Public Service Announcement

2009-09-07T23:31:00.000-07:00

:30 SECOND SPOT

MAN: I REFUSE TO SHOP AT CHAIN STORES.

WOMAN: I’M VEGAN AND SO IS MY TWO YEAR-OLD.

MAN: I READ THE MEMOIRS OF OPPRESSED MIDDLE EASTERN WOMEN.

WOMAN: I STRIDENTLY CORRECT PEOPLE WHOM I OVERHEAR TELLING RACIST JOKES.

WOMAN: I WALKED OUT OF A MOVIE THAT I FOUND DEGRADING TO WOMEN AND COMPLAINED ABOUT IT TO MY COWORKERS THE FOLLOWING WEEK.

MAN: I DON’T LIKE LABELLING MY SEXUAL ORIENTATION EVEN THOUGH I’VE ONLY SLEPT WITH THE OPPOSITE SEX.

MAN: I’M WEALTHY BUT NOT SHOWY ABOUT IT.

WOMAN: I SPREAD AWARENESS.

MAN: I’M AWARE.

WOMAN: I’M AWARE.

ANNOUNCER:

WHAT DOES AWARENESS MEAN TO YOU? BROUGHT TO YOU BY BORED LIBERALS WHO GET OFF ON PITYING THOSE LESS FORTUNATE.

:10 SECOND SPOT

WOMAN: I WATCHED A HOLLYWOOD MOVIE ABOUT GAY PEOPLE AND CONGRATULATED MYSELF.

MAN: I RECYCLED SOMETHING.

WOMAN: I’M AWARE.

MAN: I’M AWARE.

ANNOUNCER:

BROUGHT TO YOU BY BORED LIBERALS WHO GET OFF ON PITYING THOSE LESS FORTUNATE.

Telephone

2009-08-19T21:41:00.000-07:00

All that remains of the original Fruit Diet is the one piece of fiction I published on it, the short southern Gothic phone-sex-guilt-purge exercise entitled "Telephone".

Johnny Farrell lives in a trailer in Texas. He spends most of his days at the Dairy Queen where he works and most of his nights at home drinking. He sometimes goes out with a fat girl two years older named Maude who also enjoys drinking. Maude is pleasant enough to be around but lacks a certain something. Tonight Johnny is sitting in a chair with the telephone snugly between his ear and shoulder. One hand is holding his cock, and the other is running up and down his pimply ass crack. Johnny’s cock is five inches long when it’s erect but he claims it’s six and a half when he’s on the telephone. “Hey there, fella,” says Johnny.

“Hi,” says Howard.

“What’s goin’ on?” asks Johnny.

“Sittin’ here drinkin’ a beer. How ‘bout you?” says Howard.

“I’m the same. What’re you wearin’?” asks Johnny.

“Just my shorts and a tee shirt. My shorts are white and my tee shirt’s white, too,” says Howard.

“Good. Nice. I’m naked. What’s your name, honey?” asks Johnny.

“Andrew,” says Howard.

“Hi Andrew,” says Johnny.

“So what’s your cock like?” asks Howard.

“Six and a half inches,” says Johnny.

“Circumcised?” asks Howard.

“What?” says Johnny.

“Circumcised?” asks Howard.

“No.” answers Johnny.

He had a few drinks with Maude earlier and whenever he has a few drinks he feels like talking to men on the telephone. The oldest man he has talked to said he was sixty-two but was actually fifty-eight. The youngest man he has talked to said he was nineteen but was actually sixteen. Johnny usually says his name is Jacob when he’s on the telephone because he doesn’t want anyone knowing where he lives or who he is or that he talks to men on the telephone. Not that last names ever come up in his telephone conversations, but Johnny has one prepared just in case: Stern. Jacob Stern.

“What’s your name, stud?” asks Bill.

“Jacob,” says Johnny. “What’s yours?”

“Phil,” says Bill.

