By Wil Forbis
An Ego Gone Quite Mad
Damn, I gotta tell you, as the powerful, omnipotent chief personality of one of the web’s most respected and admired humor zines I’ve managed to have my share of sexual adventures. The truth is, when you run a glamorous e-mag like Acid Logic, the chicks flock to you by the truckload, rubbing their legs together like grasshoppers all the while. And once I get ‘em under the sheets there’s very few of my perverse and often illegal sexual peccadilloes they won’t eagerly satisfy. But there’s always been one fantasy I’ve wanted to satiate, one desire I’ve always wanted to see fulfilled: Sisters! That’s why I was at the edge of my seat last week when I found myself in a cheap Washington D.C. hotel room with two of the most fabuloustacious babes in American Politics – The Bush Twins!
But, hey, I’m getting ahead of myself here. I know what you’re thinking: “Wil, I find it totally plausible that you could find yourself about to embark on a ménage a trois with the teenage daughters of the sitting American president, …but in a cheap hotel room of our nation’s capitol? You’ve always seemed like Ritz-Carlton sort of guy.” Hey, I don’t blame you for being suspicious, chillwinkle. It seems pretty crazy to me as I look back on it, so let me clue you in from the beginning…
Now let’s be honest – everyone’s going back and forth about how Bush managed to win the election but to me it’s always been obvious. He won for the same reason every president gets elected: His kids were better looking! Gore lost simply because his kids look like yak bottoms. (Plus, they're probably really boring since mommy wouldn't even let them listen to Prince's “Purple Rain.”) What?! You want more proof that the presidency always goes to the man with the most aesthetic offspring? Think back to a1980's Patty Reagan? Rrroowwll! (She was in her slutty, Cyndi Lauper phase.) Or how about the Kennedys - John John was an Adonis even before he decided to fly his plane into the deep end of the pool. And before you even ask me how Amy Carter fits into this, I ask you to take a look at the Ford family album. What they don't got in looks they got in smarts!
Now I can hear the gears grinding in your head and the thoughts churning out like so much ground up hamburger. “Okay, Wil, I’m willing to accept your quite logical theory that men are elected president on the basis of good genes, as opposed to their views on vital issues of the day, but how did you end up pursuing the fine icons of American virtue that are the Bush scions?” Good question. Well, as a icon of the Internet world, I’ve always found it important to maintain contact with up-and-coming politicians and open my coffers to their campaigns when I feel it might benefit me. Once it became clear that Bush was the shoo-in for 2000, I sent him a taste of some of the moolah I’ve managed obtain over the years. (Readers who contributed to last year's Acid Logic Breast Cancer Research Fundraiser will be happy to know most of the profits went to the Bush campaign, with the rest going towards my own personal breast research at the Mustang Ranch in Carson City, Nevada.) That show of generosity managed to land myself an invite to the White House where George and I sat down to discuss ways he could reimburse me for my financial aid in his hour of need.
The Summit Meeting
“How about one of my oil wells?” George offered, while we settled in at the Lincoln bedroom and took turns hitting a bottle of hundred year old scotch Georgie had found in the closet. “Would’ja like one of them?”
“Are you kidding me?” I retorted. “After your mismanagement, I’d be lucky if they’re worth more than last week’s Yahoo shares.”
“What if I created a national Acid Logic Day?” George continued. “Or if I carved your face into Mount Rushmore? I’m pretty sure I can do that, though I’ll have to check with Pop. He’s more experiencized in these matters.”
“Better yet, could you carve the faces of the members of the band, Rush, into Mount Rushmore?” I asked. "I’ve always felt Geddy Lee never got the credit he deserved."
Suddenly we were interrupted by two voices in the doorway. “Daddyyyy!” they bemoaned. “Bill Clinton keeps walking in on us in the shower. I thought you said you’d get rid of him!”
“Gadzooks,” I exclaimed, looking over at George. “This scotch must be really good, because I’m seeing two angels in the doorway!”
“It’s even better than you think,” George replied. “Cuz’ I’m seeing four of them!”
“George, old pal…” I said, looking over at Mr. Bush with a twinkle in my eye. “I think I’ve got an idea how you can repay me."
