Calling All Vegetables

Although the Dowbrigade long ago moved beyond the
strict causality of Freud’s theories of sexual repression and psychoses,
we are astounded at times by how much of what really motivates people,
consciously and subconsciously, is sexual.

As someone who wants to, and like to think it is possible
to understand the world in which we live, it bothers us that we understand
so little about something so important. For example, it is difficult for a life-long heterosexual
to even imagine what it would be like to feel attracted to one’s same

And that is a walk in the park compared with trying
to get inside the thoughts and emotions of a rapist, or a child molester,
or a serial sex killer. What could possibly go through the mind of such
a person?  What could have possibly happened to them during their
lives to connect sexual gratification in their troubled brains to such
barbaric behavior?

At such times, we thank the Lord for creating Eve and
her ilk, and for cueing the Dowbrigade’s desires to the female form and
fancy. Although, come to think of it, women can be pretty difficult to
deal with themselves. We never were much good at understanding what makes
women tick, although we have become something of an expert at what ticks them off.

Wouldn’t it be nice if we could transfer our sexual
urges to something more, well, manageable? Historically, animals have
been one alternative, but bestiality has a bad rap and an unfortunate
name, and seems instinctually nasty even to one as broadminded and anthropologically
unbiased as the Dowbrigade.

Moving down the food chain, we wonder if it might be
possible to become romantically involved with fruits or vegetables. By
this we mean the garden variety vegetables and not the residents of long-term
round-the-clock nursing care facilities. We can almost imagine waxing
amorous over a plump, soft honeydew mellon, with its moist pink flesh
and fruity but musty scent. Or a dappled mango, picked at its peak of
sweet young ripeness, with sticky, gooey nectar dripping down its skin.

But no, let’s nip this one in the bud, before we find
ourself the object of snide, sad commentary by erstwhile "friends" at
some seedy salad bar at 3 am.

"What’s he doing over there? He’s been cruising the
salad bar for 45 minutes…"

"Look at the way he’s squeezing those grapefruit! And
did you see what he did with that pomegranate?"

"What a weird guy. He kept grabbing stuff, but it wasn’t
going on his plate.  It looked like he was stuffing it all in his
pockets, or something. Shhhh, he’s coming back to the table…"

"Hey, guys, I gotta split. I just remembered, I gotta
get down to Haymarket."

"Are you nuts? It’s friggin’ three o’clock in the morning!"

"Yeah, but that’s when the produce trucks start pulling
in with the new tomato’s, and bushels of carrots, and all those other
sweet young things…."

Snickering behind his back, they let the sad, slump-shouldered
figure of the Dowbrigade shuffle off into the night.

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2 Responses to Calling All Vegetables

  1. ford says:

    Really funny. Great post.
    I think you should put all your posts into a book. An actual physical book printed on paper. I’d buy it.

  2. Mom says:

    One of your top ten. There’s more to say on the subject, but I don’t think I’m the right one to do it. Love, Mom

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