Supreme Court Rules on Gay Marriage

ollowing last week's landmark sodomy decision that opened the door for Americans everywhere not to be white Christian fundamentalists, onlookers have waited with baited breath for the other shoe to drop as the Supreme Court passes judgment on the controversial topic of gay marriage. That shoe came sooner than expected yesterday, when the high court handed down a ruling that many anticipated but few wanted to admit: "Yes, marriage is really gay."

"Marriage is like, something chicks invented to make sure guys don't have any fun," explained Justice Anthony Kennedy in his majority opinion.

"So you're saying I've got to support you financially, pay for a bunch of foofy-ass furniture I don't want, raise some snot-monster kids who live to piss me off, and I don't get to have sex with anybody else no matter how fat you get? Oh yeah, that sounds like a great deal. Sign me up and point me toward the polo shirts," sneered Justice David Souter while miming the jerk-off motion with his hand.

"I was going to get married once, but then I decided to just slam my balls in a car door and call it even. Best call I ever made," boasted Justice Breyer, sitting down gingerly.

Justice John Paul Stevens nodded in agreement. "Friend of mine got married once. They said it was Vietnam that screwed him up, but I for one know better. His wife was into collecting those little beanbag animals," Stevens shook his head solemnly.

The lone dissenting opinion was voiced by Justice Antonin Scalia, who spoke meekly from the bench.

"Hey, I like being married. It's fun to talk to my wife about what kind of sink we're going to put in the downstairs bathroom, again and again, for hours until you don't care if you live or die. And to hang out with my wife's asinine friends from college, that's a blast," asserted Justice Scalia, starting to cry. "Anyway, when I was younger I found single life to be overrated, I really did. Always getting to do whatever I wanted, staying out all night, having my own ideas…" Scalia trailed off as he got a far-away look in his eyes.

"Plus I think there's something in the bible about getting boils on your ass if you're not married by the time you're 30. Ugly stuff. It's in there somewhere, I swear. Enjoy life at your own peril, single sinners."

Uptight religious groups everywhere spoke out against the decision before it was even handed down, not wanting to miss an opportunity to start some shit.

"We will not stand for this attack on the sanctity of marriage," threatened Rev. Lee Harden-Stroker, president of the one-man To Heck with Gays Coalition of some godawful place called Hucknuckle, Texas. "Next thing you know them liberal judges gonna rule that church is boring or that closed-minded fundamentalist dogma drives a wedge between people while failing to address the spiritual needs of its followers in any meaningful fashion. And them's fightin' words."

"Sure, being married isn't much fun, but nobody said life was supposed to be fun," explained Tyner Allaboy of the Concerned Christian Men's Club. "Show me where the word 'fun' appears in the bible. Ain't there. It's God's plan for men and women to grow emotionally distant from each other, raise ungrateful children and spend our weekends fixing the damned rain gutters again and again."

"Just think about it," concluded Allaboy in a flourish of inspiration. "If God really wanted us to be happy, would he have put our mouths so far away from our privates? Try and argue with that."

Duke Prosecutor Disbarred, Accepts New Position as National Scapegoat

High Gas Prices Threaten Tradition of Setting Homeless People on Fire

Bob Barker Ceases to Exist After Retiring From Television

Tree Bark Face Turns Out to Be Likeness of Jesus Lookalike Vance Waxman

Seems like everybody's got something against salt these days. You can't dip your French fry into the saltshaker in a restaurant any more without getting dirty looks from every overzealous health nut in the joint, like you just sluiced the skin off an newborn baby and stuffed it with StoveTop and onions. You'd think it was strychnine or pure Bolivian blow the way these shitbirds put on a sour puss. Well I hate to be the only pooper at the party, and I don't want to give any of you politically correct folks an anal hernia, but I've just got to say it anyway:

Fuck you all, I love salt.

Don't look at me like I just crawled out from under a rock on planet Neanderthal. I've read all the screaming headlines printed in vivid blood red about what doctors of today have to say about salt. That it'll boost your blood pressure higher than Tim Leary in a hot air balloon and make your arteries hard like a fifteen year-old at the Playboy mansion. Doctors of today cross the street to avoid salt spilled on the sidewalk and wear full-body condoms when they swim in the ocean, I know. But you know what the thing is? The doctors of today are for shit.

