Son of Dick


It’s summer 1999. As regular Hotel Satire readers know summer is a time when all gals go inside for the duration emerging only for food shopping, factory outlet purchasing, or to drive the kids/husbands to various venues to exercise/have fun. Why? Ever since 1990 when we gals went to see that Spike Lee movie Mo Better Blues, we have been telling you gals that summer is about men. You see, in the Spike Lee movie this jazz musician guy (played by Denzell Washington) gets to have incredible sex with two gals (on different nights), who are constantly prone or hysterical or clamped to him for most of the movie. One of the gals calls him "a dog" for playing around, he tells her to chill out and live with it because "it’s a dick thing." She barks back bitchily: "A dick thing?" He repeats firmly and finally, "A dick thing," putting her back into the prone position from which she had stirred briefly.

After the initial shock at hearing such disgusting talk, the Satire gals realized that Spike Lee had the right thing with this dick thing. Because summer itself was a dick thing. And this summer is no exception. How appropriate now to have Spike Lee releasing another movie this summer, Summer of Sam (about mass murderer Son of Sam), or as we like to call it Son of Dick.

We had hoped not to have to remind you gals of this summer dickeration, but it seems you gals aren’t getting it. First, particularly shocking has been the sight of gals on TV playing World Cup Soccer. This involves running (fast at times), kicking, head butting, and leaping, all disgusting (therefore lesbian) activities for gals. In addition, this display of prowess with a black and white ball has been presented commercial free, that is, no interruptions to sell menstrual products, thereby reminding us that gals are meant for breeding not competing. Fortunately, Monistat sponsors the Gals World Cup Soccer. But even the constant reminder by the announcers of how many kids the players have, plus the placement of "Monistat" next to the on-screen score has not helped reduce these gals to their cheesy yellow discharges or to soften the sight of gals using their muscles, sweating, and, worst of all, touching each other!

Second, and equally disgusting, is the fact that gals have their own all-female summer concert series, the Lilith Fair, that features such artists as Sheryl Crow, the Dixie Chicks, and Queen Latifah. Gals on their own is bad enough but gals with their own concert series, outdoors no less, is a shocking challenge to the music of the dicks. Hopefully, these Lilith gals are sponsored by Tampax or the home pregnancy test. Kudos to Jerry Falwell for publicly pointing out that Lilith is not the independent gal who refused to be submissive to Adam in the Garden of Eden but rather "dwelled with the demons after leaving Eden and went made after witnessing the execution of her children. As a result she went on a killing spree, seducing and murdering her own demonic male offspring and then slaying their children." Let that be a lesson.

For those of you who have forgotten proper summer protocol here’s the deal. Gals. Face it. Summer is not your thing. Many of you gals may, at one time or another, have tried to play softball or drive a motor boat or fish off a pier or race around on a motorcycle or do anything other than shop, pack food in coolers, and wash sand out of beach towels. But no. Stop it. Guys don’t want you and your bouncing breasts in tank tops out there on the ball field or grasping rudders on the high seas. Don’t ask why. It’s a dick thing.

Even more horrifying is the sight of 80,000 fans, many of them young gals, getting all excited over gals running around a field, breasts bobbing.

Gals. This must end. All summer fun/sports is for those who’ve been providing for their dependents throughout the winter months. Even though many gals have jobs, they don’t really earn a living, they just help out financially or earn extra pin money in between baby births, rug vacuuming, and food preparation. Because guys work all year, they need to cut loose and pull out all the dick things, so to speak. Don’t question it. Just clean it.

Next and very important, Gals, is that if there’s a motor involved, if there’s horsepower and RPMs in the vicinity, then we’re talking large quantities of dickivity. Never interfere with dicks and their throbbing…engines. From the time you leave for the summer cottage to the time you return home, your job is to avoid motors. You may watch while he scientifically and mathematically packs the bags in the family car, clearly a dick thing. Be prepared with the knitting, because a guy packing the car can take as long as the trip itself. But don’t interfere. Car packing involves proximity to motors and knowledge of math, fundamental to dickness.

Also. Whenever a couple is in a car, the guy always drives, even if he is close to death. If your guy isn’t available to drive, get one who is, even if it’s the male family dog. You will never see a couple in a car with the gal actually driving. She can pose, check the map (if capable), diaper the baby, pass him food and toll money, but she does not drive while the dick is in the car. This is partly because motors are involved, but also because cars are female. If a gal drove a car while the guy was in it, it would be like making him watch a lesbian relationship. Driving a car with a gal (preferably with breasts bursting) next to the guy means he has acquired two gals, you and his car. Don’t question this. It’s a dick thing.

The same thing applies to boats. If it has a motor, or is bigger than a sunfish, the guy captains it, steers it, or drives it. The gal sits decoratively and/or responds to his commands re. hoisting, jibing, coming about. Gals who prefer not to boat can pack his lunch, then head to the beach with the kids where they can talk with other moms/wives/gals about uteruses and other topics like length and color of fingernails. On cloudy days gals can head for the nearest Christmas Tree shop or sweater outlet to buy stuff for the upcoming holidays.

