Click to Subscribe
▶  More from Harm City The Man Cave Harm City to Chicongo
Slut Nation
A Single Father Muses Over the Extinction of Modesty

Glen is an investment banker who spoke to me briefly while I sat at Jack Ryan’s pub in Manhattan, this past April, imbibing the only two items on the menu I could afford, chicken soup and a dark German stout, of all brews.

Raising two girls brings unimagined stress.

My wife has been gone for six years—cancer.

Their grandparents live in Florida, so I enrolled them in school. It’s not far from West Palm Beach. Somehow I thought I’d shield them from all this, this ever-grasping place.

[looks around mournfully at the beautiful and handsome empty vessels at the bar]

There is no escape. Not one known to me.

They come home for Christmas wearing makeup like, like, like slapping vinyl siding on a marble church, with designer fingernails—those painted claws the black girls used to wear…

Their mother and I taught them modesty, conservatism, restraint. Not with the rod either, but the carrot. Never laid a hand. There is so much to earn through restraint. Decency brings its own rewards…

They are both dating the same guys they’ve been seeing for over a year. Boys from good families. I decided to invite the boyfriends out on the boat this last trip—I see them every month for a long weekend. Here we go, a nice family outing and my daughters show up in thongs with bikini tops—not even eighteen!

Good God, what’s next?


Breast implants?

I’m thinking of transferring them to a school up here.

[“Tap, tap, tap,” went his cufflink on the deeply polished bar-top]

You should try the Guinness here…

White in the Savage Night: A Politically Incorrect Life In Words: 2016

Add Comment