see her real face. Its not right. Ugliness should be a permanent condition.
THE CONTINUING STORY OF MARY & JOSEPH: ITS A BOY
MARY: Joe, were gonna have a baby.
JOE: What? Thats impossible. All I ever do is put it between your thighs.
MARY: Well, I dont know. Something mustve gone wrong.
JOE: Who says youre pregnant?
MARY: An angel appeared to me in the backyard and said so.
JOE: An angel?
MARY: An angel of God. His name was Gabriel. He had a trumpet and he appeared to me in the backyard.
JOE: He what?
MARY: He appeared to me.
JOE: Was he naked?
MARY: No. I think he had on a raincoat. I dont really know. He was glowing so brightly.
JOE: Mary, youre under a lot of stress. Why dont you take a few days off from the shop. The accounts can wait.
MARY: Im telling you, Joe. This Angel Gabriel said that God wanted me to have his baby.
JOE: Did you ask for some sort of sign?
MARY: Of course I did. He said tomorrow morning Id start getting sick.
JOE: But why should God want a kid?
MARY: Well, Gabriel said that according to Luke its kind of an ego thing. Plus, he promised the Jews a long time ago, its just that he never got around to it. But now that he feels ready for children he doesnt want to just make them out of clay or dust. He wants to get humans involved.
JOE: Well, is he going to help toward raising the kid? God knows we cant do it alone. I could use a bigger shop, and maybe he could throw a couple of those nice crucifix contracts my way. The Romans are nailin up everything that walks.
MARY: Honey, Gabriel said not to worry. The kid would be a real winner. A public speaker and good with miracles.
JOE: Well, thats a relief. Anyway, I guess now that youre officially pregnant I can start puttin it inside you.
MARY: Im sorry, honey. God wants it to be strictly a virgin birth. JOE: I dont get it. MARY: Thats right, Joe. JOE: Dont I get to do anything?
MARY: He wants you to come up with a name for the kid. JOE: Jesus Christ! MARY: Joe, youre so heavy.
GUYS & DOLLS, PART 2
Man, Oh Man!
To my way of thinking, men have only one real problem: other men. Thats where all the trouble starts. A long time ago, men gave away their power. To other men: princes, kings, wizards, generals and high priests. They gave it away, because they believed what these other men told them. They bought the okeydoke. The bullshit. Men always buy the okeydoke when it comes from other men.
Some stranger probably stood up at a campfire and said, All right, boys, from now on, Im the king. The sun is my father, the moon is my mother and
theyre the ones who tell me when to throw the virgins into the volcano. Til be expecting all of you to bow deeply when you see me, and give me half your crops. Plus Im allowed to fuck your wife. And dont forget, if I want to I can concentrate real hard and make your head explode.
And the other men around the campfire nodded their heads and said to one another, This guy makes a lot of sense. A man will always buy the bullshit, because a man is not too bright.
But Im not suggesting a man doesnt have a great deal to put up with. He does. First of all, a man has to make believe he knows what hes doing at all times. And while hes doing whatever it is hes doing, he has to make believe he doesnt need any help.
He has to make believe he can fix anything. And if he cant fix it now, hell fix it later. And if he cant fix it later, he has a friend who can fix it, and if not, it was no good to start with, its not worth fixing, and besides, he knows where he can get something better, much cheaper, but they re all outta them right now, and besides, theyre closed. This is the male disease. Its called being full of shit.
The male disease includes the need to be in charge at all times. In charge, in control, in command. A real man sees himself as king of the hill, leader of the pack, captain of the ship. But all the while, in order to fit in and belong, he has to act like all the other men and do what they do, so he 11 be accepted. And get a good job and a promotion and a raise and a Porsche, and a wife. A wife who will immediately trade in the Porsche on a nice, sensible Dodge van with folding seats so they can be like all the other boring families. The poor fuck. The poor stupid fuck.
His manliness also requires that he refuse to go to a doctor or a hospital unless it can be demonstrated to him that he has, in fact, been clinically dead for six months. aNo sense going to the hospital, honey, I dont seem to be in a
coma. Therefore, he must learn to ignore pain. It doesnt really hurt. Bleeding from six holes in the head doesnt really hurt. Just gimme the remote and get me a beer. And get the fuck outta
here.
Most men learn this stupid shit from their fathers. Fathers teach their sons not to cry. Dont let me hear you cryin or Ill come up there and give you something to cry about! Great stuff, hah? All the problems in the worldrepeat, all the problems in the worldcan be traced to what fathers do to their sons.