The Chairman
11-16-2002, 12:38 PM
My goldfish died today. Or, maybe, yesterday; I can't be sure. The telegram from the Fish Hospital in Woods Hole, Massachusetts says:
YOUR GOLDFISH PASSED AWAY.
(STOP)
WE ARE SHIPPING IT BACK TO YOU TODAY FROZEN IN LIQUID NITROGEN.
(STOP)
DEEP SYMPATHY.
Which leaves the matter doubtful; it could have been yesterday.
So forgive me in advance if today I'm preoccupied with death, the subject is fresh on my mind. I loved the goldfish, which I named Duke. Its most famous accomplishment was that every now and then Duke would leave a fecal trail that measured over three inches in length. You know how they say that if an ant was human size it would be able to lift a 10 ton truck or that if a grasshopper was human size it would be able to jump over the Empire State Building? Well a three inch fecal trail to a goldfish would be like you or me taking a shit that was 72.4 feet long. To me that's impressive.
Anyway, back to death. Some people wonder how some perfectly healthy person in great shape who doesn't smoke or drink and exercises every day can come down with some dreaded disease that kills him at thirty while they know plenty of overweight, diabetic, Pall Mall chain smoking boozers. Not me. I just chalk it up to another unexplainable case of a person dying in a hostile and indifferent universe.
I often do wonder, however, what makes people go into the porn industry. I mean, is the money worth having your sphincter dilated on camera for all the world to see by some three legged fecund with a phallus that resembles a member of the squash family grown by some man named Giuseppe in his backyard in Sheapshead Bay?
I'm sure the parents of porn stars don't go around proudly saying, "Ashlyn just signed a new contract with Vivid Video today", or "Did you see my Tiffany in that great double penetration scene with Peter North and Tom Byron in Urban Heat III?", during Thanksgiving dinner...
Hey, if I'm some hot chick with a great body and huge sex drive, I'm gonna try to find myself some nice rich doctor to marry, or some famous rock star, or be "kept" by some billionaire industrialist. I can go through life shopping for Prada and D&G by day and partying at night, without a care in the world, and not having to worry about whether my new partner in the final scene for Bunbusters - The Final Outrage passed his AIDS test...
I do feel sorry for some of these women. Broken homes, drug use, sexual abuse. I'm sure most of the women have Borderline Personality Disorder and could benefit from some chemically induced adjustments to their serotonin levels. But I feel that a career in porn is their choice nevertheless, and that they are responsible for the consequences of their acts. I am an existentialist after all.....
But all this stuff and about my goldfish dying and porn stars got me thinking. What do the following pairs of people have in common?:
Savannah and Ernest Hemingway?
Linda Wong and Marilyn Monroe?
Lisa DeLeeuw and Arthur Ashe?
Monica Pozzi and Mickey Mantle?
Krysti Lynn and Jackson Pollock?
Joey Karson and Reggie Lewis?
Trinity Loren and Elvis Presley?
Well, the first person in each pair is a famous porn star, who died young. I coupled them with a famous celebrity who died the same way.
Savannah, the former girlfriend of Slash from Guns and Roses, died of a self inflicted gunshot wound to the head, and never lived to be an old woman who would see the sun also rise by the sea. She just said "farewell" using arms; specifically a Smith and Wesson .45.
Linda Wong, drug overdose, never got to sing happy birthday to Bill Clinton. (Who I'm sure would have liked to blow out birthday candles while getting blown after being sung "Happy Birthday Mr. President" by a porn star or two.)
Lisa DeLeeuw - she died with 3 remaining T-cells in her body, which she named Ralph, Patsy and Duke. No relation to my goldfish.
Monica Pozzi died of liver cancer. She probably never hit a home run in her life, but apparently a lot of guys scored with her...The Mick probably died with as few
YOUR GOLDFISH PASSED AWAY.
(STOP)
WE ARE SHIPPING IT BACK TO YOU TODAY FROZEN IN LIQUID NITROGEN.
(STOP)
DEEP SYMPATHY.
Which leaves the matter doubtful; it could have been yesterday.
So forgive me in advance if today I'm preoccupied with death, the subject is fresh on my mind. I loved the goldfish, which I named Duke. Its most famous accomplishment was that every now and then Duke would leave a fecal trail that measured over three inches in length. You know how they say that if an ant was human size it would be able to lift a 10 ton truck or that if a grasshopper was human size it would be able to jump over the Empire State Building? Well a three inch fecal trail to a goldfish would be like you or me taking a shit that was 72.4 feet long. To me that's impressive.
Anyway, back to death. Some people wonder how some perfectly healthy person in great shape who doesn't smoke or drink and exercises every day can come down with some dreaded disease that kills him at thirty while they know plenty of overweight, diabetic, Pall Mall chain smoking boozers. Not me. I just chalk it up to another unexplainable case of a person dying in a hostile and indifferent universe.
I often do wonder, however, what makes people go into the porn industry. I mean, is the money worth having your sphincter dilated on camera for all the world to see by some three legged fecund with a phallus that resembles a member of the squash family grown by some man named Giuseppe in his backyard in Sheapshead Bay?
I'm sure the parents of porn stars don't go around proudly saying, "Ashlyn just signed a new contract with Vivid Video today", or "Did you see my Tiffany in that great double penetration scene with Peter North and Tom Byron in Urban Heat III?", during Thanksgiving dinner...
Hey, if I'm some hot chick with a great body and huge sex drive, I'm gonna try to find myself some nice rich doctor to marry, or some famous rock star, or be "kept" by some billionaire industrialist. I can go through life shopping for Prada and D&G by day and partying at night, without a care in the world, and not having to worry about whether my new partner in the final scene for Bunbusters - The Final Outrage passed his AIDS test...
I do feel sorry for some of these women. Broken homes, drug use, sexual abuse. I'm sure most of the women have Borderline Personality Disorder and could benefit from some chemically induced adjustments to their serotonin levels. But I feel that a career in porn is their choice nevertheless, and that they are responsible for the consequences of their acts. I am an existentialist after all.....
But all this stuff and about my goldfish dying and porn stars got me thinking. What do the following pairs of people have in common?:
Savannah and Ernest Hemingway?
Linda Wong and Marilyn Monroe?
Lisa DeLeeuw and Arthur Ashe?
Monica Pozzi and Mickey Mantle?
Krysti Lynn and Jackson Pollock?
Joey Karson and Reggie Lewis?
Trinity Loren and Elvis Presley?
Well, the first person in each pair is a famous porn star, who died young. I coupled them with a famous celebrity who died the same way.
Savannah, the former girlfriend of Slash from Guns and Roses, died of a self inflicted gunshot wound to the head, and never lived to be an old woman who would see the sun also rise by the sea. She just said "farewell" using arms; specifically a Smith and Wesson .45.
Linda Wong, drug overdose, never got to sing happy birthday to Bill Clinton. (Who I'm sure would have liked to blow out birthday candles while getting blown after being sung "Happy Birthday Mr. President" by a porn star or two.)
Lisa DeLeeuw - she died with 3 remaining T-cells in her body, which she named Ralph, Patsy and Duke. No relation to my goldfish.
Monica Pozzi died of liver cancer. She probably never hit a home run in her life, but apparently a lot of guys scored with her...The Mick probably died with as few