Monologue

A Dumb White Guy defends Miley Cyrus’s VMA Performance as “Fine”

Miley Cyrus @ the 2013 MTV Video Music Awards

Oooo… okay. Now maybe, uh… obviously I’m coming at it from a different place, but um… I didn’t think it was that bad of a thing? I mean, I guess I didn’t care, uh… is what I’m trying to say.

Do I think she was objectified? Uh, I mean… not really. She was the one dancing, yknow? Seemed like she was having a good time, or at least trying to look like she was. She stuck her tongue out for like 70% of it, right? So… maybe she was just being silly. Yeah, you know what, isn’t she kind of a funny girl or something? I feel like I saw an interview once where she seemed to have a sense of humor about herself. So maybe she was just goofing around out there. I don’t know. I mean, I’m a dumb white guy, so y’know.

What? Well, yeah, maybe MTV exploited it a little bit, but uh… seemed like it was on her terms, I guess. I mean, she’s 20 years old, when I was in high school it was a 16 year old Britney Spears and they had countdown clocks til she was 18 so they could get some upskirt shots and stuff. Anyway, that stuff is way grosser. The paparazzi photo flashes and all that. That bugs me, and I’m way over here yknow, being a dumb white guy.

Slut shaming? Who’s saying that? No, I didn’t read any articles about it. Well, Tracy McGrady retired. So, I was looking at youtube clips all morning. 13 points in 35 seconds, man. Why is it called slut shaming? Seems like a bad name. Maybe just call it “fun girl shaming”? I mean, I don’t know, I’m a dumb white guy, so I don’t know. It just doesn’t hit my ear right. Slut shaming. Yuck.

I’m not mad at her. I don’t know why other people would be mad. Who cares, right? A 20 year old girl dancing.

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No, I’m Not a Scientist, but I Know a Mermaid When I See One, and I Was Definitely Having Sex with a Mermaid

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Ok guys, I feel like I’m talking in circles here.  From the top, once more.  What I was doing… down by the beach, was actually a very tender, loving moment, not drunken lewd behavior culminating in a solo sexual act.  That’s ridiculous.  No, I don’t have any photographic proof or physical evidence that I was with a half human, half fish, but you’re just going to have to trust me.  
 
I’m not a scientist, but I know a mermaid when I see one, and I was definitely having sex with a mermaid.  
 
Oh, I wish!  I wish I was just an inebriated man who was confused and was in a bad place and saw a pile of cluttered sea shells and decided to just give it a go.  I wish that was the case.  Oh man, how I wish that. 

Ted, I’m Not Listening to Your Phone Sex Calls, by Nate Horton, NSA Officer

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Whoa, playing the four iron a little long today, huh, Ted? Might wanna the lay off the Wheaties a little bit, right?

Very funny, Ted; I don’t actually know which cereal you buy. That’s none of my concern–I was just making a joke.

So, you still planning on coming over the barbeque on Saturday? Helen’s planning on making her ambrosia salad–judging by how much you ate last time, she should probably make two tupperware containers’ worth of the stuff. Because you ate so much of it.

Anyway, Katie and Rodgrigo are going to be there, so it would be really nice to have someone there to talk to, ya know? Those two are always yapping on and on about the deals they get on international travel, and I really couldn’t give less of a hoot about all that stuff. I mean, really, who has time to travel these days?

That’s a real nice golf shirt you have on. A damn fine golf shirt–what is it, Izod? I have an Izod one that I swear is the exact same one, only in red.

It’s your shot, Ted.

Ted, what are you looking at me like that for? Do I have some grass on my face?

Is this about my job again?

Ted, I’m not listening to your phone sex calls. Trust me.

I know that it’s legally within my right as an officer of the National Security Agency to listen in on the phone and internet activity of all American citizens. As you can imagine, most of these conversations are pretty boring, whether it’s people waiting on hold with the cable company or two high school girls making plans to meet up at the mall. You’d think that I’d want to take a break and listen to something particularly juicy, like my neighbor and friend Ted Arnold’s calls to a 1-900 sex hotline. You’d think that, but I’m not doing that, Ted. I would never.

What’s that? You heard that conversations where we have at least 51% confidence that a foreigner is involved is automatically flagged for review? Well that’s not entirely true, technically, but yeah, if we had reason to believe that an American citizen was on the phone with, say, a Russian teenage girl, several times a week over the past 8 months, then yeah, we might look into that. Especially if that conversation involved some of our “trigger” words, such as, I don’t know, “gag” or “kidnap” or “my wife is uncomfortable with anal stimulation,” then it would be pretty negligent of us to just turn the other way, don’t you think?

Ted, that was just an example.

I don’t want to be a dick, but you’re not allowed to touch the sand before you engage in your swing.

