Wrong on so many levels

A lot of stuff lately is said to be wrong on so many levels.

How many levels, exactly? What’s the average number of levels?

Suppose you’re having sex with your grandma.That’s wrong on so many levels, right? One, she’s your grandma. But what’s level two? Suppose you’re not bespoke? No infidelity is involved. The disparity in ages? Let’s be accepting of Spring/Winter coupling. Same sex, in case you’re a woman? That’s officially no longer wrong; just ask the Marines. I’m still looking for level two here.

Suppose you’ve having sex with your grandma’s dog. Now we’ve got a second level, assuming that your grandma would be upset if she knew. And if she wouldn’t be upset, that’s still a level of wrong, on her.

If you had an STD and knew it but didn’t tell your grandma, that would add a level of wrongness vis a vis your grandma, but not vis a vis her dog. Either way, we’re stuck at two levels, grandma/disease and grandma/dog.

Perhaps you could wear your grandma’s wig during the act. That in itself might be wrong on so many levels: mussing the wig hat, making a mockery of style, so forth.

Note: if you’re just diddlling your grandma to see how many levels you can be wrong on, that would be wrong on so many levels right there on the face of it. The levels are just stacking up here. Does your grandma put up preserves every year from the fruit in her orchard? Open a jar and smear it around during the act of love, but also on toast. That’s wrong on various hygienic and alimentary levels. Does your grandma knit? If you’re a guy, have her knit a suit for your member. I feel like we’re really exploring the realm of levels here. Get your grandpa involved. Hire a clown. Have the Garden Elementary School fourth-grade class come over for a lecture. Enter a float in the 4th of July parade.

In conclusion, all things considered, the average number of levels that stuff can be wrong on is 6.

Busking 16

If you’re down around 23rd and 5th, stop on the corner and say hello, even if you’re too strapped in this double-dip economy to throw a buck or two into my hat.

I will peel vegetables for you, at the following rates:

Free – Your banana.

$1 – A dozen smooth spuds.

$2 – A dozen spuds with those annoying eyes all over them to dig out.

$3 – A dozen cukes, so you don’t have those rinds I hate in your salad.

$4 – Two bunches of broccoli. Don’t tell me that you throw this vegetable into the water unpeeled, to turn gray and mushy, and then serve it to your innocent and unsuspecting children.

$5 – A dozen peaches, after you put them in hot water to loosen the skins.

$10 – A pumpkin. Why would you want a peeled pumpkin? I’m not askin ha ha!

Watermelon – Please move along and take your watermelon with you.

Busking 15

Busking at the Transit Station.

My sign: AMUSING IMPERSONATIONS

$1  My mom

$2  My dad

$3  My uncle Louie

$4  Our mailperson Celeste

$5  That funny guy down the block

Forbidden Sex

It’s been a while (not awhile) since I wrote a post with the word “sex” in the title. Since 99% of my visitors are drawn to this site by that very word in those very titles, indulge me while I lure this majority back one more time, to their eventual disgust at the utter lack of the base, degrading, and exploitational titillation that they seek, unless I include it by accident – by thinking out loud, for example, or by getting this blog mixed up with my alternate, income-providing site, “Sexy Sexual Advertisements for Sex.”

I thought about simply using the title “Sex,” or “Sex!” or perhaps “Sex??” for this post, but rejected these as ambiguous. “Sex” in these titles could be a verb, as in “How to sex a chicken?” (That is, how to determine the sex of a baby chick and separate the roosters from the hens when they hatch (that is, are born), for those of you unconversant with the poultry industry.)

I thought about using “Teen Sex” as the title, teen sex being the most popular topic on the Internet, but as a post-teen who is able to think back on teen sex and recall my personal experiences with it, I’m dismissing the subject and the acts covered by the subject, as overrated and too associated with button and strap and elastic struggles and wrestling, even if teen sex persists as a powerful blog magnet.

I thought about “Animal Sex.” Many of my “readers” are vectored here by Google, Bing, and even that snooty Jeeves, looking for what, bestial congress? Really? Animal sex? There is no lingerie. No buildup with dinner and a movie. No action in the back seat of your car (would be hard on the upholstery). No “meeting the parents.”

