I don't think so. Oh my goodness, I know a lot. I've answered questions that you've never even thought of asking.
Do you know what's in my pants?
Okay, that's a question that I suppose I will answer for you, assuming you follow the standard non-disclosure protocol. It's a penis. That's correct - I have a penis in my pants. Not that unusual, you say? Well, now we're into the realm of pure conjuncture, and I'm not about to go there.
What do you mean, who am I?
I'm Robert Novak, that's who. Duh. What is it that you watch on that televoid, Petticoat Junction? Please. I guess what you're thinking is that I will probably be dead soon, and perhaps I shall just take my secrets to my grave, but it is the height of arrogance for you to assume that.
Okay, okay, secret. And it could be plural... I do have more than one, but I realize that most of them are of no interest to people like you. I REALIZE THAT, OKAY?
You know what? Don't even fucking bother me. You got a question, you go ask President Bush. He knows. I'd be amazed if he doesn't know. He'll either tell you, or he'll try to cover it up, there's no middle ground. No Limbo for the facts. Let the chips fall where they may.
Mine, well, they fell on the carpet and my stupid dog Ralphie ate half of them up before I got back from the kitchen. Okay, they didn't fall - they were pushed.
A penis in my pants? You can take that to the bank.
©2005, Mark Hoback