To all my Jonny Pals,
It's hard to believe that I've been cranking out these idiotic Xmas Extravaganzas for 32 years and no one's stopped me yet. The 2021 model was inspired by two things: the Sex Beach Hack Werker book covers that I posted on the Social Network this summer and my impending 60th birthday on December 15. The milestone mark caused me to be philosophical on age and aging while the beach thing made this the raunchiest Jonny adventure since the days of Jonny's Prison Christmas.
But the Christmas season is the matter at hand, a time for celebrating people in our lives. It thrilled me to cram as many of my loved ones into these moronic illustrations as I could and I hope you get as big a kick out of seeing yourself and the other Jonny Pals living out the story as I got plugging you all into it. This is a time for celebrating the people that touch our lives and make them the wonderful tapestry that they are, and I'm grateful to you for doing that for mine. If the next 60 years are anything like the last ones, we all have a lot to look forward to.
This story is dedicated to my beloved friend Glenn Simon, who once told me that
I was "one of the Cool Kids" and my head nearly exploded.
Hover your cursor over underlined textYeah, like that. for an explanation of its meaning.
Once up a time, there was a spectacular and pristine shoreline called Sex Beach. It was a place where only the most gorgeous and athletic young people gathered to play on the sand and surf while the sun was shining. But at dusk, it turned into something like the Hedonism II resortAn adults-only vacation resort in Jamaica with lots of public nudity where the guests come to screw each other's brains out. (only with way better-looking people and a vastly more impressive landscape) as the tanned and chiseled young gods and goddesses would couple up (and frequently triple and quadruple up) to bang the shit out of each other in the most perverse and imaginable ways possible.
Everyone who stayed there hated the dump. Because the beach was constantly under threat from the area’s resident millionaire Thurston Howell III, who wanted to take control of the shoreline to build a massive sewage disposal plant. But Sex Beach was dominated by a collection of Cool Kids who summered there from nearby universities and junior colleges, and the only way they would loosen their iron grip on the fate of their beloved shoreline was if Howell produced a champion who could best them at the beach competitions at which they exceled: surfing, Frisbee tossing, mixed beach volleyball in which the boys wore baggy, knee-length shorts but the girls were required to wear thong bikinis. Every year on Christmas, Howell would send his hopeless son Jesse to compete against the Cool Kids and every year the spoiled young scion would dutifully do his best to win his father’s love, only to have his ass handed to him in whatever contest was proposed.
“You’re a loser, just like every other member of your mother’s side of the family!” Howell screamed
“You’re a loser, just like every other member of your mother’s side of the family!” screamed the old miser as his son looked desperately to his fiancée Cordelia Kashdorian for support, only to see the inbred heiress reading a trashy novel called Sex Plane by an unknown writer named Hack Werker instead of paying any attention to his predicament. “With your breeding and wealth, you should be besting those young hooligans at every opportunity. But every time I send you to Sex Beach with the simple goal of taking their cherished coastline from them so that I can make a few extra dollars pumping billions of tons of sewage into the delicate ecosystem, you slink back here and pathetically whine that you’ve failed again! Even though it’s Christmas time when those penniless rabble are at their most sentimental and weak!”
“It’s not my fault, Poppa!” objected Jesse. “The Cool Kids all have the perfect bodies of young Olympians and they spend every waking hour perfecting their skillls at the activities that I’m supposed to best them at with only a few days practice. How am I supposed to win the shoreline for you when I’m competing against Greek gods and goddesses?”
“You’re always looking for excuses,” sneered Howell as he stared sternly at a group photo on his office wall. “When I was shipwrecked on that god-forsaken island, I was tempted day-in and day-out by the two hottest pieces of ass that I’d ever laid eyes on. You don’t know the agony I went through seeing those girls every day, all because your mother wanted to go slumming by taking a cheesy three-hour boat tour!!! But I rose above it. I refused to allow myself to be intimidated by the ‘beautiful people,’ and neither should you. But I suppose you’ll never be man enough to get past that.”
Howell studied the picture for a moment until his gaze fixated on the protruding gut of the skipper of the expedition who never managed to slim down even an ounce during their stay at the island even though they were living on a diet of oranges and coconut milk. Then, the millionaire's evil face twisted into a malicious smile that even his son found chilling.
"The answer is simple!" exclaimed Howell. "We must find some out-of-shape slob to join the Cool Kids’ ranks that even you can outshine! But who can we find who’s that pathetic?”
At about this time, a muse named Jonny M. was staring sadly out the window of his palatial Casa de Jonny estate. Jonny was typically referred to as a “young” muse in these stupid stories but he was turning 60 this year and even a self-deluding narcissist like himself had to admit that his “young” days were far behind him. And he was getting depressed about it. His friends sensed his melancholy and did all they could to cheer him up but the efforts of the "Jonny Pals" (as they were known in the media) only made him feel worse.
“Are you getting bummed out about turning 60 again, Daddy?” asked the muse’s loyal pug Boris, who had been put on a diet and weight-lifting regimen by his veterinarian and looked fantastic. “You need a change of scenery! I keep seeing ads for this place called Sex Beach in my muscleman magazines and I think it’s just the place for you.”
“Isn’t that the place where gorgeous young people go to screw each other’s brains out?” asked Jonny uncertainly. “I don’t think an old man like me would fit in.”
