Nothing But a G-rated Thang

By Wil Forbis
June 16, 2001
I was sitting around the Acid Logic offices, after having spent several hours sexually propositioning the computer generated Mcafee Site Assistant, when a knock came on the door. With one smooth motion I swept two days worth of whiskey bottles and pornographic magazines off my desk, straightened my lapel and called out demurely "Come in…?" And who should enter, but Judith, my lovely and talented co-worker, whom often serves as an unwitting comic foil in these delightful columns.

"Judith," I said. "Is it time once again for our thrice weekly after-work sexual escapades? I believe I left my gimp mask at home."

"I'm a women of few rules, Forbis," Judith sternly replied. "And one of them is that I never sleep with anyone who uses the word 'thrice'. You're out of luck. Now there's someone here to see you."

"Well, your reticence is indeed a shame, Judith," I said. "I guess your sister and I will have to have a go at it alone. Send her in."

"You should be so lucky," Judith rebutted. "Unfortunately, you're not half the man my sister is. Actually the person to see you is…"

"Spike!" I cried out with joy, as the visage of my now ten year old nephew appeared at the door.

"You know this beastly troll?" Judith asked. "He's been terrorizing the homeless man down the street by giving him food stamps instead of actual money."

"Of course I know Spike, Judith" I replied. Don't you remember him from my delightful column about the Clinton spectacle entitled 'The Effects of Clinton Vision'? Our wacky antics put the Monica Lewinsky scandal in the proper light while the rest of the media was engaged in its relentless puritanical proselytizing."

"Yeah, bitch!" said Spike. "Don't you remember me!?"

"Spike" I cried out, alarmed. "Where did you pick up such language? That sort of mindless misogyny is certainly not the trait of a Forbis... We practice a very cerebral form of misogyny."

"For once your uncle is right, pipsqueak," Judith added. "You'll have to be rejected by thousands of women before you be able to understand the many layers of his embittered woman-hating."

"Cut the static!" Spike admonished. "You don't understand. When I was last seen, I was a wee white trash toddler of eight. Now that I'm ten, I've entered the hard urban world of gangsta rap! Fuck all y'all! Bee-yaaaatch!! Don't be playa-hatin on me!"

"Spike, dear sweet, Spike" I sniveled. "Since you we're a little boy, I've made one thing clear, and that is that I would never, ever, playa-hate you! How could you say such things?"

"Chill, Uncle Wil," Spike admonished. "Look, I'm supposed to spend the weekend with you. So let's get rhymin'! Tell this 'ho to start shaking her booty, or to get the hell out of here! Bee-yaaatch!"

"I think he wants you to leave…" I whispered to Judith. "He may be armed."

"Have fun," Judith said, slamming the door on her way out.

"Tell your sister I said 'Hi'!" I called after her. I then turned my attention to Spike and gave him a more thorough once over. He was wearing all the signs of an urban gangsta - the baggy pants, the gold tooth, the "Tupac Lives" T-Shirt.

"So what's a honky like you do to get his freak on around here, Uncle Wil?" Spike asked. "Where do you keep the bee-yatches and 'hos?"

"The what?" I asked Spike? "I'm afraid I'm having trouble working my way through your urban street vernacular. Oh, wait… you mean the 'bitches and whores'. Why yes, I have some around here somewhere. However, you won't get anywhere with them till you learn to enunciate. Trust me, Spike. Nothing excites a woman more than good enunciation."

"Sounds good Uncle Wil! I just wanna get a freak and start to 'Bounce, Bounce.' Let me lay down some pipe!"

"Actually… Spike," I said, rethinking the situation. "It's starting to dawn on me that having group sex with my 10 year old nephew may not be such a good idea. Just as I promised your mother I'd never playa-hate you, I also promised her I'd try and stop you from "laying down some pipe" till you were 12."

"That's chill, Uncle Wil." Spike stated. "It's still 15 years earlier than you ever did it. And I'll bet you I won't be paying. And that it won't be a farm animal. Well, what else you got to do around here?"

"I'm glad you asked, Spike. I've got the next best thing to mindless sex: Disney cartoons! Check it out - 'The Jungle Book', 'The Rescuers', Snow White' - Combined with a case of 211 Malt Liquor and we've got a weekend's worth of entertainment here."

"Uhhh… I may have a problem Uncle Wil," Spike said. "My mom won't let me watch cartoons ever since the release of the report from the Harvard School of Public Health document the incidence of tobacco and alcohol abuse in G-rated films. She's says they're a bad influence."

