Monthly Archives December 2003

On France Having a Bad Rap

Attention, attention, this is to all the people in all the countries in all the world! (And yes, this means you too, Finland.) I, Porter Mason, have a basic message of international goodwill I want to get out. And it is:

I think France has a bad rap.

You know? I mean, sometimes I really feel sorry for all the stuff those French dudes have to put up with. They deserve better. No one should have to endure what they have to go through.

They have to listen to terrible rhyming and uncreative beats. And even the best stuff they get is at least ten years behind America rhythmically. Plus the French language itself is just, well, it’s just not conducive to–

Oh, wait, I’m sorry, I just noticed a typo up there. I didn’t mean to say, “France has a bad rap.” I meant to say, “France has bad rap.” Like rap music.

Heh heh. Woops!

I mean, France does not have a bad rap. No, sir. Their “rap,” in that sense of the word, is right on target.

Because they are indeed a disgusting, horrible, awful people. And they produce some disgusting, horrible, awful rap music.

OK, that’s the basic message of international goodwill I really wanna get out there. I’m all done now. (So back to work, Finland!)

Porter

On the Other Paris Hilton Sex Tape

OK, people, today we have an Internet exclusive. We have a transcript of the most shocking celebrity sex tape since The Paris Hilton Sex Tape. We have… The Porter Mason/Paris Hilton Sex Tape, or more simply… The Other Paris Hilton Sex Tape, or more simply yet… Sex On A Tape.

Yes, sir, it’s sex, sex, sex on a tape, tape, tape, and you can only find it here… at T.J. Sex Monkey’s.

Note to Parents: this stuff is hot, hot, hot, and I know families often gather ’round the computer screen and read T.J. Monkey’s together, but for today’s Thought, have the kiddies go in the other room and play with their pet rocks and hula hoops, so you can take in all the steamy, saucy, luscious Mason/Hilton sex action all by your lonesome!

OK, enough sex talk, more sex tapes! Here it is, folks:

We see what looks like shaky, unedited handicam footage of what appears to be a hotel room. A timestamp is in the lower right corner, and the “night vision” option is on which allows us to make out two figures, a man and a woman, on a bed in the dim light.

The man is T.J. Monkey’s celebrity Porter Mason. The woman is Hilton hotels heiress Paris Hilton. They are fully clothed, and are holding UNO cards. There is both a discard and a draw pile between them.

They play UNO in silence for forty-five minutes. In the background we hear the TV blaring; it is a rerun of comedian Kathleen Madigan’s HBO special from the 90′s.

During a particurly long span of time in which Hilton is apparently deliberating her next move, Mason scratches his neck and steals a glance at Hilton’s cleavage.

“Hey,” stumbles Mason. “Heh, it’s, heh, sort of hard to play UNO in the dark, huh?”

“No,” responds Hilton sharply. “I’m doing fine.”

Fifteen minutes pass. More UNO cards fly. More glances at cleavage. “Rudy,” starring Sean Astin, is now on the TV.

“Hey,” mumbles Mason. “I bet it’s, you know, I mean, I bet it’s tough, being on, like, magazines and the tv and what-not, all… all the time, heh. I bet, right?”

“Nope,” snaps Hilton. “Uno.”

“Yeah, that’s what– Wait, what?” asks a puzzled Mason. “Oh! Oh, shit, my last card. Yeah, heh, I always forget that. Dammit. Every time I play UNO. That, heh, that always happens.”

They sit in silence for three more minutes, as Mason gathers the cards, orders them, and puts them back in their box. Hilton watches “Rudy”, smiling occasionally when she recognizes that one character is played by a young Vince Vaughn. Mason stands.

“OK,” bumbles Mason. “Well… that is it, heh, heh. I guess… I guess I’ll go.”

“Fine.”

Mason looks at the door. Then down to his cards. Then over at Hilton. Then at her cleavage. He looks up to her face to see that she has caught him ogling her.

“Anything I can help you with?” asks Hilton icily.

“Oh, no, heh… no,” lumbers Mason. “I… no, heh. I’ll just… go.”

“Great.”

Hilton lights a cigarette. Mason walks to the door and opens it. Then turns around.

“Hey, ever have the sex?” says Mason.

