My Life as a Tri-Sexual
It’s okay, trust me . . . or not
What is a tri-sexual? I am very secretive, like The Loch Ness Monster in jeans. But my life is hard. You do not know what it is like to be drummed out of bongo school, sacked as a mail-order firefighter, or endure the scorns of pervs in the adult bookstore.
I became concerned when the restless villagers held their torch-lit parade below my hotel. When I yelled at them, “You are all clichés!” They threatened to boil me alive for dinner.
Then I got together with a boatload of illegal immigrants from Antarctica. In the undocumented aliens, I found total acceptance. I did not say anything about their parkas in Florida, and they let me wear my x-ray technician’s moo-moo.
I tried pulling out my hair, gouging my eyes, pouring gasoline on my head, and threatening to emulate yours truly, but I found I was only hurting myself. After crying to whatever Gods may be, I resigned myself to my fate of being born a tri-sexual in a hetero’s body.
When people ask me what a tri-sexual is, I stand behind my lead-lined butcher’s apron-wearing my sandwich board, saying, “It is my freedom of choice.” Besieged by Pro-Lifers, I hid in my igloo.
