Is that a gun in your pocket?

Join our special guest "Anonymous" in his quest for the ultimate "package". Maybe we would want to remain anonymous too, when dealing with subject matter this, shall we say, "sensitive?" All we can tell you is that this talent lives and works in NYC and makes a living doing promotional writing for the record business (VH1, Interscope, BMG, etc.) He once referred to a new release by Motley Crue as the "aural equivalent of a good nipple-piercing," and believe it or not, got away with it. In his free time, Anonymous steals from the rich and gives to the poor, swings through windows on chandeliers and sings with a lederhosen Oompapa band. This guy is busy.

FOR PART I of: "IS THAT A GUN IN YOUR POCKET..." PLEASE CLICK ON FEBRUARY ARCHIVES (to your right!)

IS THAT a GUN IN YOUR POCKET or are you just HAPPY to see ME?

By Anonymous

Part II:

Ya know, when you want to spend some quality time looking for either a fruit or a vegetable to stick in your pants as an ersatz penis, it's probably better not to go to your local mom and pop store, as I happened to do that day. Because within no time at all, Vick the butcher (who doubles as the produce man on good days), was next to me as I stared down at the bananas, nearly making me jump out of my skin in surprise.

"Anything I can help you with there, Dave?"

"Ummm, no, uhh, thanks, I mean, thank you, Vick -- doin' just fine, thanks."

Panic. Time to get out of there. Just grab a zucchini and a banana and get outta there. Nothing too big -- it can't look like a fucking third leg -- just something Mick Jagger-like and get the hell out of the store.

When I finally got home, I was sweating profusely. I had barely made it through stage one, and here I was, losing it already. For a moment, I contemplated giving up my wildly immature and ridiculous undertaking -- however, the thought of just being able to tell this story to my friends (plus, of course, the inevitable financial windfall when it got turned into a movie) made me go on, despite my mortification.

Of course, boxers were not gonna work with this little exercise. Anything slid into boxers would immediately slide right out the leg. It was going to have to be either bikini briefs or boxer briefs -- the new hybrid that combines the, umm, roominess of the boxer with the ass-grabbing qualities of the brief.

I initially tried it with the bikini brief and the banana. Instant catastrophe. The briefs were a little bit too tight, and after about five minutes of prancing around the living room, staring at my porn star self in a full length mirror, the contents of the banana began to squish out onto my real Johhny.

Shit. There goes the neighborhood. My banana was gone, I had to take a quick shower, and one very good pair of briefs had to go straight to the laundry. Perhaps the banana was not a good idea after all..

I put on the boxer briefs and inserted the zucchini into my pants.

Hmmm. Looked kinda okay...Definitely visible, which was the point...But...

I suddenly realized. Because of the, umm, firmness of the zucchini, it didn't look like a natural, umm, relaxed dick in my pants -- it looked instead that I had a painful, huge erection pointed straight downwards. There was one thing about walking through the city with a natural-looking dick visible to anyone who would try to look -- there was something gross, however, about walking through the city with a big ten-inch erection screaming its presence for all to see.

Goddammit, I thought, I've just wasted a potentially embarrassing trip to the store, just wasted to perfectly good pieces of produce, already had to scrub a zucchini (an absurd exercise in and of itself), wash a pair of underpants, take a shower...Has it really come down to this?

The old standby?

The sock?

Yes, it had. It had come down to the wearing of a sock. I trudged upstairs, went through my underwear drawer for a soft and nice-smelling pair, and spent the next hour trying to mold the damn thing into the right size and shape to be realistic enough without looking obscene. By the time I had finally gotten out of my apartment, the clock already read 3:30 PM.

The first block was cool. I didn't pass anybody, which was all the better, because of the azure tint of my face. I hadn't realized it before, but this entire exercise was fucking embarrassing. At least when I was just me, I didn't have to walk down the street expecting the worst to come around every corner.

Suddenly, the worst did come around the corner -- two teenaged Catholic school girls, both wearing their tartan skirts and white cotton blouses. Mortified by the sudden thought of them seeing me with the enormous bulge in my pants (and concerned with being deemed a pervert, which was never the intention of the exercise), I turned on my heels and sprinted -- and I mean fucking sprinted - back to my apartment, all the while trying to pull the offending object out of my pants.

Clearly, I was going to need something to keep myself covered up for the majority of time. Although the temperature was somewhere above 80, I went home and got myself a...raincoat. (Just kidding... But I did get myself a jacket.)

It suddenly dawned on me that the world was filled with children and little old ladies -- the last people I had ever intended to be part of my little experiment. Damn! Why had I ever thought of this stupid fucking idea?

TUNE IN NEXT TIME FOR PART III TO FIND OUT: Does Anonymous get arrested, discovered or lucky? Until then, keep your eyes open, you may run into him on the streets of New York City...