The Great Genital Debate. Louis Shalako.

Louis Shalako

The Great Genital Debate.

It’s the next big thing, a mass-debate if I ever heard one.

It’s like a million dumb-asses all cried out at once.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen. I have sensed a great disturbance in the #farce.

Disclaimer: I have nothing but respect, and compassion, and sympathy, maybe even a little bit of pity for my fellow human beings. This includes most of the women and quite a few of the so-called men.

Some, perhaps a bit more than others—

Idiots, for example.

Breaking News: Sarnia City Councilor Dill Bennis proposes bylaw. Voters in municipal election to be subject to arbitrary challenge and genital exam at polling booths. The Freedom in Municipal Voting Bylaw.

#sarcasm

If you asked them, by the way, what is your religion, they would bristle with indignation as they checked your cock, your cunt, your bodily orifices, looking for thousandths of an inch out of tolerances, for your asshole for example, and tell you that it is none of your business because they are running for election, although that will be the last election you ever get to vote in—for your own good of course. Yes, they’ll be checking your asshole looking for signs of ‘gayness’ or something that should be, on the face of it, indefinable by any scientific standard of measurement, for example, the metric system.

I’m not saying that Sarnia City Councilor Dill Bennis is weird or anything, but he lies awake at night dreaming about your kids, naked, in the dark, with a stranger in a Brampton hotel room, honking on old-white-man bobo and taking it up the wazoo. I don’t know what websites he’s on, but I wouldn’t recommend them.

And there is nothing kinkier than a conservative inquiring into the sex life of another person.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, the folks who deny evolution, and don’t believe in science of any kind, are now talking quite knowledgeably about ‘X’ and ‘Y’ chromosomes; it’s almost like they read a book or something about it. He’s over on Truth Social and the Volkischer Beobachter, amplifying the hate towards anything good, decent and righteous because he simply doesn’t know the difference…

It is also my opinion that 51 % of front-line, combat troops really should be women.

However, if you wanted to design a cute little tennis-type battledress, in khaki or camouflage, that would be all right with me, although I admit it does sound a bit weird. It was your idea, after all. No one likes a bit of butt-cheek hanging out more than I do. Side-boob is okay too, although Dill Bennis might be incensed. 

And he doesn’t even have boobs—as far as anyone knows.

Musk: one of the world's richest assholes.

I would like to explain the facts of this case to you, unfortunately, there aren’t any.

Speaking of weird.

This is what all the instant experts in gender studies are talking about. I can’t make heads or tails of it, myself.

Men and women have certain advantages in regards to certain sports. Some of them are better at it than others, for example. And a punch in the nose (or mouth), is going to hurt, no matter who does it, so consider yourself informed.

Confused yet? Bruce Jenner/Caitlyn Jenner

I am surprised at you people. You really ought to be petitioning to pull all of those Olympic medals from Bruce/Caitlyn Jenner, who as we all know competed in the body of a man, even though, as it turns out, they were really a woman—and a Kardashian, to boot.

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Is this the way to the polling booth...???

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What if Mr. Bennis’ cock and cunt and tit inspectors run across a hermaphrodite? If that doesn’t call for a full-blown Senate inquiry, I don’t know what will…it would be fun to watch that ignorant little prick’s head explode.

Honestly, more women should masquerade as men. They’d get a better wage, and have a much better chance of cracking the glass ceiling in the corporate world. I’ve known a few women who had a better mustache than I did. I’ve kissed a girl and was surprised to find a bit of stubble. Yet I know it was a woman—I checked. I checked.

Everything looked fine as far as I was concerned…

It’s just that she was Dutch or something.

One of the old man’s best friends had a deeper voice than me, which is unusual. She had a story, where she woke up in the middle of the night this one time, and her husband was whacking off. He had a very illicit (at the time), book of gay porn on the night-table. She recalls thinking, “…hey, what the hell—I’m right here, Mister—” They had three kids together, which really should tell us something but it probably doesn’t.

Honestly, I think he might have been bisexual.

Neither of the two Olympic boxers have ever identified as a man, the scandal is more about doping, (or maybe not), due to elevated testosterone levels. This is one of those cases where gender-hysteria has reared its ugly head, and of course there is the usual ignorance of any sort of facts. Which might stand in the way of truth, their truth, which is of course a pack of lies...

The other day, I was in Walmart and the men’s washroom was closed. I seriously considered trying out the ladies, but I just didn’t have the nuts.

