Wednesday, May 03, 2017

Fake Hef’s Island

Young “Bob” styled himself as a suave, urbane gentleman of impeccable taste during his furley collegiate years.
  He did this whilst wearing a velour bathrobe and smoking a pipe. All from his “bachelor pad” which happened to be a dorm room on the fourth floor of Reid Hall.
  This persona was ripe for ridicule, save for the fact that Bob had quite a large lending library of men’s magazines available to his dormmates, which kept them in satisfied spirits.
  Pretensions aside, Bob was actually an agreeable, laid-back guy, and his schtick was seen as being tongue-in-cheek. Manford, his roommate, could attest to this, as could any fellow who had the pleasure of meeting Bob first-hand. He was a chill dude.
  That said, time had passed and Bob graduated and moved back to his hometown of Farishville.

  Years later, Manford asked housemate Somber to hop in the car and go to Farishville to see how ol’ Bob had been doing, having heard that he’d gained a wife and his own proverbial castle.
  The address they pulled up to was a trailer on a dry, dusty lot. As Manford and Somber stepped out of the car, they could see Bob striding down his trailer steps, followed by a 200-kilo sow with a sour look on her face.
  Manford and Somber looked at each other with knitted brows. Bob didn’t look as chagrined as one would expect from someone having espoused one particular lifestyle but ending up living another.
  This woman had the social graces of a wild hog — and a physique to match. As the kids ask nowadays, “WTF?”
  The quintessential question of male preference has long been “Ginger or Mary Ann?” referring to television’s Gilligan’s Island. Naughty or Nice?
  Well, this woman was neither. She wasn’t even Mrs. Howell.
  Bob’s wife was the island itself — massive, feral, unrelenting — much like Mother Nature on the rag.
  Were Bob’s earlier words hollow, lacking in sincerity and substance?
  Was this hypocrisy — a case of “Do as I say, not as I do”?
  Manford and Somber left shrugging their shoulders, not wanting to be overly judgmental of their old chum’s choices.
  But there is clarity in hindsight. Thirsty guys with no game may stumble and hook up with a beast out of desperation once in a while. But when a man commits to marriage with someone who is the opposite of his espoused ideals for the sake of convenient sexual access, he might as well banish himself to Loser Island.