Weimaraner Owners Worldwide – David Lohrey

My dream is to own two and a half dozen curly-haired
pigs. That’s not all: I’d also like a Jag, a five-bedroom 
country house, and a bag of M&M’s. There, I’ve said it. 
As I have none of the above, I live in misery. I think of 
nothing but of doing myself in. 

My professor Sequoia Takamatsu insists we be nice.
She asks if I agree. “David?” She can see indifference 
if not hostility in my face. This is my chance to explain. 
“What did you take from our reading? Would you care 
to share your thoughts?”  

My problem is that she doesn’t believe in foreplay.
It’s tough. I’ve left teaching and taken up that sweet
science, boxing. Perhaps now, at last, I have a chance.
My new life is dedicated to Anne Glenconner, that last
and ultimate good sport, who believes in being polite.

My father thought of pastors as schnorrers; I’m not sure 
I would disagree. He said you can always be sure to find 
the pastor’s Cadillac left running in the parking space 
closest to the back door of the church. Reverend Father 
grabs a coke and two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

Culture on the run. Its last defender was Wehrmacht officer 
Wilm Hosenfeld who asked Władysław Szpilman to play Chopin
instead of shooting him in the head or, had he been American,
making him suck his cock. There was not a lot of Chopin played
in the jungles of Vietnam; none, too, at Abu Ghraib.

The kids in my neighborhood grew up to partake of Mỹ Lai. They
practiced on me and their little brothers and sisters. They’d put
a cigarette out in your eye. They sprayed lighter fluid on my pet
rabbit so they could watch it hop around on fire. They feared getting
a hard-on during ROTC inspection. They thought ‘Nam was a blast.

Ever notice how all WWII movies with scenes of German officers
always feature close-ups of their sad Nazi faces? There is that look 
of intelligent men knowing their fate, that moment of realization 
of self-deception, failure, humiliation, and defeat. This is a look 
that never appears in American movies.

So, the end comes. We opened the stores early but forgot
to charge. We gave away the store; clerks told customers to help
themselves. Now there is a Vanderbilt on TV, a song and dance 
man, who dyes his hair white and tells everyone he is a girl. 
He announced today that he is a mother. Congratulations.