“Look at it this way,” responded Boris cheerfully. “It’s true that your pudgy fat ass will look revolting next to those 20 year-old buff studs. But a man of your maturity and accomplishment has something that none of those young punks on Spring Break can hope for: hard cash. Those bikini-clad hotties will be sucking up to you all night to buy them appletinis. Sure, they'll ultrimately blow you off to go back to their rooms with their muscular young boyfriends, but you'll be able to post tons of photos of yourself on social media with perfect 10's hanging all over you so that strangers you friended on Facebook without really remembering why will think you've still got it. And isn't that all that matters?”
Jonny’s hangdog expression softened at the pug’s words. Looking out the window at his vast empire that seemed to hold little meaning for him, he decided that Boris’ suggestion might be just the thing to brighten his dark mood. He quietly rang a bell to call his gorgeous but nervous assistant, who knew that a summons from her boss could easily result in a cell phone or coffee mug being thrown at her defenseless skull. But this time when she walked into the room, she was relieved to see a kindly optimistic expression on Jonny’s face. Boris asked her to book two first class tickets for him and his master to Sex Beach, and to make them open-ended.
A mere 48 hours later, Jonny and Boris rolled up to the magnificent vista of Sex Beach in Boris’ 1950 Rolls-Royce Dawn Drophead convertible, which he had the foresight to have shipped to the resort for their holiday. They had forgotten to pack swimsuits so they had to settle for the only option the hotel boutique offered, tiny Speedo briefs which looked great on Boris but which made Jonny look like an egg with a rubber band around its middle. The muse was feeling decidedly self-conscious as he stepped onto the sand, which only got worse when they were descended on by a group of young people with the most golden tans and perfect physiques he had ever seen. But he relaxed a bit when he realized how welcoming and friendly the group was.
“Welcome to Sex Beach!” beamed the handsome young man who was obviously their leader. “I’m Frankie and this is my girlfriend Annette, and the rest of these Bozos you’ll get to know as the Cool Kids.”
“These are the Cool Kids,” Frankie said.
“Uh, hi,” said Jonny, self-consciously trying to cover his girthy pale gut with his arms as he gazed in envy at the sea of six packs around him. “I’m Jonny and this is my pug Boris…”
The muse looked to the little dog for support but Boris was busy hitting on a stunning Chihuahua in a designer two-piece and wasn’t registering his master’s discomfort.
“…and we’re vacationing in Sex Beach for as long…as long as….”
Jonny tailed off as he realized the biggest and most physically intimidating Cool Kid was staring at his expansive belly. The muse tightened his butt cheeks in readiness for the wedgie he was sure that he was about to receive when instead the behemoth placed a welcoming hand on his shoulder.
“My name’s Moose,” smiled the giant, “and I’ve been in awe of your radical bio-mass since the minute I saw you. What’s your workout diet?”
“Uh…I usually eat a gallon of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream every night while I hide under my bed crying,” answered Jonny.
“And how do you get your skin to be so porcelain white?” asked a magnificently beautiful girl in a string bikini who Jonny recognized since he lecherously followed her on Instagram. “Everyone I know has skin the color of warm honey, and it’s just so boring.”
“I sleep in until at least 2:00 every afternoon,” disclosed Jonny, his confidence slowly rising, “and then I watch Internet porn and TiVoed reality shows until dusk. This is the first time I’ve been in direct sunlight since I was 16.”
“And I luff da silver highlights in your hair,” purred Moose’s monumentally stacked Latina girlfriend CharoMy friend David Eck has been submitting Charo as his entry for the official guest celebrity in a Jonny story for years. She is a smokin' hot Hispanic singer who became a ubiquitous presence on American television in the late 1960s and 1970s known for her sexpot personae and catchphrase "cuchi cuchi," overshadowing her real talent as a flamenco guitarist. as she ran her fingers through Jonny’s thinning mop. “Jou must get plenty of cuchi cuchi with hair like dat. Who’s jour stylist?”
“When my hair gets shaggy,” smiled the muse, “I coat my scalp with peanut butter and let Boris chew on it until my bangs are out of my eyes.”
“I think we’ve heard enough!” proclaimed Frankie, clearly aware that this joke was running thin. “It’s obvious that Jonny and Boris will be great additions to the Cool Kids! Any objections?”
The group all responded to their leader with the approving smiles of actors in a toothpaste commercial.
“Then it’s unanimous! Jonny and Boris are both officially candidates for membership in the Cool Kids! We’ll have the initiation tonight at Pop’s Sugar Shack!!!”
The beautiful young people then launched into an energetic but uninspired generic rock & roll song about summer friendships lasting forever at which the muse just smiled thinly, since he had recently blocked everyone on Facebook who he had known when he was their age for being QAnon supporters now. But as the youngsters finished their number and ran enthusiastically into the surf, Jonny took in everything he had just seen and stared at Boris in astonishment. The last thing that he ever expected in life was to be considered one of the “Cool Kids.”
The rest of the day was a blur as Jonny tossed Frisbees and laid on the sand with his new friends. Sure, the kids made jokes and jibes about his advanced age but Jonny had made the same jokes to his older friends at their age so chuckled along with everybody else. But he was really laughing at the knowledge that these smug little bastards would be the subject of the same demeaning cracks themselves in 40 years. Still, they were all nice kids and it was blowing Jonny’s mind that for the first time in his life, he was embraced by the In-Group so it seemed like a dream at 6:00 sharp when he and Boris found themselves seated on stools at the counter of Pop’s Sugar Shack, the Cool Kids’ hangout. Pops himself was a kindly, avuncular figure and the only one on Sex Beach who was anywhere near Jonny’s age, so the muse felt like he could open up to him.
