Life in the big city… R.W.R

Dear Mom and Dad,

If George has one weakness, it is women who passionately and vigourously defend their neo-conservative ideology. An ideology that, on an intellectual level, enrages George to no end. If there was one thing that truly offended Nancy, an idealist with a firm belief in free market enterprise and recent university graduate, it was being called a “fascist.” As it so happens “fascist” was George’s default insult. So, you can see how it came to be that George and Nancy should fall in love. Almost instantly.

Before I go on I say this; prior to the night in question George was unaware that neo-conservatism was such a potent turn-on. That it was a turn-on at all. The very notion that one could be aroused by someone who held such a view of the world was inconceivable to him. Now he knows better.

I, for one, was not privy to their meeting. So I have chosen to accept George’s version of what took place. As will you. For the following was recalled to me long after the fact. When the following took place, I was downstairs drinking, waiting for George to return to our table.

George had left to relieve his upset stomach. After doing so he decided it was time to switch to hard liquor and purchased his favourite drink at the upstairs bar. A screwdriver – sans orange juice. On his way downstairs he was accosted by Nancy.

His words, not mine.

George was a little drunk by this point. Nancy was irate having waited for her friends for close to an hour. She was feeling abandoned. Nancy had accidently written down the address incorrectly and was, unbeknownst to her, at the wrong establishment.

We, George and I, were also at the wrong establishment. Chuck had kicked us out for good that very night. Asked us never to return for reasons beyond our comprehension, so we had no choice but to seek an alternative venue. George would later claim that such an unlikely set of circumstances was undeniable proof that their meeting had been fated.

Or, if you will, destined.

As George made for the stairs he accidently rammed Nancy against the wall. He’s six feet tall, she’s an entire foot shorter.



George could not have known that Nancy had been called a fascist approximately one hundred and thirty eight times over the last four years – to her face! – by her classmates. In total she had been called a fascist four hundred and seventeen times.

Nor could Nancy have known that George meant nothing by it; he was merely expressing his frustration. Had George been privy to her personal history, he might have chosen a different insult and had Nancy known George a little better, she might have slapped him across the face and walked away.

And that would have been the end of that. But it wasn’t because neither knew each other very well. They didn’t know each other at all. They would learn all they needed to know soon enough however.

George’s insult was the catalyst for a long, heated exchange, which soon devolved into an absurd political debate. How, specifically, this occurred I don’t know because George does not remember. He can only recall the moment his life changed forever. Again, his words, not mine.

“Ronald Reagan is a hero. A true American patriot. You Canadians could learn a thing or two from his example!”

“What?! WHAT!?”

“Absolutely. Undeniably!”

“… he’s one of history’s greatest monsters!”

From a physiological stand point two things were happening at that very moment. One, all the blood was rushing to George’s penis from the rest of his body. Two, George’s lips turn an impossible shade of red when he debates politics, becoming round and plump. Like a tomato. Lips so red, so plump and so tomato-like, Nancy had to kiss them. Right there and then.

The suddenness of the kiss in combination with his condition caused two things to occur instantly and simultaneously. One, he ejaculated. Two, he lost consciousness.

He fainted right into her arms.

Miss you terribly,

Your loving son.

Read other letters home here.

The next installment  will be posted on April 8th, 2010.


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