By David Glenn Cox
The first rule of Fight Club is that you don’t talk about Fight Club. You don’t brag at the bar about being a secret agent. One of the very best ways of getting invited to a cocaine fueled kinky sex orgy. Is not to brag about being invited to cocaine fueled kinky sex orgies. Gee, if you’ll tell me all about it with lurid details unasked. Who won’t you tell? But what he is actually saying is, “I sure would like to go to a cocaine fueled kinky sex orgy, if one were available.”
“Who else should we invite?” Madison Cawthorn? “Oh yeah, sure, sure. He was talking about being invited before down at the office, and make sure we have plenty of nose candy. Cause doing blow with a sitting Congressman, while sitting naked is always a cool evening. I bet it was Matt Gaetz that told him. “You have to ask around and let your freak flag fly, if you want to get on the freaky invite list!”
Gee, do either of you two nice ladies know where the big cocaine fueled kinky sex orgy is being held this week? “We are two wild and crazy guys!”
Almost a plot for a John Hughes film. Potsy and Ritchie Cunningham are from Milwaukee. Two whacky over privileged Nerds hit Washington from Bug tussle. And try to shed their nerdy image and become big city urban sophisticates as hilarious results ensue. “Of course, I attend all the big cocaine fueled kinky sex orgies. My friend Potsy and I, wouldn’t miss one! You probably just don’t recognize me with my clothes on.”
Derwood comes to the big city on the turnip truck and finds out there are things going on that he don’t know. And he’s not invited to any of them. People staying up after eleven o’clock and playing loud music on the radio. They’s people doing cocaine and dancing the horizontal mambo in they under drawers!
I run with a tough crowd of guys who live on the razor’s edge of the sunset. When we call dibs on the Ping Pong table down at the Christian Science reading room nobody dares to question it. And if we want to bet as much as five dollars on a single game, well, that’s just how we roll.
He lives hard, he drives fast, without a license. (When you’re a Jet you’re a jet all the way. From you’re first cigarette to your last dying day.) But how’s it going to look, riding your bicycle or getting a ride to drop you off to the big cocaine fueled kinky sex orgy? And then needing to ask someone who attended for a ride home. I mean, sex is one thing, but that’s clear on the other side of town!
The young man hopes to raise his fragile esteem and self-esteem through word-of-mouth advertising. “I’m really cool! Do you know how cool I am? They always invite me to all the kinky sex orgies and offer me free drugs. But I’m too cool to participate, but they still invite me anyway, cause I’m just that cool.”
Kevin McCarthy fumes, telling young Cawthorn to shut up. Because his big mouth could blow it for Party of tax cuts and self-righteousness. Somewhere in the bowels of Washington these things must be really going on. “Orgy” the experimental lost porn flick by Alfred Hitchcock, “Good Evening!” Young Madison had to get these ideas from somewhere. Rumors of the dark secret parties with mountains of cocaine and cases of ice cold Yoo hoos!
What the little boys dream of what the grownups are up too. And maybe that is what they are up to, but they won’t ever invite the little boys. Peeking inside the girl’s locker-room or smoking a cocaine reefer to find out. Gosh, its after eleven o’clock!
I believe that if I live a sinful enough and unrepentant life, I will spend eternity at such a dark party. Overweight bald men in their 60s and 70s in their thong underwear. Overweight bald women, likewise attired. Nude day at fat camp. Mitch McConnell in his boxer shorts. Matt Gaetz keeps stealing the dollar bill off the cocaine table and hiding it naked. Suddenly, you discover Marsha Blackburn has you penciled in as next in line on her dance card!
Great Party! Aren’t you glad you decided to come? As the devil laughs, that you can never leave! An orgy with the Republicans and cocaine, forever and ever! Kama Sutra: Chapter one, page one.
Marsha Blackburn is watching you hard. Her make up is so smeared you think that your eyes are out of focus. Otherwise known as Tammy Faye Baker syndrome. Either that or she is in a cocaine fueled stupor again. As Mitch McConnell stops by tapping you on the shoulder and asking, “Are you going to hit that? Cause if not!”
I’ll be good! I’ll be good! Clarence, Clarence! You gotta help me Clarence, I want to live again! I don’t want to spend eternity doing drugs with Matt Gaetz or attending Republican kinky sex orgies. Just give the boulder, I’ll push it up the damn hill myself. Then Marge Taylor Greene arrives, and you are offered your chance to join the mile down club.
Mirrors on the ceiling,
The pink champagne on ice
And she said ‘We are all just prisoners here, of our own device’
And in the master’s chambers,
They gathered for the feast
They stab it with their steely knives,
But they just can’t kill the beast
Last thing I remember, I was
Running for the door
I had to find the passage back
To the place I was before
‘Relax, ‘ said the night man,
‘We are programmed to receive.
You can check-out any time you like,
But you can never leave!’
– Felder, Hendley, Frey