copyright © 1990 Todd Ristau

$80 a week

(performed by candle light, or with a flashlight, using an angry deep voice.)

I see you. Donít think I donít see you. See you in the morning as you wipe the dried evidence of your sin from your belly. See you in the toilet with your glad hand wrapped around yourself. Stroking. Stroking. Pulling. Your mind reels and your eyes roll back and you gasp and hold the tissue right up close so you donít drip into your pants. Donít drip onto the floor. Donít lose a drop. Never quite what you wanted and it always leaves you tired and still hungry for more. Iíve seen you try and get the timing right, gotta get the fantasy in the right order and start working up the spit early so youíll have enough to keep lubricating as you stretch it out, out , out longer every time. Every time the fantasy is a bit more elaborate, and every time, even if itís the same girl, she changes. She gets more grotesque, more animal, more perverse. You keep constricting the sphere of pleasurable fantasy until all thatís left are the boundaries you can cross. After a while its not enough to just leaf through the Sears catalogue. You gotta get a Penthouse. Hustler. Domination Digest. Monoped Mania. Then you leave spit to the junior leaguers and concentrate on the various jellies and creams in the bathroom with all their odors. Pretty soon you canít use conditioner on your hair without getting hard and jerking off in the shower, watching the spooge mix with the soap and slide down the drain. Vaseline on a finger lets it slide right up the ass and push under your balls from the inside and the pressure builds! What rules are left to break alone? Photos of children decorate your closet and Iíve seen you thinking of mannequins, corpses, girls youíve drugged. The fantasies vibrate through your brain and itís all you can think about all day long. You walk along the street and see sorority girls gagged and tied to trees, your eighth grade science teacher wearing a leather mask and taking it forcibly up the star chamber. Iíve watched you dry test condoms, balloons, pillows. Iíve seen you fuck about everything the house had to offer that wouldnít talk back, say no, or tell anyone about it. Your seed is an ocean that would cover the world if you werenít so skilled at hiding what you do. The sewers are filled with millions of potential children who might have been...if you I can...hear their crying it would drive you mad.

And now. And now the University is going to pay you $80.00 a week for your sin. Listen, mister, listen to the sound of your Guardian Angel walking away...

(flashlight out, sound of footsteps leaving the stage)


This piece was written after I saw an ad in the Daily Iowan offering $80 a week for sperm donations at the UI Hospitals and Clinics. Everyone on campus knew what the $80 a week referenced, because everyone was talking about it...not just because it was sperm donations, but $80 a week seemed like a lot of money at the time.

I know that I did that one at regular No Shame and at a Best Of on the Mabie stage, because in Mabie the candle kept blowing out during it and I had to keep re-lighting it. I do it with a flashlight now.

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