“Yes,” says Hilton.

“Yeah, heh, me, too.”

A pause. And one last look at her cleavage.

“OK, well…. Seeya!”

Whoa! And there it is, folks! Porter Mason! Paris Hilton! And a tape where sex is mentioned at some point! If I may be so bold, I think it’s the sexiest sex tape that ever sexed a tape! Wow! I mean, the only thing that could have made it sex tape-ier is if maybe one of them actually had sex with a tape!

Phew! They were like animals there! All that dim lighting! And that “Rudy” reference! Whoooooa, mama! I, I mean, I’ve got to sit down here for a second! Stayed tuned to T.J. Sex Monkey’s for more hot, hot, sexy, sexy Internet exclusives like this!

And remember, people: sex!

Porter

On No More Happy Endings

You know what I’m tired of? I’m tired of happy friggin’ endings! Every story you read, every movie you watch, every T.V. show you TiVo, it’s all the same. It all just works out in the end. The guy gets the girl. The hero defeats the monster. The inspectors find the weapons of mass destruction.

Well, news flash, people: that’s not what real life is like! Real life is full of unhappy endings. The guy doesn’t get the girl; monsters don’t even exist; and Iraq couldn’t build a nuclear weapon if Walmart sold nuclear-weapon-making kits! And Walmart doesn’t sell nuclear weapon kits, people. They just don’t.

I’m tired of art not reflecting life like it’s friggin’ supposed to! And what am I doing about it? I’m making some damn art! Art without happy endings. So, here you go, folks, here’s a great friggin’ story with a really shitty ending:

The Void of Space

By Porter Mason

He looked once more at the navigational monitor and sighed. The trajectory was way off course. It was heading toward a crash with Jupiter’s fiery moon, Io, and there was little Sergeant Walters could do about it.

“I suppose that’s what you get for trying to do too much in one misson,” the cynic inside him thought. “I suppose that’s just what you get.”

There was nothing to do now but wait. He’d prepared a delicately worded statement for NASA, explaining how and why their $2.2 billion ship would soon be little more than a charred hunk of steel and titanium. He’d readied a transmission for his family, his last words to them. Funny to think he had 25 minutes until death, and already he’d said all his last words.

“I suppose that’s what you get for living 600,000,000 kilometers away from those you love. I suppose that’s just what you get.”

The console in front of him beeped once, and onscreen a small green icon began flashing.

“A new radar contact?”

Probably some asteroid that’d been hit slightly off its line. The computer kept track of the orbits of countless asteroids, but reported any that strayed slightly from their appointed rounds.

The computer showed the contact. The shape resembled an asteroid, but it was emitting heat… and light.

“The fuck is that?” mumbled Walters, but he already knew the answer. It was another ship. And not one manned by humans. It was protocol naturally to report back immediately to Earth, but he was too close to Io’s magnetic field to attempt radio contact. And any record of the incident would soon be swallowed into the moon’s magmatic crust.

Sergeant Elijah Jacob Walters was having the most well-documented close encounter of the first kind in human history, but no one would ever know it happened. His mind raced; he looked around the console frantically, hoping to find what he knew wasn’t there. He looked back at the visual of the ship before him. Walters found a sudden calm and leaned back in his chair.

“I suppose that’s what you get for wishing, every night of your life, to witness the existence of another lifeform, even if the circumstances in which you would witness such a thing would prevent you from sharing it with another living person,” thought the sergeant, and he sighed. “I suppose that’s just what you get.”

And… then… suddenly, the left rear rocket righted itself, the ship escaped Io’s orbit, the aliens made contact, boarded Walters’ ship, and gave him a map with the locations of every other known civilization in the Galaxy. Walters returned to Earth in three months, became a national hero, and lived to see his daughter go on to become President of the United States and sign into law the first Earth-wide peace accord, which marked the beginning of the historical period known as Pax Gaia, wherein all the nations and peoples of the planet lived in total and complete harmony for the rest of time.

But then, a day after all that happened, Sergeant Walters stubbed his toe on an ottoman!

THE END

Ha ha! Now there’s a shitty ending! In more ways than one! ZING!

Porter

P.S. I just zing-ed myself. (sigh)