I'm on vacation. My substitute smut writer, Chan Hung, wrote this hot piece featuring Keanu Reeves, Brad Pitt, and the kinky alter-ego of our favorite journalist, Barbara Walters. Till next week.—Cherry Wong
Why is there nothing uplifting on TV? The other night, I watched Connie Chung ask a Bible-blaming murderer why he killed a gay man. Come on, Connie: Would you ask a Ku Klux Klan member why he murdered a black woman? Next, I watched baseball stud Billy Budd tell how he left the major league so he could come out of the closet. With teary eyes, he recalled failing to make an appearance at the funeral of his lover of three years because he didn't want to be outed. Third, I listened to Martha Stewart, her mother, and probably gay nephew (he is in a men's choir) belt out Christmas carols on Ms. Stewart's very own holiday special. Turn it off, please! My b.f. did, and luckily sleep delivered me to my own private TV-land:
BARBI WALTERS: Chan, you're looking fabulous as always.
CHAN HUNG: As are you, B. Like the studio. So Barbarella.
BARBI: Fit for a drag queen. Let's cut the shit, shall we? When is Will & Grace's Will going to give up the booty already?
CHAN: When America gets over its sex hang-ups.
BARBI: Sex Hang-Ups? Never heard of that pop group before. How many Emmys did Hung Like a Husband win?
CHAN: Hung Like a Husband?
BARBI: Your sitcom, silly, the one we're about to watch a clip from. . . .
(Cut to Chan walking through the front door of his Spanish-style condo in Monaco.)
CHAN: Honey, I'm home!
(Keanu Reeves enters from the kitchen, his skin glistening with baby oil. He wears nothing but an apron. The two men French-kiss passionately.)
KEANU: Where are the kids?
CHAN: The kids?
KEANU: Oscar and Donna, silly. Oh, how could I forget? They're still at Camp-World-Peace-Through-An-Open-Mind.
CHAN: Camp? In the middle of winter?
KEANU: Honey, it's the first day of summer. Should we screw now or after you eat the truffles I made you?
KEANU: OK, but let's do it over the kitchen counter. We almost broke the coffee table this morning, tiger.
CHAN: We did?
KEANU: I love having a modest husband with a 13-and- a-half-inch cock.
CHAN: Thirteen and a half? (Chan looks down at his crotch.) Oh, my!
KEANU: Shall we start?
CHAN: I don't have a condom on me.
KEANU: What's a condom?
CHAN: You know, to stop HIV.
KEANU: Homer Isherwood Vegas is the first gay American president. Who would want to stop him?
(Brad Pitt enters through the patio door wearing nothing but a pair of wet white briefs. He eyes Chan hungrily.)
KEANU: Chan, meet the pool boy.
BRAD: I just got bashed.
KEANU: Chan, you know the Kellys throw a bash for all the fine young things who fix our pool. Any excuse to make a daiquiri, right?
BRAD: Anyway, the drain's fixed. Need any more plumbing?
KEANU: Well, Chan? Do you?
KEANU: Want to screw him in the shower before I do you?
CHAN: But . . . we're a couple.
The alarm clock buzzed and I awoke to a blank TV and my b.f. shaking a towel at me. "I don't care if we're a couple. Do you want to take a shower before I do or not?"