. . .

Cheeseburger

"Nathan is my shepherd, and I am his fluffy little sheep. He maketh me to lie down with him in green pastures to do the nasty: He leadeth me beside the still waters, and there we get our funk on. He restoreth my soul and various body parts. He leadeth me in the paths of lust for his loin's sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of celibacy, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me. Thy "rod" and thy "staff", they comfort me. Thou preparest a bed with velvet sheets before me in the presence of mine enemies. Thou anointest my head with whipped cream; my "cup" "runneth over". Surely the power of the Funk shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the bed of Nathan for ever."

"Yes, friends, the power and the holy light of the Nathan is upon us. Down on your knees, all, and let us pray."

"Cut. CUT! Stop the recording, people. If we're gonna do this, we'd better do it right. I will not have my artistic vision compromised! Jennifer!"

"Yes, Nathan, sweetie?"

"Call me Mr. Director, goddammit!"

"Yes, Mr. Director?"

"Make sure Claudia, Phyllis, Jessica, and Ted are all ready for their one-on-one scenes with me, and that everyone's ready for the big orgy when I finally appear to the general congregation in a blinding flash of light. Oh, and tell Amy that I won't be home for dinner tonight, willya?"

"Yes, Mr. Director. Does this mean that tonight we'll be having... special time?"

"Let em check the book. No, tonight I'm scheduled to do some... casting couch work. You know, tryouts. If I don't like the way they perform off camera, I'm certainly not going to let them perform with me on camera."

Eh. That's enough cheap sexual Nathan commentary. I was going to start bringing in goats, and Nathan's mother, and a scene set in a very... special place from Nathan's past, but I'm going to forego the pleasure. Really, how much fun can one have dealing with Nathan's sex life? Unless I started getting really perverse, and I don't think even Nathan would have sex with *shudder* Canadians.

Which amuses me. Canada is a kneejerk mockery for me now. The two are now irrevocably linked in my head. I'd better not meet any actual Canadians. I might start insulting them to their faces, and busting up laughing. Once they figured out they were being mocked, which shouldn't take more than a half hour, tops, they'd probably start getting peeved. Not that I've got anything to fear from angry Canadians, mind you, but the scratches might get infected. I'm not sure they understand about hygeine.

Anyone actually listening to me by this point would probably conclude that I'm a hardcore bigot. However, I have yet to say The Phrase, so I'm safe. (For those of you who don't know, the ideal way to brand yourself a bigot: "I'm not a bigot! Some of my best friends are ___s!") As long as I don't let myself get too close to any Canadians, I should be fine. Which shouldn't be hard, really. There I go with that wacky bigot humor again! Ha ha! Not too much more of this and I'll start committing racial genocide! Ha ha!

I'm in an odd mood, this evening. Something in my eye, I think. Or I'm slowly dying, one or the other. I'd bet on slow death, myself, but it's up to you. Didn't you know? My life is decided by committee. You control the vertical, you control the horizontal, you are the proverbial fish in my proverbial silverware drawer. Proverbially. Scintillatingly. Salutorily. I think I'm going to go back to mocking Canadians, it's easier. Or maybe Nathan. Yes, I rather think Nathan. Maybe Nathan is secretly Canadian. It would explain much, come to think of it. The beetled brow, the lowered brain capacity, the tendency to speak in grunts and pig noises, the incapability to understand any object more complicated than a spoon, it all fits now!

Okay, I'm done. How about you?