Nightclub Mastectomy

Posted: July 6th, 2010 | Author: | Filed under: Uncategorized | 1 Comment »

Out of respect for any conservative blog followers … 
This particular blog will contain potty-mouthed, sexually graphic material. 
If this will offend you, please DO NOT READ IT.
But, please, do continue to pray for my health & my heathen soul.
Thank you. I love you all!

::: Cancer Girl does one last glance over in the mirror.
Liz Claiborne jacket is pressed, jeans are zipped, hair is spiked, no lipstick on the teeth.
“Go kill ‘um, Diller!” She steps out onto the night club stage. :::
[the MC says my name, audience gratuitously applauds]
    “Hello Wenches and Gents! Just like the announcer said, my name is Chérie. Not Sherry, Cherry, or Cher but Sure-EEEEEEE. I know, like y’all really care.”
    “Anywho … I have breast cancer.” [long pause] “Yeah, yeah, a real buzz killer there, huh?”
[walks to stage left] “It’s okay, sir. You can look directly at my D cup boobs.”
[leans forward, points] “Yeah, you in the geeky pink golf shirt there. What’s your name?”
[the man answers, Max] “No way?!?! Nah, you’re not a Max, you look more like an Alan — You know, like Charlie Sheen’s dweeby brother on “Two And A Half Men?””
[starts to walk away, looks at audience] “That or his mother dressed him tonight.”
[turns and looks at Max again] “Well, don’t worry Alan, you won’t have to endure listening to a vagina monologue type bit tonight. I promise.”
[puts hand down by crotch, moves hand like it's talking while walking back to center stage, speaks in high pitched ventriloquist type voice] “What a douche bag.” 
     “Yeah, yeah, I know, Jiji. Just flow with it.”
    “Sooo, as I was saying … I’ve got breast cancer. Buuut, I’ve got the [does quote fingers] “best case scenario” type of cancer. Yup, there really is one of those, it’s called DCIS. It’s non-invasive. Buuut, no matter how ya slice it, it’s still not a Martha Stewart “good thing.” 
    “Having DCIS is kinda like watching a gold toothed gangsta move into the apartment across the hall from you. You know you can’t just ignore him. You know until he moves out, gets arrested, or one of his homies guns him down, from now on you’re gonna have to double check all your locks; never ever bitch about what new drug your doc put you on to your neighbors; and-slash-or, explain to your 13 year old niece that when a man sucks air through his teeth and tugs on his man package while saying stuff like, “Hey there, Sweetness” … it’s a baaad thaaang.”
[looks down at right breast] “Hey, Alan? For your edification? It’s this one that’s gotta go.”
[turns back to the audience] “Yup, this is the one that’s going bye-bye. It’s headed straight for the big bobby “M” in the sky — a mastectomy.”
[Valley Girl speak] “Like, such a buzz killer, again! What is with this chick?”
    “Now, from what I’ve heard, a lot of women really freak out over losing a breast-a-kleez. Not me. For real. See, I look at it this way … My identity, my sensuality, my sexuality as a woman is not tied up in my breasts … It IS however, tied up in my BJs.”
[fakes shock and looks at Max, speaks in Valley Girl] “O-M-G, Alan! I said BJs. But, like, you know what one of those is, riiight?”
[Jiji speaks] “He doesn’t have a clue.”
    “Come on people, I’m speaking the truth here! Boobs can come and go, but good fellatio skills? Those are like diamonds. They’re forever.”
[Jiji speaks] “I think Alan just blushed.”
[looks at Max] “Oh good grief, Alan. Please don’t tell me you had no clue that there are skills involved in a good BJ? No? Alan, Alan, enthusiasm alone, or just wanting you to shut up for the week, isn’t gonna cut it in the relationship long run.”
    “So, I take it no way you know what a TCBJ is, right? An ERBJ? Then for sure you don’t know what a SOBJ is either, do ya?”
[Jiji speaks] “Told ya he didn’t have a clue.”
[sighs deeply, speaks rapidly] “Okay, Dude, again, for your edification … TCBJ, Toe Curling BJ; ERBJ, Eyeball Rolling BJ; SOBJ, Stoned Out BJ — like when you’re so high from the endorphins you look like a jackrabbit stoned on mescaline. Your welcome. Can I get back to my comedic cancer bit now? Thank you.”
[Jiji speaks] “I think you just set him on a new life quest.” 
[speaks in snotty Thurston Howell accent] “As I was saying, before I got sidetracked guiding Alan onto a new life quest …
[speaks normal again]  I know where a good chunk of my woman-ness lies. And besides, these 52 year old fun bags are gonna get an upgrade — yeah, yeah, on the insurance company’s dime no less!”
[points to breasts] “Yup, yup, no more cinnamon roll cram’n these puppies into my bras anymore. These gals are gonna get a new lease on life! I’ll get a “Back To The Future” rewind job, minus the weirdo scientist dude.”
[looks at Max, sighs] “No, Alan. I am not gonna go for the Jessica Rabbit jug job. No JRJJ for this pragmatic gal.”

[hoists up both breasts] “Here’s a 22 year old look’n rack sitting on a 52 year old body. If I’m walking around with these? I’d have to endure stuff like being in a department store and watching wives jam jealous elbows into their ogling husband’s ribs [does a Mrs. Kravits voice] “Abner, stop look’n at the porn star wannabe.” Or, or, hearing girlfriends whispering snotty “Sex In The City” stuff to each other, like, “What a shame, that old stripper really let herself go.””

    “But the worst case scenario ever? A jealous wife ranting to her husband, “Eddie? I mean it! There is no way in hell you’re taking that Anna Nichole, Jessica Rabbit look’n slut out fishing on your boat! Not if you want a BJ, THIS year.””
    “See? See what I mean, people? A JRJJ just isn’t worth it. Look’n like a slut in my 60’s and 70’s has too high a price! In the name of all that’s holy in my life, my fishing time, I’m going with new C cups.”
[hoists up breasts again] “I mean, let’s get real. I’d look like an total idiotstick. Especially when I hit my 70’s! And knowing me? I’d probably be walking around feeling myself up all the time. Socially speaking, that is NOT a pretty look’n picture.”
    “I can already hear one of my old New England neighbors now, “Oh there goes Chérie, up one hill and down another, feeling herself up all the way.””
   “And, and, I can just see my Honey and me, in our 70’s, shuffling around the grocery store. I’d be wandering around, lost in a daze, all the while feeling up my still perky rack. He’s gonna be barking at me down the aisles in his Bostonian accent, “Huuuuuney! Stop feel’n up ya boobies in public. If I can’t, you can’t eithaaaah!”
   [audience applauds, I bow] “Thank you. Thank you. You’ve been wonderful! Ladies, please get a yearly mammo. And gents? Please remember to tell your Honey you love them today. Goodnight everybody!!”
[starts to exit the stage, Jiji speaks] “I bet Alan is gonna try and get your phone number.”
    “Good luck to him and the Mets.”
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One Comment on “Nightclub Mastectomy”

  1. 1 David & Bonnie said at 8:56 pm on July 6th, 2010:

    Now that was a Class Act performance! Did I happen to inspire some of it? OK, ok…so me and Alan didn't know what a BJ was! Not good with acronyms… "BD"… big deal!