Science...For Her! (34 page)

(CARRIE, MIRANDA, CHARLOTTE, and SAMANTHA sit around a brunch table in a smoldering crater after the apocalypse. They sip mimosa glasses filled with scarab beetles and blood. SAMANTHA is on fire.)

CARRIE:

Ladies, have you ever noticed how hard it is to find a good man in this postapocalyptic dystopian landscape?!

MIRANDA:

Have I ever!! It seems like all the good men are either taken or don’t have skin because their skin melted off during the apocalypse because of the acid rain that melted off their skin!

CHARLOTTE:

Or are Jewish!

(They laugh.)

MIRANDA:

And it’s near impossible to find an affordable apartment in Manhattan. Or should I say, IneedaMAN-hattan. Or should I say, the ocean. Manhattan is now under the ocean.

CHARLOTTE:

Or are Arabs!

CARRIE:

Ladies, a toast. (CARRIE, MIRANDA, and CHARLOTTE raise their glasses. SAMANTHA raises her severed, melting left arm in her right arm.) We’ll be together forever! Or until the next lava-bee swarm attacks, which is in approximately one one-hundred-hundred hundredth of a nanosecond.

(A lava-bee volcano-stings SAMANTHA in the mouth. She’s slutty about it.)

CHARLOTTE:

Hey, do you know if those bees are single? I would date a bumble.

CARRIE:

I would FUCK THAT BUMBLE.

CHARLOTTE:

Or are short Mexicans!

SAMANTHA:

Bdddbdbdbddddbddd.

(Her skin melts off.)

CHARLOTTE:

Oh, Samantha, you SURE are the slut of the group!

(They drink to SAMANTHA’S sluttiness. Her lips fall off into her beetle-mosa.)

CHARLOTTE:

So, ladies, I went out on a date on Wednesday night, and it was TERRIBLE. He was just a burnt-up THORAX. Pro: he comes from a good family and is a good listener. Con: he’s a THORAX.

CARRIE:

How was the sex?? DISH!

CHARLOTTE:

I put my boob on his thorax.

MIRANDA:

NOW THAT’S THE KIND OF RACY GIRL TALK I’M TALKIN’ ABOUT, GIRLS! WHO CARES IF IT’S THE END OF THE WORLD, WE’RE DISHING DISHING DISHING ABOUT MEN!

CHARLOTTE:

Or are short or tall Gypsies or Africans!

(They drink to dishing about men. SAMANTHA’S eyes fall out into her beetle-mosa.)

CARRIE:

HEY, the only man I need is a pair of Manolo Blahniks. And some potable water. Some extra blood. Religion. A hand to replace my hand, which is about to fall off. (Her hand falls off.)

MIRANDA:

But seriously, how are men not flocking to us? We’re smart, sexy, and have even more sexable holes in our bodies than before the apocalypse! I would let a man boom-boom the hole in my calf that a meteorite went clear through this morning.

CHARLOTTE:

I would boom-boom some salt.

CARRIE:

I would boom-boom a sick child’s coloring book.

MIRANDA:

I would boom-boom a sexy leek.

CHARLOTTE:

I would boom-boom some sexy sand.

MIRANDA:

I would boom-boom a sexy ransom note.

CHARLOTTE:

I would boom-boom some hope.

CARRIE:

I would boom-boom a sexy hurt horse.

SAMANTHA:

Bd. Db.

(Her head falls off. One tear comes out of a smoldering hole in her upper arm. That’s where she cries from now.)

CARRIE:

You don’t look so good, Samantha.

MIRANDA:

Look who’s talking, Sarah Jessica Parker.

Dear Ayn,

I’m dating a man who I think I love, but I’m afraid he’s having an affair. He comes home late, he acts suspiciously, and he even has red lipstick on his collar. Should I confront him or just hope for the best?

County Af-fair

Dear County,

Red lipstick? Your husband is a Communist. Divorce him and sell his clothes, children, and pens to make money to spend on cars, human slaves, and bigger pens. This will simultaneously stimulate the economy and punish the slaves for not having jobs. Slaves: what lazybones!

