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The Little Darlings! For reasons too difficult to explain, a recent Friday night found my boyfriend Steve and I at "Dave and Buster's" on 42nd Street with our friends Michael and Andy.
Anyhow, there's a photo booth at Dave and Buster's called "The Gene Machine," where, presumably, heterosexual couples can get their individual picture taken, and then "The Gene Machine" emits a picture of their future child. We gays rushed to it immediately and -- without so much as a DNA swab -- had kids! So let's meet the babies!
HI EVERYBODY! I'M GREGORY! This is young Gregory, who actually does seem to be a decent facsimile of the combined genetic material of Steve and myself. Gregory is already fast-tracked to Vassar thanks to his rigorous education in one of Manhattan's most competitive, cutthroat kindergartens. Gregory enjoys video games, throwing round-or-lozenge-shaped objects in the air (called "sports", I believe), and is already signed with Ford Modeling in their children's division. Steve disagrees that his name is "Gregory" but who listens to Steve? It's my web page. LOOK OUT, WORLD! HERE COMES FARISI! "Farisi" is Swahili for "competent, capable" and that's just what our little darling is. She initially seemed reluctant to compete in the toddler beauty pageants, but with beauty like hers, wouldn't it be a waste? We just couldn't imagine Farisi looking back on her life, filled with regret that she didn't give her all in the Little Miss Co-Ed Pageant. Not that she's grateful, mind you, what with her foot-dragging, tearful rendition of Jule Styne's "Little Lamb" at Miss Universal Royalty last year. In the livingroom, she was scorching. But put her in front of well-meaning strangers, and oh, no, little Miss Farisi goes all to pieces. God, I hate her sometimes. Did I say that out loud? Ooops. WARNING: DISTURBING GRAPHIC AHEAD So Steve went off to play Plinko or something in another section of "Dave and Buster's", and I took the opportunity to cheat on him with friend Andy. Boy, did that turn out to be a mistake. Please, if you have a sensitive stomach, scroll down no further.
I know. I know. It goes to show that Andy and I aren't boyfriends not merely because he's been with his partner Michael for nearly two decades. There are other reasons, involving genetic cues too subtle for conscious minds to discern. Other reasons, involving the fact that if we had a baby it would be a HORRIFYING MUTANT CHILD THAT RESEMBLES THE SICKLY RUNT OF YODA'S LITTER. I have pixelated Andy's features because he should be ashamed of his deficient, dominant DNA. I abandoned Andy and that horrible child immediately (I haven't bothered to remember the kid's name), and Andy's now raising it alone in a lonely trailer somewhere in rural Mississippi. Talk about "pity and terror", Sophocles! Ick! |
I
had never heard of Dave and Buster's until then, but it's a giganto
theme restaurant/video arcade to-do that's oriented toward -- well,
how do I put this? -- certain straight people. The space is
enormous. It's located on the former, failed restaurant level
of the AMC Theater complex. This space was most famous to me
because it housed Manhattan's only Cinnabon. (One of the most
persuasive arguments for living in