“Hi, Phil,” says Johnny.

“Hi, Jacob,” says Bill.

“You strokin’ your cock, Jacob?” asks Bill.

“Of course. Yeah. It’s so hard,” says Johnny.

“How big’s it?” asks Bill.

“Six and three quarters inches about,” says Johnny.

“Nice,” says Bill.

“How big’s yours, Phil?” asks Johnny.

“Seven,” says Bill.

“Nice,” says Johnny.

“So what do you wanna do, Jacob?” asks Bill.

“You a top or a bottom, Phil?” asks Johnny.

“I’m a top, Jake,” says Bill.

“I go both ways,” says Johnny.

“I wanna fuck you,” says Bill.

“Unh. Uh. Uh. Unh. Phil. Unh. Phil,” says Johnny.

Sometimes, Johnny is either too drunk or too tired or too impatient to continue forming complete sentences. The man on the other end of the line usually doesn’t have a problem with this and will join in with his own chorus of grunts within a few seconds. “Unh. Unh. Oh. Oh, fuck me. Oh. Fuck me, Roger. Oh,” says Johnny.

“Man, yeah. You like that? Yer tight ass. Yer ass is so tight. Got a hot tight ass, Jacob. Fuck the shit outta you. Oh, yeah, Jacob. Fuck the shit outta you. Fuck the shit outta your tight little ass,” says Harry.

When Johnny first started talking to men on the telephone, it was very easy for him to climax, and he only needed to talk to one man a night to do it. Currently, he has to go through five or six before he climaxes. He usually fakes an orgasm with each one out of courtesy, even if he doesn’t actually come. He still very much enjoys hearing men climax over the phone, even if he is not climaxing himself. “Beauregard, I wanna hear you come,” says Johnny.

“Okay. I’m gonna,” says Brandon.

“I wanna hear you, Beauregard. I wanna hear you loud,” says Johnny.

“Ogh. Ogh. Ogh! Unh. Unh. Unh. Ogh. Ogh. Ogh. Oh, Jacob. Oh, Jacob. Oh yeah suck my cock. Jacob, suck my cock. Lick my ass. Oh, oh, yeah, do it. Do it to me. Fuck my ass. I wanna smell your ass. Oh, God. Oh. I’m gonna come. Oh. Oh. Oh,” says Brandon.

Most of the men that Johnny talks to don’t say goodbye after they come, they just hang up. Johnny is very courteous and always says thank you and goodbye in a flirtatious tone. Tonight, Johnny is calling a colored man. He doesn’t think he has ever spoken to a colored man on the telephone before and finds the prospect exciting.

“You a white man?” says Jerry.

“Yeah,” says Johnny.

“Good. I love gettin’ fucked by white men,” says Jerry.

“Oh, unh. Yeah. Unh. Unh. Unh,” says Johnny.

Johnny is masturbating furiously already. He will have to restrain himself if this conversation is to last.

“So, tell me ‘bout your dick,” says Johnny.

“ I think it’s eight inches,” says Jerry.

“Is it circumcised?” asks Johnny.

“Nope,” says Jerry.

“Is it brown?” asks Johnny.

“Heh heh, yeah, ‘course it is,” says Jerry.

“’S’it got a pink head?” asks Johnny.

“Yeah the head’s pink. You wanna suck it?” asks Jerry.

Johnny has never made love to a man before but has some idea what colored men’s penises look like because he owns a magazine called Jungle Physique which is filled with pictures of colored men making love to white women in rooms decorated to look like jungles. One model in the magazine, Big Ed, is standing in front of a backdrop with coconut trees and banana trees and giraffes painted on it. A white woman in a blonde wig and cheetah-print lingerie is tied up and lying on a pile of cinder blocks made up to look like some sort of sacrificial altar. Big Ed holds a knife menacingly between his teeth. Johnny only owns one issue of Jungle Physique and it makes him feel so funny that he only reads it when he is especially drunk and adventurous.

