SEE Magazine
Issue #393: June 14, 2001
Copyright © 2001. All Rights Reserved
Up Front
I.C.U.
by The Most Famous Guy In TownIt’s the scene of the season: another lovely wedding in the city. Everybody’s all gussied up. The bride is beautiful in her white dress, the groom cuts a dashing figure in his tuxedo, most everybody else looks quite fancy.
Friends and family eat, drink, dance and celebrate. Question: Who are the hottest (and coolest) chicks in the place? (Find the answer somewhere else in this column!)
So I tried something a little different last week. Did anybody notice? I don’t want to come right out and say it – you guess what you think was different and I’ll tell you if you’re right. No, it wasn’t a robot that wrote the column last week – I should be so lucky – but that’s a good guess. No, I’m afraid that, as reported in column #3326, the experiments in ambidextrous masturbation were decidedly unhappy failures and, as also mentioned in that column, I don’t want to talk about it anymore. Look, do you need a hint about this?
Okay, here it is: if you left your house last week, for example, wearing an outfit that was entirely pink, then you might have noticed, or if, say, you’re fat and your daughter is fat, too, and you’ve got a bad hairdo and your daughter has got the exact-same bad hairdo, you might have noticed, too.
Another hint? Did you approach a dessert table at any time last week and exclaim "Num nums!"? Do you have inordinately long thumbs? If you and your friends piled into your shitty little car and drove some long distance, possibly all the way across the river, just so you could yell at pedestrians, then you folks surely must have noticed.
That’s right, kids! I’ve been judging! Judging like crazy! Judge, judge, judge, all the live-long day, judging. Nope, it’s not some crazy new lottery, and no, I’m not scouting for some fantastic new "reality TV" programme (though there’s a good chance that if the last Survivor series was still coming up in your conversations as recently as last week, then I judged you, too, and you rate lower than the thumb guy) – I am simply judging.
Why all the judging, all of a sudden? Believe me, I don’t want to be doing this any more than you want me doing it. Nobody wants to be the one to turn the other cheek more than I, and much more than sneering at each and every brain cell that dies from fashion or hating every failure to adequately prepare and protect one’s own progeny for and from the horrors of the world, I would rather be helping ex-professional wrestlers re-integrate themselves into society or perfecting powdered meat. But where the rubber hits the road is right here, friends: I am judging because so far, not judging has not worked.
Answer to pop quiz: It’s the catering chicks, dummy! It’s always the catering chicks!
There are some who will say, "Judge not lest ye be judged." For God’s sake, that is so old! Shut up! It’s time for me to say, Blame only yourselves, those who have already felt the sting of my glare, and to you who are destined, this week and beyond, to wilt before my curled lip or bared teeth: you just should have tried a little harder, shouldn’t you?
And to the rest of you? Congratulations. Keep up the good work. You haven’t screwed anything up – yet – though instead of just standing there, gawking like that, I could really use a hand with some of this judging already. Like, honestly, do I have to do everything myself?
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