But(t), the most egregious thing was changing "pretext" to "ass."
And I would have changed the business card to something else. It just doesn't work here. Maybe one of those things in the machines in arcades used to pluck out stuffed animals and such would work better? (Didn't someone once post a photo here once of a baby in one of them?) Not sure why she'd be carrying one around in her purse, but I'm sure you can think of something. Oh, and one day on each side probably isn't long enough. You should have been riding the mountain bike with your left leg on mondays and wednesdays, the road bike with your right leg on tuesdays and thursdays and alternating fridays since the time Gene announced he was suspending the chat. I'm sure you were, but Tom the Butcher took that part out, right? On 1/18/07, Maureen <[EMAIL PROTECTED]> wrote:
what i find funny is that i don't doubt, for one second, that you ACTUALLY did this IRL... --- In [email protected], "Ray Bradley" <[EMAIL PROTECTED]> wrote: > > Since we're still stuck in the winter of our discontent, our Dark Age > before the Dawning of the New Light of Our Beloved Gene, I have > decided to take forth the reins of hilarity and Channel Gene with a > Just Inside The Beltway column. > > Essentially, I shall rewrite a classic Gene column and show what > would happen if everybody's favorite middle aged culturally Jewish > humor writer from New York had been replaced with, well, me. A > bonafide Maryland mutt with no real moral compass or the complusion > to do anything about it. > > > > Ray's Close Shave > The adventures of a not-so-smooth operator > > Originally done By Gene Weingarten > Sunday, June 25, 2006; Page W40 > > > The question that we columnists hear most frequently is: "Do you use > water when you bathe, or just an ungodly amount of Axe deoderant > spray?" It's a stupid question, because I'm almost 34, and everybody > knows that only socially-awkward 15 year old boys use Axe because > they're too young to get Drakkar (that's for the 18 year olds). So I > generally ask people to rephrase it using proper grammar, which they > do: "Have you ever groomed yourself, assface?" > > Today, I will end the unpleasantness with a straight answer. We > columnists do our grooming in many ways: applying creams, scented > lotions, attaching various vibrating devices to appendages that can > be found at MVC, 5625 Leesburg Pike, Bailey's Crossroads, Falls > Church Virginia, by writing things for bored humor enthusiasts who > can't wait for a real humor writer to come back. > > This column is a case in point. I got the idea from a gifted writer > named Gene Weingarten who stole this idea from some kid named Danny > Jacobs, who asked Gene for his opinion of a humor piece he had done > for his college paper at the University of Maryland. Gene said it was > swell. Then Gene stole it. Now I'm rewriting it. This is all part of > my personal program to shame humor columnists to participate in chats > again. Gene stole the article to acquaint young journalists with > important truths. In this case: Beware, there are vultures everywhere. > > For his article, Danny shaved one half of his face with a new, super- > hyped five-blade razor, the other half with his trusty electric, and > then had fellow students feel which shave was closer. (The blade.) It > occurred to Gene that in the hands of a pro such as himself, this > idea would present an important journalistic opportunity to ask women > he did not know to stroke my face. Since I'm at least 35% more > perverted than Gene, I figured this would be fine excuse to get women > to cop a feel of my supple buttocks. > > Plus, I have a great ass. For the past 2 years -- to the derision of > my family and friends -- I have been riding my bicycle to and from > work on a heavy steel mountain bike from 1994. No sane person has > used a mountain bike this heavy since the era of carbon fiber > composites and titanium alloys; barring of course the waves of recent > immigrants who ride similar bikes to and from their jobs at the > Jerry's Subs and Pizza. I ride this way because I think it's cool to > ride a bike twice a day with something that weighs as much, > practically, than an Olson Twin. But that's really a bad simile, so I > tell people I do it because the heavier bike and fatter tires give me > a better work out. Here was an opportunity to discover whether all > this bike riding might actually be making my ass *too* good. > > I rode into work yesterday using my heavy bike to get to work, only > using my left leg to pedal. Today, I used my lightweight racing bike > using only might right leg. In the interest of science, I am now > about to go out in the food court and ask 30 women to judge the > results. Hang on. > > Okay, I'm back. I am pleased to report that all but three agreed to > participate. One of these turndowns, however, did not go well at all. > She listened patiently to my proposal and then wordlessly began to > run/walk away in the direction of the Pentagon's police staff, a > group of anti-terrorism specialists with submachine guns. Mustering > as much dignity as possible, I headed away, slowly but purposefully, > in the opposite direction. > > Another turndown went like this: > > Pam: Are you asking only women? > > Me: Well . . . yes. > > Pam: Why? > > Me: > > Pam: I'll do it if you get a man to do it first. > > So I guess, in that case, it was actually I who declined. > > Most women seemed to take this diagnostic task very seriously. > Several checked with the backs of their hands, like a mom testing for > fever. Philosophically, the experience was intriguing -- a metaphor > for the uncertainty of romance. The mechanics of a caress aren't all > that different from those of a slap; it's mostly a matter of emphasis. > > At the Citibank ATM, I explained to a woman named Christianne what I > wanted her to do, and she asked: "You mean . . . with my hand?" I > stammered the first thing that came into my head: "Well, with > whatever you think appropriate." She did it anyway. > > There were scary moments. One young woman named Carole heard my > pitch, and, stony-faced, immediately reached into her pocketbook > (mace?) and produced a business card (lawsuit?). Fortunately, she > just rubbed the edge of the card against my cheeks, listening for > differences in the scratching sound. "Disappointed I didn't use my > palm?" Carole asked. "No!" I lied. > > Now I know what you are thinking: You are thinking that only a > perverted man would derive some sort of pleasure from this tiny, > silly degree of anonymous intimacy. And I'd have to say you were > right. I am completely ashamed of myself. > > The final tally: Thirteen said the left side of my butt was firmer. > Thirteen said the right side was smoother. One could not decide. > > In short, I may have to do it again. For science. > > > > *************************************************************** > Yahoo! Groups Links
