BOB JOHNSON RIDES AGAIN! 254

254. MARITAL FIDELITY

254. MARITAL FIDELITY

Marjorie Taylor Greene’s beautiful wedding to Zorro (aka Frankie Lane Gotcha, former Peruvian bolo-dancer and Neil Diamond- and Celine Dion-ish tribute singer) went off without a hitch–largely because she left her bountiful supply of hitches back in Georgia where they belonged. Now she can finally concentrate on providing a lovely home to her swashbuckling new husband, and her recently illegally adopted (on his father’s side) teenage son, Horst Barbican, the central coast’s most popular trans-formed basketball player, who is a hell of a lot more American than those other trans-related basketball players who wander around town shoving their various pronouns in everybody’s faces. As Marjorie has tried to teach local residents time and time again, the only useful pronoun is “therm,” since it can be used to signify men, women, various combinations of in-between, oviparous space aliens, and even her questionably-aged new husband, Zorro–who looks at least a hundred, but claims to be not a day over ninety-nine. (A perfect example of the usefulness of this all-purpose pronoun might be: “If therm and therm were to swing from the therm on a therm then therm would swing from therm on a therm other than therm. Obviously!”)

“Andale! Andale!” Zorro shouts, swinging past overhead on the cool plastic chandelier which was a wedding present from his former roommate, Tex Mex “Chinchilla” Sumter-Lee. “Arriba arriba!” (And, in case you’re wondering, the pronoun “therm” can also be used to signify individuals of every possible nationality–even the ones we Americans don’t appreciate!)

“I certainly picked a lousy time to alienate myself from the affections of my former sweet-heart sugar-daddy, the President of the United States!” Marjorie admitted to her family over their evening meal of Deep-Fried Meats and Potatoes, delivered by the latest theme restaurant out on Foothill Boulevard to be opened by the mildly successful Stan Dipstick of Stan’s Day Old Shellfish Restaurant and Massage Parlor. “Look at all the fun things I could have been doing over the holidays–such as invading countries, threatening to invade countries, learning how to spell the names of foreign countries, and learning how to identify foreign countries on a map! (By the way, where the hell would I find anybody in this lazy town who’d sell me a map?) Oh well, being an adoring Mom and mother to such a rambunctious crew as you guys takes up enough of my time–now where, oh where, could my transparent adopted son, Horst Barbican, have gotten off to? Is SLO HI playing one of those terrible teams that allow anybody to use the girls’ locker room? For shame!” To which Horst replied to his newly-adopting mom in the only way he knew how: “Boo!”