pants for the back and front legs?"

"Do we call them pants if they're for the front and back?"

"Good question," I replied. "Are you thinking about more of a onesie-type garment, or a two-piece setup, which we then might call pants and a shirt?"

"Well, even if it's a two-piece outfit, do we call it shirt and pants? Isn't it more like front-pants and back-pants since, as you mentioned, four-legged animals only have legs, and not arms? Are items like shirts and pants defined by what you put in them? Must a shirt contain arms? Must pants contain legs?"

"You're bringing up great questions, Merle. This is the kind of deep thinking I love engaging in with you. My god, my mind is racing contemplating the possibilities."

"It just occurred to me that four-legged animals are called quadrupeds, Chet. Fucking quadrupeds."

"Why, I do believe you're correct. Excellent recall, Merle."

Just then, I realized Merle and I had been sitting and talking for over eight hours. Though we'd spoken little, so much left unsaid could stay that way, at least for now. I got up from my seat on the stump, walked behind Merle and put my hand on his shoulder. "My friend, I'm afraid I need to turn in. This sure has been a stimulating conversation, and I thank you kindly for it."

"Yessir. I enjoyed it myself."

As Merle got up to head to his tent, I bashed his head in with a shovel. He fell to the ground and I kicked sand in his dead eyes. "You know you deserved that," I said. Then I put a onesie on my horse and rode off into the night.

Powerful internet romance

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A Joke I Do Not Find Funny In The Least

I'd like to address something serious. There's a so-called joke that I don't find funny at all, and I'd like to explain why. I first came across it in one of those bathroom humor books, something like The World's Finest Dirty Jokes (I suppose it could have been in a Reader's Digest, though it seems too risqué for that). The book was almost certainly from the '70s and I found it in a closet at my dad's house when I was young, maybe 10 or 11. Incidentally, all I really needed to know about sex and adult relationships I learned in such books.

I'm not exactly sure how familiar people are with this joke, if at all, but it goes something like this:

A man walks into a bar, of course, and he immediately notices, on the bar, a tiny man sitting at a size-appropriate piano (that is to say, also very small). The man asks the bartender where the little man and piano came from, and the bartender tells him something about a genie. This part isn't clear in my memory, but it's something about how there's a magic beer mug which, when rubbed, produces a genie, who then gives the rubber a wish (pretty standard for genies, other than living in a glass rather than a lamp). It's possible it's not a beer mug at all, but some other object one would find in a bar, like a jukebox or pool table or Scotch eggs. In any case, the man rubs whatever it is, and a genie appears, asking the man what his wish is. The man says, "I want a million bucks," or something to that effect, and the genie snaps his fingers or twitches his nose or blinks or whatever genies do that facilitates wish-granting. A million ducks appear, and before the man can confront him, the genie disappears. The bartender being the only person left in the bar, the man turns to him and says, "What gives? I wished for bucks, not ducks." The bartender replies, "Yeah? You think I wanted a twelve-inch pianist?"

So there we have it. I have numerous problems with this joke, but I'm most offended by the punchline. It's not that I find the punchline itself offensive; rather, I'm offended because it comes at the expense of the genie. You see, I knew this genie. That's right, knew. He's dead now. During the time in which this joke occurred, he was experiencing temporary hearing loss related to an extremely serious ear infection, which was why he misheard both the bartender's and bar patron's requests.

In fact, the ear infection later spread to his skull and brain, which caused his death. Although he likely could have easily been treated with antibiotics, he and his family lacked health insurance, so he was unwilling to see a doctor. As he was dying, his wife took him to the emergency room, but it was too late. He died promptly and in great pain, both mental and physical (have you read The Death of Ivan Ilyich? It was like that), leaving behind not only a wife, but two children.

The genie's wife, having never worked before and lacking any secondary education, due to her unplanned pregnancy in high school, continues to struggle to provide for the family. She works three jobs, including as a waitress for the bartender from the joke. None of her jobs pay well, and the bartender in particular treats her poorly, unreasonably blaming her for her husband's hearing loss and thus for mishearing his wish (though, to be fair, surely we could all use bigger members). She experiences great difficulty providing for her children, who often go hungry, and spend most of their time alone, or on the streets, because their father has died and their mother is absent due to her heavy work schedule.  Often all they eat in a day is beer, stolen from the bar by their mother on her sixteen-hour shift. Please donate clothing and household items through their church.

I'm a firm believer that jokes aren't funny unless everyone is laughing, so this one really doesn't work for me. It isn't fair to mock someone's disability, nor to continually remind their family of the unfortunate circumstances of their demise. Dirty pool, dirty joke book! Shame on you.

Relationship advice

That sucks, dude. So, yeah, what happened? You met her and started hanging out all the time, like, immediately?

Oh, that's cool. Everything's going really well, you like each other so much, have so much in common. I dunno, maybe you're in love with each other. Yeah, yeah. It's like magical or something. So she moves in with you? After like a month?

Ugh. That's an awful idea. But yeah, I get that. I mean, it makes sense at the time, even if it ends up terribly, and obviously it will.

So, like, clearly you were still enjoying yourselves for a while? And then, what? You start to actually get to know each other? You're spending literally all of your time together, and it's still fun and cool, mostly, but also, like, at some point her true self and your true self start to emerge? Yeah, little stupid arguments about nonsense and shit?

Right. And, what, it just continues to get worse after that? Like, uh, little by little you start arguing more and more, and instead of being dumb bullshit arguments it's like actually about things you think are important, and gradually your philosophical differences begin to reveal themselves? And you're like, at least in the beginning, you're like, I dunno, in denial about it, and even though these deep philosophical differences are becoming more apparent, and it's becoming more clear that these things are not going to resolve themselves, and in fact you might say they're irreconcilable, you both still try to keep it together? And after a time you both realize that neither one of you is willing to change anything about yourselves, even though it would certainly benefit you in this relationship and likely in future relationships?

Oh, yeah. That's really shitty. So your arguments get worse and more frequent and you kind of start hating each other, and of course that makes the situation itself worse, but for whatever reason neither one of you wants to give up? Like, maybe you think one of you will eventually win the relationship, whatever that might mean, but you know that's never going to happen, and in reality you're just going to continue making each other more miserable, hopefully until one of you dies? Yeah, man. I've totally been there. That sucks.