It started with Colin Farrell saying he would show his penis on live television if Bush pulls our troops out of Iraq.

I heard this on NPR.

Actually what he said was, “I’ll show me willie and me bullocks. That’s a plomise to the Amerlican people.”

NPR doesn’t lie.

“What are you doing?” Glen asked.

“Writing a letter to the White House,” I said.

“Oh for Chrissakes,” Glen said.

Then Morning Edition reported that Colin Farrell and Brad Pitt will wet-shave each other’s bodies and do some nude exercises on a mirror floor.

That is, if someone takes Bush out.

They’ll throw in Russell Crowe if it happens before Christmas.

“What’s he mean take Bush out?” Glen asked.

“What do you think it means,” I said.

He put down the bong. Then he said, “Oh.”

So that’s how I came to find myself waiting on the tarmac of Dulles International Airport with a sniper rifle.

There are five other fags on the tarmac, all with rifles and night-vision goggles.

While we wait for that plane we glint our little mirrors to chat in Morse Code across the tarmac:

WHEN IS LONG BEACH PRIDE?

YOU LATIN?

MY BF CAN GET REALLY GOOD GORGONZOLA OFF THE INTERNET

No one understands what the gay assassin from Korea is saying.

Glen is not happy with me.

“You get home all hours of the night and there’s black grease paint all over the tub.”

“Be reasonable,” I tell him. “I’m doing this for us.”

“What does that even mean?” Glen asks.

The gay assassins tell me to break up with Glen.

HE DOESN’T UNDERSTAND YOU. DON’T YOU DESERVE SOMEONE WHO UNDERSTANDS YOU???

I DON’T KNOW, I glint back. I JUST DON’T KNOW.

When I get home Glen is already asleep. I get under the covers and kiss his shoulder.

“Glen,” I say.

“Don’t say Glen,” he tells me, fitting his body into mine.

INVITE HIM ALONG, suggests one of the assassins.

HE DOESN’T LIKE GUNS, I answer. HE WOULDN’T ENJOY IT.

EW I JUST STEPPED IN GUM. HOW DO YOU KNOW? HAVE YOU ASKED HIM?

We rent that movie where Colin Farrell is wet a lot.

When the movie’s over Glen says, “Look, I’m not going to spend half the night sprawled on a tarmac. You’re just gonna have to choose. It’s me or Colin Farrell.”

I correct him. “It’s actually you or Colin Farrell and Brad Pitt and Russell Crowe.”

“Fine,” he says, getting out of bed.

Maybe Glen’s right. Maybe there’s more to life than assassinating the leader of the free world so you can look at some nude celebrity shave-down.

Then Talk of the Nation announces that the Jan-Michael Vincent will go in a time machine to when he was 22 and let you put a finger inside him if you can get the White House to adopt the Kyoto Agreement.

Glen puts down the bong. “I fucking love Jan-Michael Vincent!”

Oh for Chrissakes.

 

© 2007 Philip Huang - Contributor's Bio