“What does your cock smell like, Big Ed?” asks Johnny.

“What?” says Jerry.

“What does your cock smell like?” asks Johnny.

The drunker he is, the more ambitious and abstract Johnny’s questions get. He will demand detailed descriptions that cannot easily be conveyed over the telephone. At these times he wishes that someone would invent a special telephone that makes use of the full range of senses, and has a special mechanism that allows for smelling and another mechanism that allows for tasting. As his questions get more complex, so do his more perverse desires unleash themselves, and more than once he has been hung up on by men whose desires do not align with his.

“It smells like cock, hah hah, what do you think it smells like?” asks Jerry.

“When’d you last bathe? How often do you bathe?” asks Johnny.

“Yesterday. I haven’t today,” says Jerry.

“Do you smell dirty? Have you got an odor?” asks Johnny.

“It ain’t bad or nothin’, actually I like it, but I guess I’ve got a little smell, yeah,” says Jerry.

“Wonderful. Unh, oh. Unh,” says Johnny.

What smells does Johnny have to draw from for this occasion? Does Big Ed smell like Maude’s cunt? Perhaps a little. Maude’s cunt smells like cumin and the yellow nicotine stain that accumulates on Johnny’s fingers when he smokes too many cigarettes. Johnny searches like a scientist through his mental file for an odor to combine with Maude’s cunt that will magically conjure up Big Ed before him. He rubs his fingers over his testicles, pokes them in his ass crack, and draws them to his nostrils for inspiration.

“Is your ass dirty?” asks Johnny.

“What?” says Jerry.

“Does your ass have shit on it?” asks Johnny. “Put your finger in it and smell it and tell me.”

“It smells how it always smells,” says Jerry.

“Have you ever shit in a man’s face?” asks Johnny.

“No,” says Jerry.

“Do you want to shit in my face? Shit in my face. Shit in my mouth,” says Johnny.

“Oh, yeah, eat my shit,” says Jerry.

“Oh, yeah, shit in my mouth,” says Johnny.

It is at this point that Johnny usually loses direction. He never knows where to go after the other man shits in his mouth on the telephone. His penis is becoming soft until Jerry comes up with something. “You wanna fuck my wife for me?” asks Jerry.

“Hunh?” asks Johnny.

“My wife. You wanna fuck her?” asks Jerry.

“Yes,” Johnny says without hesitation. Big Ed has a wife.

“You wanna come in my house right now when she sleepin’ and you wanna fuck her?” asks Jerry.

“Yeah. Unh. Unh,” says Johnny.

“She leaves the door unlocked, and you come in the bedroom and she’s layin’ there naked,” says Jerry. “Oh, yeah, oh. What’s your name?”

“Jacob,” says Johnny.

“I like you, Jacob,” says Jerry.

“What’s your name?” asks Johnny.

“Jerry,” says Jerry.

“I wanna fuck your wife, Jerry,” continues Johnny.

“I wanna watch you fuck my wife,” says Jerry.

“What’s your wife’s name?” asks Johnny.

“Sally,” says Jerry.

“Does Sally have a tight pussy, Jerry?” asks Johnny. “Can it handle that eight inch cock of yours?”

“It’s tight, it’s wet. She gives good head too, heh heh,” says Jerry.

“She got a hairy pussy?” asks Johnny.

“Oh you know she does, Jacob. It smells so good, when her bush is soppin’ wet,” answers Jerry.

“Oh, yeah, oh, watch me fuck her,” says Johnny.

Johnny is getting bored with Jerry’s wife. He can’t stop picturing Maude, the only woman he has ever made love to. He’d rather just hear Jerry come over the phone.

“Jerry, I wanna hear you come,” says Johnny.

“Alright. You wanna fuck me, Jacob?” asks Jerry.

“Yeah, I wanna stick it in your tight hole. Yeah. Yeah,” says Johnny.

