Happy to Be Here
Inaugurating the donkey
Hello, dear friends, and welcome to my very first swing at processing some reader questions in a way that you will find satisfactory. Right off the bat, it occurred to me that my initial Q&A session was missing a very important component, and that would be some Qs. Whoops. Not to worry. With the determination one might expect from a donkey-themed publication, I solicited some ringers from among my friends and family and asked them to please send me some questions for this, my inaugural batch.
Going forward, I will select my questions from those you might offer me in answer to my Saturday posts. We’ll discuss more about how that will work this weekend. Of course, I may well throw in more wild cards from my pals, or engage in any other jackassery I desire, because let’s not forget that this is my party and I will goddamn cry if I so choose, to make a figure of speech.
I’m figuring on a month of these to get my legs under me. After that, the bonus items (audio versions of the post, the occasional video, and the ability to ask questions) will require some filthy lucre.
Now, without further ado, here are your first questions and answers:
Laurie Anderson of Manhattan, New York asks:
Are you actually here? If not, where are you?
Thank you kindly, Laurie, for your interest.
I’m pleased to answer that yes, I am in fact here. That’s the inimitable magic of written language—I can string these symbols together in meaningful patterns that you can recognize and comprehend, allowing me to be here in your mind even now, as you read this from wherever it is that you are.
There are other, more banal versions of which “here” I am currently occupying. For example, my actual mortal coil is sitting in my kitchen typing these words upon a laptop, so I’m certainly “here”. But if someone is watching a rerun of the George Lopez sitcom in which I play his mother’s fiance Randy, then I am also “there”. If my old college pal Mike is reminiscing about the time we met that gold miner named Leon who was the spitting image of Jim Varney on the border of Nevada and California, then I am also “there” with them.
All that said, my favorite iteration is to be here right now, doing my best to make you glad you’re here as well. If you are.
Matt Offerman of Minooka, Illinois asks:
Explain, in detail, how Lois Lane could survive an orgasm from Superman?
Thank you, Matt Offerman, I knew I could count on you.
This is a tough one, and I feel like the ice upon which I’m skating is immediately pretty thin due to me not having marinated in the canons of either DC or Marvel for many years. Let’s just say that although I’m pretty sure there have been other Lois Lanes cast in my lifetime, she will always be portrayed by Margot Kidder for me.
In order to properly consider this question, we have to make a few suppositions. First of all, I’m assuming that you’re referring to an inter-orificial orgasm that results from Superman and Lois engaging in normie-style penetrative intercourse, or perhaps from her giving him a nice blowie.
The second supposition would perhaps be that Superman’s super-load, or issue, if we were discussing this in catechism class? In 1986?…his ejaculate, would presumably travel at a faster-than-normal, or “super” speed, perhaps even so swiftly that it could be bodily injurious to Lois.
So, I guess a third supposition would be that Lois is not just getting the hell out of the way of Superman’s semen blast, which would have seemed to me like the most common sensical, and therefore advisable course of action. The “pull-out method” here, taking the super jizz into account, would actually seem to be a matter of life or possible death. But your question, I’m thinking, is more specifically how does she withstand his orgasm when it batters the walls of her mortal flesh, no matter the position.
Well, Matt, you’ve given me cause to scratch my head. When I think of what I know of foundational Superman mythos, a somewhat ancient rhyme springs to mind—a course of couplets that I stumbled upon in my youthful studies of yore: the lyrics to the early 1984 rap classic, “Jam On It” by Newcleus, in which a comprehensive list of Superman’s powers are enumerated:
(Say Superman had came to town to see who he could rock)
(He blew away every crew he faced until he reached our block)
(His speakers were three stories high, with woofers made of steel)
(And when we brought our set outside, he said) "Hah, be for real!"He said, I'm faster than a speedin' bullet when I'm on the set
I don't need no fans to cool my amps, I just use my super breath
I could fly three times around the world without missin' a beat
I socialize with X-ray eyes, and ladies think it's sweet
(And then he turned his power on and the ground began to move)
(And all the buildings for miles around were swayin' to the groove)
(And just when he had fooled the crowd and swore he wouldn't fight)
We rocked his butt with a 12-inch cut called Disco Kryptonite
Did these lyrics almost single-handedly fuel a new conflagration of breakdancing in the lives of me and my cousin, Ryan? That would be an enthusiastic “Hell to the yes”.
However, as rousing as these lyrics may have been, they did nothing now to further illuminate whatever special characteristics might be possessed by Superman’s mob of tiny swimmers.
Therefore, my fine younger brother, I’m going to have to make an educated guess. Since the Man of Steel is able to articulate the other powers at his disposal, such as his heat-vision or the speed at which he is able to fly, and since he has displayed time and time again that he is nothing if not the genteelest of gentlemen, I think it only makes sense that he is able to consciously, and conscientiously, dial down the exuberance with which he fires his love cannon. Superman’s ability to convey his love extends even to the gentle intensity of his flow. I hope this answers your question, Matt, and folks, I certainly hope they won’t all be this steamy.
George Saunders of Santa Cruz, California asks:
Did you think it was as cool as I did, when Jeff saved my glasses in Montana?
Thank you, George, for this invigorating question, which returns me with powerful sense memories to this scenario:
As you can see, George, this photo was taken after Jeff saved your glasses in a display of derring-do that would have been simply astonishing, were it performed by any swashbuckler other than our port-side paddler Jeff. I’d love to write that escapade out in the rich, frothy detail it deserves, but I’m afraid I already did!
In my most recent book, Where the Deer and the Antelope Play , you, my readers, can gape in slack-jawed wonder along with George and myself at this heroic feat and many more charismatic moments from Mr. Tweedy.
Sorry, George, that was a rather long-winded way of saying: Yes. You’re goddamn right I thought it was that cool.
Lauren Offerman of Minooka, Illinois asks:
Why do you hate libraries?
Thank you, Laurie, for your question. I feel like we’ve been over this, since you are an accomplished and revered librarian in Illinois.
On my show Parks & Recreation, we generally despised the library because my character’s evil ex-wife Tammy 2 (played by my real-life wife, the decidedly not-evil Megan Mullally) worked at the library, and she was a truly despicable villain. Her nefarious misdeeds gave the library such a bad name that my co-worker on the show Leslie Knope referred to them as “punk-ass book jockeys”.
I, on the other hand, could not be more admiring of librarians, and deeply grateful for their (your) benevolent knowledge and tireless efforts to put the treasure that is books into the hands of the people. Not to mention all the other ways that a library helps a community.
Jeff Tweedy of Chicago, Illinois asks:
Why are people like that?
Dear Jeff, I wish I knew. All I know is, we all are sometimes. Like that. And I guess one definition of love is putting up with each other when we get like that.
Carrie Offerman of Minooka, Illinois asks:
Where do you see yourself in five years?
Hopefully fishing in Minnesota, in the company of you and the rest of our family.
NOT IN JAIL. (This technique is called The Secret.)
Folks, if you made it this far, I’ll say thank you kindly. I’ll be back with you Saturday for some more of this particular brand of grab-ass. Until then, let’s all mind our manners as best we can. Please and thank you.
This is pure delight. OxO
Good to have you here, Nick!