Dear Dirty America


American Politics in the Toilet

November 15
04:57 2011
Natl Correspondent
Los Angeles, CaliforniaDear Dirty America is mostly concerned with nasty, dirty politics, and the repugnant nature of Washington D.C., but it is also concerned with dear ugly details encountered within everyday life. Such as oral sex and toilets. Oral sex is a very uncleanly act, yet people do it to other people. Don’t ask me why, but something drives them. The Spirit, perhaps. Or, just plain physiology.

I’ve been reincarnated hundreds of time. I’m 250,000 years old. I’ve grown tired of trivial acts in the name of sexual pleasure. I’m now into astral projection. In my next lifetime, I hope I can master teleportation. If you don’t believe in these things, maybe you’re too interested in oral sex.

The toilet

Toilets are also not clean. In fact, if you don’t keep your bathroom tidy, your house can become infested with demons, because entities from the “lower realms” feed on filth. Once you have demons feeding on your physical muck and unwashed, uncleaned bathroom floor and toilet bowl, you can’t easily get them to leave. “Get out of my house, in the name of Jesus Christ!” you can shout, but most people don’t use the proper tone, nor do they believe in Jesus deeply enough for it to work. If you’ve never heard a demon laugh, just know, it’s chilling, and you’ll hear that roaring chuckle when you try to cast them out with a half-assed incantation calling on Christ.

All of this is to document a truly nasty, but unbelievable and breathtaking story told to me by my best friend and aging hippie, Marlin. See Visiting Charles Bukowski’s House: a refreshing scene of Carnage, Drunkenness, & Poetry , which features Marlin, and also Richard Nixon.

My toilet stopped working, so like any good male, I carefully lifted the tank’s lid, identified the problem, and fixed it. While I tampered with the hardware, I thought of the story Marlin told me one week ago about a truly amazing and dirty encounter he had with a tiny Hispanic woman.

With my hands deep in the tank, I thought about Marlin describing how he’d been giving this woman oral sex. Marlin’s got really bad teeth, and his head is bald on top. The hair on the sides of his head is long, and he ties it up in the back to make a stringy rat’s tail that hangs between his shoulder blades. Marlin’s thin. He’s loud. He likes all women.

“I was licking her twat,” he told me, “and I’m really good at it. The best, brother. No woman can resist this tongue.” We were standing in the grocery store, and Marlin was attracting a lot of attention from the afternoon Sunday shoppers. I tried to keep my cool and let him finish his story. He promised it was worth it.

“Hey buddy,” said a tall, gray-haired man wearing a trench coat, “watch your language. This is a family grocery store.”

“Freedom of speech, buddy!” Marlin hollered.

“This is a family establishment. You can’t just go around a workplace saying gross sexual things. Who are you? Herman Cain?

I chuckled. The man gave me a stern look. “What’s so funny about that, young man?” Nothing, I said, except that I’m Republican, and I use funny lines like that in my blog. And Cain used funny lines at work when speaking to female employees. Like Sugar Tits. But check out my blog, I said. It’s called Dear Dirty America. Its been recognized as a hate blog. The man walked out of the grocery store shaking his head.

Marlin’s story became so foul at its next point, that I knew I had to include it in DDA, because it rivaled the fetid nature of American politics, which this blog so dearly comments on. I would give examples, but all you have to do is snoop around DDA for a second, and you’ll see what I mean. The nastiness. The unsavory character of those in charge, representing us. Politicians in favor of torture, greed, war, fiscal cuts for low-wage earners. Politicians as enemies of the middle class.

We tell Washington we don’t want any more war. They don’t listen. We tell our congresspeople we want to tax the super rich, but they continue to support the banks and corporations. We need jobs, but instead our politicians fight over whose party is better. They don’t listen, and most of them don’t really care about the American people. They like the insider trading deals, and they like the prestige of being a Congressman or woman. They take lavish vacations, we get fucked. It’s time to fuck them back. Time to drop them in the toilet like so much shit, and flush the filthy bastards. Get rid of the putrid dead weight plugging our system.

“She was on her time of the month, bro,” he said, speed-talking like he always does. The wheatgrass juice was still caked around his lips (Marlin’s a junkie). “But I didn’t care, I was giving her my special moves. This girl’s like twenty-one,” he said, “and she appreciated someone with two more decades of experience, I can tell you that, bro.”

I was sweating, watching the faces of the customers who happened to catch a few of Marlin’s loudly spoken words. I kept running my hands through my hair. We stood by the entrance of the store, a few feet away from the checkout lines. Everybody knows Marlin at the grocery store. He’s there every day.

Why a vicious transvestite in a mobile chair made me believe the world was going to end on May 21, 2011

“She says she’s there, bro,” he said, “so I give her my finishing touch. I press my tongue real hard, lot of pressure, and do a tight circle.” He paused, clearly thinking about how to better describe it to me. I held up a hand to say I didn’t need any more. “Good idea!” Marlin shouted, “I’ll do it on your hand so you know, then you can use it.”

I backed away.

Marlin’s bedroom window,
in his mother’s house.

“So I get her there, and she starts screaming, and then she shouts in Spanish.” Marlin recited something that sounded more like Latin. “And Ka-POW!” he shouts, throwing his hands in the air, “something shoots out of her and straight through the open window. We like to keep the windows open to get a cool breeze. Guess what shot out, bro. Guess.” Marvin tapped his toes and clapped his hands, waiting.

I shook my head.

“Her tampon, brother. Right out the window, into the street. Hit a Korean man walking by on the sidewalk. Splat! We’re on the fourth floor. I peeked out, covering my genitals, and I saw the man pulling the thing off his face and throwing it to the ground. Greatest story of my life, bro! Greatest story.”

Every night, Marlin told me, they try to do that trick again, but to no avail. “Once in a lifetime,” he said. “Things like that happen only once, if you’re lucky.”

I fixed my toilet, and I left Marlin’s story sunk at the bottom of the bowl, along with the repugnant nature of America’s politics. But I can’t seem to flush them all the way down the hole.

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