(A little touch of gender dysphoria? – ed.)

(No. It’s just that I had to shit real bad. Irritable asshole syndrome…there were certain risks, which I chose not to accept.)

And public opinion can be murder. All them torches, pitchforks and lengths of stout rope, don't you know.

Yeah, ladies and gentlemen, Elon Musk has an opinion on this as well, as might be expected, what with being one of the richest assholes in the world—

We’ll let the man speak for himself, on Twitter, a cesspool of something which might be better left unsaid. At least until someone invents a word for it.

(Okay. What are you going to do if Mr. Dill Bennis sues for libel, slander, or defamation of character? – ed.)

(I will let him put that in writing, submit that to a court, and prove that he unmistakeably resembles this fictional character, written by another fictional character, and remind the court of the rules of parody, and that furthermore, if his reputation has been irreparably damaged beyond any estimate, then let him put some kind of monetary value upon that damage and that reputation, which he is relying upon in order to become Mayor, and then let the court decide on the merits of the case.)

(And if you should lose…??? – ed.)

(Then I guess I would owe him a nickel.)

Well, it’s time for the women’s swim event, where they all seem to have some very small, natural, high-mounted breasts. Quite frankly, the men have bigger tits than the girls, what that means, I have no idea. 

Breasts…if it wasn’t for breasts, Renoir never would have become an artist, which I interpret as having something to do with modeling, or volumes, or something. Or maybe it had something to do with sucking on the teat of his mother. 

Quite frankly, I think I’m on the right side of history here…

Cute but deadly.

***

If you think about it, if they were transsexuals, they’re more likely to go big, exaggerate that which doesn’t really exist, and quite frankly, I’d like to think I could tell the difference—be that as it may. It might also burst under a good punch from another man.

In an interesting side note, the author once turned down a publishing contract. The email called him ‘Louise’, when his name is actually Louis. It was a little thing, but indicative of a general carelessness, confirmed by several typos on the company website…and that, as they say, is that.

Until next time, try and keep your head screwed on straight. Try to ignore the haters, as it’s an election year, and they are grasping at straws, just as any drowning pervert would.

 

END

 

The Kinks. Lola.

Man, I Feel Like a Woman. Shania Twain.

I, Dill Bennis, Armed With Strong Mayor Powers. (Louis Shalako)

Louis has books and stories available from Amazon in ebook, paperback and audio.

See his works on ArtPal.

Thank you for reading.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

The Lifetime Under-Achievement Awards.

A proud moment.

Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you…thank you.

Revelation and enlightenment doesn’t come easily, and to some, it never comes at all.

And yet in a few short years of tenure on this rinky-dink little planet, it has been my good fortune to receive at least a modicum of both.

In a brief Shakespearean aside, I would especially like to thank those who were dragged here by their spouses, quite against their will, and I appreciate that, I really do. I will keep my remarks as brief as possible for your sakes as well as my own.

Okay, here we go then.

I am among the most fortunate of men. But a person, one such as I, doesn’t get where they are today without a lot of help from a lot of good, bad, and indifferent people over the years.

This is my opportunity to thank all of them, and I intend to make the most of it. Such opportunities are rare, unless one is even more truly blessed than one such as I.

I would like to thank my mother and father. I would like to thank my grandparents, and my ancestors, who go all the way back to Pliny, (the Even Younger, not the famous historian or his dad) if you believe the geneologists, many of whom are dead now. (My ancestors, I mean, and of course all the Plinys. Not the geneologists. Some of them are still with us.)

Honestly, I almost said gynecologists, but that is clearly not right, is it, ladies and gentlemen?

I know better than that.

I would like to thank the Ministry of Community and Social Services, the Ontario Disability Support Program, and the Government of the Province of Ontario Task Force on Life-Long Poverty.

What? What’s this?

They don’t have one?

Silly me. I thought they did, or at least, that they must have one by now. But let’s move on.

I would like to thank the Department of Labour Standards, and Ben Dover Construction of Hamilton Ontario, as well as their subdidiary, Scheibe’s Bricklaying Services.

I would like to thank the Workplace Safety and Insurance Board, the Sarnia-Lambton Housing Authority, (what a lousy bunch of fucks) and the Bluewater Mental Health Association. I would like to thank the Ontario Hospital Insurance Program and Dr. Pierre d’Elegance, of Main Street in Burlington, Ontario.