Hope this helps,

Ayn

Dear Ayn,

I’m trying to figure out which color dress to get my daughter for her First Communion. Is red gauche?

Paint the Dress Red

Dear Paint,

Hmmm, this is a tough one. On the one hand, I hate Communism (“Reds”). On the other hand, I hate religion. On the third hand, I hate women. FYI, do you know how I got that third hand? I bought it from a child! Ho HO! He was easily tricked into selling me his hand for a nickel and a pious man’s drum! I have a baker’s dozen child-hands in my glove compartment!!!!

Hope this helps,

Ayn

Dear Ayn,

My baby daughter is turning one year old, and I don’t know if I should throw her a birthday party or not. What should I do? I’d appreciate any advice.

One Is the Loneliest Number

Dear One,

DO NOT reward this tiny unemployed Jew with a party. Your so-called baby is most likely an immigrant (read: LAZYBONE) who doesn’t contribute to her family’s income and gives terrible, poor-people gifts like HD-DVDs and sand. Unrelated question: does your baby have any spare hands?

Hope this helps,

Ayn

Dear Ayn,

My in-laws are coming to Thanksgiving dinner at my house for the first time. I’m not great at hosting: how do I make sure we have enough food and that we all get along?

Turkey Lurkey

Dear Lurkey,

The lavish Thanksgiving meal is a symbol of the fact that abundant consumption is the RESULT AND REWARD OF PRODUCTION. Do you see a poor “person” on the street? (NOTE: I put “person” in quotes because poor people are more like CHAIRS in my book because you should SIT on them.) Ask this “person” (read: chair) for his half sandwich for your Thanksgiving meal. Does he not relinquish that symbol for all American pride, the half sandwich? Does he not relinquish his half BLT, his half PB&J? Distract him with some sort of juvenile puppet-based theater and steal that half sandwich. That is YOUR HALF SANDY, for YOU ARE GOD. YOU ARE GOD. YOU ARE A GOD EATING A HALF HAM-AND-CHEESE SANDY. Note: to be clear, it is half of a ham-and-cheese sandwich,
not a whole half-ham-and-cheese sandwich.

Hope this helps,

Ayn

Dear Ayn,

Are you the warrant and the sanction?

Dawdling in Dallas

Dear Dawdling,

I am the warrant and the sanction.

Ayn

Dear Ayn,

I don’t mean to be offensive, but your writing is overwhelmingly juvenile and one-note. How did you become such an influential figure, a cornerstone of the landscape of American conservative politics? You write like a petulant child.

Holly Hurlbut

Professor of Comparative Literature

Harvard University

Dear Holly,

Your mom’s juvenile.

Hope this helps,

Ayn

Dear Ayn,

I’m in Los Angeles for a day and I don’t have much spending cash. What are some fun things to do that are cheap and easy?

SoCal SoCheap

Dear SoCal,

Here are some options:

- Tattoo “laissez-faire” on a celebrity’s bagel.

- Build a statue of me, Ayn Rand, out of cheap materials (rose gold, the word of a liberal, Mexican day labor).

- Throw that statue at the chair who built it (aim for the throat).

- Go to the zoo and taunt an animal smaller than you (human children count).

- Make a coat out of some Dalmatians.

- Push a baby into another baby and point and laugh while they cry and then trip the babies and then laugh more at those babies that you tripped.

- Make a coat out of someone with Medicare.

Hope this helps,

Ayn

Dear Ayn,

I’m considering becoming a Communist. Should I become a Communist?

Commie Dearest

Dear Commie,

No.

Hope this helps,

Ayn

Dear Ayn,

If I yell enough at gays and Jews and Mexicans and Michael J. Foxes, will my daddy love me? Will he kiss me on the face and not throw paperweights at my face and love me?

Rush Limbaugh

Dear Rush,

Yes.

Hope this helps,

Ayn

Dear Ayn,

I caught my wife reading
Atlas Shrugged
the other day. She’s been acting strange ever since: yelling for no reason, physically harming children, stealing from those poorer than us, hating other women. Do you know what’s wrong?

Sincerely,

Atlas My Love Has Come Again

Dear Atlas,

Women can’t read.

Ayn