“I’ve got a milestone birthday coming up that I'm' pretty depressed about, Pops,” said Jonny as he sipped on a Jolt ColaJolt Cola is a carbonated soft drink produced by The Jolt Company, Inc. as a highly caffeinated beverage. It was targeted towards students and young professionals, stressing its use as a stimulant in a similar manner as energy drinks. Its slogan reads "All the sugar, twice the caffeine!", the strongest beverage on the Sugar Shack menu. “I’m moved by the Cool Kids’ affection but being with them kind of makes me feel like even more of an outsider than I did before. Do you know what I mean?”
“I sure do,” responded the old-timer sympathetically. “I used to worry about that kind of thing all the time. When I was 30, I stressed out about how old I was getting and longed for when I was 20. Then when I turned 40, I stressed out about how old I was getting and longed for when I was 30. Then when I turned 50, I stressed out about how old I was getting and longed for when I was 40. Then, when I….well, you get the idea. The point is, none of us are ever going to be as young as we used to be so there’s no point in worrying about it. You get my point, son?”
Jonny sipped slowly on his Jolt Cola and nodded quietly.
“Anyway, I was a flaming idiot ten years ago compared to where I’m at now,” continued Pops. “And I was an even bigger idiot ten years before that. I like to focus on what the years have given me instead of what’s fallen away. Like Sun Beam over there. I wouldn’t give her up for a thousand nights where I didn’t have to get out of bed at two a.m. to pee.”
Pops motioned to a ravishing young woman with gravity-defying boobs wearing the tiniest bikini Jonny had ever seen.
Pops motioned to a ravishing young woman with gravity-defying boobs wearing the tiniest bikini Jonny had ever seen playing Pac Man in the corner.
“I guess having a girlfriend that hot makes you forget how old you are,” the muse smiled slyly at the old timer. “One glimpse of that rack must worth twenty shots of Viagra.”
“Sun Beam is my daughter, sir,” snapped Pops. “What kind of a twisted freak are you to think that a 50 year-old man like me would be interested in a young girl like that?”
Jonny was dumbfounded, both at his appalling social faux pas but even more so at the news that Pops was actually ten years younger than he was. Unable to sputter out a response, the muse was about to take the only other acceptable option of grabbing a kitchen knife from behind the counter and committing hari-kari when the awkward moment was broken by the arrival of the Cool Kids through the front door.
“Set everyone up with sodas, Pops!” exclaimed Annette as she and Frankie plopped themselves down on the two empty stools next to Boris. “We’ve got a big celebration tonight!”
“Hi, Sun Beam,” shouted Frankie warmly to the beauty Jonny was about to commit ritual suicide over just moments before. “If Annette ever dumps me, you are I are going out on the town!”
“You’re too old for her, Grandpa. Remember that she’s only 15,” teased Annette as Jonny did a spit-take all over Boris while he calculated the prison time he would have faced if even one of the disgusting sexual fantasies that unspooled in his head over the past ten minutes was played out in reality.
“Let’s get this party started!” screeched Jonny with forced enthusiasm, anxious to change the subject. “Mr. Tavern Keeper, drinks for everyone in the house! Courtesy of the two newest members of the Cool Kids!”
Pops just stared daggers at the muse, being certain to stand in Jonny’s eyeline so that his body blocked any sick glances Jonny might shoot at Sun Beam. Meanwhile Annette gently placed her hand on Boris’ paw to keep him from pulling out his wallet.
“Not so fast, Mr. Moneybags,” she said with a smile. “You’re not one of us yet. First, you’ve got to go through the same initiation we all did.”
Jonny slowly rose and started to slide down his Speedo in preparation for the bare-butt paddling he was hoping Annette was about to administer. But he was disappointed to see that the Cool Kids weren’t looking at Boris and him but rather concentrating on the clock on the wall which was ten seconds away from ticking to 6:15 p.m. They started a countdown in unison and when they reached zero, there was a horrendous blast as a vintage Harley Davidson motorcycle came crashing through the street-facing wall, smashing it to rubble.
“Jesus Christ!” screamed Jonny. “Everybody evacuate! That was a load-bearing wall!!!”
But the muse was confused when none of the Cool Kids seemed at all nonplussed by the accident, and even Pops reacted to it with the annoyance one might have at someone stepping on his foot.
“Darn it, Eric! You drive that motorcycle though my wall just one more time and I’m going to seriously consider asking the sheriff to give you a stern talking to!”
But the leather-clad hoodlum who committed the mayhem ignored the shopkeep and swaggered over to Jonny instead. The biker was short, pudgy, about 45 years-old and he spoke with an incongruous New York accent that gave him the air of a Catskills comic. But for some unknown reason, he had a kind of confidence that is usually only possessed by a feared and dangerous man.
“Who is this stranger to Eric Von ZipperEric Von Zipper was a recurring character played by comic character actor Harvey Lembeck in six American International beach party films. He's a malaprop-spouting lovable bad guy and leader of the Rat Pack motorcycle gang. Trust me when I say that no beach movie parody is complete without him.’s territory?” asked the biker, having no idea that if he took one step closer to Jonny that Boris was poised to shatter his skull with a soda bottle.
“And who is Eric von Zipper?” asked Jonny.
