A stunning and brave revelation
I have a confession to make.
I have been lying about who I am all of these years and it’s about time I set the record straight. I do this not for myself but for the millions of people who have to hide who they are because they are afraid of being persecuted by their peers. But as we move forward into a new decade, I am hopeful that our society will learn to eventually accept people like me.
I am in a committed sexual relationship with the corpse of Ronald Reagan, the 40th president of the United States.
I am not ashamed. In fact, it’s liberating just typing that out.
Ronald, or Ronnie Politics as I affectionately call him, is my rock. And I don’t mean that just figuratively. Oddly enough, his rigor mortis still hasn’t subsided.
Some people may ask me “You’re banging the corpse of Ronald Reagan? What the fuck is wrong with you? No, it’s not an issue with our ‘society,’ you are straight-up having sex with a dead person! See how fucked that sounds? Necrophilia is illegal, people get arrested for that shit! Jesus Christ, you are a disgrace as a son!” To them I say it all started when I watched Weekend at Bernie’s, the pièce de résistance of American cinema. The hour and 50 minutes I spent in front of the screen proved to be my sexual awakening. There’s just something so stoic about a corpse, something mysterious. A certain je ne sais quoi. A corpse doesn’t get angry. A corpse doesn’t play games. A corpse doesn’t cheat on you with your best friend, Deborah, causing you to wallow in a pool of your own tears, devouring pint after pint of Cherry Garcia while you watch reruns of Frasier wearing nothing but a Phish concert t-shirt bought from a man with an eyepatch on the side of the street. Only someone like me would have their love life resurrected by the dead!
How we met is a hilarious story. I’m actually writing a script for a rom-com about our relationship. Imagine Forgetting Sarah Marshall but I’m Jason Segel, Mila Kunis is a lifeless ex-leader of the free world and Kristen Bell is a man named Kyle Hoover who never told his ex-boyfriend he was bisexual and lacked the emotional availability to be in a meaningful relationship with someone as loyal and mentally-stable as Jason Segel. Anyway, my family took a trip to Ronnie’s presidential library one summer and, I hate to be cliche, but it was love at first sight when I snuck into his crypt and opened up that beautiful chestnut coffin. Staring at his pale, embalmed likeness, I knew I had to have him. I was able to sneak him out using some magic tricks I learned from my eccentric uncle, who is currently serving life in prison for illegally torrenting the Vietnamese version of Shrek over a public server. Now a magician doesn’t reveal his secrets but I’ll give you a couple hints: it involved a tub of Vaseline, a fake bomb threat, and a large Radio Flyer wagon. The rest, like Ronnie bitchslapping Gorbachev and the entire U.S.S.R., is history!
As for our sexual life, it is anything but dead. For the foreplay, we like to recite Ayn Rand while I spoonfeed him jellybeans. Although, since he can’t swallow, I have to force them down his throat. Ronnie is the perfect sub, he never complains about anything except for the “Negro problem.” But I find his casual racism endearing, nobody’s perfect after all! By the time I’m through with him, his cold, sexy body is as ravaged as the black communities he so gleefully destroyed. But he’s such a good sport that I’ve never even heard him utter our safe word: “Contra” (I suggested “AIDS” but he just ignored that). Maybe it’s just the method actor in him. On top of that, Ronnie is a big fan of the trickle-down but I’m not just talking economics ;)
But like all controversial relationships, we have our enemies. Namely that bitch Nancy. Oooh boy, does she get on my nerves! We get it, you were his “wife” while he was alive. Big deal! I was once Kyle’s boyfriend while he was alive but you don’t see me digging up his freshly-murdered…I mean freshly-buried corpse just to cuddle. Sometimes Ronnie and I smoke crack just to spite her. Just say no? We just hit that pipe, ho! Ronnie is mine and there’s nothing you can do about it!
There are many others just like me scattered across the world. Last time I checked, our numbers were in the teens! I hope that my courage in writing this letter will empower more and more to come out. I understand that most people today will find our relationship grotesque, possibly even distasteful. To them I say this: “Love is love.” That is unless you’re my bigoted father to whom I’d say this: “You can disown me but you can never extinguish the flame of passion I share with the deceased 40th president of the United States!”
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