Maurice Fitznuggly:
Editor, Cultural Studies

Truth, as my colleagues in academe are fond of reminding us, is contingent on gender-based hegemony suffused with, and hyperbolically focused by, a phalloid-vectored power-distribution curve which omphaloskeptically always turns back on itself.

Given my three degrees in meteorology (dissertation: "Field Studies of Supercell Conglomerates with Asymmetrical Axial Toroidal Alignment in the Southwestern Oklahoma Panhandle") and my continuing interest in the field (other people go on vacations; I chase storms in Texas and Oklahoma with occasional side trips to Kansas and Nebraska), it is perhaps surprising that 1) I would wind up as the cultural affairs editor for Magellan's Log, and 2) I am also almost single-handedly (so to speak) responsible for the off-color jokes scattered in various forms throughout the publication.

Re (1): After a stint as the weather person at WWOK-TV in Lawton, Oklahoma, I felt my on-air future was limited by my refusal to speak down to my audience. In other words, it became clear to me that the polysyllabically gifted have little or no future in television. Back to school I went at Baylor University in Waco, Texas. The Branch Davidian cloud still hangs heavy over that fair central Texas city, but rays of sunshine come steadily from the nearby Dr Pepper Musuem (yes, Waco is where the century's best drink was invented).

In addition, few people are aware that Baylor in fact houses the world's largest collection of papers and memorabilia relating to the Brownings. My (second) dissertation, "Elizabeth and Robert Browning: Intertextually Ambiguous Complexities in a Dyadically Asymmetrical Toroidal Alignment in Victorian England," won several prizes and was re-worked and published as a trade book (The Infinitude of Uncountable Vaginas) now available on remainder tables everywhere.

Which brings us to (2): To say I was seduced by my scout troop leader is not quite accurate. All Father Walsh did when he was alone with me was kiss me and ask questions about my barely-hairy little organ. With the troop, he was always encouraging us to tell jokes, the dirtier the better. At age 12, I decided dirty jokes were the best way to, first, get attention, and, second, divert attention. I quickly learned that the best way I could stop the kissing was to tell a joke, to which the good padre would respond with minutes of hearty Irish laughter. The possibility has not escaped my notice that in a way I am still doing the same thing today, only now I get paid for it.

Which reminds me. Have you heard the one about Pierre, a brave French fighter pilot? Pierre takes his girlfriend, Marie, out for a pleasant little picnic by the River Seine. It's a beautiful day, and love is in the air. Marie leans over to Pierre and says: "Pierre, kiss me!"

Our hero grabs a bottle of Merlot wine and splashes it on Marie's lips. "What are you doing, Pierre?", says the startled Marie.

"I am Pierre the fighter pilot! When I have red meat, I have red wine!" She smiles and they start kissing. When things began to heat up a little, Marie says, "Pierre, kiss me lower."

Our hero tears her blouse open, grabs a bottle of Chardonnay and starts pouring it all over her breasts. "Pierre! What are you doing?", asks the bewildered Marie.

"I am Pierre the fighter pilot! When I have white meat, I have white wine!"

They resume their passionate interlude and things really steam up. Marie leans close to his ear and whispers, Pierre, kiss me lower!"

Our hero rips off her underwear, grabs a bottle of Cognac and pours it in her lap. He then strikes a match and lights it on fire. Marie shrieks and dives into the river. Standing waist deep in the water, Marie throws her arms upwards and screams furiously, "PIERRE, WHAT IN THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?"

Our hero stands up defiantly and says, "I am Pierre the fighter pilot! If I go down, I go down in flames!" 

Staff Biographies.

Magellan's Log front page