by Linda Keenan
“I love her to bits, I really do,” said “Gunkle” Rob Marino, referring to his niece Ella. “But just like her mom, she thinks I’m her funny gay play toy. But you know what? I’m a human being like everyone else who likes to come home from work, watch Netflix instant play, and get fucked as much as possible by my boyfriend. So when I saw this book, Uncle Bobby’s Wedding, I lunged for it. Yeah, the book is a great celebration of committed gay love, blah blah blah, but to be honest, really I just saw it and thought, Oh my god, this might just get it through Ella’s adorably thick head that I need my life back. And I need my own committed gay love. Like fucking Gunkle Bobby did.”
Uncle Bobby’s Wedding tells the story of a gay guinea pig named Bobby, whose niece Chloe is troubled when her favorite “special” uncle finds love. Slowly Chloe has to accept that Uncle Bobby is going to marry another special guinea pig, Jamie.
Marino describes how his life as “Gunkle” evolved.
“Oh, this is all her mother’s fault—my sister Angie—who I also love to bits but you know, her idea of a gay man is someone to ‘be there for you.’ You know, cuz I’m gay. I know it’s hard for her, a single mom in suburbia? That’s almost as bad as being a single gay dude in suburbia. But seriously, it takes me an hour to get out of the city to see them, and it’s like I’m on call 24-7, paging Rob to the rescue! Because I’m supposed to be really good at wiping your tears and going to the mall. I do more than that idiot shrink of hers. She should be giving me those co-pays she hands over to that woman.”
And then Angie had Ella, and gay uncle Rob became the go-to “Gunkle.”
“You know, they all assume I have no life because I’m gay, which is hilarious because if I was a whore, and I’m not, I could be out every night fucking five different guys if I wanted to. If that’s not a life, I don’t know what is. My sister always assumes I can babysit or can come over when Ella’s loser dad doesn’t step up. If she hadn’t had Ella, I’d be so out of here. Ella really is the best thing that ever happened to me. I just need more space.”
So Rob and new boyfriend Jayson took Ella out for Afternoon Tea at American Girl Doll Place, and sat down with Ella’s best-loved “Molly” doll, described by the company as a “lively, lovable schemer and dreamer growing up in 1944.” And Rob had his own “Kanani” doll.
“Ella insisted I have one, and Angie chose it because she thought it was really kitschy for me. Why does she think I’m some screaming queen—I hate kitsch! Why does my own sister think every gay man is a screaming queen?”
Rob brought Uncle Bobby’s Wedding with him to tea and began to explain why nieces need to stop cockblocking their Gunkles.
Rob: Now Ella, see, Bobby found Jamie after many many years of being alone.
Ella: But you haven’t been alone, Gunkle Rob, you’ve had mommy and me.
Rob: Of course, honey, and you know I love taking you to American Girl and talking to you every night before bed and having frozen hot chocolates and everything we do all the time, but at some point, everyone wants to have their own family.
Ella: You’re my Gunkle! You are my family!
Ella began crying but Jayson, who’d been quietly assessing Ella, whispered to Rob, “She’s playing you. Let’s throw money at this.”
Jayson said, “Ella, is there something maybe we can get you, something you’ve been wanting, so that Rob and I can carve some time alone together and it won’t be too sad for you?”
Ella carefully composed herself and said, “The new Josefina doll from 1824 on the Santa Fe trail. The whole six-book series. And extra moccasins and shawls.”
Jayson said, “Deal!”
As they left tea to go purchase Josefina, Jayson looked down at the first American Girl doll Rob ever bought for Ella, “the lovable schemer,” and said, “Wow, Ella’s a real ‘Molly,’ huh?”
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Mom Buys Muscle Massager
to Really Massage Muscles
Suburgatory, USA—A local woman was unable to convince the men at the Eaton pharmacy that she was buying a muscle massager to really massage her muscles.
Mary Pickering was first noticed in the orthopedic care aisle where she was purchasing supplies for her elderly mother. Tom Carrothers and Joey Marti, on their break from the construction site down on Milford Street, noticed her and thought she fit the sexual cliché that has run rampant among men of their age: “MILF.”
“Hey, Tommy she’s pretty MILF-y, huh? Tits are a little droopy, but me still likey,” said Marti.
Carrothers said, “Yeah, that yummy mummy’s aged pretty well.” Pickering ignored them.
But soon Pickering was in the personal massage area and Marti and Carrothers were electrified. As she picked up the Ergonomic two-speed Handheld Massager and began heading to the checkout, they decided they were done shopping and would check out along with her. While standing in line, she overheard Tom Carrothers say, “You know, I have just the thing to ‘massage those muscles’ of hers. Right, Joey?” Joey said, “Yeah, you know if I had a pretty lady like that at home, she’d be getting her muscles massaged every night, real hard, too. No batteries required!” They laughed and elbow-poked one another.
