Monday Morning Metaphor:
Let's say, and why not, that you're the party guy in the office (and this presumes that, if you are a woman, you'll take the first imaginary step into, "Let's say you're a guy" without guidance). You, you're the one who everyone turns to when there's a promotion - you're single, late 20s, got a nice, big pad in the hot part of town, the one where you were part of the second wave who chased the Negroes away so you could help "gentrify" the "urban" area (and this presumes that, if you are not white, you'll take the imaginary step into "Let's say you're white" without guidance). You're the go-to guy, paw-tay central. You got the new OutKast CD before "Hey Ya" was featured on CNN. You keep your bar stocked with the premium shit - Cristal Vodka, Milagro tequila, micro-fuckin'-brewed beers. Yeah, man, you are the shit and you know it.
Let's say, and why not, that one night you're throwin' one of your getdown, funky shindigs. And tonight, Elaina, the hot junior exec from accounting, is lookin' your way. She's got the thong chain showing over the low, low waist of her Givenchy pants. Elaina is dancin' with you, Rico Suave motherfucker. And you? You're chokin'. You loose your smooth. Sure, you can nail one of the interns any time you wink in their direction. Here, though, man, you are stumblin' fast, like a hobo set on fire in an alley. The jokes aren't funny. You're spitting when you talk. Shit, what's going on? You know why: This is Elaina, oh, sweet jack-off fantasy meat Elaina.
The party's winding down. Your buds are tellin' you to give it up. Elaina will have to wait for another day. But yer engine's revved, man. Yer ready to go. You're just gonna have to take it on your self to prime the pump, pull the handle, press the go button, or whatever. You offer Elaina a drink spiked with, what?, Ecstasy? Acid? You tell yourself that all you're doing is what she really wants. And, besides, it ain't like you're usin' roofies. She'll be wide awake and able to make decisions.
And what motherfuckin' decisions she makes. Goddamn, from the time the last "guest" leaves to sometime after the sunrises, you and Elaina are one turbo-charged fuck machine. You're fuckin' everywhere in your apartment - the tub, the toilet, the couch, the bar stool, the counter, the coffee table. At one point she's hanging from your track lighting while you eat her out. Shee-it, what a time it is, what a time. And when you both wake up, sometime late that afternoon, you take Elaina out for an awkward sushi snack. You know she suspects something about that last drink. But she's too polite to say so. After the sushi, she tells you not to worry about calling her, thanks you for the good time, and heads away.
You're not a stalker. You try to get in her good graces again. But Elaina is one stone cold bitch when she wants to be. She doesn't want to hear from you. So, fuck it all, you give up. You wink, clumsily, in the hall, trying to be cute, maybe macho, like you are just so above it all. But, really, what you want is more of that sweet Elaina tang. Screw it, though. You're dedicated to your freedom. And finally you tell yourself that Elaina is better off without you.
Until Elaina calls with word that she's pregnant. Awwww, fuck. She thinks you all should talk, maybe think about how to raise the child. Awww, fuck, she's not gonna abort it, you think. So you're stuck. Party pad would have to become playroom pad. No, no, no, you think. Fuck that shit. You are not gonna lose the control here. Sure, others are tellin' you to stand up, be a dad since, you know, you knocked her up. But you are sure: You're gonna stay free. And you tell her, "Babe, I'll pay for the kid, but we are through." Yeah, you are one honorable motherfucker, you think. You have lived up to your obligations. And you have left Elaina a happier, wealthier person, you're sure, you're sure, you're so fuckin' sure.
When the President talks tonight, in a speech no one really gives a shit about, when he talks about that ironclad deadline of June 30, when he assures us about democracy in Iraq, remember that the good we do is often simply the lack of active evil.