May 11th, 2005

Bill Hicks

The Philosopher's Ass

"I'd be David Duchovny," the Muse said, watching the television.

"Excuse me?" I said. "Did you say that you'd do David Duchovny?"

She shook her head. "No, I said that I'd be him. Well, I'd do him too, but that wasn't what I was talking about. I'd like to be him. Actually, not even him. I'd like to be Fox Mulder."

I put the back of my hand against her forehead. "Honey, are you sick? You've been watching too many X-Files reruns?"

She batted at my hand, and I jerked it back. "No, I haven't, although this is the fourth one I've seen tonight. Bite me, he's fascinating. Mulder, I mean, not Duchovny. Well, maybe he is too, but I wouldn't know. Mulder, now... he's pretty fucking spiffy."

"Scully not good enough for you?" I asked.

"Not really. She was more interesting towards the end of the show, but really, come on. Mulder was the reason to watch it. Anyway, I'm already a woman. I think it would be fun to be a man for a change."

"Let's don't start this discussion again. I'm not funding your trip to Sweden for those operations you want so badly."

"Oh, knock it off," she said. "I just think he's fascinating as a character: obsessed, tortured, witty, smart. And he has a hot ass."

"What's not to love? Besides, he sounds like every guy you've ever dated. Hell, most of them strike me as the sort to be abducted by aliens, too."

"You're jealous of his ass, aren't you?"

I shook my head. "Not I, dear Muse. I have a delightful ass. It looks like Calvin's, from Calvin and Hobbes."

"I find that rather disturbing," she said.

"And strangely intriguing..."

"Nope," she said, shaking her head. "Just disturbing."
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