A DISTASTEFUL GHOST FROM PATRICIA'S PAST

A DISTASTEFUL GHOST FROM PATRICIA’S PAST

                                 By:  Randy Gillis                              

I was at Patricia’s house for one of my usual housekeeping visits (her nesting abilities could use a little polish and after all, friends don’t let friends hoard) when I stumbled across something of a bombshell.  I was cleaning her bedroom or, as she puts it, the lesbian conversion chamber, when I noticed a scrapbook sitting on her dresser.  After recovering from the realization that apparently Patricia scrapbooks, I naturally thumbed through it.  What I found in its pages rocked me to my core.  How could she keep this from me?  There was only one thing I could do.

Later that night, after strapping Patricia to the bed (thankfully I didn’t need a hypodermic full of sedative as Patricia sleeps heavier than Candice Gingrich’s burden) I was determined to get some answers.  I leaned in and whispered in her ear.  “Patricia, you’ve been keeping secrets,” I cooed.  “No I haven’t,” she whispered groggily.  I love getting her while she’s in this sleepy haze.  Normally, given this opportunity, I would torment her by doing my Martina Navratilova impersonation (I’m told it is spot on) but this was too serious.  I walked to the foot of her bed and stood patiently.  She slowly forced herself awake after struggling sluggishly with the straps.  “You left your scrapbook out,” I said in a somewhat sterner voice.  “Can you imagine what I might be thinking of you right now?” I asked.   She raised her head and finally saw the straps holding her down.  She looked up at me.  “What?” was all she could muster.  I leaned on the foot board of the bed.  “But you see that’s okay because you’re going to set the record straight.” 

 

At this point Patricia was fully awake and getting a bit irritated.  She stopped struggling and gazed at me.  “Kindly undo these straps,” she hissed, using her best Mercedes McCambridge bourbon and Marlboro voice.  “Unfortunately for you, wrong movie,” I gloated.  “Have you ever heard of Wright Laboratory and a certain 1994 proposal?” I asked.  Patricia’s eyes widened with recognition.  “I don’t know what you are talking about,” she proclaimed in a tone dripping with guilt.  I chuckled just to tease her.  “Do you know what they do to lesbians who keep secrets from their gay husbands?” I asked rhetorically.  “Oh, don’t worry, they don’t kill them,” I said reaching down to pick up a two foot section of a 4x4 post.  “That would be like junking Harrison Ford because of his heterosexuality, no, they had to figure out a way for them to keep lesbianing.”  I placed the post between Patricia’s ankles and secured it.  She watched with panic in her eyes.  “I don’t know what you’re thinking here Randy, but, please don’t,” she begged. 


I raised a peacock feather and rubbed it against my cheek.  “The procedure was called tickling,” I continued.  Patricia began to struggle against the straps.  “For god’s sake Randy, please don’t,” she whimpered.  I walked to her left foot and raised the feather.  “Trust me darling, it’s for the best.”   With that, I brought the peacock feather down against Patricia’s foot.  I knew confession would be quick as she has no tolerance for tickling.  I almost hated to stop because her laugh is quit infectious.

Upon her surrender I reached for the scrapbook and opened it.  “So, you do know something about Wright Laboratory’s 1994, 7.5 million dollar proposal?” I asked.  Patricia was catching her breath from laughing.  “Yes,” she wheezed.  I began thumbing through some of the documents in the scrapbook.  “Tell me about it,” I demanded as I skimmed.  “The Air Force wanted money to develop non-lethal chemical…not really weapons…but deterrents that could be sprayed on the enemy.”  I cut her off as there was already way too much sympathy in her tone. 

“Ah, yes, here it is.  ‘Harassing, Annoying, and ‘Bad Guy’ Identifying Chemicals.’  Nice.  Looks like they were looking at 3 categories to play with, but I’ll simply quote directly.  ‘Category 1:  Chemicals that attract annoying creatures to the enemy position and make the creatures aggressive and annoying.’”  I looked at Patricia.  “There’s nothing quite as annoying as a pack of aggressive wolverines is there,” I said sarcastically.  “Unless it’s that horny male grizzly looking for that ‘she-bear-in-heat’ fragrance in the air, or on other human beings.” 

I turned the page and continued.  “’Category 2:  Chemicals that make lasting but non-lethal markings on personnel’.  Yeah, blah, blah boring, let’s move on to my favorite.  "Category 3:  Chemicals that affect human behavior so that discipline and morale in enemy units is adversely affected.  One DISTASTEFUL but completely non-lethal example would be strong aphrodisiacs, especially if the chemical also caused homosexual behavior."

 

I closed the scrapbook and glared at Patricia.  “Chemically induced homosexuality, hmm, didn’t we already cover that in the 60s, 70s, and 80s?  Oh yeah, we did.  IT’S CALLED POPPERS!  But what’s even worse than the overall concept is the unfortunate choice of words.” 

 I slammed the scrapbook down on the floor and leaned over the foot board.  “Distasteful!?!?  Are you freaking kidding me!  They have the balls to call man-on-man love distasteful within a proposal for more efficient man-on-man violence!”  “Hey now,” Patricia interrupted, “you’ve called straight sex a lot worse than that.”  “That may be,” I confessed, “but I never in the same breath suggested we figure out a way to make them the main course for a herd of hungry honey badgers!  What kind of punk-ass cowardly bullshit is this!?"






"Please tell me you weren’t a part of this.”  Patricia’s silence spoke volumes.  “We’ve all done things in our past that we’re ashamed of.  Isn’t that right Mr. Eddie Murphy blow-up doll?”  “Oh sure, throw that in my face,” I screamed.  “But I would hardly compare my penchant for inflatable love with this.  How involved were you?”

“It was just a proposal,” she said.  “It never went anywhere.”  “Just tell me you weren’t involved,” I pleaded, “and I’ll believe you.”  “I was more involved with its failure,” she said.  My whole body sighed with relief. 


A few nights later I was having a restless sleep.  I was having a strange dream involving Patricia, secret documents and honey badgers when I realized I couldn’t move my arms or legs.  Suddenly, in my left ear I hear Patricia’s voice.  “Now, let’s talk about your years with the USO.”