Suburgatory (12 page)

I know your type, Wal-Not. You just
have
to have your special mom-and-pop bullshit coffee and ironic old-time-y hardware store that's highway robbery, because you can afford it, and you think Wal-Mart is the Evil Empire. Well, here's my advice for you, since you've told no one but Dr. Drama about your troubled “conscience.” Start walking around telling people your views. And send the medical bills to the ass-raper.

Kid's Book Used to Explain:
Don't Cockblock Your Gay Uncle

Suburgatory, USA—A gay uncle is using the heartwarming book
Uncle Bobby's Wedding
to urge his overly attached niece to stop “cockblocking him” in his search for love and passion.

“I love her to bits, I really do,” said “Gunkle” Rob Marino, referring to his niece Ella. “But just like her mom, she thinks I'm her funny gay play toy. But you know what? I'm a human being like everyone else who likes to come home from work, watch Netflix instant play, and get fucked as much as possible by my
boyfriend.
So when I saw this book,
Uncle Bobby's Wedding,
I lunged for it. Yeah, the book is a great celebration of committed gay love, blah blah blah, but to be honest, really I just saw it and thought,
Oh my god, this might just get it through Ella's adorably thick head that I need my life back.
And I need my
own
committed gay love. Like fucking Gunkle Bobby did.”

Uncle Bobby's Wedding
tells the story of a gay guinea pig named Bobby, whose niece Chloe is troubled when her favorite “special” uncle finds love. Slowly Chloe has to accept that Uncle Bobby is going to marry another special guinea pig, Jamie.

Marino describes how his life as “Gunkle” evolved.

“Oh, this is all her mother's fault—my sister Angie—who I also love to bits but you know, her idea of a gay man is someone to ‘be there for you.' You know, cuz I'm gay. I know it's hard for her, a single mom in suburbia? That's almost as bad as being a single gay dude in suburbia. But seriously, it takes me an hour to get out of the city to see them, and it's like I'm on call 24-7, paging Rob to the rescue! Because I'm supposed to be really good at wiping your tears and going to the mall. I do more than that idiot shrink of hers. She should be giving
me
those co-pays she hands over to that woman.”

And then Angie had Ella, and gay uncle Rob became the go-to “Gunkle.”

“You know, they all assume I have no life because I'm gay, which is hilarious because if I was a whore, and I'm
not,
I could be out every night fucking five different guys if I wanted to. If that's not a life, I don't know what is. My sister always assumes I can babysit or can come over when Ella's loser dad doesn't step up. If she hadn't had Ella, I'd be so out of here. Ella really is the best thing that ever happened to me. I just need more space.”

So Rob and new boyfriend Jayson took Ella out for Afternoon Tea at American Girl Doll Place, and sat down with Ella's best-loved “Molly” doll, described by the company as a “lively, lovable schemer and dreamer growing up in 1944.” And Rob had his own “Kanani” doll.

“Ella insisted I have one, and Angie chose it because she thought it was really kitschy for me. Why does she think I'm some screaming queen—I hate kitsch! Why does my own sister think every gay man is a screaming queen?”

Rob brought
Uncle Bobby's Wedding
with him to tea and began to explain why nieces need to stop cock-blocking their Gunkles.

Rob:
Now Ella, see, Bobby found Jamie after many many years of being alone.

Ella:
But you haven't been alone, Gunkle Rob, you've had mommy and me.

Rob:
Of course, honey, and you know I love taking you to American Girl and talking to you every night before bed and having frozen hot chocolates and everything we do all the time, but at some point, everyone wants to have their
own
family.

Ella:
You're my Gunkle! You
are
my family!

Ella began crying but Jayson, who'd been quietly assessing Ella, whispered to Rob, “She's playing you. Let's throw money at this.”

Jayson said, “Ella, is there something maybe we can get you, something you've been wanting, so that Rob and I can carve some time alone together and it won't be too sad for you?”