I thought about using “Group Sex” as the title, but ho hum. I’m not a joiner. Which group are we talking about, anyway? AA? Too talky during the act. “Hello. My name is John and I’m an alcoholic…” PETA? What, animal sex again? AARP? Please, put your teeth back in, grandma; or no, wait a minute…

I thought about “Porn Sex,” but these days we’ve got food porn, torture porn, Palin porn, etc., etc. Porn is the new white bread. As a search term, “porn” scarcely ranks above “corn” anymore (not any more). Does that last sentence make any sense? No.

So I chose “Forbidden Sex.” What does that mean? If you’re a member of a religious order, it’s all forbidden. If you’re some wild-eyed nihilist with a minor in de Sade, nothing is forbidden. Gay sex was once forbidden; now, the next President will probably be gay (or LBT), and married. Sex between a black man and a white woman wasn’t exactly forbidden; it could just get you lynched. Sex between Asian and Caucasian? Irish and Italian? Catholic and Jew? Democrat and Republican? Limbaugh and Garofalo? Not forbidden; all bidden. And what about sex outside the marriage? I read somewhere that formerly, up until the 60s, say, the husband was expected to have something going on the side; but now, no! Swiper no swiping! Is this, then, the last bastion of forbidden sex – the wandering husband? My goodness, there must be something worse than that. Infidelity does not rise to the “forbidden” level. Accidental strangulation at the critical moment? Nah, Carradine was probably murdered or too high to know what he was doing. The act since his death has become common comedic currency. See “Cedar Rapids.”

Forbidden sex. It’s out there somewhere. If you encounter it, or better yet, if you do it, tweet us. Post the details on our wall. Download a clip to YouTube. Name it and define it in Wikipedia. Get a groupon deal and let us in on it. Thank you.

Reality Show: When Nuns Marry Nuns

I’ve already sold this one, so don’t bother trying to rip it off.

The studio searches the nation, the world if necessary, to find five nun couples who secretly want to get married. A ten-week competition is held. Each week the viewers vote. The winning couple is awarded ten million dollars.

Week 1 – Get married. Viewers will vote on the best wedding. Extra points for lavish. Vegas weddings are always popular, although one of you will have to pretend to be a guy. Hopefully you’re already doing that. Extra points for getting a priest to marry you in a Catholic church, or, failing that, a Catholic bingo hall.

Week 2 – Go on a honeymoon. Extra points for Cancun, if you know what I mean. Extra points for bikinis, but only if you were meant to wear a bikini. Loss of points for public sobriety. Extra points for public fun with your old habits. Flying Nun jokes while drunk are encouraged, but don’t jump off anything higher than two stories.

Week 3 – Buy a house. You’re married. Get out to suburbia and fit in with your neighbors. Extra points for doing this in the Deep South. Develop responses such as “It’s ok, kids. We’re nuns.” Extra points for noisy choppers that set the neighborhood on its ear.

Week 4 – Get a job. You’ve got to live. Points for best resume filled with lies. Watch “The Riches.” Watch “Catch Me If You Can.”

Week 5 – Adopt. The obvious next step. The more kids you adopt, the more points you get. Comedy endears you to the viewers: try dressing all your little boys as girls, and vice versa.

Week 6 – Fix your car. You’re driving down the freeway and you blow a gasket. Pull over and fix it. Full set of tools and instruction manuals in the trunk. Bang your knuckles and swear like a sailor.

Week 7 – Fight off an intruder in your home. This guy is here not only to rob you but to despoil you, and your kids, and your lovable spaniel, and your cats. Blow him away. Points for largest caliber used and highest number of intruder pieces scattered around after you cease firing. Points for blowing the smoke out of your muzzle when you’re done.

Week 8 – Cheat on your mate. At least one, and perhaps both, of you newlyweds must cheat, preferably in a sordid lesbian dive over in the poor part of town. Fiery arguments follow, featuring expressions not often heard in the convent, such as “cheap whore.”

Week 9 – Negotiate a successful divorce. Your marriage irreparably damaged, you must find a couple of legal eagles to prey upon you and dissolve your union in such a way that no worldly goods remain to either of you.

Week 10 – Return to the cloister. The two of you must find an order that will accept you back and you must return to the convent with your tails between your legs.

The winning couple is determined from the accumulated votes of the viewers. Regardless of the total, the couple must have completed all ten tasks successfully. Hence, the ten-million dollar prize will be turned over to the Church, as the nuns won’t be allowed to accept it themselves due to the rules of their order.

Are clothes frosting?

