Tuesday, December 5, 2006

Strange Days, Strange People

This is like a "WTF Files" post: There is a comdian in NYC that wrote about a dream he had, he was at a crazy cool News Years Eve party back in 1998. His name is Joe Mande and in his dream he is in the mens restroom trying to urinate, but having problems succeeding. When a nosy stranger comes in curiously watching him. This excerpt is his dream in his words, definitely a classic WTF?! moment:


I turn my head, ready to start a fight, when I’m shocked to see that my peeping tom is none other than Oscar-nominated black actress Angela Bassett! She looks great, wearing a tight red leather suit. Her hair is a messy tangle of long skinny braids. And there she is standing next to me, looking right into my eyes, taking a piss into the urinal. I don’t know how she’s doing it, but I can distinctly hear a trickle.

    “Hello, Joe,” she says, “Having some trouble?”

    “What? How do you know my name?”

    “I know more than you think, baby.” With a smirk, she looks me up and down, her eyes locking in on my uncooperative member.

    “You seem to be having problems with your penis.”

    “You shut up, Angela Bassett!” I yell defensively, zipping up my fly. “What the hell is going on here? Why are you in the men’s room? And how are you peeing like a man?”

She shakes her head. “I can’t tell you that, I’m sorry.”

    “I want answers, Bassett!” I say, my finger in her face. “How are you doing that?”

    “Sorry, Joe. I can’t.”

    “Seriously, are you using a shoehorn or something? I need to know”

She’s begun ignoring me; staring at the grout between the black tiles.

    “Please, Angela” I whimper pathetically. “Please tell me.”

She sighs. “I’ll tell you…under one condition.”

    “Anything!”

    “You have to pee for me, Joe.” She looks back at me. “Pee and I’ll tell you.”

    “I can’t.”

Her eyes get angry. “What do you mean you can’t?”

    “I can’t because this is a dream.”

She rolls her eyes and lets out a sarcastic laugh.

    “I know it’s 1998 in reality.”

    “Whatever.”

    “This has to be a dream,” I tell her. “I mean, look, I’m in a men’s room, having a conversation with you, Angela Bassett. Plus, I can’t even grow a goatee. And I’ve never even been to a dance club, which probably explains why this fantasy disco is so lame.”

I’m a little impressed by my calm, matter of fact demeanor. I’ve always dreamt of taking over a dream like this.

    “That explains why I’m having such a hard time peeing. My body knows I shouldn’t. Because if I start peeing now, I’m going to wake up in my bed covered in urine.”

She smiles a wide, manipulative smile. She has great teeth. “You seem very sure of yourself, Joe Mande.”

    “I’m pretty positive this is a fantasy. Sorry, Angela.”

    “That’s ok,” she says, leaning back just far enough for me to see a beautiful golden stream somehow gushing from her lower pelvis, “I guess you’ll never know the secret to how a grown black woman, such as myself, can urinate standing up.”

On the other side of the door, the club-goers have started the count down to 2000. They’re screaming at the top of their lungs.

Twelve!...Eleven!...Ten!...Nine!...

I start to panic. How sure can I be this is a dream? What if it’s not? The world might end in less than ten seconds. I could die without knowing how Angela Bassett pees like a man. I would deny myself that knowledge because of my own hubris, for being as stubborn as my penis.

Eight!...Seven!...Six!...

Angela keeps smiling at me, breaking my composure. Damn the consequences, it’s New Years. I punch my leg and yell, “Fine! I’ll do it! I need to know!”

I close my eyes and clench my teeth. My urethra bursts open. Pressure eases out of my loins. It feels good, and so very warm. Suddenly, I hear laughing from behind. I turn around, continuing to piss on the tile floor. It’s Angela, leaning next to the sink, laughing while adjusting her fly.

    “Why are you laughing?” I’m on the verge of tears. “Please, tell me how you do it. It’s a shoehorn isn’t it?”

    “Sorry, Joe. I can’t tell you.” She flips her braids over her shoulder and grabs the handle to the door. “Maybe next time.”

    “You hateful bitch!”

She opens the door and disappears into the crowd.

THREE!...TWO!...ONE!...HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!

The door eases shut. My urethra does the same. I begin to weep.
    “I’ll get you back Angela Bassett. If it’s the last thing I do.”

You can contact Joe Mande via Myspace or his website

2 comments:

Manda said...

LOL What is that! Hey that picture you put with it, you know I always wondered what the person said to make her grab her cleavage like that and give them that look. Her face is classic! All I could think was, that person was in trouble. LOL!

Simonique said...

LMAOOOOO! Yeah girl thats a good point. I always wondered why she was looking so stunned too, but I thought she was covering her cleavage bc she needed waaaay more support in that area.

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