A Night on the Town
(It should be noted that the Bush White House threatened me with a lawsuit if I described my actual date with the Bush twins, thus I have to make some changes to protect the innocent. So for the purposes of this article, I'm not going to tell you which set of Bush twins I escorted. Let's just give them the names “Dottie” and... um, “Zottie.” (Some readers may accuse me of making up these names simply because I'm too lazy to find out the Bush twins real names, but I assure you that nothing could be further from the truth.))
"So," I said, as I hustled Dottie and Zottie into a taxpayer provided limousine the next evening. "Where would you girls like to go first? I know! How about a cheap sleazy Washington D.C. hotel with mirrors on the ceiling and a vibrating bed?"
"Gross," Dottie said to Zottie. "I hate it when Daddy send us out as escorts for his sleazy friends."
"You’re not going to try and touch us inappropriately are you?" Zottie said, plaintively looking at me. "Like Mr. Cheney?"
"Well… let's just see what the evening brings..." I replied.
"Cuz' I've gotta say..." Zottie continued. "You're kind of old for us."
"Old!" I thundered! "I'm twentynine. I'm barely ten years above you. Don't you know Picasso was marrying twelve year olds when he was in his sixties!"
"Picasso?" Zottie queried. "Isn't that an airplane?"
"Yeah, don't try and confuserize us," Dottie said. "And get your hand of my knee."
“Uhh… confuserize?” I sneered.
"Okay, maybe I don't innunciorate as good as Daddy,” Dottie growled. “But I still know a lecher when I see one."
"Look," I said, realizing that the situation was already getting out of hand. "Why don't we go see a movie... something romantic that's designed to bring out thoughts of romance, love and experimental sibling lesbianism in a young woman... Like HANNIBAL!"
A few hours later the two Bush sisters emerged from the Georgetown Octoplex covered with the seed from their popcorn wars, while I trailed behind, a slight lag to my step.
"Ha," Zottie said, tossing one final blast of popcorn at Dottie. "I win, you're out of ammunitions."
"I wouldn't be if old man Forbis hadn't thrown up his lunch into my popcorn bag," Dottie said miserably. "What a doofus...."
"How can you girls even think about popcorn wars at a time like this?" I pleaded, still feeling a little green. "Did you see what they did to that man's brain?"
"Ha," exclaimed Dottie. "Daddy says we don't have to worry about anyone eating his brain."
"Yeah," replied Zottie. "And he always said it's always a good time for war. Yesterday he told us that if Mean Mister Hussein doesn’t start behaving he's going to drop a whole ton of popcorn on him.”
"Uhhh, okay" I said, finding myself learning more about U.S. foreign policy than I ever wanted to know. "Say, why don't we hit that sleazy D.C motel now? The one with the mirrored ceilings and vibrating bed?”
"Noo..." the girls exclaimed in unison. "WE'RE HUNGRY"
"Well, look," I replied, “I think I've got some edible condoms in the car. Would those tide you over?"
"Gross," Zottie replied. "I got sick of those when I was twelve. We want real food. At least when Pat Buchanan tried to fondle us he took us to Dennys."
"Okay, okay," I said, trying to maintain my ground. "I think there's a Texas style ribs place just outside the motel. Why don't we pick something up there and take it back to the room."
"GOODIE!" the girls shrieked. "Real food!"
Thus, within twenty minutes I was watching the girls lips suckle, smack and salivate all over and endless series of barbeque ribs that they devoured with uncompromising ease. "Gosh... " I said "Watching you devour those ribs is giving me a few ideas..."
"Hey," Dottie said, quickly turning around to face me. "You know what would really make this a night to rememberize?"
"If we called up your mother and convinced her to join us? " I asked, assuming the girls we're finally getting in the mood.
"No, If we called up Henry Hyde and pretended to be that sheep he likes so much!" Dottie exclaimed.
"Or if we called up Sam Donaldson and pretended to be the terrorists who kidnapped his hairpiece!" added Zottie.
"How about we phone John Ashcroft and tell him the Ku Klux Klan has rejected his membership?" Dottie continued.
I paused, then began rummaging through my wallet for a charge card. "Here you go" I mumbled while handing them my Visa. "Put on your best sheep voice and give Henry Hyde a call. I'm leaving."
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Wil Forbis is a well known international playboy who lives a fast paced life attending chic parties, performing feats of derring-do and making love to the world's most beautiful women. Together with his partner, Scrotum-Boy, he is making the world safe for democracy. Email - firstname.lastname@example.org
Visit Wil's web log, The Wil Forbis Blog, and receive complete enlightenment.