"Spike, old chum," I argued. If your mother had any concern for your welfare, then I assure she would not let you visit me. Besides, I watched every one of these films when I was a kid and I turned out fine, reports from the American Psychological Association notwithstanding. These films are absolutely harmless. Look at this one. Are you saying there's something wrong with 'The Great Mouse Detective'?"

"Well, yeah, Wil," Spike bleated. "The mouse detective smokes a pipe, just like Sherlock Holmes. That could influence me to become a smoker. Think of all ten year old pipe smokers you see out on the street."

"That's ridiculous, Spike," I berated him. "For one thing, this mouse detective is fictional whereas Sherlock Holmes was real person. I can't believe you don't want to watch 'The Great Mouse Detective'."

"Well, actually, Wil. If you read the report, it says we can watch these films if we use them to discuss the effects of alcohol and tobacco use."

"Oh, great. How am I supposed to know what the effects of tobacco would be on a mouse? They probably explode or something. Look. How about this one: 'All Dogs Go To Heaven'? They're can't be anything wrong with that."

"Uhhh, don't you recall the scene where the dogs are drinking in bar. That's just the sort of thing I shouldn't be exposed to."

"Look Spike, if you go to bars, you're gonna see dogs drinking. That's just how it is."

"I don't think that's true, Uncle Wil," Spike said. "And I think the concern is more about the effects of alcohol than what dogs are like."

"Well, look, Spike," I said. "If you knew you were going to heaven, you'd drink too, wouldn't you? It just means you'd getter there than much sooner! These dogs are pretty smart people."

"Yeah, I don't think you're making much sense, Uncle Wil. However, there's one bright spot. The report doesn't say anything about drug use. If you can find an G-rated film with lots of illegal substances… well, maybe we could watch that?"

"Well, looking at this report, I'm sorry to report that illicit drug use is frighteningly devoid from G-rated films, old chum. " I said. "Can't find a one."

"Let me get this straight, Uncle Wil. You're saying that in all these films about elephants flying with their elephant ears, cartoon mice dancing with broomsticks and dwarves named "Dopey" there's not a single instance of drug use? It seems to me that every animated film ever made is a blatant endorsement for the use of mind-altering substances. 'Get High, Draw Cartoons and Get Paid!'"

"Why you little scamp..." I murmured, "Your childlike observations contain an inner truth many wise adults refuse to acknowledge. It brings a tear to my eye to think of all those years I wasted getting high, drawing cartoons, BUT NOT GETTING PAID. The injustice of it all...!"

"Uhh, Uncle Wil, I've seen your cartoons. No one's interested of the adventures of a talking celery stick named Leroy who lives in the Sahara dessert."

"Broccoli you dimwit! He was a broccoli! And he could have been the next Bart Simpson!"

"Well, we better wrap this one up, Uncle Wil," Spike intoned. "I sense the audience is getting tired of our mindless bantering. Find a film without the terrible earmarks of nicotine or booze."

"Ahh, I'm proud to see you've inherited the old Forbis sense of comic timing, my young protégé." I said. "How about this one. It's a classic: 'Behind the Green Door'?"

"I already saw that three times in a row last summer when you dropped me off at the children's playroom at that porn convention in Vegas" Spike intoned. "And frankly I found its blatant over-use of neo-realistic elements borrowed from French cinema of the 50's mind numbingly cliché."

"Hey, you did have a good time playing with Nina Hartley's daughter," I said. "Well, here's my final offer - the classic snuff film 'The Faces of Death'."

"Your sure it's safe, Uncle Wil?" Spike asked? "No alcohol?"

"Not that I recall, Spikey." I said. "It does have a man being attacked by an alligator though."

"That's fine. How bout any smoking? There's no tobacco?"

"Nope. But there's a great scene with a parachutist whose chute doesn't open. And a walk through the house of a family who've been killed by a homicidal maniac."

"Uncle Wil, I think you've done it. You've found and entertaining, alcohol and tobacco free film that's fun for the whole family."

"Well, I'm always looking after you Spike. You're a Forbis, after all."

"Bee-yaaaatchhhhh"

"That's right, Spike…. Beee-yaaaatch!"

What do you think America? Leave your comments on the Guestbook!

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 - acidlogic@hotmail.com

Visit Wil's web log, My So-Called Penis, and receive complete enlightenment.

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