I’ll go ahead and call in lunch so it’s ready at the turn. I hope nobody listens in and finds out that I want Ruffles with my turkey club!

Alright, I’ll stop.

Regarding the Recent Office Pranks by Samuel Priest

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Alright everyone, now this isn’t an official office meeting. Consider this “off the record” so to speak. If you’re ahead of me here, you probably know this has to do with the increasing number of pranks that have been happening around the office lately. Also, some of you may be wondering if this has to do with some of our corporate higher ups visiting me this afternoon in what will possibly be the final step in me getting a promotion.

They are related, yes.

I would like to humbly request we cut back on the office pranks this afternoon to the point of zero. I’d like zero office pranks to happen today. And, yes I know, me just suggesting this would make an office prank at my expense all the funnier were it to happen. But, I’m begging you, I need everything to go right this afternoon. It is a very important day for me. I’ve made certain arrangements to impress my bosses and they need to go off without a hitch. And yes, I do realize that by making the stakes higher for me and my day to go prank free, I’m probably tempting someone even more. I can only assume a direct proportional urge to prank me increases the more and more serious I make my desire to not be pranked. I’m acknowledging that, but also asking, “Please can we not have any office pranks today?”

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Sir, I Think We’ve Been Having a Humorous Misunderstanding Based on the Words ‘Gyro’ and ‘Euro’

by Samuel Priest

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Okay, okay, I think I see where the misunderstanding has been. See, I’ve been referring to the food in front of me as “Three Gyros” and you’ve been nodding as if to say yes, that’s what they are and that you want them. But when you ask me how much they are to purchase, you think I’m just repeating “Three Gyros” G-Y-R-O-S when in actuality I’ve been saying “Three Euros.” E-U-R-O-S. These three gyros are three euros.

Boy, now that I spell it out like that, I feel silly at how much time we wasted not understanding each other.

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A Middle-Aged Woman’s Diary Entry Written on the Flight Home From the 2013 Nashville Polyamory Convention, by Benji Orlansky

ImageSunday, May 12, 2013: A Farewell

Another Nashville Poly is officially “in the books” as they say. Wow–writing that really hurts, emotionally and physically due to extreme joint over-stimulation over these past few glorious days. This is Jake’s and my fourth NashPoly, and while other cities like Philadelphia, Branson, Santa Fe, and Fresno have fine, enjoyable Polyamory events, no other place includes that secret ingredient on the buffet right next to the massage oils, feather ticklers, commemorative keychains, and prophylactics: Southern hospitality. Everyone’s perfectly polite at the orgies and key parties in Fresno, but only in Nashville will the bald, tanned, Tommy Bahama-wearing Adonises pull out your chair for you the next morning at the Bottomless Mimosas and Topless Diners Brunch.

Jake and I always have such a hard time saying goodbye to our friends at these events. We just parted ways at gate B27 with the DeFlorios, a lovely couple who own a sporting goods store in Peoria and sell lockets full of semen on Etsy. We met them back in Daytona in 2005, right after their son Jeremy (who won’t let them show us pictures of him for some reason) graduated high school–truly wonderful folks. Yesterday, in between lovemaking sessions, Lawrence and Beverly showed us pictures of their trip to Australia, and between the snapshots of the Sydney Opera House, the Great Barrier Reef, and the DeFlorios having a naked rumpus with another Poly couple in front of a village of Aboriginals, I’m pretty sure Jake and I will be spending our silver anniversary “Down Under!” Continue reading

A Response to Gay Marriage From South Carolina State Senator George Burton (R) by Cody Melcher

Like the majority of upstanding, strong-willed, anti-Communist Americans, I oppose the idea of handing over rights to sexual deviants like homosexuals. America was founded as a shining city upon a hill for the splendor of God and for good, American values. Not for the purposes of legalizing–or even supporting–grown men luring our children into hedonistic foreplay. If we allow the homosexual access to our children and our society, then we will have nothing left. Our morals will dissolve. Even further, if we allow them the grace of marriage, they will steal our children in the night and, like Mowgli, raise them among the infernal wolves. If we allow the homosexual these God-given rights, we might as well allow men to enter into matrimony with badgers. Can you imagine it? A man. A grown man. Slipping into the allure of the dark eyes of a Melinae? Its tiny claws molesting his quivering body. Its teeth nipping at his stubble? Can you imagine? Just imagine. Imagine it. A grown, upstanding, American man basking in the post-coital glow of badger love-making. Is that what you want? Men. American men. Fondling the privates of a badger? Licking their striped faces with his upright, principled tongue? Think of it! No wife to tell him where to go, what he needs to be doing, how to love her. Just nonstop, sweaty, decadent American-on-badger love-making. What a world that would be.