“Oh, fuck me white boy,” says Jerry. “Unh, oh, oh, yeah, c’mon, stick it in my hole, take me from behind. Oh, I wanna turn over now, unh, unh, oh yeah. Lick my ass. Oh, yeah, fuck me, Jacob. Oh, yeah, do it, unh. Oh, oh, oh, oh, fuck, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, agh, agh, agh, agh,” says Jerry.

Jerry’s wife is not actually at home. Her name is not Sally, either, but Arlene. Arlene is at the A&P hurriedly shoving groceries into a shopping cart and going over her list to make sure she gets everything before the store closes in ten minutes. Macaroni and cheese. Baked beans. Chocolate cake mix for Junior’s birthday. Frozen peas for the tuna casserole. Tuna for the tuna casserole. Should she get the kind in oil or the kind in water? Junior prefers the water kind but Jerry seems to like the oil. She’ll get several of each since the oil kind is on sale. Egg noodles for the tuna casserole. Head of lettuce. Toilet tissue. Hair spray. Bacon. Mayonnaise. A loaf of bread. A pound of butter. Flour. Sugar. Icing for Junior’s cake. Candles for Junior’s cake. Party hats for Junior’s party. Jerry wanted beer but he can buy it himself; he’s really been drinking too much. Carton of Marlboros. Oh, and tampons. She hurries to check out and finds that only one lane is open and there’s a pretty long line. Oh well, they’ll have to stay open until everyone is checked out. She flips through a copy of Confidential while she’s waiting. She pauses on an article entitled “Why Did Johnnie Ray Try To Break Down Paul Douglas’ Door?” which claims that Johnnie Ray is a fairy. She looks up and it’s her turn to check out. “Arlene! How you doin’?” asks the check-out lady. It’s Verna, a high-school friend of Arlene’s.

“I’m pretty tired. Jerry told me he’d do the shopping today but he bitched and moaned when I asked him to so I had to come do it. I just got off work an hour ago.”

“I know how you feel, I worked double shifts today and I don’t get off for another hour,” says Verna as she bags Arlene’s butter.

“Junior’s party is tomorrow and I am not up for it,” says Arlene.

“Oh! How old’s he gonna be?” asks Verna.

“Twelve,” says Arlene.

“My lord! Last time I saw him I was changin’ his diaper!” says Verna.

“Oh, I know. They grow up so fast! Next thing I know he’ll be taller than Jerry. You take care, Verna. Oh, hey, listen, are you comin’ Sunday?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there. What time?”

“’Bout noon.”

“I might be a little late.”

“That’s fine, just get there whenever you can.”

“Okay. Bye!”

“Bye!”

Arlene checks her hair and makeup in the two-way mirror above the exit before she walks out.

Fruit Diet: The Next Generation

2009-08-19T21:10:00.000-07:00

Episode Two: In which Jack Biberkopf's total internet illiteracy gets the best of him and he accidentally deletes Fruit Diet, his former blog of nine months.

He is confused by a (perhaps imaginary) change on the Google log in process and deletes his Gmail account, not realizing that that will also delete its associated blog,even though it told him it would at least three times before he reached the final "This is it, last chance, point of no return" account cancellation button. It's just like when jealous Amy tosses Jo's beloved manuscript in the fire in Little Women, except that I am both Jo and Amy and there were only about four posts that I actually care about, mostly the one about awareness. Sigh.
New beginnings! Fruit Diet: The Next Generation with a name that's not as easy to remember and a not-so all-new cast of social injustices to bitch about, vintage perfume commercials culled from Youtube, and "Embarrassing Drunken Mystery Posts" which can only be seen by those vigilant enough to check in between the hours of 3:00 AM and 11:00 AM before I sober up and hurriedly delete them. Cheers!

Fruitdiet Alexanderplatz

Public Service Announcement

Telephone

Fruit Diet: The Next Generation