“Hang on a minute,” Lance intervened, “How, pray tell, is our collective prejudice against all things ugly destroying the world?”
“Well, it’s hyperbole and a half,” Madonna admitted, “but the theory, which is my own, is not without some merit.”
Lance waited, and Madge continued, “I am talking about one specific kind of beauty. Beautiful girls.
“The people who are doing the most harm to Mather Earth are old, white males. And they want pussy. They want sweet, young pussy, attached to beautiful young girls. And the only way they can get sweet, young pussy attached to beautiful young girls is with money. Sure, they can rent it, but such men are not renters. They need to own the pussy. They have to be able to puff themselves up and strut around, like a cock rooster and proclaim, ‘This is my pussy! No one fucks this pussy but me!”
“And that’s expensive real estate. Prime pussy does not come cheap, especially if you’re an ugly, old man. But they absolutely must have sweet, young pussy. More than their libidos, their egos demand it.
“And the criminally insane pack of 50 year old, alpha males, the Masters of the Universe who rule the world, are more than willing to destroy the planet in order to get the power, prestige and money needed to get the sweet, young pussy they absolutely must have.”
“Heaven can wait,” said Lance.
“Heaven? What the fuck do they care about Heaven? If they are actually Christians, they don’t believe there’s any pussy waiting for them in Heaven. Get it now, while the getting’s good.”
“It’s a funny thing about Christian eschatology; whoever came up with that part of the story didn’t bother factoring sex into the afterlife. Not in Heaven, anyway. I guess all the sex is going down in Hell.”
“Jesus! They can’t even deal with sex in the real world.”
“Well, what religion can’t deal with, science can,” said Lance. “In the not too distant future we’ll be cloning humans.”
“If someone isn’t already.”
“No doubt someone, somewhere is working on it. But when they get it rigt, we’ll be able to clone beautiful young girls, and all those Masters of the Universe will be able to get all they want. And they’ll be able to get it on the cheap. Everyone will want their own sex clone, so the price will go down.”
“Yeah, the future is just gonna get weirder and weirder. Buy your own fuck clones. Two for the price of one. Then we’ll see some real battles when the doors open at Wal-Mart on Black Friday!”
“Girls and guys!”
“Hilarious,” Madonna laughed. “I can just see those drunken walruses beating the shit out of each other to get their bacon grease covered hands on the last Luke Bryan clone.
“But the sisters better achieve full equality before that happens, or things are gonna get worse for women. Chris Rock has a great routine about how women have the real power in the world, because although we are 50% of the population, we have 100% of the pussy. But not when the clones come. And they’ll clone them all to be STD resistant.”
Of a sudden, Lance’s face contorted, and he blurted, “Hitler had horse herpes. Himmler gave them to him.”
“Hitler had horse herpes. Himmler gave them to him.”
“Yeah, I heard what you said. What the Hell does it mean?”
“I have no idea. I don’t always wanna think the thinks I think.”
“But you thinks ‘em all the same.”
“Yeah. Sorry. You were saying?”
I was saying that the sisters better achieve fuck equality with men, or dominance over them, before the fuck clones are rolled out. It reminds of a chance encounter I had, just when my career was taking off. I wasn’t a household name, yet, and not everyone recognized me.
“I was in a tavern, somewhere in San Francisco, by myself. There was an old hag sitting down the bar, getting loaded, by herself. We struck up a conversation. She was an old whore. What has always stuck with me was her hatred of the free love girls of the 60s.”
Lance figured it out, rigt away, “She was pissed, because the hot, young hippie chicks were giving it away, so her and hers couldn’t sell it.”
“Exactly! So, when they roll out the sex clones, it’s gonna be a lotta heartache, and worse, especially for the ugly gals, but even the pretty ones, unless we put men in their place, first.”
Laughing, Lance raised a clenched fist in the air and said, “Power to the pussy people!”
“That’s it. We do need power. Over the course of human social evolution, up until the 20th century, the only power we had was pussy power. We were little more, in the eyes of most knuckle dragging men, than cattle. Chatel.”
“Well, maybe some Goddess, armed with a full understanding of what is to come, is helping you along, driving you to rise up, and take what is rigtly yours, before it’s too late. Before some mad scientist, Dr. Strangelove 2.0, unleashes waves of sweet, young pussy clones.”
“Maybe so,” Madge said, with a yawn. “But rigt now, me and Old Leather Pussy need to go to bed. We need our beauty sleep. And, speaking of sweet, young Pussy, we’re having some for breakfast.”
Lance’s eyes opened wide, triggering a roar of laughter from Madonna, “Forget it. It’s Royal Pussy, and you ain’t getting none of that, until Kitty starts clawing your back.”
Still grinning, the boy asked, “When are we expecting the royal runaways?”
“Ten AM, sharp. I told her not to be late, no matter how randy her redheaded boy toy is, when wakes up next to her sweet, young Royal Pussy.”