I'm not kidding, they're worthless. Remember a few years back when they decided that flying a kite was good for arthritis? Then all those old suckers were killed by lighting? Then the doctors decided that wine is good for your heart, so everybody ran out and stocked up on the vino, but then a week later doctors "discovered" that drinking too much wine will make you shit out your ovaries. What, do these guys own a chain of liquor stores or something? Every other day they're pulling some startling revelation out of their collective ass, like eggs give you glaucoma or milk makes your feet stink. I swear to God these guys are filling out some kind of Medical Mad Libs they got in med school and are laughing their asses off as they fill them out at their posh doctor parties and make drunken prank calls to the press. I trust those guys about as far as I can throw a herniated disk.

So I'm not about to let these slappy sons of bitches ruin the great fun I have eating salt. And I do mean fun. I don't care what it is, salt makes it better: steak, burgers, potatoes, salad. Even ice water. And don't forget to salt your butter. Have you ever had unsalted butter? Sweet bland-assed Moses, I had some of that stuff on a roll once accidentally and I thought I'd had a stroke that paralyzed my taste buds. The mere memory of it gives me the shivers.

I don't think people today realize how lucky we are in this day and age, to have salt available in the quantities that we do. Just the other day I enjoyed a salt-encrusted fudge roll at one of my favorite breakfast haunts, the Gravestone Mill. A simple pleasure, true, but just try and order yourself up one of those about 6,000 years ago. You just couldn't do it. And not just because you weren't born yet. Back in the day salt was rarer than a celibate high school girl and in many cultures was worth more than its weight in gold. This may sound crazy to your modern ears, but just imagine trying to choke down a doughy, overcooked baked potato with just some gold flakes on the top. Not too appealing, eh?

After that, when salt became more readily available, it predated refrigeration as a way to preserve food. Now that's what I'm talking about. If I should ever stumble upon a time machine, you know precisely where I'm setting the dial. That had to be some kind of heaven on earth. All the salt you could eat, and nary a dirty look for your trouble.

Sure, folks only lived to about 30 back then, but when you died, I bet it was with a salty smile on your dry, crackled lips. Amen.

º Last Column: Back in My Day, Business Wasn't For Crybabies
º more columns

"Read me my rights, pig. Then read me Lady Chatterly's Lover, but just skip to the dirty parts."

I read this funny book and I've been telling everybody about it. I haven't read all of it, just parts of it, really. Okay, one part. And everybody's telling me it's a newspaper, not a book, but you can't brag about reading a newspaper so I say book. But it was still really funny, like a book. There was this cat and he's trying to eat lasagna and—hey, I don't want to give it away. E-mail me if you want to read it and maybe we'll form one of those Oprah clubs or something.

If I don't read books, it's not my fault. I've given it an honest effort, but they always start the book off with this really boring information about who wrote it and who it was published by, and a "c" in a circle and then the year and… see? I fell asleep while I was typing it and fell out of my chair and broke my nose. Imagine being one of those people who actually finished a whole book without skipping around.

My friend Richie Castro has written 26 books over the years, the guy is a dynamo. He makes each book two pages or less 'cause he thinks all that plotting, pacing, and drawing out of the characters is bullshit. Richie writes "the real meat," like he says it. His next book will be done soon and it tells the story of how his girlfriend, this double-timing bitch-whore who dyes her hair, she was two-timing him behind his back and sleeping around with his cousin and then ends up running off with the guy, even though he's got no job. Actually, that was the whole book so I guess I saved you from having to buy it. Richie's going to be pissed.

My dad used to read to me before he died—or faked his own death and disappeared, my mom still can't prove either one. Dad would read to me from record jacket liner notes since there were always plenty of them on hand. It's a shame dad and me didn't get more time together in the end. One of these days I'm going to have to find a copy of Lionel Richie's self-titled album and see who else he thanked. But every time I hear "Truly" I'm going to think of dad.

I would recommend reading to your kids, I think that's a good thing. I plan on doing it myself some day. Maybe you could send me an e-mail and we'll schedule a time when I can come over, and if you got the books that's even better since I only have a copy of Michael Jackson's Thriller and it's a little hard to get through—that guy thanks a lot of people, even his brothers, all by name. I wish I had a brother so then I could make an album and thank him for being there for me, but he'd probably end up being more Marlon than Jermaine.

The nice thing about reading newspapers is they put the important parts in the biggest type, so you can read them and know what you need to know, but they also put that real small type there so you can pretend you're reading that and looking smart. People are really, really impressed when I tell them I read 15 newspapers a day. E-mail me and I'll tell you other things that are really impressive and then tell you how I'm able to do them without working hard.

Basically what I'm saying is I want e-mail.

º Last Column: Fireworks Club
º more columns