SomaCow

You might think that because I am a “comedy writer” and a co-host of “The Greatest Internet Radio Show,  EVER!” that my gift of gab would extend into the bedroom.

Well, don’t YOU look foolish now.

For some reason, I could never quite get the hang of talking dirty during sex. While some guys can be quite comfortable ordering their sexual partners to “Take it like a dirty whore! I’m gonna rip you to shreds!”, the nastiest thing I have ever managed to say to the Mrs. was “I hope this is equally unpleasant for YOU!”.

Once, when she was out of town on business, we decided to try having cyber-sex chat on our computers. I sucked at it, because of my tendency to always crack jokes at exactly the wrong moments:

[SomaCowJ]: Oh, baby…yes, baby…do it just like that…a Priest and a Rabbi walk into a bar…
[MrsSomaCowJ]: gah

So, I turned to my good, good friends Geoff and Mickey for some guidance on this topic, and asked them for their best dirty-talk lines.

(You know how, in cheesy horror movies, everybody in the WORLD except for the stupid person on-screen knows that it would be a terrible idea to open that closet door, because there will undoubtedly be an axe-weilding homicidal maniac inside? I was like that stupid person.)

Geoff, having control issues, is very demanding in his budoir babble: “You dirty girl, I’m going to f…why is there no coffee ready?! I’m risking a heart attack to give you mediocre sex, and you can’t even have a pot of WaWa brewing for afterward? Put a dollar in the jar! UHHNNNGH! Whew! Ok, I’m done. That was GREAT!”

Mickey was little help, since the only time he talks to people is while we’re recording the show: “Oh, baby, you are like a cascading style sheet that functions perfectly across multiple websites without debugging”. Yeah, I wish I could help him.

On a related note, I was recently researching my family tree, and was quite surprised to discover that several of my great-great grandparents had been porn stars in the late 1800s and early 1900s. I was able to track down some of the “dialog” from these early attempts at silent moving-pictures which CLEARLY demonstrate that my dirty-talk deficiency is genetic. Keep in mind that the language in these films was considered a vile and filthy obscenity in its day:

Yeah. That explains THAT.

If you have any ideas to help me improve my pillow talk, please let me know.

Until then I’ll be boning up on my Priest and Rabbi jokes, as it were.

Florida is widely known for having the most streamlined voting process in the nation.

By “streamlined” I mean that we don’t actually bother to count a lot of the votes, resulting in fewer tax dollars being wasted on luxuries such as accurate election results. I am certainly no political pundit, but I suspect that part of the problem with the voting system here in Florida may be due to the fact that most of our election officials, as well as election day volunteers, appear to be employed by bait shops during the rest of the year.

So, today I joined the ranks of Americans who gather, once every four years, to engage in that uniquely American pastime of voting on important government offices and issues that we know nothing about.

Fortunately, the media, and crowds of overzealous patriots at the voting locations, are quite happy to educate you on the issues under consideration, via the techniques of mindless speculation and blatant lies.

You can easily spot the McCain propagandists by the dollar sign insignias on their chauffeurs and the filigreed chains on their eelskin wallets. They also frequently wear t-shirts printed with pictures of themselves. They quickly informed me that I should vote for Senator John McCain for President, rather than a candidate who, they say, is known to enjoy poking babies in the eye and pushing old people down stairs, due to lack of political experience. How they say this with a straight face is beyond me, although I suspect that their faces have been pretty much straight since birth. I decided to test this hypothesis by seeing how one of these wild-eyed morality-dictators responded to a simple joke:

Me: Do you know the difference between Sarah Palin and an auto mechanic?
Rich, white McCain supporter: I’ll make sure you are never allowed to wear a thong in the privacy of your own back yard ever again. Or have sex in your bedroom with the lights on.
Me: No! It’s “dipstick”!

Well, so much for that.

The Obama supporters were just as fervent, if a little less stodgy. They merely accused McCain of having harvested the organs for his last five personal transplants from unborn fetuses, ripped from the wombs of middle-class mothers. Then they sang a medley of Barbara Streisand songs. Badly.

But, armed with my driver’s license, since my voter registration card is probably tied up in some kind of bureaucratic bait shop red tape, I strode confidently up to the “Our Lady of Iniquity Catholic Church and Spa” (the voting location for my precinct) and proceeded about the task set forth by our founding fathers: finding out where the refreshments were located. After failing to locate any orange juice, fruit punch or cookies, it occurred to me that I MIGHT have confused voting with giving blood. The two processes are similar in that when you’re finished with either, you’re a little bit pale, sort of dizzy and you try to get out of work for the rest of the day.

But I got through it. I cast my secret and sacred ballot for the individuals and issues of my choice. I even voted for one constitutional amendment that was particularly trickily worded:

“Do you support the reversal of restrictions preventing the legislature from lifting the ban on allowing the negation of existing prohibitions of re-instating the policy of not allowing the State to decline recognition of currently rescinded vetos of the law supporting the denial of applications for coastal easements?”

Knowing me, do you think I voted for or against this amendment?

Yeah, I couldn’t tell, either.

Geoff and Mickey are always teasing me about being “old man on the show”. I secretly suspect that this is merely because I was born a long time before they were. But now I guess I can’t complain, because I have finally committed the ultimate old-person act:

“*GASP*”, you gasp, “You have purchased white Sans-a-Belt slacks?!?!”

No, don’t be ridiculous.

I have registered to vote.

Registration, and the whole voting process, conjures up images in my mind of my grandfathers who, after watching fat, old, white men in black suits on the evening news for two hours, causing me to miss the crucial opening minutes of “Sanford and Son” where the whole premise of the episode is established, would grumble and cuss and kick their pale, veiny, spindly grandfather legs at the TV, and swear that they were going to vote against that sonofabitch whom they just voted INTO office during the previous election.

See? Old people actually CARE about what the valueless, ineffectual politicians say and do. Kids, like me, see the world with the clarity of youth and realize that it is far more important to eat Fruity Pebbles, watch Scooby-Doo and put baseball cards in the spokes of your bicycle because it makes a cool noise that sounds exactly unlike a motorcycle.

What’s more, I can PROVE that no elected official in history has had the slightest impact on this nation, or on me, or on you, or on our families as Americans. Ask the Republicans where the problems of today came from, and they will say “From the Clinton administration”. They realize that George Washington Bush has done NOTHING during his eight years in office that impacts us in any way. Next, ask the Democrats where the problems of the Clinton administration came from, and they will say…(ummm…hang on a second while I look up who the President was before Clinton…OH!..OK.) They will say that George Harvey Washington Bush (no relation) was the source of all the misery, completely negating anything that Clinton may have pretended to do while in office. And so it goes, back and back and back through Presidents Ronald Reagan and John Fitzpatrick Kennedy and Benjamin Franklin. None of them, if you ask their party, did anything wrong and none of them, if you ask the opposing party, did anything right.

Net effect: zero.

So, for years I just ignored Washington (the city, not the actual d00d, because I believe that he may be deceased) hoping that it would lobby and spend and impeach itself out of existence, and we citizens could all get back to the REAL American business of hating foreigners and manufacturing sub-standard cars.

But, I finally realized that participating in the election process gives me the ultimate power as an American: the power to vote AGAINST more fat, old, white men in black suits on the evening news for two hours, causing me to miss the crucial opening minutes of “The Office” where the whole premise of the episode is established.