“And who is Eric von Zipper?” asked the muse, clearly unintimidated by this ridiculous man who came up to his chin.
“Who is Eric von Zipper?” asked the biker incredulously as his gang began coming in through the gaping hole in the wall. “I am Eric Von Zipper, and Eric Von Zipper is me! I control this place and everyone has to answer to me!”
“And me,” purred a gorgeous, statuesque brunette also clad in black leather, who sidled quietly up to Von Zipper.
“And who might you be?” Jonny asked creepily as Von Zipper’s gang slowly surrounded him.
“I’m Stiletto Strabler,” the Amazon hissed as she grabbed Jonny by the collar, an act of aggression that Boris chose to overlook since the bulge in Jonny’s Speedo indicated that he was obviously enjoying it.
“She’s my girlfriend,” grinned Von Zipper, seeming not able to believe that what he was saying was actually the truth. “Stiletto and me run the beach, so you’ll do what I says. Or they’ll be trouble! Get me?”
“Oh, I get you, Eric,” said Jonny after swallowing a gulp of Jolt for courage. “Now you get me. Either you and your gang of losers vacate this place now, or you’re going to be carried out.”
“Is that right?” responded Von Zipper, taking one step closer to Jonny. “By you and what army?”
It was one step too close. As soon as his foot touched the floor, Boris leapt off his stool and planted a violent judo kick to Von Zipper’s cranium, sending him sprawling to the ground. His henchmen attempted an offensive against the little pug but in seconds, they found themselves in a dazed pile around their boss. Only Stiletto was untouched, as she had the good sense to step back and observe the carnage rather than take part in it. She quietly walked towards the massive hole in the wall but before she exited to the street, she turned to Pops and said “When Eric regains consciousness, tell him I rode his motorcycle to Makeout Point. He can find me there if he’s got it in him.”
She then gave Jonny and Boris a final once-over, smiled a mischievous smile and purred “It’s nice to finally have some real men at Sex Beach.”
There was dead silence as every eye in the room stared at Stiletto’s perfect, leather-clad ass wriggle out into the night. The spell was finally broken by Annette’s cheerful voice.
“They passed the test! They stood up to Eric Von Zipper and his gang! Congratulations to Jonny and Boris, the newest members of the Cool Kids !!!”
The next few months were awesome. Jonny and Boris would get up in the morning and play beach games with the Cool Kids until Jonny hurt his knee and spent the rest of the afternoon putting ice on it. When the sun started going down, the gang would all head to Pops’ for pizza and sodas. Pops never did forget Jonny’s faux pas about Sun Beam but he would inevitably be distracted by Von Zipper riding his motorcycle through the wall (which would inexplicably be completely repaired the following day) and try to intimidate everyone until Jonny stared him down and then Boris would kick the living shit out of Von Zipper and his gang.
“What’s the deal with Von Zipper?” Jonny finally asked Frankie. “He destroys a brand new Harley Davidson every night. How can he possibly afford that?”
”He’s on the payroll of Thurston Howell III,” explained the Cool Kids’ leader. “Von Zipper is in here every night trying to collect information that will set up some challenge on Christmas Day that the Cool Kids will lose so that Howell can build a sewage plant on the beach, and he always sends his son Jesse as his champion because he thinks it will make a man out of him. One year Jesse challenged me to a surfing contest. Another year he competed against Moose in a weight-lifting competition. Last year he went head to head with Charo in a flamenco guitar tournament. He always humiliates himself and gets clobbered, so it’s no problem.”
“And what if he won?” asked Jonny, appalled that Howell chose the most sacred day of the year for his macho head games.
“We’d have to clear out and never come back. Sex Beach desperately needs the money we Cool Kids spend here every year. Without it, they’d have no choice but to sell out to Howell. But there’s no need to worry because there’s nothing that Jesse Howell can ever beat us at.”
After they met up at Pops’ place, the Cool Kids would sing a terrible romantic serenade about how "night time was the right time for teen dreams to come true" and pair off to indulge in the activity for which Sex Beach got its name. Jonny quickly discovered (to his delight) that almost all of the Cool Girls had debilitating Daddy Complexes which made the muse irresistible to them. But his sudden boner upon meeting Stiletto Strabler for the first time was an anomaly, and he was disappointed to conclude that his aging, mushy penis couldn’t compete against the dense, respondent Johnsons of his twenty year-old beach buddies. On the other hand, those toned young hardbodies lacked experience while Jonny had decades of watching Internet porn day and night in his favor, so he had a monumental knowledge of disgusting erotic positions and equipment that more than made up for his limp wang, and he was able to take the girls to sexual Nirvana without even whipping out his unsightly pud. Eventually, his success with the ladies won him a reputation amongst the Cool Kids .
Jonny had a monumental knowledge of disgusting erotic positions and equipment.
“Pretty soon,” teased Moose, “Jonny is going to give Frankie’s reputation as the big stud on Sex Beach a run for its money.”
Jonny was flattered but Frankie tried to shut down his gigantic friend in mid-sentence.
“Keep your trap shut, you big hunk of meat loaf! I’m true to Annette and everyone knows it!!!”
“That’s what I’m talking about,” needled Moose. “Everyone on the beach can hear the screams of ecstasy when you two take your hot rod to Makeout Point. You’re the king, you dawg!”
September turned into October and October turned into November but it made little difference to the inhabitants of Sex Beach, which was perpetually in Summer because of global warming. It was a time when Jonny's excitement was usually revving up for the start of he Christmas season but with his 60th birthday inevitably approaching on December 15th, he was uncustomarily depressed.
