FFWD Weekly
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Mr. Smutty by James Martin Submitted for yr approval: two seemingly unrelated stories. Are they simply mundane scenes starring a curious species of 2-legged animals w/ extremely large heads – or the keys to a larger cosmic puzzle? Put together properly, will these pieces form the face of God? Or will they just drive ya crosseyed w/ frustration? Do these tiny stories hold infinite insight – or are they just a bit of 3-card street-hustle intended to keep you from discovering an awful, empty truth? Submitted for yr approval: well-dressed jaybirds and a whole lotta spittle. In a European city known for nudists & knockwursts, a sartorial revolution is goin' on. For years, citizens of the nudist persuasion have gathered in a centrally located riverside park, doffed all their hosen and merrily-merrily-merrily drifted downstream. (On a semi-related note, this phenom explains why beer is so strongly favoured over tapwater.) The pragmatic reader may be wondering: how do they get back to their clothes? Good question. If this were N.America, each nudist would have her/his own gas-guzzling SUV waiting at the finish line. (Not that the wasteful N.Americans would even bother retrieving "used" clothes. Instead, they would drive to the mall and buy more, then laff about their wasteful ways from the cozy confines of oversized homes.) In enviro-conscious Europa, howev, everyone simply hops onto pubic transit. (Where they stash their busfare is a whole ’nother matter.) Nudists even have their own clubs and restaurants. At least, that's how things used to be. Due largely to aging and gravity's unsightly pull, the city's nudist population is in a critical nosedive, forcing certain pro-nekkid establishments to reëvaluate their standards. (The longheld dress policy, or lack thereof, translates into English as "No shirt, no shoes, no pants, no ginch, no socks, no hats, no scarves, no problem.") The nudist community has been torn asunder by the very same flesh which once brought unity. On the one hansel, fundamentalists refuse to compromise tradition, and have taken to the street w/ placards declaring "Hell no, we won't clothe." On the other end of the spectrum, former nudists are eager to reverse their economic misfortune by attracting a well-dressed (and, presumably, well-heeled) new clientele. They, too, have taken to the street, loudly declaring "No nudes is good news." On two separate occasions, riot police were forced to spray the protesters w/ cocoa-butter. Meanwhile, in a geographic region renowned for having stars at night that're both big & bright (hint #2: it rhymes w/ "Sex Ass"), an elementary skool teacher ordered students to punish one of their own via mob expectoration. That's the punishment, but what's the crime? Playground chatter suggests the boy spat on another child during recess, possibly the result of an argument over whose clothes were more absorbent. (The horking incident may have gone unnoticed by authorities, were it not for the boy's sharp-eyed mother. Upon picking up her li'l darling after school, she realized he was wearing a different T-shirt than that w/ which he began his day. Instead of "I'm With Stupid," she later told police, her child was clearly wearing a "Stupid's With Me" garment. That's when she knew something was "up.") The school is currently celebrating "Eye-For-An-Eye Month," part of a year-long educational journey into the varied worlds of vigilante justice and gangland retribution. Teachers are thrilled w/ how the kids have embraced the curriculum. Case in point: the spittle-soaked kid. "If you ask me, the creep got what was coming to him," remarked one classmate, an anonymous lad who was also familiar w/ peer-administered punishment – in his case, for giving wedgies on the bus. Unfortunately, the rest of the child's comments were lost as his impossibly high voice continued to soar into the register. Then all those dogs started bleeding from the ears, and it was just, like, forget it.

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