I, Ignoramus

Are you an ignoramus? Do you even know what that is? If you've had an experience recently that you'd like to see recounted in the pages of the Wanker, then that means that you are one. Just drop your misaddressed, unstamped adventure in the mail, making sure to mark it "Ignoramus."

Making New Friends

I'm a gay man who writes a sex column for a local adult-content weekly for teens. I've always believed that an important part of hating others is being willing to spend the time to reach out and get to know them. Not long ago I wore a dress to a Christian cocktail party and passed along a communicable disease there because I was curious to know what their feelings would be about that.
I wore a taffeta silk party frock with palsied red crinoline bunting and matching bouffant with a vee-cut and a bob because I was nervous and wanted to look my best. I breezed in with an air of bonhomie, sidled up to the nearest twittering klatsch, and cleared my throat. "Excuse me, but ... how about that Pope? I sure would like to fuck him right in the ass."
Now, needless to say, I was speaking metaphorically. I mean, he's an old man. It would probably kill him. No, I was using a simple figure of speech in order to "shock" the Christians and challenge their preconceived notions.
I suppose that point was lost on them. After an awkward silence, one Christian lady leaned forward and said, "Hello again, Dan. Umm ... cheese treat?"
Christians may be pawns in a corporate mind-control cult, but they sure can whip up fine cheese treats. I grabbed a fistfull and forced them deep into my throat as a way of opening their Christian imaginations to other ways of doing things.
She continued, "Umm ... Dan? I don't mean to be rude, but ... we talked about this, remember? That wasn't especially shocking. We're Amish, and we don't believe in the Pope."
Oh, yeah. "But you believe in ... Christ, right?"
"Well, yes --"
"Boy, that Christ. Like to fuck him right in the ass! Man!"
Now, let me just say again, to clarify: I don't mean that the way it sounds. The poor man's been dead for hundreds of years. Taken literally, the idea is just odd. No, I was speaking euphemistically in order to introduce "scary" ideas into their Christian world view and possibly open a dialogue.
But it was not to be. Someone changed the subject, and quickly the conversation got boring to me and I guess it's true, what they say: a person wears a dress to a Christian gathering and suddenly his opinions don't matter anymore. And I couldn't help but wonder if these very same Christians would just "change the subject" if the subject were a communicable disease. Would it make them reevaluate their homophobia and Christian views? If I gave them such a disease? Sure, they might not like it, but, by god, at least it would make them think; and that is all you can really ask for as an artist.
Normally when passing along a disease you just use a regular act of sodomy but since Christians have issues with that I would respect their feelings and instead slather infected sputum on a doorknob.
I sought out the washroom doorknob and assumed the position. Now then: what would it be? Chlamydia? Peritoneal cankers? Perhaps a little cocktail of lupus, hantovirus, and a squeeze of Lyme's disease? Spastic colon? Herpes, both oral and genital? Or maybe an exotic dose of Flesheblighte, a scratching disease basically unknown since the Elizabethan Ages but which I have -- with considerable effort -- managed to secure for myself? It was maddening.
I felt a tingle inside my lower lip. What's this? A wee spirochaete of viral smegmitis had risen to the fore to do my bidding.
(You know, they call themselves "Breeders" because they think they're so great at breeding, but boy could I teach them a thing or two: I provided a warm, nutrient environment for the spirochaete and within ten seconds there were 150,000 of them swimming anxiously in my spit.)
I moistened my lips, leaned in toward the knob and gently nibbled its twin bevels before making my way teasingly to the foreshank, minding of course not to overlook the smooth haft, which I bathed in languid tongue-flicks. Taking a breath, I took the knob fully into my mouth (mmrph! Big!) and began to move in expert rhythm, occasionally varying the pace ...
A crowd of Christians had begun to form: good. Perhaps I would help the Christians confront their fears and introduce some new ideas into their Christian-influenced (Dan will continue this tale at the Break Room Tavern most weeknights between 10 - 2.)

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