In a conversational tone, H.E. shares a statistic with me. “Can you believe this? 25% of teenage girls today have VD.” My audio channel spools up a little late. “ED?” “ED, right. Erectile dysfunction. Teenage girls are having trouble getting their dicks hard. VD. I said VD. You know, sexually transmitted diseases?” “Oh, yeah.” Share this post:
H.E. turned to look at me. “I had a weird dream last night.” “Uh-huh.” “We were planning our wedding. I wanted to have a monkey there, and you didn’t.” I blinked. “That is strange. You know I’d totally be OK with having a monkey at our wedding.” “I know! That’s what made it so weird. It wasn’t like you.” The dream must have been very vivid, though, because the subject came up time and time again over the next few…
“I’ve got it,” he says. “Got what?” “The perfect medication that will cure everything.” This ought to be good, I think, but I only say, “Yeah?” He continues. “It’s a laxative that will make you religious and cure erectile dysfunction.” Hm. “What’s it called?” “HolyShitWhataHardOn.” Cue rimshot. Share this post:
H.E.: Are donkey dicks really green, do you think? [We’re having a late dinner at a restaurant when H.E. asks me this, and I look at him as if he just sprouted a new head.] April: You think I’d know? H.E.: I don’t know. What do you think? [He’s got a mischievous sparkle in the eye as he speaks, and he starts to bite into his turkey club sandwich. Me, I seriously think about the original question and ponder aloud…
On TV, reporters and pundits discuss a bunch of presidential candidate Senator Clinton’s old letters, written to a friend when she was 16 years old. They read, “Sunday was lethargic from the beginning as I wallowed in a morass of general and specific dislike and pity for most people but me especially.” April: 16? Did they say 16? HE: Yep. April: Wow. I don’t know many 16-year-olds who would use the word “morass” in their everyday language. HE: At 16?…