03 February 2009

So You Want To Have Sex With My Daughter

A MonologueSo you want to have sex with my daughter. No, no, don’t try to play dumb. I saw the way you looked at her over dinner. I saw that lustful expression on your face. Well, I can’t say I blame you--no no, don’t leave. Please, Gus, sit down. She’s a beautiful girl. Takes after her mother. But you should know there are other things she takes after her mother. Like “Rattles,” for example. That’s the family vibrator.

Oh, I’m quite serious, son. That vibrator has been in our family for five, maybe seven generations, starting in the late 1880s in Rhineland Germany. Legend goes that it was handcrafted by gypsies in possession of a magic crystal haunted by the ghost of Rasputin.

Who believes the legends, though?

After barely surviving Nazi occupation buried like an electric corn cob in my grandfather’s lower intestine, my great uncle was able to retrieve it with a pair of needle-nosed pliers and some spirit gum after the funeral. I remember that Sunday my grandmother gave it a quick rinse off and did a test run. By some miracle of God, that contraption still purred like a well-oiled Formula 1 engine. Maybe because of the haunted crystal, who knows!

What was that? No, you can’t leave. I’ve locked us in.

Now, by the time I came in possession of Rattles, I was undergoing some changes in my life, much like the very big changes you’re undergoing right now, young man. Those days everything excited me. Everything. It was a curse. I couldn’t stop experimenting…with Rattles…in the dead of night…as far off in the distance the howling of the wolves would throw my pubescent body into strange contortions of sexual yearning. If ever the crystal had any true potency in this world, it was then. If you believe the legends.

Needless to say, in the depths of my addiction, I still had the common sense to give away that cursed vibrator. As a wedding present, in fact.

To my wife.

And thus, Rattles passed from hand to hand, to hand, to hand, to hand, down to my daughter Clarissa. Who, if my intuition proves correct, has been making furious use of the instrument in the wee hours. She cleans it with Pepsodent.

So, I thought I’d just let you know. Not as a cautionary tale, Gus, but rather to keep you from ever thinking about ever, ever getting involved in any way whatsoever with any member of my family for any reason.