Pickering turned to the men and said, “Look, I genuinely need this device for my shoulders. My physical therapist told me to buy it.” Both men were silent, smiling and slowly nodding with their mouths a bit ajar. As she arrived at the checkout, the clerk, who looked to be nineteen, had the same expression. Pickering said, slowly and forcefully, “I have sore shoulders.” “Of course! That will work wonders on shoulders. You know, we are also having a special on RePhresh vaginal gel,” the clerk said.
At this point, she said, “Little boy, I don’t have a dry vagina.”
“Yeah, definitely not, no dry vaginas if I was in the sack with her, right?” said Carrothers to Marti, who held up his hand and said, “Don’t leave me hangin’!” Marti high-fived him.
Pickering finally lost her composure. “Do I look like a fool to you? Do you really think I would trust my orgasms to a piece of junk I buy at a drugstore? I have a whole goddamn family of vibrators at home. And a husband who fucks me into oblivion whenever I want. Oh, and could you be any more cliché? ‘Don’t leave me hanging,’ all that MILF and Yummy Mummy shit? Does anyone even still use those stupid terms?”
Marti, looking chastened, said, “In porno they do.”
“What are you even buying anyway?” asked Pickering, accusingly. The men dutifully extended their hands: Marti was holding Lamisil anti-fungal cream. Carrothers had Preparation H, and a copy of Martha Stewart Living magazine.
Mercedes-Driving Dad Dreams of
Suburgatory, USA—A local dad spoke about the current economic hardship and his hopes for an “easier life” for his children, while getting his Mercedes detailed at the Hooper Street Car Wash & Detailing.
Eric Sellers’ S-class sedan had a bumper sticker that read Had Enough?, which referred to what he called President Obama’s “war on the little guy.”
“I mean, I am not one of those Tea Party crazies who thinks Obama is a socialist or a secret Kenyan terrorist or anything. I think he’s dangerous just because he’s an old-fashioned tax-and-spend liberal. The tax rates in this country are criminal,” he said, looking for agreement from the mostly Latino men using small brushes on the crevices of the car.
“You know, I’m just a regular Joe, a suburban small-business man. We are the backbone of this economy! And yet I’m expected to pay more than 40 percent of my income to the government. Money that should be going to my kids, who are suffering in this terrible recession. Thank God I have a whiz-bang accountant who can get that 40 percent down to about 10 percent, but that’s still highway robbery.”
At a 40 percent tax rate, this would put Sellers in the top 1 percent of America’s wealthiest individuals. Sellers scoffs at this notion. “Oh please, do I look like Donald Trump? I may be ‘technically’ in the top 1 percent, but with prices these days I’m really just average like everyone else. Right, guys?” He gestured to the men working, who murmured their approval.
“You know, America used to be great. Everyone had a fair shot. But I don’t know anymore, I just don’t know. I just hope and pray life is easier when my kids are grown up than it’s been for me these last few years. And for them.”
He went on to describe some of their recent hardships. “This year, I told my wife ‘No more Nordstrom. It’s Nordstrom Rack or nothing.’ To see her face, oh God, as a man, that was quite a blow. That really hit my dignity.”
Sellers has also had to curtail the travel and leisure budget.
“I had to sit them all down as a family and tell them we couldn’t go to Vail this year. Our ski-week would have to happen in Vermont. I thought the kids would be sad, but really, they looked terrified. Seemed like a perfect time to teach them about the tyranny of marginal tax rates.”
While some give too much, Sellers says, other “protected classes” enjoy outrageous benefits.
“These teachers and their extortionist unions get the whole fucking summer off. Wouldn’t you like to have the summer off too, guys?” he said, addressing the detailing crew. “I know I would!”
With his car finished, Sellers checked his iPhone for the time and said, “Guys, not to be a dick here but I dropped the car off at noon and it’s 2:06 p.m. Two-hour guarantee?”
The workers looked at him and without saying a word rang up his 25 percent discount.
“Hey, every penny counts, am I right?” Sellers said.
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PTO Stunner: New President
“Not a Power-Mad Psycho”
Suburgatory, USA—Longtime PTO participants at the Burns Elementary School are reeling at news that their new president is neither crazy, nor annoying, nor a “power-mad psycho.”
“Oh my God, I’m afraid to say it and end up jinxing it but she seemed completely normal!” said Joellen Joyce. “And. And. She told a dirty joke. In front of her kid. And then said, ‘Don’t tell on me!’”
Joyce is referring to Laura Beazley, who was a dark-horse candidate to succeed Emily Fahdin, the previous PTO head, who was nicknamed “Bin Fahdin.” “Yeah, it’s stupid, but we laughed so hard after we came up with that one,” said Joyce.