Many of you are asking, "What about bicycling. Can a gal do that?" The answer is yes but gals should follow this tip: When rough bikes or fast bikes are involved with lots of high tech equipment (like gears), then it’s a dick thing. Gals should stick to the old rusty 3-speed they had when they were 12. Plus gals should be sure they spend as much time posing prettily next to the bike as they do actually riding it. Also, Gals, never bike for fun or competition. Only to lose weight or please your guy. You never see a guy and a gal riding bikes where the gal is out in front or riding off road on dirt. Gals should meander 30 yards to a mile behind the guy, looking at pretty flowers or good spots to eat the picnic lunch she spent all day packing. Or pace him while he jogs in preparation for an upcoming road race. Or watch for a good factory outlet to go to on the next cloudy day. Or contemplate which laundry detergent is best suited to getting the dirt out of his shorts.

Gals, we are firm on the view that all sports involving public displays of athletic ability should never be engaged in by non-dicks. Except at odd times when no one’s watching. Why? Leaping, jumping, running, competing, playing, and sweating make gals look active (unattractive) instead of comatose (decorative). Also they cause uneven tanning. Check it out. You never see gals doing any of these things in the warm weather, outdoors, in public. I repeat. Gals can pack a picnic, sit on a grassy knoll or a sand dune, and tend to a small army of very young children while watching their man playing with hard and soft balls, large and small balls. Gals can engage in "lite" tennis or "lite" jogging or "lite" roller-skating, as long as the sole purpose is to get a tan and stay thin. Power walking in gal groups is also permitted as long as you talk incessantly about crotch odor or the many things your guy is doing this summer or your guy’s cholesterol level.

Gals can play co-ed softball as long as there are so many guys on the field that gals hardly ever get near a ball or any action whatsoever. The shock of seeing gals on the actual playing field should at all times be ameliorated by having twice as many gals watching from a grassy knoll with the cold barbecued chicken and thermos at the ready, lying decoratively on a blanket, ready to attend to his thirst and hunger needs. (Special note: gals never barbecue. Cooking outdoors with sharp objects and scary things like fire are dick things. Don’t ask why? They just are.)

What about swimming? Only when all the men/children have been fed, washed, clothes, entertained. Then gals can splash about. No actual swimming, please. Unless to enhance your decorative/serving capacities. Croquet and badminton are also acceptable on these terms. But don’t get involved. Keep one eye on the hub/kids/etc. for instant tending when needed.

Finally, there will be no competing with guys. At anything. Sports, Parcheesi. Plastic bowling pins. Forget about it. And NO BEATING of the dicks. Most gals learn this at birth. Winning is a dick thing. Nuff said.

Gals may take a break from servicing their guys from time to time. But only also gather at each other’s houses for Gal Talk. But on to frequent quaint tourist traps, malls, or fashion outlets. But, if you gals bring a guy to the mall, never expect him to actually go inside. Let him sit in the car close to his motor and the sports section of the newspaper. And promise him a game of mini-golf so he can compete fierce to defeat everyone, including his own 1-year-old toddler offspring. Gals may also gather in at each other’s houses as long as they discuss beauty aids, skin moisturizers, or how to loose weight. Here we need to point out that even though gals are spending a great deal of their summer buying or preparing food, they should not be eating it. Any gal who weighs more than 105 pounds and/or who eats enough to stand on her own two feet for more than 20 minutes at a time, needs to lighten up on the calories.

Entertainment wise, gals should be sure to attend the many guy movies available in the summer where he can see large quantities of dying dicks, fighting dicks, bloody dicks, plunging dicks, ramming dicks, and that quintessence of dickdom, the exploding dick. Of all the summer movies, be sure your man sees Son of Dick, The Dick Who Shagged Me (or The Spy Who Shagged My Dick, if you prefer), and Big Daddy Dick. These last two are good a reminder of one of the key reasons summer is a dick thing. It’s because summer is when the outdoors becomes one big urinal for pissing of the dicks.

But also exciting are the summer TV replacement choices. First, Comedy Central presents "The Man Show" ("The Dick Show," if you prefer, and we do) features two guys making dog-do jokes, monkey-flatulence jokes, and Oprah is evil jokes while women bounce on a trampoline in every episode. "Happy Hour" (on U.S.A) is a frat boy romp. As ten very "naughty girls" wiggle in scanty outfits, a celebrity panel performs karaoke and answers trivia questions. "The X Show" (on FX) is a nightly magazine type show where the host does a segment on gifts for gals (flowers, jewelry) that are rated in seduction on a "wet panty scale." The host squirts a plant sprayer to signify the wetness he thinks a gift deserves. "The Late Late Show With Craig Kilborn" (CBS) is macho smarm, flirty female guests, and monologue jokes about boys who dream about what it’s like to ride "Michelle Pfeiffer’s beautiful heart shaped ass."

Gals may attend the occasional gal movie during the summer, i.e., a generic romance that ends with the guy asking the gal to marry him, making her ecstatically happy as she now had the spend her summers chauffeuring and feeding or chauffeuring in order to feed. Also important viewing would be any movie that advertises itself by having lots o’ gals (preferably half naked) clustered around one fully dressed guy, regardless of the content.

So Gals, this summer stay in the house or the mall. If you must occupy outdoor grassy space, then please, make sure you are dressed as a 17th century gal having an orgasm, breasts and can filled with milk, with cows in the background. Otherwise, stay in doors, mixing up the Kahlua and milk, and let the dicks roam where they may. It’s their thing.