Ella carefully composed herself and said, “The new Josefina doll from 1824 on the Santa Fe trail. The whole six-book series. And extra moccasins and shawls.”

Jayson said, “Deal!”

As they left tea to go purchase Josefina, Jayson looked down at the first American Girl doll Rob ever bought for Ella, “the lovable schemer,” and said, “Wow, Ella's a real ‘Molly,' huh?”

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Mom Buys Muscle Massager
to Really Massage Muscles

Suburgatory, USA—A local woman was unable to convince the men at the Eaton pharmacy that she was buying a muscle massager to really massage her muscles.

Mary Pickering was first noticed in the orthopedic care aisle where she was purchasing supplies for her elderly mother. Tom Carrothers and Joey Marti, on their break from the construction site down on Milford Street, noticed her and thought she fit the sexual cliché that has run rampant among men of their age: “MILF.”

“Hey, Tommy she's pretty MILF-y, huh? Tits are a little droopy, but me still likey,” said Marti.

Carrothers said, “Yeah, that yummy mummy's aged pretty well.” Pickering ignored them.

But soon Pickering was in the personal massage area and Marti and Carrothers were electrified. As she picked up the Ergonomic two-speed Handheld Massager and began heading to the checkout, they decided they were done shopping and would check out along with her. While standing in line, she overheard Tom Carrothers say, “You know, I have just the thing to ‘massage those muscles' of hers. Right, Joey?” Joey said, “Yeah, you know if I had a pretty lady like that at home, she'd be getting her muscles massaged every night, real hard, too. No batteries required!” They laughed and elbow-poked one another.

Pickering turned to the men and said, “Look, I genuinely need this device for my shoulders. My physical therapist told me to buy it.” Both men were silent, smiling and slowly nodding with their mouths a bit ajar. As she arrived at the checkout, the clerk, who looked to be nineteen, had the same expression. Pickering said, slowly and forcefully, “I have
sore shoulders.
” “Of course! That will work wonders on shoulders. You know, we are also having a special on RePhresh vaginal gel,” the clerk said.

At this point, she said, “Little boy, I don't have a dry vagina.”

“Yeah, definitely not, no dry vaginas if I was in the sack with her, right?” said Carrothers to Marti, who held up his hand and said, “Don't leave me hangin'!” Marti high-fived him.

Pickering finally lost her composure. “Do I look like a fool to you? Do you really think I would trust my orgasms to a piece of junk I buy at a drugstore? I have a whole goddamn
family
of vibrators at home.
And
a husband who fucks me into oblivion whenever I want. Oh, and could you be any more cliché? ‘Don't leave me hanging,' all that MILF and Yummy Mummy shit? Does anyone even still use those stupid terms?”

Marti, looking chastened, said, “In porno they do.”

“What are you even buying anyway?” asked Pickering, accusingly. The men dutifully extended their hands: Marti was holding Lamisil anti-fungal cream. Carrothers had Preparation H, and a copy of
Martha Stewart Living
magazine.

Mercedes-Driving Dad Dreams of
Easier Life for His Children

Suburgatory, USA—A local dad spoke about the current economic hardship and his hopes for an “easier life” for his children, while getting his Mercedes detailed at the Hooper Street Car Wash & Detailing.

Eric Sellers' S-class sedan had a bumper sticker that read
Had Enough?
, which referred to what he called President Obama's “war on the little guy.”

“I mean, I am not one of those Tea Party crazies who thinks Obama is a socialist or a secret Kenyan terrorist or anything. I think he's dangerous just because he's an old-fashioned tax-and-spend liberal. The tax rates in this country are criminal,” he said, looking for agreement from the mostly Latino men using small brushes on the crevices of the car.

“You know, I'm just a regular Joe, a suburban small-­business man. We are the backbone of this economy! And yet I'm expected to pay more than 40 percent of my income to the government. Money that should be going to my kids, who are suffering in this terrible recession. Thank God I have a whiz-bang accountant who can get that 40 percent down to about 10 percent, but that's still highway robbery.”