True Enough For You

Check your thighs in the mirror, ma. I'm done.

Friday, April 15, 2005

Homo-cide, Bomb Squads and a Boy Named Skippy

The judge’s chambers are comprised of me the law clerk, Sandy the secretary and Stephon the tip staff (from the Latin tipstaffius, meaning judge's bitch). I hold it down for Whitey. One frequent topic of conversation in the office, never brought up by me, is homosexuality. Mind you, for some reason, neither of them thinks I am gay. They refer to me as a “Zach the Quiet Mack” who is able to carry on clandestine affairs with many women “on the DL.” Hilarious. They think the women that call the office for me are my harem, and I am some sort of P.I.M.P. Not that they would care if they knew. Sandy is a self-proclaimed friend of the gay man, which of course makes her that much more awesome than I have already described below. Today, she was talking about the incident wherein one man ran over his boyfriend in a jealous rage (road rage always trumps daintiness, be warned). Very sad, that. She said she has never met a “nice gay man” who has not met his demise in some untimely or miserable manner. She longs to know a gay man who can just “expire” in a normal way. She cited some examples. Her friend Charlie had his genitals chopped off and stuffed in his mouth, whereas Alfie was beaten to a pulp in her apartment building. (As an aside, this the same building where Sandy got a shiv stuck in her back, and then she and gay Alfie chased down that “motherfucker.” It needs not be said again, but, awesome.) Sandy is going out tonight for her birthday, incidentally, but is disappointed because she would rather have gone out last night rather than “after the fucking shit.”

On a less depressing note, Stephon told me a story about how once he drove the judge home and upon arrival, they saw a package on her porch. The judge was scared to open it (years before attacks on judges became so chic…how prescient!), so she made Stephon do it. As he was knifing the package open, she ran away and hid behind a tree. She hid. Behind. A tree. Hysterical. She made her tip staff drive her home and act as a part time bomb squad. Epilogue: the package turned out to be pastries from Termini Brothers bakery, a gift for buying her brand new Mercedes. Oh, to be a diva judge. I need to be one.

I need to check out The New Amsterdams, as I just got to know their biggest groupie. You should check them out, too.

It’s almost time for happy hour! Cheers.


  • At 11:00 PM, Blogger xxx said…

    i neglected to mention to you that i love the new amsterdams. i interviewed matthew pryor last year. he hated me.


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