Editor’s Note: This is Marlow’s take on the last part of the frantic cavalcade that is happening around us. There are 16 days to go in this part of the most amazing election we have had a chance to witness. It is a humorous version on the view conveyed from ancient times and distant places.

– Vic

Author’s Note: We are heading out early tomorrow on distant mountain roads for an overdue frontier RDVU with old island friends. They called last night from a small-town northern Georgia dive bar called Sister Louisa’s Church to advise us to bring our guns and a few Biden front yard signs to even things up a bit. Our sides still hurt from the ensuing hysterical laughter. Initially drafted three months ago, the following short story was inspired by a “ventriloquist” tale in William Burrough’s novel Naked Lunch. With the crazy-as-shit 2020 Presidential campaign debates underway and mostly complete it now seems appropriate to share.

-Marlow

I am not making this up: interior shot of Sister Louisa’s Church

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Did I ever tell you about a college student I knew back in the 1960s who taught his asshole to talk? Like the burp talking I did as a kid, his abdomen would move up and down, farting out the words.

It was unlike anything I’d ever heard.

Burbly, thick, pungent sound.

Yup, sounds you could smell.

Dude didn’t even think about working for a carnival. He’d have been the star geek-show attraction, making millions.

Starting off, he did it at Friday night dorm parties for free drinks. When plastered, his talking asshole slurred its words. I kid you not.

During his junior year, his ass started talking on its own. On things he had no knowledge of. His ass didn’t know shit but could sure talk it.

His ass was ad-libbing. It was an immense crack up.

Then it developed a set of teeth that started eating. Cute at first, his asshole would not shut up and would eat its way through his pants and start riffing for or cutting on innocent people as dude walked down the street. Sort of a stinky Don Rickles.

By this time, we had gotten used to the smell.

Once it started shouting out it wanted equal rights, it became insufferable pain.

Drunkenness and crying jags soon followed. It wanted to kick some ass but couldn’t.

It now was a complete and utter asshole.

It then wanted to be kissed by everyone.

It talked incessantly 24/7. It got some local, low-wattage, college radio station play, but couldn’t break into big city AM or FM radio, let alone Carson on national TV.

In the end this asshole shut his person up entirely upon telling him it could talk shit, eat shit and shit shit all it wanted.

Soon the student lost all interest in living with his mouth, nose and mind withering and finally disappearing. The one thing the asshole couldn’t do was see. It needed the dude’s eyes.

That was until early text to voice to text apps came on the scene back in the early 80s. So, the eyes and brain no longer were needed to gather data or give orders anymore. The man’s eyes and brain up and died.

By then with radio and TV shows dominated by imitators, the talking asshole decided to run for political office. Folks loved it. It repeatedly won in landslides. Politicians took notice and soon imitated its schtick.

The rest is history.

Postscript #1: Perhaps, this is the fate that awaits all those who use social media — assholes talking shit.

Postscript #2: The darkened meat of these two candidates’ campaigns is like aged French (which is almost tainted) cheese, overpoweringly delicious and nauseating so that the eaters eat and wince and eat again until they fall exhausted from the pleasure and revulsion.

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