Dick's Vulgarity

Yes indeed, truth is stranger than fiction, that's why we have to call truth fiction.

Series: Richard “Dick” Harden Justaman, a Dumb American

As mentioned previously, Dick has two interests in the main, money and pussy; not just any pussy, by the way. First of all, the female must never mouth Donald Trump’s name except to say “fuck Trump.” Secondly, she must be of centerfold quality, or, at minimum, “fuckable” according to the criteria he developed during his early career as a porn magazine editor for three of the lewdest publications in America.

I was also obsessed with sex, but only in my youth. After I ran away from home when I turned 13, I applied for porn jobs, but I was too small, and a star in that business had to work well on both ends. That rejection left me on the streets of Chicago for a year before I got decent work, so I witnessed every sort of perversion. I eventually endeavored to become the greatest author the world would ever or never know, a tendency due to my father’s brief influence after he retrieved from the foster home where he left me after my mother’s death. Although I still had my head between my legs, as the drill sergeant noted to his recruits, I posed as an intellectual, one who eschewed “bad” language.

Now I really liked Dick, yet I tired of his constant refrain, “Fuck Trump.” I certainly was not aroused by his locker-room inclusion of images of naked women, occasionally spreadeagled and dripping, with their faces concealed in the images he emailed me. I complained and pleaded with him to cease and desist. He persisted, including, at times, sending photographs of him purportedly having sex with two or three nudes; I say “purportedly” because he was not actually in the photos only, presumably.

Dick, like me, had lost his own mom at a young age. His bereaved father was naturally tolerant of the behavior of his beloved’s progeny, as was mine, until my stepmother became more than problematic. When a bereaved father says “no,” a child may experiment to see how much he can get away with as a measure of his father's love. Dick got away with everything. I did not.

Dick had the advantage of being typical travelling salesmen: multiple sex partners, usually but not always unknown to each other. I was not sure why he had to travel all over the world, first class, no less, racking up record miles with his favorite airline. I asked him why he did not use video conferencing. He said he had a very special, private relationship with his clients. Since this is fiction, I can say, without even falsely naming them, that I imagine those clients to be leading figures in the business world; e.g. a Germanic meat mogul and art connoisseur, who, like Dick, is a vegetarian, and who likes to share banana splits with females of all hues on his yachts. That is only one of several magnates whom I ascertained Dick was doing business with. How foolish of me, for first of all, they do not exist, although in the process I likened the titans to a sort of legalized mafioso that if the world only knew of would put the Italians, Irish, and Russian mobsters, not to mention relatives close to Hitler that gave me cause to speculate on the treasure; how could some obscure person like Dick amass such a vast worldwide fortune merely in porn, and consulting with music stars and marketing executives?