Whoever would have guessed that a back injury required treatment, or, at a minimun, X-rays and some documentation.

Ah, well, you live and you learn. Live and learn, ladies and gentlemen.

I must especially take the time to thank the good folks, my former neighbours down on Sigourney St. You taught me what it means not to be quite, er, quite.

I would like to thank the Provincial Court of Ontario, as well as Sarnia Police Services and their Crime Stoppers Rat-Off-A-Buddy Program. I would like to thank the good people down at the Inn of the Good Shepherd and the Salvation Army, and of course the people at the St. Vincent De Paul.

You picked me up when I was down, and then fed me, and then let me drop when the next guy came in the door.

An important lesson in life there, ladies and gentlemen.

I would like to thank Shank, and Squiggly, the Wiggler, and Bumstead, Little Baby Jesus, and all the ships at sea.

More than anything, I would like to thank Miss Hellmore, my Grade Seven teacher at St. Bent-dict’s elementary school on Joak Street, which as you may know, is right across the street from where Commander Chris Hadfield (Yay!) went to school, that is to say Queen Elizabeth II elementary school.

I would like to thank my mentor, Monsignor Notte-Trudeau, for helping me with the anger management, and I would also like to thank all the kids I grew up with; for to grow up without kids to grow up with would be a fine kettle of fish indeed.

(Are we okay for time? How are we on time?)

The producer says we’re good.

Hmn.

That’s about all I had to say.

OH!

I would like to thank every cat I ever had, for you brought some love and joy and if you will forgive me, something soft, warm and cuddly into my life.

I would also like to thank the half-dozen or so foster kids who passed through our household in fairly regular succession.

You helped make a home, until you went and did something stupid and wandered off and got hit by a car, providentially bleeding to death in my arms. (I am referring to the cat, ladies and gentlemen.) As to where all those other brothers and sisters may be today, that is a very good question. And I sure am glad you asked it.

I would like to thank the good old boys at the Paranoid Club, and of course I would like to thank my first girlfriend—such compassion. Such compassion, ladies and gentlemen.

I think she really did love me, otherwise why stick around so long?

I ask you that.

I’m sure I have a Kleenex or a hanky or something in my pocket. Ah, yes, here we are. It’s just that the lights are so bright.

(Sniffle, sniffle.)

Oh, boy, here we go again.

(Drinks water.)

That always helps, eh, ladies and gentlemen?

So. Anyhew.

So where do we go from here? Well, there is a wet bar, and I know we’re all thinking about that, but more than that, ladies and gentlemen, we will stride boldly (or baldly if you prefer) into the future, where the poor will have more microwaves and the rich will finally corner the market on sanctimony.

(Am I done yet?)

The producer is shaking his head.

Well, frankly, ladies and gentlemen, so am I.

No, literally, quite frankly, and I know how you hate it when I say that, but I really am shaking my head.

Normally, I wouldn’t join any club that would have someone like me as a member, which places this evening among the great mysteries of life—that’s right, ladies and gentlemen—I’m not even a member! A bit of an oversight on the part of the selection committee, but there you go—no one is perfect, eh, ladies and gentlemen?

(Except maybe the bourgeoisie.)

Yes, it makes a fine testament to your generousity and thoughtfulness, and ah, puts everything in a whole new light, doesn’t it.

Did I just say tit?

Not like me, I have to admit, but it has happened before.

I shall try to do better in the future.

All right, ladies and gentlemen, the producer is making throat-cutting motions so I guess that’s it for me.

Thank you for being here to share my moment of triumph, for these moments come all too seldom in life and it is always good to have someone there for you. It’s nice when someone actually sees it happen.

Otherwise, it wouldn’t matter nearly so much, would it?

And now we’ll turn the microphone back to our genial host—almost said ‘genital’ there, but I caught it in time.

Ladies and gentlemen, Mister Butch Padorcik, your master of ceremonies and a well-known local raconteur, drunkard, and a bit of a bully in his off hours.

And last but not least, I must thank you, Butch. Thank you. I have learned much from you, sir.

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Bye, everybody—and with luck we’ll see you again next year, unless I can come up with a valid-sounding excuse.

(Dutiful applause.)

Here’s a song for you lovely ladies and gentlemen. Yes, the gentlemen are lovely too! (You know who you are.)

It’s called Howl, performed by Beware of Darkness. Either that, or it’s called Beware of Darkness…by Howl. I didn’t write it, but it’s still pretty good.