“I don’t know what the big deal is about a birthday,” said Boris while they were hanging out together at Pops’ before they went off to their separate assignations for the evening; Boris with an adorable dachshund whose butt he had been wanting to sniff for over a month and Jonny with an 18 year-old yoga instructor whose father abandoned her when she was 5 and wanted to be spanked by a paternal figure for driving him away. “I thought you humans always say that age is just a number.”
“Yeah, well 60 is a depressingly high number,” countered Jonny, having to shout because he was competing with Pops’ weekly wet tee-shirt contest going on behind them. “Anyway, that ‘age is a number’ thing is just a game we play with ourselves to deny our pending mortality. No matter how young I con myself into believing my brain is, my body is aging and is inevitably going to die – sooner rather than later.”
“So what?” responded Boris. “You’ve got at least another 20 years ahead of you. “I get a maximum of 18 en toto and then I get a one-way ticket to the Rainbow Bridge.”
“I know what you mean,” said a sultry voice inserting itself into the conversation. “I turned 60 five years ago and it threw me into an existential crisis that sent me back into therapy.”
Boris and Jonny looked up to see a mature woman who was a stranger to Boris but who the muse recognized from a musty corner of his memory.
“Ambrosia?” Jonny asked incredulously. “Weren’t you the smokin’ hot stripper in the best-forgotten Jonny’s New Orleans Christmas?”
“I go by my real name now, Fannie Saglow,” she chimed as she slid into the booth. “No one’s called me Ambrosia in as long as I can remember.”
“I go by my real name now, Fannie Saglow,” she chimed.
“What are you doing in Sex Beach?” asked Jonny, raising his volume once again because the crowd of boys behind them was going wild as Annette was about to submit her massive rack to be doused with ice water for the wet tee-shirt contest. “Are you dancing at the strip club by the airport; Nudes, Nudes and Still More Nudes?”
Boris studied the conservative older woman dubiously, skeptical that she ever worked in the adult entertainment industry. Fannie caught a look at the pug’s expression and broke into amused laughter.
“I haven’t danced in years,” she said. “After I met you, I realized that I was wasting my life hanging out with a disgusting class of people so I went back to college and then to law school. Now I’m Thurston Howell’s attorney.”
“You mean the evil millionaire who wants to take over Sex Beach?” asked Jonny incredulously.
“Yes, but let’s gloss over that now because it will be more important later in the story,” she said. “I want to hear about you. How have you been?”
Fannie and Jonny started reminiscing about days gone by until before they knew it, the hour grew late and Boris had to leave for his date. But Jonny blew off his meeting with the yoga instructor to talk with Fannie (his shoulder was sore anyway from using a DrilldoYou read that right. The Drilldo is an actual thing.
on a blonde lifeguard the night before) and he and his old friend ultimately left Pops’ (after congratulating Annette on winning the wet tee-shirt contest for the twentieth week in a row) to take a walk along the gorgeous, pristine shoreline of Sex Beach. Jonny was astounded at how much Fannie had evolved in the time since he’d last seen her and the woman he had once only thought of as a beautiful face and a rockin' pair of tits was now a fascinating person with thought-provoking ideas that he longed to hear more about. Or maybe Jonny was the one who had evolved because she had those qualities all along but he wasn’t able to recognize them when he was young.
Whatever it was, their conversation was so riveting that neither realized how long it had gone on until they saw the sun rising over the horizon. Fannie had some contracts to deliver to Howell that morning and Jonny was having breakfast with a perverse young hottie who liked “Daddy” to spoon feed her Gerber’s baby food and when she made a mess of it, deal out some loving paternal reproval with violent anal sex. But as they parted, Jonny felt a lump rise in his throat discovering that this train wreck he had known in her twenties had pulled her life together in the years since. And Fannie walked away with the same lump in her throat for Jonny.
Anyone with even a passing familiarity with these stupid stories knows that December is usually Jonny’s favorite month, with the lights and ribbons and tunes of the holiday putting a spring in his step like nothing else. But this year, the page turning on the calendar sent him into a gloom. He began blowing off his perverse “dates” with the emotionally broken Cool Girls and would sit on the rocks near Makeout Point, where the sound of the crashing waves was drowned out by the screams of Frankie and Annette’s love-making nearby. He never saw a soul except for Eric Von Zipper and Stiletto inexplicably videotaping the parked hot rods on Makeout Point, but he dismissed it as the two bikers being as sexually messed up as everyone else on the beach.
Only Boris understood Jonny’s depression. Fortunately, the pug’s love for his Daddy was so boundless that he would do anything for him, so Boris divulged the matter to their young friends. The Cool Kids had difficulty in comprehending Jonny’s dilemma but did their best to be warmly sympathetic and offered as a solution a blow-out of a surprise party.
The job of distracting Jonny went to a phenomenally hot brunette with the darkest spray-on tan anyone had ever seen who got off on parading around in short-shorts to losers who clearly weren’t in her sexual league and act as if she had no idea how hot she was. Pops offered up the Sugar Shack for the venue, feeling guilty about his treatment of Jonny ever since DNA tests came back that proved that Sun Beam’s father was actually the musclebound Baywatch lifeguard from a few beaches over.
