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Ask Doctor Down-Down: November 1995

Dear Doctor Down-Down,

Man, after a day of fightin’ to keep Newt and his boys out of what’s left in the Medicare pot, there’s nuthin’ I need more than a good night of hot sex! What’re you doing tonight, hunk-muffin?

Sincerely,
Barney Frank (D, Mass)
House of Representatives
Washington, DC

Dear Representative Frank,

Geez, Barn, I don’t know . . . I’ve got kind of a headache.

On On,
Doctor Down-Down 

Dear Doctor Down-Down,

Man, that was cake. Piece of puss. I wasted them prosecution assholes. I rule! I’m on such a roll I could probably convince a black jury that Mark Fuhrman’s seen the error of his ways and joined the Nation of Islam. Yeah! What do you think of that, brother?

On On,
Johnnie Cochran

Dear Johnnie,

No doubt about it, you’ve got the biggest dorsal fin in the pond. Next time a hash gets busted for drinking during down-downs or running through a shopping mall we’re calling you! p.s. You do do pro bono work, don’t you?

On On,
Doctor Down-Down

Dear Doctor Down-Down,

I was driving down from the Rockies on my way to AIH in Orlando a couple of months ago when I came upon a tragic sight: a dead sheep in the middle of the road, apparently hit by a car. Knowing that other hashers were somewhere on the road behind me, I quickly stopped and dragged the sheep behind a rock so they wouldn’t see it and be tempted to perv on the carcass. I must admit I was a bit turned on myself . . . after all, you don’t compose fifty-three new verses to “Bestiality’s Best” without developing a bit of a thing for our four-legged friends . . . but I contented myself with wanking off in the car as I drove away. Anyway, the whole episode disturbed me deeply and has me wondering . . . what, exactly, would you call someone so twisted he’d stop by the side of the road to have sex with a dead animal?

On On,
ZiPpy
Colorado Springs

Dear ZiPpy,

What would I call a person who’d do that? “Mr. Senator” springs to mind, although “Counsel for the Defense” is a close second.

On On,
Doctor Down-Down

Dear Doctor Down-Down,

This here’s a story ’bout me . . . I’m Gunga,
Got no prick, so I have to use my tongue-a.
It was down in Houston at a Hash House Harrier run,
A harlot straddled me and said, “Let’s have some fun!”
You know . . . moustache rides . . . face smegma . . .
Well the next thing you know I was caught in the act,
The Hash folks said, “You oughtn’t be lickin’ that!
The pound is the place where she ought to be.”
I didn’t have a worry, except for VD.
You know . . . tongue rot . . . herpes sores . . .
Well, the moral they now tell ’bout my hash down in Texas,
I shoulda kept my tongue out of other folks’ sexes.
Now I’m known far and wide for public cunnilingus,
And they don’t call me Gunga . . . they call me Gungalingus.

Signed,
Gunga Dick

Dear Gunga,

I must say, your English is improving dramatically! Now if we could just do something about your judgment . . .

On On,
Doctor Down-Down

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