No. Clothes are clothes and frosting is frosting. If they were the same thing, they would be the same word, but they aren’t. And they aren’t synonyms either.

“Are clothes frostings?” is a different question, but the answer is still no.

Frostings decorate a cake. Clothes may decorate the human body, but they also may not. “Work clothes” do not decorate the human body, except in the case of women who overdo it a little, such as Christina Hendricks. And women “on the job.” And those guys in American Psycho.

In fact, clothes can camouflage. I don’t recall seeing, or eating, a camouflaged cake. But perhaps that’s why I didn’t see it.

The nudist might disparage the decorative effect of clothing. The naked body is beautiful in itself. The nudist demographic has been aging, though, and may as a consequence be, slowly, coming to its senses.

Persuasive argument that frosting is clothing: when a woman jumps out of a frosted cake, she is often nude (subject to the health laws in her state).

Is there another reason for frosting on a cake? It’s sweeter than the cake, and the cake is already sweet. Is that strange? Like putting honey on your sugar cubes? I think that Linus did that, but wise as he was, he was still a little kid.

Cakes without frosting? Fruitcake. The bundt with its drizzle. Some devil’s food. Streusel. Cheese cake. How could clothes be frosting when frosting is no more than an affectation ignored by so many classy cakes? I love a man in uniform.

What of these men who lick the frosting off a cupcake or from the middle of the Oreo cookie? This is comparable to tying knots in the swimmers’ clothes down at the old swimming hole. Is then the theft of a cake, or a cooling pie off the window sill, equivalent to kidnapping? I wouldn’t say so. The ransom for the stolen dessert is collected in its subsequent consumption. We pray that those who hae been kidnapped fare better, as opposed to being better fare, and are returned to their loved ones in the condition in which they left them. I disregard the behavoir of the knave of hearts, because where royalty is concerned, go figure.

Common misconception: clothing was originally invented by humans to keep warm. Wrong. You think that first human in shirt and tie just started wearing clothes to fend off a chill? Lived up in Minnesota in the winter? Invented underwear? No, humans were warm enough without clothes. In fact, when they started fooling around with clothes, the first thing a guy said was, “I’ve got to get home and get out of these clothes. Lie down on the sofa, drink a beer, and watch the game.” That was on a Sunday.

To be clear: frosting can look awful and taste bad. This is similar to looking awful and having bad taste, but it is not identical.

Final points:

– Frosting does not have buttons.

– Clothing won’t melt in the sun.

– When you’re fooling around with your mate and she covers you in jam, that’s not clothes.

Busking 10

Hello, everybody! This is my last chance to busk on the space shuttle, so I’m up here offering the following to members of the crew:

$1  I make you laugh and spew your Tang into the weightless air and then I clean it up with my miniature Dustbuster.

$2  I make the sound of escaping air, scaring the bejesus out of your shuttlemates for a laugh.

$3  When your shuttlemates put me outside, I keep saying “Open the door, HAL” for a laugh.

$4  I press a ham on the shuttle window from outside.

$5  After tagging the shuttle and swiping one of its hubcaps, I catch a ride back to Earth with the Russians, giving them the case of Cîroc I brought up with me.

Busking 9

I’ll be busking at the pier tomorrow.

$1  You can bait my hook

$2  You can clean my grouper.

$3  You can share my fried food from The Fish Hut at the end of the pier.

$4  How many jellyfish in the tub? Come within 200 and you win a jellyfish.

$5  Swim with that Great White just spotted out in the harbor (pay in advance).

Busking 8

I’m busking from my bed today. Come on down to the 1100 block, third house on the right, and let yourself in. My wives are at work. All the kids are out on the street or institutionalized.

$1  I’ll come out from under the covers and tell you a story that requires no more than 60 seconds to complete.

$2  You can empty my bedpan.

$3  I’ll pull out my IV and stick it in you.

$4  Fleet play.

$5  It’s a double bed.

Busking 7

I’ve been busking in an elevator on 6th Avenue when it rains. The ride is too short for a good song and dance, so I’ve been offering the following:

$1  Shoeshine

$2  Head-to-toe whisking

$3  Oil your zipper

$4  Pull up your socks, grab your cock, and get you ready to roll!

$5  Surreptitiously hit the Stop button, scream “We’ll never get out of here! We’re all going to die!” and then let you be the good Samaritan who calms me down.

If you have a pet on a leash, I will get down on all fours and keep it company at no charge.