The preparations went off like clockwork and Jonny never suspected a thing, so when the muse limped into Pops’ at the appointed hour and the gang screamed “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!,” his surprise was genuine as he clutched his chest in agony and sank to the floor. Fortunately, it was only a minor cardiac event that Boris always carried defibrillators in anticipation of, so as soon as the little pug sent electric shocks to his master’s vascular organ to revive it, the party was back in gear.
“Have a Jolt Cola,” said Pops as he thrust an icy bottle into Jonny’s hand. “That will take some of the sting off of turning 60.”
“I’ll just stick to water, thanks,” replied Jonny as he sat cross-legged on the ground and continued holding his chest. “My cardiologist told me to lay off Jolt since I was in danger of having another cardiac event. But between the half-bottle of Viagra I choked down before I got here and having you people scream the last words I wanted to hear when I walked in the door, I’d say that everything he warned me about is moot at this point.”
That was all anyone needed to hear to really get the party started. The Cool Kids’ spared no expense for Jonny and the dance floor started hopping with the energetic tunes of a Jan & Dean tribute band that had won the Sugar Shack talent show the last three weeks in a row. But their slightly off-key rendition of Little Old Lady from Pasadena was drowned out by an impossibly deep voice from the back of the crowd.
“You throw an impressive party, Cool Kids . But I’m here on business!”
The music came to a screeching halt as everyone in attendance turned to see where the interruption came from. You could cut the tension with a knife when they recognized the repelled face of Jesse Howell making his way through the crowd.
“It’s that time of year again, Frankie,” said Jesse as his girlfriend Cordelia Kashdorian and his longtime chauffeur (whose name Jesse had never even tried to learn) followed close behind. “My daddy wants this pathetic sliver of shoreline to build a sewage plant on, so he’s sent me to challenge you to a competition. You pick your champion to go against me and whoever wins, gets control of Sex Beach.”
“Whoever wins, gets control of Sex Beach,” said Jesse.
“Why do you bother with this, Jesse?” asked Frankie contemptuously as the Cool Kids gathered around him in solidarity. “You challenge us every year and every year, you get crushed.”
“It’s how daddy wants it,” replied the spoiled young wastrel. “Anyway, I think the subject of this year’s challenge evens the playing field.”
“What do you have in mind?” asked the unimpressed Frankie.
“This is Sex Beach,” said Jesse. “So we propose a sex competition. On Christmas Day, Cordelia and I will go against whoever you and your group submit as competitors. Whichever man brings his partner to the most intense climax wins the beach forever.”
“Is that really an appropriate activity for Christmas Day?” asked Moon Doggie, the Cool Kid who was the most closely connected to reality. But he was drowned out by the derisive laughter of everyone around him.
“Are you nuts?” asked Moose. “Have you heard the volume of Annette’s screams of ecstasy when she and Frankie are at Makeout Point? You have no chance!”
“That may be,” sneered Jesse. “But Cordelia and I have been in continual practice and I think you’ll find us to be worthy adversaries. Daddy’s attorney Fannie Saglow drew up the rules and if they are agreeable to you, we shall settle this on Christmas. Driver, give them the rules.”
Boris took the thick pile of papers from the chauffeur and began examining them with a fine tooth comb. After demanding a list of changes which Jesse grudgingly agreed to, the little pug gave Frankie the contract to sign on behalf of the Cool Kids.
“All right, Jesse” said Frankie after applying his John Hancock to the wordy agreement. “It’s you and Cordelia vs. Annette and me on Christmas Day for control of the beach. May the best couple win!!!”
Their mission accomplished, Jesse, Cordelia and their driver strutted defiantly out of the Sugar Shack, sneering condescendingly at the Cool Kids’ contemptuous looks. Charo took the stage to perform her signature number Cuchi Cuchi while the other partygoers focused their attention back on Jonny.
“Can you believe the Howells proposed that stupid contest against Annette and Frankie?” Moose asked as he helped the muse up to a stool at the soda fountain. “You’ve heard those two going at it on Makeout Point!”
“I have,” said Jonny as he gobbled down a nitroglycerin tablet. “But tell me, has anyone ever heard Jesse and Cordelia in the throes of lovemaking?”
The Cool Kids all looked amongst themselves until they finally responded with a collective shrug.
“I guess not,” said Moose. “But we’re talking about Frankie and Annette. There’s no way that a Howell could beat them at what they do best.”
Jonny and Boris shared an unconvinced look and then the muse forced a smile at his musclebound young friend.
“I’m sure you’re right,” said Jonny. “I’m sure you’re right.”
The party broke up just as the sun was rising and Jonny and Boris went back to their hotel for a couple of hours sleep before the morning beach volleyball game where the muse was inevitably going to sprain his ankle. But instead of collapsing on his bed as he usually did, Jonny sat at his computer.
“Are you familiar with Cordelia Kashdorian?” he asked the pug.
“Isn’t she that crazy heiress who does the reality show with her sisters?” Boris responded.
“But do you know how she got that reality show?” asked Jonny. “She made a sex tape with her boyfriend at the time, rapper Poop Dawg. I think we’d better take a look at it to scout the competition.”
Boris listened to the unmistakable screams of ecstasy coming out of Frankie and Annette from nearby Makeout Point while Jonny navigated to a site that streamed Inside Cordelia Kashdorian, as the sex tape had become known. Their friends’ erotic moans were suddenly drowned out by the orgiastic screams coming from the insatiable heiress.
“It looks like the Howells got themselves a ringer,” said Jonny gravely. “Cordelia Kashdorian is a freak.”
