That was brilliant! Absolutely hilarious! You got his style DOWN, man! How do you come up with stuff? Oh yeah, you should do a column "reimagining" every week. Keep us going for a while.
--- 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. > > > > *************************************************************** >
