Suggested Audio Candy:
Carly Simon “Why?”
As a child I was always encouraged to ask questions. It’s a well published fact that we learn more as infants than at any other time of your lives so it stands to reason that we will take every opportunity to learn while the going is good. It’s all about making a connection and every slither of learning causes another synapse to fuse. My four-year old constantly asks me questions and I openly encourage it as I’m fully aware that, by giving him the answers, I’m helping to wire his mind thus tooling him up for the journey ahead. However, it doesn’t end with childhood. I often state that the day we think we know it all is a very bleak one and recently I have regained my thirst for knowledge. There are many posers I ask myself on a daily basis and today I plan to share a few with you. Some of the answers may be clear, others shrouded in grey area, and this experiment should allow me to get a few things off my chest, if nothing else. Therefore, I wish to ponder no further and get straight down to business.
How many hamsters have I had and lost? There’s an easy one to start with. Five… all Russian and with a combined age of less than eight years when they finally succumbed. Which part of my body is the most sensual? My inside arms are incredibly sensitive and running your nails down them is ordinarily enough to make me gurn like a toddler. Elsewhere, the tip of my member is rather tender although bizarrely enough I have virtually no feeling in my shaft. How many times have I fallen over in public? Numerous and with no attempt whatsoever at covering them up. The most amazing natural wonder I have ever seen? That would be a toss-up between the Grand Canyon and a beautiful flower garden in Bolinas, California where I proposed to my second wife. Most horrifying sight? My father’s life-sapped shell and, bringing it back in swiftly, my first exposure to a horse’s penis.
What would I ask if my voice could travel anywhere? I’d pack it straight off to Canada to inform Justin Bieber of my plan to knead him like dough then place him in an industrial kiln to set. I would then ask Sandra Bullock why she irritates me so and question whether Ru Paul still possesses his tallywacker? I would also ask O.J. Simpson where he was on that fateful evening in June 1994 and quiz him on where he discarded his murder weapon before asking Natalie Portman if I could paint her toes, Zelda Rubinstein whether she in the room with us, and E.T. if he is on a mobile contract and what his high score is on Candy Crush Saga. While I was at it, I’d ask Milli Vanilli if I could borrow their cycling shorts and Monica Lewinsky whether she spits or swallows.
I believe I may have opened a can of worms as a million questions are currently floating around in my cranial carousel. Did Lionel Richie ever get charged for stalking that blind chick? And was it wise to let her loose on that pottery wheel? Whatever happened to Jazzy Jeff? Whatever happened to Nauls from The Thing? Whatever happened to Rosemary’s Baby? Did Elvis ever shit himself and how many Osmonds could I roll up in a rug? It’s madness I tell you and some days all I have is questions. Why do I feel like I slept in an overcrowded womb overnight? Is my penis as large as it was when I was eighteen? Why is there no fucking cheese in the fridge? It’s exhaustive. Why won’t that gnat just piss off and aggravate somebody else? Why is this packet of potato chips 80% gases? Should I take my boy to Santa’s grotto this coming weekend and pilfer from the old man’s sack? How many fragments of my mind have I lost over the years? How many are remaining?
Right now I’m wondering how frostbite manifests as my fingerless gloves house eight frozen digits and a pair of chilled thumbs. Am I losing my mind? Is there method in my madness? Is it possible for a man to ovulate and, if not, then why am I bleeding from my genitals? Is my heart blackened? How many Zulus were in the film Zulu? I would hazard a guess at forty-two but I watched it on a portable television. Why did I choose to watch Peter Jackson’s big-budget extravaganza King Kong on a ten-inch screen during a red-eye flight to Los Angeles? Did I miss a trick there? How many Friday the 13th films did they spew out in total and does Freddy vs Jason count?
Does anyone remember the priceless 3D moment when Jaws burst through the window of the underwater observatory and then froze? Has anyone else in the world ever watched Koyaanisqatsi? How many of the original Brady Bunch sniff coke now? How many Australian dollars does Dame Edna Everage carry in his/her clutch bag? When did rhythm and blues curdle into R&B? How many days is it since I last had a full night’s sleep? Why do we hold in so much flatulence on primary courtship? How many farts do we expel on the journey home? How many alka seltzer do we guzzle down on arrival? Why does a tiny turd sting our rectums so much on evacuation but a gargantuan yuletide log slip out almost unnoticed?
How many tabloid newspapers could I burn in a day? Come to think of it, how many tabloid newspaper office buildings could I burn down in a day and would I spare the cleaner? How well does Russell Brand pull off a riding crop and Jodhpurs? Must stop… too many questions. Information overload. Don’t want to end up like Ian Holm from Alien, frothing on a mantle piece. Breathe and retrieve Keeper. One at a time! Okay, peaceful. What possessed Meg Ryan to have her lips done? She was simply angelic in The Doors and I desired nothing more than to gnaw her frontal lobe and polish off the meal with her eyeballs dipped in honey. What went wrong Meg? Speaking of which, is it true that Val Kilmer is a bit of an arrogant prick?
Was George W. Bush actually for real? Surely that one’s inconclusive. Is he bipedal? Do those furry eyebrows conceal a dark secret and where does he go to feast on the blood of innocents? Who came up with the bright idea to rename Opal Fruits Starbust anyhoots? Did sales plummet as a direct result? Why did Molly Ringwald fall from grace and is she a natural redhead? What about the rest of The Breakfast Club? I liked those guys. Did Richard Gere catch chlamydia from Julia Roberts after pounding her ovaries in the cocktail lounge during Pretty Woman? When did Tom Cruise get his wonky teeth fixed? Did he ever get around to subjecting Katie Holmes to the anal probe? Why didn’t Bill Murray win the Oscar for Lost in Translation? Why does Jason Statham insist on attempting an American accent? Is Vin Diesel better for the environment than unleaded?
There’s just no end to the questions. Why are we forced to drudge through automated services each time we wish to lodge a complaint and who the hell selects the godawful hold music? Is our call really important to them? Why is it that pensioners smell funny? Is there a cut-off point where we decide to grow old gracefully and start wearing cardigans and carpet slippers to go to the mall? Why does Coca Cola make us belch incessantly? Did Morgan Spurlock ever recover from spending an entire month on a staple diet of super-sized McDonald’s? Why is it that even their salads are bad for your health? Is it really necessary for quite so much salt to be used? Has Ronald McDonald ever gotten laid? If so then did he keep his clown shoes on?
Can Hugh Heffner still maintain an erection and how many of his Playboy bunnies sleep in his bed each night? Is his mattress orthopedic? Why did all of our favorite seventies entertainers end up being paedophiles? How old is Ronnie Wood? Has he reached the ton yet? How many Golden Girls does it take to change a lightbulb? Was Dorothy previously a man? What does it say about them when we actually wanted to bone Blanche? Or was that just me? How many sweaters does Bill Cosby own? How many accumulative days has Lindsey Lohan spent in jail? At what point did Hannah Montana decide she was partial to cock? Was that wrecking ball authentic? Did anybody give it a lick after she finished shooting her video? I could go on all night and halfway through tomorrow.
Then there are the more important questions? Am I a good person? I believe so yes and never set out to act without due kindness. There have certainly been moments in my life where I have discarded my honor momentarily but, by and large, I think I have just about justified my golden ticket. I’m not sure how many years I still have left but I know one thing for damned sure: I’ll keep on asking questions for as long as my lips can flap.