Jonny and Boris both spent the week trying to warn their friends of the insurmountable odds Cordelia Kashdorian’s participation meant but the girls only knew her from her reality show, her Instagram feed and her clothing line and weren’t interested in anything else. The boys had all seen the sex tape multiple times but they were loyal to their leader Frankie and couldn’t be convinced that Cordelia’s fervid screams were any match for Annette’s moans of ecstasy. Boris even did a comparative study for their consideration.
“I hid a microphone in Frankie’s hot rod and recorded Annette’s orgasmic shrieks and compared them with the sex tape,” said the pug to a group of the Cool Boys who had collected in their hotel room to watch each other light their farts on fire. “She registers at 100 dB, which is not bad. But Cordelia is in the 175 dB range, which means that if any of you people listened to it long enough, you’d go deaf. The only reason I could take it was because I have the super hearing of a dog.”
“That doesn’t mean anything,” sneered Moose. “That Cordelia chick was playing it up for the camera. Annette’s the real deal because Frankie’s the man. That tattooed wimp in the tape doesn’t even look like he knows what he’s doing.”
“That’s what concerns me most,” said Boris. “The real wild card here is Jesse Howell. If Cordelia is anything like the nympho I think she is, it could all come down to how effective a lover the Howell boy is.”
“Jesse Howell against Frankie?” laughed Moose. “Then the bet’s as good as won. Come on, boys. Surf’s up!”
The Cool Boys shuffled out, confident of victory. It was only then that Boris noticed Jonny sitting quietly in the corner looking unusually pensive.
“I’ve made a life’s work out of listening to women fake orgasms,” said the muse. “I’ve watched Cordelia's video so much that I've had to have my computer keyboard steam-cleaned and I've listened to the tape you made of Annette enough times for it to be pretty creepy when we're in the same room together. I’m positive of one thing: one of those girls is faking an orgasm and one isn’t. And Annette is the one who's faking it.”
Both pug and master were doing their best to fight off lingering depression; Jonny over the round number his age had reached and Boris over his very real concern for their friends’ ability to win the upcoming competition. Fortunately, neither one of them was able to sustain a foul mood when confronted with the sights, sounds, and good fellowship of the Christmas season. Every day they would gather on the beach and use the sand for sleigh rides and faux-snowball fights (oblivious to the fact that real snow is scarce because the global temperature average has increased by 0.82 degrees Celsius when compared to the 20th century average) and at night, they gathered at Pops’ Sugar Shack to sing Christmas Carols, taking comfort in the fact that their crooning always had to compete with Annette’s passionate howls half a mile away on Makeout Point.
“I told you there’d be nothing to worry about,” winked Moose to Jonny on Christmas Eve, when her screams became even louder and more intense.
Or so he thought, until a few minutes later when Frankie’s hot rod came tearing up to the front door of the Sugar Shack. The Cool Kids ran outside to find Annette at the wheel and Frankie in the passenger seat, hunched over in agony.
“I don’t know what happened,” Annette said, clutching her right wrist in pain. “I was giving Frankie a handjob like I do every night at the Point, when suddenly we heard a ‘pop’ and he started screaming in pain. I didn’t know what else to do but bring him here to Pops’.”
“He’s got a penile fracture!” announced Jonny.
“He’s got a penile fracture!” announced Jonny, who had seen the injury in dozens of pornos and knew exactly how to handle it. “We’ve got to put it on ice and get him to a doctor…now!”
Annette was in hysterics by now so Moose timidly offered what help he could.
“The nearest hospital is two beaches over,” said the gentle giant. “But there’s a vagrant nearby who’s a disgraced former physician after he got PTSD when he was in the army in Korea, and he treats minor surfing injuries and performs abortions when somebody needs one. He might be able to help.”
“I’d say that we don’t have a choice,” pronounced Jonny as Frankie’s injured wang took on the appearance of a rotting plum. “Let’s take him to Hawkeye the Beachcomber’s shack!”
The gang trundled off the now unconscious Frankie to see if the old bum could help him as Boris stayed behind to comfort Annette. After she finally managed to pull herself together, the little pug bandaged her wrist and tried to piece things together.
“One thing I don’t understand is that you said you give Frankie a handjob,” said the little pug, doing his best to remember that this pornographic dialogue was for a Christmas story. “So why do we hear you screaming in ecstasy every night?”
“I’m a good girl and I’m saving myself for marriage,” replied Annette as she took a purity ring from out of her bag and slipped it on her finger. “Frankie only gets a handy from me that he has to finish himself. But he wants his friends to think he’s a big stud so I scream my head off so they think that we’re doing more than we are. It fools the boys but the girls know what I’m up to. They'd never rat me out though, because they all do it themselves.”
“So to maintain your virginity,” said Boris, “you’ve only pounded his pud?”
“Except for on his birthday,” admitted Annette, “when I let him violate me anally, which girls of my generation have conned ourselves into believing doesn’t count as sex. But tonight, the little rat got so into it that he tried that old trick of pushing my head down to coax me into giving him a B.J., so my grip slipped and I accidentally broke his dick in half. Maybe it’s my fault. If I had just gone down on him, none of this would have happened.”
She then sang the first verse of a cheesy ballad about how a girl should suck her boyfriend's junk if she expected to hold onto him, but Boris was so incensed that he wouldn't let her finish.
