I gave this pitch to a producer for a film short I wrote. Tell me what you guys think.

A sexually repressed woman, in order to confront her anxiety of sexual intimacy, is persuaded by her best friend to attend a pervert themed costume party, you know like in that movie Eyes Wide Shut. 

She decides to go dressed as a sexy devil woman and when she arrives at the party, she’s greeted by a swarthy man dressed as a cowboy wearing only a vest, chaps, cowboy boots and a huge purple strap-on dildo. Then she sees another dude who is dressed like the gimp from that movie Pulp Fiction, but the ball thing isn’t in his mouth it’s just hanging there because he’s drinking a beer and talking to someone.

She begins to panic and seeks the refuge of the back porch of the house where she sees a man dressed as Jesus and for a brief moment, she thinks it might actually be Jesus because he looks exactly like him or at least that popular image of Jesus, a white dude with long brown flowing hair and a brown goatee. I mean, Jesus was born in the middle east, so I guess their reasoning must be that no matter what color your mom is, if your dad is God then you come out white.

She strikes up a conversation with Jesus and asks him how his costume fits into the pervert theme of the party, by then the purple dildo cowboy guy is standing there and Jesus turns to him and says, “Hold my beer.” Then Jesus pulls up his toga and behold… She sees the most enormous male appendage ever, she instinctively screams out “Jesus Christ!” and Jesus says, “Yeah, that’s what everyone says when they see it.” She says, “No shit dude, that thing is big enough to get its own zip code.”

Although the enormity of his Taco Rocket frightens her…

OK wait… the other day I was driving around on Capitol Hill, and I saw a restaurant that is actually called the Taco Rocket. Two words for those guys, Google It. It’s like that place in the International District called Hung Far Lo’s, have you eaten there? The restaurant I mean.

When I first saw the Taco Rocket logo, I thought, oh great, that’s exactly what Capitol Hill needs is another goddam dildo store, but then I saw those dumbshits were in there serving food and I’m thinking fuck yeah, why not just open a restaurant and call it the Tube Steak Café. I heard the name of the guy that runs the place is Mike Rochiches so don’t order the crab tacos.

You know, there are almost as many dildo stores on Capitol Hill as coffee shops, I mean how many dildos do you need anyway? I asked my girlfriend that and she said, “One more, always one more.” I said “Why, after three it seems like you start to run out of places to shove them up into.” She patted me on my behind and I said, “Don’t even fucking think about it.” (Sigh) I guess I know what I am getting for my birthday, ooosh. Honestly, instead of the autonomous zone they should call this place the ass-play zone.

Hey, I know, I’m going to open a restaurant and call it the Kielbasa Kave, it’ll have a Georgia O’Keeffe themed front entrance. Now, I would eat there for sure. The restaurant I mean. 

There’s a girl over there explaining it to her boyfriend, “See, Georgia O’Keeffe painted pictures of pussies, no honey, not the kind that go meow.”

OK, back to the bit… which by now I’m sure you’ve figured out is just an excuse for me to stand up here and use every euphemism I could think of for crotch weasels, man junk, dickie didoes, and wieners. 

Anyway, back to sexually repressed woman and the Giant God Rod.

Although the enormity of his meat puppet frightens her, nevertheless she finds him intriguing, so she seeks the counsel of her best friend who is a strong black woman, who in stories like this always has the best advice for some dumbass white person. The strong black woman explains to her sexually repressed friend that if she wants to handle the human tripod it’s a lot like climbing a mountain, you have to train for it ahead of time and recommends that she enroll in vagina yoga classes which incorporate Kaggle exercises designed to expand and loosen things up down there. 

And now for my pièce de resistance, a 223-word run-on sentence that passes grammar check. 

(deep breath)

After the sexually repressed woman carefully follows the advice of her strong black female friend, she feels confident enough to attempt a summit of Mr. Everest but there is an accident during the assent of 98210 schlong and she ends up in a wheelchair but it turns out OK because she becomes a multi-millionaire after Sarah McLachlan grants her the rights to “Arms of an Angel” as background music for a go-fund-me page to raise money to help all the women who have been crippled up by monster penises which as far as anyone can tell she is the only one ever so she gets to keep all the money which she uses to run for congress as a republican in a purple district where she sponsors a bill requiring all large penises to have warning labels tattooed on them but the republican men in congress vote against it because they object to having their penis measured because they’re afraid their constituents might find out what a bunch of pin dicks they are but somehow they’re OK passing a law requiring young women to report their menstrual cycles to the school nurse and yes that’s an actual law, OK, granted, in Florida, which ironically is shaped like a giant penis, which might explain why their governor is such a huge fucking prick.