"... After the big blowout in Roddenberry's office, the mood on the set was subdued. Shortly afterwards, Shatner came up to me when we broke for lunch.
"Hey, George.", he said. "How's things?"
"Fine, I guess.", I replied.
Bill looked uncomfortable. "Say, George. About that fight you and Gene had in his office..."
"Um, yeah?"
Bill squirmed awkwardly. "Er, this isn't any of my business, I realize, but... George, are you-?". He paused.
I regarded him warily. Bill and I's working relationship was friendly but somewhat formal up to this point.
"Gay, Bill? Is that what you want to know?"
Bill shook his head nervously, waving the answer off.
"Um, really, George?"
I folded my arms, preparing for another confrontation. I wasn't about to let Shatner push me around.
"Yes, Bill. I'm gay. Don't tell me after all this time you didn't know? I mean, come on! Remember last year's wrap party? When I got blitzed on all those vodka martinis and started singing show tunes?"
Shatner winced.
"Um, George, I just wanted to say, it's okay with me if you are. I know I've gotten a rep on the set for being a overly macho jerk, and...and I just didn't want you to start thinking I was going to be rude or abusive towards you."
Well! Seems Shatner had a heart, after all!
"Er, okay. Thanks, Bill. I guess."
"Are we cool, then?"
"Sure." He sighed, relieved.
"Just one more thing?-"
"What?"
"George. Have- have you ever thought of me in a sexual way? I mean, do you find me sexually attractive?"
"WHAT?!"
"I mean, have you ever wanted to have sex with me?"
I regarded him with a blank stare.
"No, Bill. I can't ever say that I have." Bill's shoulders slumped a bit.
"Oh. Okay, George. See you later." He walked off the set with a demoralized air. This was one of the factors behind my taking the pivotal role of the South Vietnamese captain in "The Green Berets"...
-From George Takei's forthcoming biography, "I'm Here, I'm Sulu, Get Used To It!" from Notarealpublishingcompany Press.
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"...It was my last client's 'action's' that influenced my decision. I had him bound in my dungeon, begging for release. After his pleas of eternal fidelity, I graciously freed his right hand so he could 'pleasure' himself over my latex boot.
"Ohhhhh...", he gasped, as he ejaculated, ropy, yellowish goo spurting forth. Just then, the pipe cleaner I had earlier inserted popped out from his urethra like a length of pipe from an oil derrick that's struck 'black gold'.
"My goodness, Slave!", I purred. "You've got quite a powerful-" My speech was cut short by the subsequent eruption of all the Monopoly game tokens from the same orifice. They landed on the cold floor with a dull tink! one after the other.
I stammered. "I- I didn't put any Monopoly tokens up your-" In the ensuing moments, This forty-three year old project manager had ejaculated not just the pipe cleaner and six pewter game pieces, but half a Lego figure, several small marbles, and incredibly, a novelty miniature flashlight (still lit up!) , the smaller type you latch onto your key chain.
I tendered my resignation at Mistress Spank's House For Naughty Boys that very afternoon, and later, became the assistant manager at a moderately successful Starbucks coffee house in Lower Manhattan..."
-from "Now I've Seen Everything! Former Sex Workers oral history of why they left the business" by Totallymadeup Publishing.
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"...Mr. Cheney, sir?" I gulped. Mr. Cheney didn't like to get bad news.
"Well, out with it, man!", he snarled. "I won't tolerate urine-soaked vandalism's in front of my office! I need to know who peed the words, 'Dick Cheney is a fag' right there, in the fresh snow so I could obviously read it!
"Er, sir? The DNA analysis came back, and we did confirm that it is, indeed, Alberto Gonzales' urine." Mr. Cheney slumped down in his chair.
"That wetback ingrate-", he started to rant. I quickly interrupted.
"Sir, it gets worse." Cheney looked at me, aghast.
"Worse? Dear God, man! How can it get worse?"
"Our handwriting analysts indicate it's Lynne Cheney's handwriting."
The thing about Dick Cheney is, he doesn't cry like a normal person. No, he just stares off into space and makes little whimpering noises like a trapped rat..."
-From "You Don't Know Dick!" by Anonymous (a now-retired Secret Service employee) from PleaseohgoddontshipmeofftoGuantanemoBay Press.
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