“By the eighth day words had begun to fail me. I thought in silent images. It was hot. We ate greedily, excessively, grilled meat on the bone, whole fish smiling up from the table, savory noodles prepared in cold sesame sauce with fresh cucumber. I sat around for hours after lunch feeling uncomfortably full.”
“You didn’t talk to me today. And I suppose I didn’t say anything either. So I searched for an excuse for you to remember me, wondering what I could possibly ask.”
We strive to be a democratic publication, one whose direction is shaped by our contributors more than our editorial staff. When we floated the idea for a sex issue, we received overwhelming enthusiasm from the Nass community. So we went ahead with it. Previous mastheads had done this—in 1988 and 2006. But those were…
“What about sex reduces the male brain to a pile of mush? Are these the leaders of the next generation? The very best of our future investment bankers and Raytheon interns? We’re doomed.”
“I feel yucky, I said. I licked a fucking banana. We’ve all been there, my friend said, but I wasn’t so sure that he could relate to using a banana as a sensuous prop. I ate the banana since it was peeled already.”
Guard 1: Did you watch the Rutgers game?
Guard 2: Of course!
Guard 1: Really?
Guard 2: No.