Back in the Saddle, Bitches!

April 05, 2005 - 12:28 p.m.

There is a new car in the family. It’s a 6-speed Boxster S and of course it does not belong to me, but girls look better posed in front of cars than boys do, so here I am. It’s sunny and 61° in Chicago (tropical!). With white knuckles, sweat pouring off my brow, and a heart rate of 156 bpm, I drove this bitch home from Milwaukee after a day at the new art museum and the special Degas sculpture exhibit, which sucked donkey balls. Degas sucks balls. Did you know that all of his sculptures, like the little girls and the fat ballerinas, were actually made of wax and clay, and whenever you see his fat ballerinas in bronze that it is a modern reproduction? I feel betrayed.

Driving home on I-94, I stayed in the far right lane, traveling at 45mph with my hazard lights flashing. Not really, but close. We stopped at one of the dime-a-dozen cheese houses that Wisconsin has to offer. “Mars Cheese Castle”. Encased meat, wine, chocolate and cheese. Throw “Sex” on the menu and I could take up residence in that motherfucker ‘til thy kingdom come. On Earth as it is in Heaven, that’s what I’m sayin’!

I bought a bar of chocolate labeled “Chocolate Negro”. Of course, I had an inkling that this was probably just a regular old dark chocolate bar, and not actually an edible figurine formed in the likeness of a black man, but still. They named it Chocolate Negro!

I was also interested in purchasing a bottle of wine called “Cleavage Wine” that pictured a not-so-pretty Midwestern girl on the label with large, doughy mammaries pouring out of a peasant blouse. I thought it would be the perfect gift for my father, who is bald. Something about growing up in the 1980s has left me with an image of a bald man rubbing his cue ball into the cleavage of a woman with large mams. I turned the Cleavage Wine over in my hands and on the back there was a large label that read “10% of the profits of this wine go towards Breast Cancer Research,” as if that is somehow supposed to make up for the fact that this product exists in the first place. Well, hey…it worked for me! Suddenly, I was like, “Huh, how nice of them!” Now if only they would put that label on the back of cheesy porno mags like Jugs, even the feminists and Christians would quit their bitching. What killed the sale for me though, was that I noticed it was chardonnay, and in my family we only have one use for chardonnay, and that is to stuff the neck with a rag, light it on fire, and toss it into the swimming pool of the hillbillies next door.

It’s the equivalent of burning a cross on the lawn of some black folks.

I need to go throw up my Cheerios now, because the pilot is taking me on vacation for my birthday, the last week of April, and if I don’t look like Courteney Cox Arquette prancing around on a beach then I may as well just kill myself now.

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