My date for the evening, Alan, leaned over towards me, and breathed into my ear, "You make me hotter than all those factories are making the earth." I thought for a moment about how he had the same first name as Alan Alda. He leaned back, his hemp shirt opening slightly to show his smooth pigeon-like chest, sipping his white wine and picking up some brie.Hey, I could write for the Times.
"I know it's supposed to be red wine with cheese, but hey, I'm a rebel." My heart started to beat faster. If only he had breasts, he'd look just like Jane Fonda, before the aerobics.
"If only..." he trailed off.
"If only what?"
"If only those damned swift boaters hadn't lied about John Kerry, we could make love under a Democratic moon tonight." A tear trickled down his cheek.
I felt his pain, but I was ready, and would not be deterred. I sashayed over to the corner and picked up his "Obama" sign, it's shaft felt hard and my hand barely went around it.
"Let's do it!" I gasped. "Let's plunge it all the way in! I don't care what the Clintons think anymore. I want his sign in our yard."
As I started out the door, I saw he was crying. "What's the matter Alan?"
"I don't have a hammer! I've been trying to get it in for over a month, but it's no use! I just...can't...get it in."
Stunned, the stick I'd held so lovingly a moment ago now hung limp at my side. Finally, I spoke. "You FAG! What kind of man doesn't have a hammer? I'm finding a conservative! At least they know how to stick a piece of wood in the ground, and all of them have hammers AND screwdrivers!"
Great story.
Being a conservative myself, I keep two hammers around. That way I can chuck one, while screaming profanities, after I squash my damned thumb. And I still got one left to finish the job at hand.
Real women demand conservative men.
LOL!