By Susan Bankston
California has earthquakes, drought, and wildfires. Texas has Republican Congressvarmint Louie Gohmert. California does not want to trade. I know that for a dead-solid certain fact, because I’ve offered.
Louie has recently presented proof that he understands the basics of human reproduction, but he laments that there are certain kinds of people who are totally screwing it up. I won’t mention any specific minority groups, but you know who you are.
Louie wants to stage a demonstration of human reproductive basics using four opposite-sex couples, four all-male couples, and four all-female couples. He wants to deposit each group on separate deserted islands that will contain everything needed to sustain life. Then he says, “Let’s come back in 100 to 200 years and see which one nature says is the preferred marriage. Which one still is doing great and doing well. And I think we’ll have our answer.”
I don’t mean to be rude, but summer in Houston is not a good time to talk to me about what nature prefers. Screw nature. Nature has not been all that kind to me, and rarely are we even on speaking terms.
And, truth be told, Louie does not actually have do this couple-on-couple experiment to find out what will happen, because I already know. I will tell you exactly what will happen.
On the opposite-gender island, one of the men will be Donald Trump. He will want to marry all four of the women to prove his commitment to the sanctity of traditional marriage. To woo all four women, he will have to shame and embarrass the other three men by calling them losers. That will cause them to build a bass boat, a beer factory, a professional football team, and a few La-Z-Boy recliners so they can kick back and relax while they scratch and belch wildly.
Donald’s second wife will hate the offspring of Donald’s first marriage, so those kids will swim over to the lesbian island where they will earn their doctoral degrees in Greek poetry. That, of course, will attract nerds of all genders from the secret fourth island. Gaiety and straightety will commence.
Donald’s second wife’s children will stay on the hetero island where they were born, because they are Republicans and will need a massive trust fund to survive. The third wife’s kids will go to the gay men’s island (due to pure boredom) to become Broadway producers and invent a cure for cancer and hemorrhoids in their spare time.
Most of the children from Donald’s fourth marriage will die, because on the hetero Republican island there is no healthcare. Too bad. Or not.
In the end, the gay male island will have both a fabulous theater district and a cure for cancer.
Thanks to a little help from the secret fourth island, the lesbian island will have 50 adorable naked little nerd kids running around reciting quotes from the Odyssey in Greek.
The opposite-gender island will end up with Donald Trump (who has tied himself to a tree with a rope to let fire ants crawl all over him, because that beats doing the hoochie-coochie with a woman his own age), a middle-aged woman who keeps tightening the damn rope around Donald, and four teenagers who could not pour pee out of a boot with the instructions written on the bottom. Those children will grow up to become the Republican Congress.
So there you go, Louie. That’s what’ll happen.
You’ve probably guessed that I cannot leave it at that, right? We have to talk about Republican presidential politics. It’s just too tempting.
I cannot believe that Jon Stewart and David Letterman both retired just when the Republican Party is making comedians’ work easier and easier. (Donald Trump: a Swahili term meaning gift from the comic gods.)
I have been trying to tell the Republican Party that Trump won’t dump them and move on unless they can look like a woman who has just turned 45.
You’ve probably heard that Rick Perry stopped paying his campaign staff last month, because he’s running on empty. On the upside, it’s the first time that Perry ever paid the women on his staff the same salary as the men.
And Jeb Bush’s stand on the Iraq wars is like Trump’s stand on marriage—he wants three of them.
Finally, if I say it’s Christmas, you better go buy some little twinkling lights because (as I told you last month) Texas Attorney General Ken Paxton has been indicted on two first-degree felonies. Yes, I was right. It turns out that this boy is so crooked he has to screw on his socks in the morning.
Susan Bankston lives in Richmond, Texas, where she writes about her hairdresser at The World’s Most Dangerous Beauty Salon, Inc., at juanitajean.com.