Over yonder, up the bay at Port
Charlotte, seems Andy Wilson was getting more and more thrill wearin’ less and
less clothes. Fine. No problem.
Naked pervert tho he may be, if Andy wants to play Adam in his own
little Garden, and if he spares the rest of us the grisly sight, just jim-dandy. A-OK.
Super-Dooper. Go for it.
But noooooo. Andy must share. Andy must share with the world. And so, at his apartment complex Wilson has
taken to walkin’ around naked outside his Garden; just a walkin’ around like a
raison in the sun as naked as the day this nut-bird was hatched, and all with
his ding-dong dingin’ in the wind.
Incensed, the disgusted apartment manager
called Charlotte County Lust Control.
And, of course, when the Perv Police arrived to perform their revolting
duty there was our hero, can ‘o beer in hand, stumbling around in his birthday
suit. Andrew’s excuse:
“I wuz drunk, occifers. Honest occifers, I didn’t even know . . .
(hic) . . . I didn’t even know I ain’t got no . . . (hic) . . . ain’t got no pants
on.”
“Okay. Fine. Seems
reasonable. Sounds plausible. Poor boy.
What say, O’Malley? Shall we just
turn this poor bugger loose?”
“Yes, I guess so, O’Brian. Begorra, he’s sure an ugly ‘un but he seems
harmless enough.”
Unfortunately for the drunken perv,
he was caught on security cameras ranking out people the day before and the day
before that. Andy is always loaded, it
seems, and always jay-birdin’ around the complex, struttin’ his stuff, startling
old ladies sitting on the benches reading fairy tales to six-year-old grandkids.
“We are very upset,” said the irate
manager, visibly shaking. “Him walking
around like this, exhibiting himself in front of children and other residents! If I had my way I would like to see him put
in jail and executed at sunrise; or maybe just turn wild dogs loose on
him. I’m sorry, and god knows my heart, but
that’s the way I feel. My wife is pretty
shook up too.”
Some people, for better or ill,
are not like the rest of us. They
believe in sharing. They see their
bodies as something that should be shared with the world. They don’t see themselves as we see
them. They don’t see the nasty nakedness
of bones, bumps, humps, blotches, beer guts, butts all saggy and baggy and
flabby and fat. And then too, there’s that
one-eyed weasel hiding in all that disgusting pubic hair. And let’s not forget the black gorilla wool
on the back.
According to the U.S. Constitution,
“The Right to Keep from Being Totally Grossed Out by Nasty Nakedness and Utter
Ugliness Shall NOT Be Infringed Upon. . . .” That’s from either the 38th
or 53rd Amendment to the Constitution, I forget which. This was put in by our Founding Fathers and Founding Mothers to
protect our sore sockets from revolting visions of deranged people parading
their ultra obscene bodies in public.
Guess they passed that law for the simple fact that if enough young
people back then saw how really beastly most bodies looked without the shawls, long
dresses, buckskin coats, and knee-britches, that they would all abstain from
sex and swear on the spot to a life of total celibacy; if that happened,
America as an experiment in self-governance would fail and the new nation would
go extinct even before it had a chance to kill itself off in nonstop wars. The Founders were certainly brilliant men and women, perhaps
divinely inspired.
Andrew Wilson was hauled away by the Lust Patrol and charged with
“exposure of sexual organs,” “disorderly conduct,” “drunk in public,” “display
of shocking ugliness in public,” and “grossing out children under twelve in the
first-degree.” Unfortunately, the judge
must also be a closet nudist since our nature boy posted a whopping $1,000 bond
and is out today as I type, being his naked retarded self.
