A Nice Hard Slap – Serious Questions

Serious Questions.

I know that ‘The Slap’ tends to be silly but every once in a while 
I have to point the lens of introspection out to the world around us
and get serious about things. I don’t want people to believe I’m
one-dimensional and only capable of doing silly captions, articles
about vagina-shaped bread and blogs about horses that are too small for
their own good. So, as a response to all the tumult in the world, I
present these serious questions.

• Why do people insist on fucking their mothers?
  I couldn’t be more tired of all this motherfuckin’. We’re all born with
  arms and two things at the end of each that are infinitely hotter and
  more pleasurable than a mother. I mean, don’t get me wrong. Sometimes a
  mom bends over and instinct takes over. But come on. Even if she’s on
  the ground begging for it, lay the fuck off for a change.

• Why do people insist on fucking their uncles?
  I think it’s a little more hot than fucking your parent but it’s still
  a few meters north of normal. Uncles are interesting because they look
  a little like Ma or Pa but nothing like you. They also tend to be
  nomadic. You never known when an uncle is going to appear and where
  uncles go, hard ons are sure to follow. Err on the side of caution and
  please stop tapping uncle ass or having your ass tapped by uncles.

• Why don’t we pillowfight more?
  You’d think with all the time we spend near or on top of pillows that
  we’d give in to the urges to swing them at each other. There’s
  something therapeutic about slamming the face of a friend or loved one
  with a well timed pillow attack. Some of those fancy new pillows
  actually create a reasonable facsimile of the whupped visage it makes
  contact with. This is simply a bonus, but the fact remains that not
  enough people are hitting each other with pillows.

• Why isn’t candy a food group? I
  keep a bag of Cinnamon Imperials in my bedside nightstand because you
  simply never know when you’re going to need to eat a few hundred tiny
  red things. You’re reading the new Michael Chabon because you’re
  sophisticated and it’s late at night, but too late for wine and cheese.
  Over the outside howling of the wind, a faint crinkling sound. Then
  nothing but the howls of delight as tiny discs are racing en masse into
  the dark unknown of my innards. Candy is the black sheep of food, and
  it IS food you son of a bitch. Candy is food. You eat candy and it
  solves your stomach. The scientists need to get behind this movement.

• Why aren’t there more Satanic messages?
  Back in the day there was a Satanic message around every corner. You
  couldn’t pop in a record, open an Egg McMuffin, or worship the Devil
  without some Satanic message popping up and giving your day a little
  goose. Now it’s all about products and wellness and togetherness and
  all that nonsense. Nary a note from He Who Shall Not Be Forsook.

• Why don’t more kids run around confused and bleeding?
  When I was a kid, the chain would fly off my bike as I screamed down
  Rillridge Court and I’d inevitably wind up in a tangled pile in the
  cul-de-sac. I’d stand up and see my shattered parts and look around for
  some sign that the Earth was still my Eternal Mother. I’m bleeding. I’m
  confused. I’m a child. What’s better than that? Nothing.

• Why don’t more people frolic in the sunshine?
  Once again, I’ll find myself leaving the house on my way to the zoo or
  the abortion clinic and a fresh breeze will wash over me and I’ll look
  into the everbright above and feel a sense of vigor that defies my
  creaky groin and flaccid knees. The sunshine heals us. It burns the sky
  with its rays and sends little piece of Vitamin C right at us and we
  don’t even have the common sense to pay tribute in the form of exotic
  and tribal celebration. Exult, cocksuckers.

• Why does Rockabilly continue? I mean, seriously.
• What’s all this President shit?
  I can’t turn on the news without seeing person wanting to rule us all.
  I don’t watch TV for this. I watch it to see if a landslide is carrying
  a village into the sea or if perhaps some bright young debutante has
  the vocal acumen to shatter a turkey skeleton. Everything else is a goddamn
  waste of my time and the energy electricity offers.

• Why is sauce such a catch-all?
  There is hardly enough criteria to determine what is officially
  considered a sauce. Where does au jus end and gravy begin? What’s the
  difference between a demi-glace and a stock? What’s this dripping off
  me twenty minutes after I wee wee?

– Nick Nunziata is going to stop being so deep.

And now… a Mary Worth War Strip from the vault…

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