Girl Trouble - A Monthly Column by Rex Breathes
He wanted to air episodes that said, 'Crack moms are cool.'

Just for the hell of it, rex took five stories cycling through the media and made a Valentine's love story out of them: Black Holes/ Kennewick Man/ Global Warming/ Twin Monkey Clones/ PSA Credits for Good Drug Message TV. And remember, it's only fiction--any similarity to archeological finds, living or dead, is purely coincidental. So let's go monkey around.

"First Time Cloners Line"

She was like a Black Hole in space. Supercondensed matters to some. No light emitted from her core. Men would suddenly disappear around her, then quickly get hurled out, some time later, looking all discombobulated. Gravity sucks. When a body in motion got too close, he just fell into her space/time warp, insisting this serious gravity was love. What else could you call it. There's so few Black Holes; plus, they can't really be studied or measured. All instruments, logic, reason and proportion become uselessly distorted in the presence of these ultra rare phenomena.

Then, one fine day, Kennewick Mann was out walking in the stream of life. Well, limping, actually, owing to the lance wound he had taken in his hip from a previous love... and lived! She, the Black Hole, was sucking up everything in sight when he saw her from afar. Devastated, he was, by her magnetic beauty, for he was still in love with the terrible power that nearly left him lame. The Black Hole saw this wounded man, delighting in his tortured gait. She emitted her powers of attraction, not really necessary since he was already falling into her ultra gravity.

Global Warming was occurring as he mindlessly circled nearer to her with a hard-on in his soul. Winter turned to Spring. Flood gates opened and nothing but the truth poured out of him. As a top TV producer of a network drama, "We Are," Mr. Mann was suddenly quite ill from posturing his scripts to fit the Government's anti-drug campaign. He wanted to tell the truth: prohibition doesn't work and marijuana is a mostly benign, non-addictive plant with myriad medicinal value. Especially when compared to the legitimate drug pusher companies' vanity medicines--Propecia, Paxil, Meridian et. al. Those body/mind engineering potions had enough side effects to kill a horse. Fuck the lecherous government bribery. He would

whore no more for PSA credits in exchange for the "War On Drugs" seal of approval. He wanted to air episodes that said "Crack moms are cool," "Teenage pot smoking's a good way to make friends," and "Junkies are nice people who can be trusted more than any government official." Not to mention the hypocrisy of Hollywood hawking an anti-drug message.

"Ridiculous," Kennewick man said, thinking out loud. "Hollywood loves drugs. Always has. Especially the drugs of fame, fortune and power." By now Kennewick man was hopping mad, as he hobbled into his Lexus. Not to mention it was so damn hot out in the valley these days, you could fry an egg on his dark blue silk suit. "Damn Global Warming," he muttered, flipping the A/C on high. Speaking of high, he had one pre-rolled for the Santa Monica Freeway crawl back to the beach. Yeah, he'd skip down to Venice today, hoping to find her, lurking around the little booths stuffing things into her bag. All shook up inside, like he was going to implode if he didn't see her soon.

Many fall in but few can survive a Black Hole in space--opening like the San Diego Freeway after nine. Swallowed, he wanted to be. He spotted her by the "Venice Venus" mural looking forlorn and furtive, as she always does. Hell, if science can clone monkeys, then surely they could find a way to make it work. This time I'll lay my card on her, he thought. Heavy fucking card: "We Are/ Executive Producer/ K. Mann."

He felt like she was his long lost twin, created in some distant Oregon laboratory, separated at birth. But then, that's always what guys feel when they're falling into her ultra gravity warping their brains.

"Hello again," Kennewick Mann said as he sidled up to her, squeaking in his Italian shoes like a mouse in a trap that has just snapped shut on its cheese sniffing nose.

"Come here often?" is all she said. And the space/time continuum shattered.

"Every chance I get," he replied, feeling parts of himself that had gone dead years ago.

"So what do you think of this Global Warming," she winked.


"Hot. Damn hot. But I've got the solution."


"Go for a drive up Route One, top down, sunset, you and me," Mr. Mann said.

"But what about all the controversy that's swirling around you?" she smiled like a Cheshire cat.

"Hey, I'm a native, so who cares," he breezed.

"I just moved here last year."

"I could tell."

"By the way, what happened to your hip?" she asked.

"Oh, it's nothing. Some woman tried to make a shish-kebob outa me. Didn't call her back after her pitch," he explained.

"So she skewered you."


"Like a piece of meat," Black Hole whispered in his ear ringing hot.

"Something like that," Mr. Mann stammered.

"Well, don't worry," she laughed, taking his hand."I'm vegetarian."

Kennewick Mann felt like he'd been limping through life alone for over 9,000 years. The coastal highway opened up before them like everyone was home watching "We Are." Maybe they'd drive all the way up to Oregon, he thought, and thank the scientist who cloned them. He didn't notice the day turning to night or the stars swirling around them. Crossing the border, tears welled up in Kennewick Mann's eyes. "Welcome to Oregon," the sign said, "We clone monkeys."