I'm sitting here on a bench just off the
beach in sunny, beautiful, Communist Cuba,
I am contemplating some of the normal, common
perplexities of everyday life. What should
I eat for lunch; how much longer can Fidel
Castro possibly live; what do they mean
by "economic stimulus package;" and whether
or not a picture of a urinating vagina
is essential to an editorial piece in this
issue of the magazine.
Ahhh, retirement... They told me I wouldn't
have to make these tough decisions anymore,
but they didn't know about life with our
new editor Jim Goad. How could they possibly
know? How could anyone know? He's a walking,
talking, singing fist-in-your-face controversy.
The Trucker Fags In Denial comic
alone this month is going to cost me three-and-a-half
hours of explaining... I won't even go into
the whole lesbian thing. It's like my friend
Maya having to explain how she got a rug
burn on her chest...
And of course, once Jim Goad starts, everyone
has to follow. Have you read Erotic City
lately? That's had to cost us at
least three advertising accounts in the
last two months.
And then, to top it all off, I've got this
incredible pressure to measure up. Yeah,
right... You know those pornos where there
are two guys doin' it with a hot little
porn star, and one of the guys has a normal-sized
penis and the other has a huge monster
dick? That's kind of the way I feel trying
to write a 200 word column every month in
the same magazine as Jim Goad. I'm having
some serious feelings of inadequacy.
I tried to get Goad to write my column for
me. I bribed him. I offered him money. I
offered him sexual favors (not with me personally,
but with others in the office). He wouldn't
go for it. Goddamn ethical ex-cons.
So I said to myself, "Self, what are you
gonna do about this?" And I answered myself
back, "Self... Have another Bacardi and
Coke." That's right. I've got your economic
stimulus package. Right here...