Two Men

BUMPS: Hey, Shitty

MOUSER: Hey lounges

BUMPS: What’s the deal

MOUSER: Sleepy. Stupid. Gay.

B: Naw, yr not gay. You’re just creative, and afraid of women.

M: That’s not what my instructor at my graduate MFA program in the Graphic Novel told me

B: O No? What’d he say?

M: He said that I was addicted to Taurine and Guarana Root and all kinds of other lipoids and shit like that. And he said I had something called premature ejaculation syndrome, can you believe it? I have no idea what that is!

B: It’s when you cum the cum of a–

M: Don’t say baby.

B:  I’ve made love to you and your ejaculation was quite mature, Mouser. Elderly, even. You came like a grandpa.


B: [Does that blow-job pantomime thing with his tongue inside his cheek]

[Scholarly-looking dude in the audience stares down into his lap, hard. He couldn’t look more uncomfortable. The paella he had for dinner has given him the farts. His glasses are NOT SMUDGY AT ALL. His khakis are CREASELESS. His SEMI-HOT GIRLFRIEND DRAGGED HIM TO THIS PLAY. AND now these weird, jokey GAY THEMES are making him UNCOMFORTABLE. He is not against homosexuality. He just doesn’t know what to do with either of these “premature ejaculation” jokes or the weird quasifrank homoerotic theme. He hates everyone in this room under the age of 40 except for his girlfriend and including himself. It’s an older crowd at the theater, always is.]

B: Mouser.

NARRATOR: [Standing at the edge of a stage, resting both hands atop a cane. Smiles through his fake white mustache. He wears a bowler] Are these guys really two dudes speaking? And why the academic setting? Is this a college art museum? If so, where are the guards? How have falafels “to go” made them so fat? Where are the women? Where is the wine?

M: Bumps.

B: You’re my little bitch, you know that?

M: I know, Bumps. I love you.

B: I love you, too



5 thoughts on “Two Men

  1. Tomb +Pun

    “Two Men” is a good title, a play on “Tomb N,” where N is any integer and (thus) the tomb is any tomb.

    (And what’s tomb if not bonmot backward + abbrev’d?)

    The mown womb: She’d bemoan whom if I plowed her in a timeshare with other men — our swords’ week’nd ploughshare?

    (Wear & tear & time & hair — she’s a pro and her fare’s fair.)

    She’s a pro, a prion if you give her an in.

    She’s a pro, a cut apron minus “any integer.”


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