Dr. Hardlove, or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Fuck Like an Atomic Bomb

Friends, Romans, and the multitude of you which are neither-

spare me your tongues. For out of you which are many,

I am one- a Legion, uncertain of creed but full of candor, and

unclouded by the reign of conscience, I seek only to

win your hearts, by establishing the lack of my own.

Tonight, I stand before you, only as humble

as the Grand Canyon is shallow,

with the goal of taking self-aggrandizement and

lewd innuendo to new heights.

First, allow me to address pop culture theologians, religious zealots, and

entomologists by stating that from where I stand, you all look like

ants, and that I’m bigger than

Jesus in a room full of beatles.

Next, permit me to expand to zoologists in general:

I’ve got eyes like a hawk,

a memory like an elephant,

and junk like a manatee-

fat as shit, and frequently in the way of boats.

For the students of history I wish to allude to the fact

that I am bigger than bread lines in the Soviet Union,

and that my dick is like Marxist thought-

firmly planted in the people, and worked for the common good.

To political scientists, noses buried in newsprint,

I assure you that I can out-craft Nixon,

wear a dress better than Hoover, and

that my dancing puts FDR to shame.

Addressing the art-crowd, let me paint you a picture-

I’ve chiseled the noses off sphinxes,

taken flash photography of the Sistine Chapel,

and established that my masculine thrust is what truly

inspired the Mona Lisa’s smile.

If a mathematician were to ask, I would say

that I am the only prime number divisible by 69,

that I know pi to a finite decimal place,

and that I frequently spend Saturdays

dividing by zero.

I would tell film buffs, in a director’s cut of this piece,

that only I can see Bruce Willis, Darth Vader

is my father, I am Tyler Durden,

and on their deathbeds people often call for one last look

at my Rosebud.

Finally, to those in love with classical literature,

I am the best of times without the worst of times, and

Godot waits for me.

I am proud, and can say without prejudice,

that I have never been afraid of Virginia Woolf.

In conclusion, I can part seas not just red,

but of any color,

I have replaced sliced bread as a measurement

of wonder,

and I fuck like an atomic bomb-

done in a split second, leaving thousands of lives ruined.