As for Beazley, Joyce said, “No one knew anything about Laura so we were convinced that she was a ‘Bin Fahdin embed,’ that is, an acolyte and pawn of Fahdin, who has moved on to a bigger PTO stage at the Lexington Middle School.
Fahdin was loathed and feared for fomenting dissent, or in PTO parlance, “shit-stirring”; for launching bizarre vanity projects like commissioning a video crew to document her activities for, in her words, “posterity”; for alienating the working parents by calling them “blood-sucking PTO parasites”; and for demanding total control.
Katie Mulheren described one run-in with Fahdin, after Mulheren floated a new, and apparently unwanted, idea for improving one aspect of the school’s annual Rodeo Fun Fair. “She trapped me in the spaghetti aisle at the store and got her face right up to mine. I mean, an inch away from my face, and said, ‘The Fun Fair has always been done this way, and always will. People in this town don’t like change. You need to be very very careful and think really hard about what you are doing.’ I really can’t do it justice, it was so insane.”
Fahdin also policed members for insufficient spirit or irreverence, unless it was directed at working moms, whom she seemed to openly loathe. “Oh you don’t need Freud for that one! It’s because she didn’t make partner at her law firm, and had to plow her type-A crazy into something. Lucky us! It was the PTO,” said Mulheren.
So when Beazley scheduled her first PTO meeting, members were prepared for the worst. Here’s some of what she said:
“Thanks for coming out at night, I know that’s a change for many of you but we need to try to include working parents in the PTO, so they do not feel like PTO pariahs.
My PTO philosophy can be summed up in four words: No Bullshit, No Drama. I believe PTO is for making extra money for things the school can’t provide, and offering a reasonable—and I stress the word reasonable—number of projects to get families involved in the community or enrich education. That’s it. If you, as a working parent, want to kick in a little money, that counts as volunteering, and you will be thanked alongside those fortunate enough to have time to lend their labor. There’ll be no guilting under my watch. And while I welcome any and all ideas, I do not welcome cliques or backstabbing. I don’t know about you, but I remember high school and have no desire to relive it.”
As Beazley finished, it was apparent several mothers were tearing up with relief at this unexpected sanity. Mulheren: “I know it’s ridiculous, especially since we had that silly name for her, but this is how I felt when I heard we got rid of Bin Laden. The real Bin Laden.”
Principal Replaces Pledge of Allegiance with “Eye of the Tiger”
Suburgatory, USA— A principal has been placed on paid administrative leave after having children recite lyrics from “Eye of the Tiger” rather than the Pledge of Allegiance.
Parents learned of the principal’s “lesson” when kids began using phrases from “Eye of the Tiger.” At first, they assumed the kids had learned them from Wii’s “Guitar Hero” game. But they weren’t singing the words, rather, they were reciting them, and one parent contacted the media. “Yeah, that principal was so far out of line, but I gotta say, I do love that song,” said parent Richard Dunn, who began humming it himself and lightly pumping his fist.
The principal in question is Jon Bohrman.
“They’re making a big deal
out of nothing! I was trying, very creatively, I might add, to challenge the kids at Maginn Elementary to pursue their dreams, question assumptions, and think for themselves. That’s why I forced them to learn ‘Eye of the Tiger.’”
Critics of Bohrman say that was not his sole motivation. They say the answer can be found on his Facebook page, which shows he has “liked” several groups: Ayn Rand Greatest Philosopher That Ever Lived, Ayn Rand Rocks, and Ayn Rand’s Breasts. Bohrman flinched a bit at the mention of that last group, but readily admits that that he is an adherent of Rand’s Objectivist philosophy, which argues that morality is about the pursuit of one’s own happiness or self-interest. Objectivists believe only unfettered capitalism can allow for this to flourish, and in general, believers oppose many or most forms of collective action.
“Yes, I’m a believer. Not in God, of course, but in Objectivism. I got a copy of Atlas Shrugged back in college from the really smart guy in my frat, a genius, hedge-fund god now. This is my favorite quote: ‘The world you desire can be won. It exists … it is real … it is possible … it’s yours.’”
Bohrman thinks the time has come for Objectivism to flourish. “Let’s face it, America is in decline. Shouldn’t we emphasize to our children the importance of personal drive, of having the motivation to face down detractors and fight another day? Now, that’s what “Eye of the Tiger” teaches, not the Pledge. Listen…” As he played the song, he spoke the lyrics that the kids themselves recited.
’Risin’ up, back on the street.
Did my time, took my chances.
Went the distance, now I’m back on my feet.
Just a man and his will to survive.
He muted the song. “Now compare that to the Pledge. All the Pledge does is force kids to mouth empty, robotic promises to be loyal to a nation and a god. Nothing about shooting for the moon. What’s that all about? I’m sure if Ayn Rand was alive, she would be a fan of the band Survivor.”