“Never!” barked the pug sternly. “All men know of the risks of attempting the head push, including the composers of that terrible song, who are...you guessed it...dudes. Jonny has come home bloodied and bruised countless times after trying to steer some poor drunken woman's mouth onto his wang. The strange thing is, it never results in anybody getting a B.J., but men keep trying it anyway. I guess it’s in their DNA. But never let that intimidate you into doing anything that you don't want to do!”
Annette wiped her tears away and resolved to get a female songwriter onto her staff.
“The one thing I don’t understand,” continued Boris, “is if you’ve never gone all the way with Frankie, what were you planning on doing at the contest tomorrow?”
Before she could answer, the sober voice of Jonny filled the room.
“Frankie is dead.”
Boris and Annette looked at the muse in horror.
“That’s to say, his reputation as the greatest lover on Sex Beach is dead,” Jonny clarified. “Hawkeye the Beachcomber said he’ll be completely back to normal in six to eight weeks but he’ll have to abstain from any sexual activity in that time.”
“Then we have no choice,” said Moose, following close behind. “Jonny and Annette will have to compete in the competition.”
“Me?” objected Jonny. “I’m far too old and worn out for such things, and Annette is a nervous wreck. You and your girlfriend Charo will have to represent the Cool Kids.”
“Charo is committed to performing in José Feliciano’s Rockin’ Feliz Navidad on Christmas Day,“ Moose replied. “And my years of injecting steroids have reduced my testicles to size of raisins. You’re our only hope.”
“But what are we going to do?” cried Moon Doggie, who had been eavesdropping at the door. “For all our big talk, none of the Cool Girls will let you get anywhere near their vagina. We boys have to focus our amorous attention on their hands, their cleavage, and pushing their feet together and humping their toes, which I personally consider to be mind-blowing. Even their mouths are off-limits, as Frankie’s futile attempt at the head push clearly shows.”
Annette nearly broke into hysterics at the last remark, but Boris’ compassionate paternal gaze steadied her.
“But I don't get it,” said the pug. “The introduction to the story describes this place as a sexual nirvana. I've only been having sex with dogs while I'm here and the screwing is the same for us everywhere. But I thought for people, this place was something special.”
As if on cue, Pops emerged from behind the soda fountain.
“That was a myth to bring in tourists that was devised by the Sex Beach Chamber of Commerce,” the kindly proprietor admitted. “For quality poon tang, you have to go to the leper colony on nearby Dead Baby Island. Believe me, you haven't lived until you've had sex with a hole in a woman's face where her nose used to be.”
“It's true what you say about the women at Sex Beach,” said Jonny, making a mental note to follow up on the leper colony with Pops when they were alone. “The young people here are gorgeous but the sad truth is that the most beautiful people are usually the worst lays...unless they're insane I mean, in which case the sex is mind-blowing but you're likely to find your pet rabbitSee the 1987 thriller Fatal Attraction for further details. in a pot of boiling water when you get home. I’ve had to use every grotesque and demeaning detail I can recall from my lifetime of studying Internet porn to satisfy these girls without penetrating their virgin pooters. None of them would stand a chance against a sperm dumpster like Cordelia Kashdorian.”
“At least the Howells don’t know that,” said Moon Doggie.
“Oh yes, they do,” said Jonny. “Von Zipper and Stiletto have been secretly videotaping Makeout Point for weeks. They know that you people are uptight duds in the sack. That’s why Howell had Jesse propose this contest.”
“So will you do it?” asked Moose.
“Since it turns out that you young bucks obviously don’t have a clue at what you’re doing in the sack yet,” replied the muse, “I guess we have no other option.”
Moose and Moon Doggie bowed their heads in shame. But there was still one question left unanswered.
“What are you going to do for a partner?” asked Boris.
Jonny gazed gravely into the pitch blackness of the Christmas Eve seaboard with only the sound of the crashing of the waves to serve as his counselor.
“I don’t know,” he finally said. “I just don’t know.”
It was a beautiful Christmas morning throughout the world. Some were going to their house of worship to celebrate the birth of a child in a manger. Others were convening around their trees to open presents left by Saint Nicholas. And at Sex Beach, they were gathering at the beach volleyball bleachers to watch two couples fuck.
The crowd was peppered with local celebrities. Thurston Howell III was there with his legal entourage to claim the shoreline if his son was victorious. Frankie was brought in on an ambulance to watch the match laying on a hospital gurney to support the Cool Kids’ team, with Annette dutifully at his side. Eric Von Zipper and Stiletto were in the crowd to collect their bonus if Jonny lost. Pops was on-hand to judge the event since he was regarded by both sides as the most fair-minded and trustworthy resident of the community. And the stands were overflowing with the citizens of Sex Beach, who weren’t sure if they would have a place to live come New Year.
The first competitors to arrive were Jesse Howell and Cordelia Kashdorian, chauffeured by their driver in a VIP Edition Rolls Royce Phantom limousine and wearing matching Sardinia Bath Robes by Sferra. Jonny followed close behind in Moose’s 1964 Meyers Mank Dune Buggy (Boris having lost the pink slip to his 1950 Rolls-Royce Dawn Drophead convertible to Moon Doggie in a drag race a few weeks previously) clad in a terrycloth beach towel by Target. But instead of a woman, Boris hopped out of the passenger seat.
“I don’t know what you have in mind, you twisted weirdo,” objected Jesse, “but your partner has to be a human being. They can belong to any one of the 52 gender identities recognized by The World Health Organization, but they've got to be a person. The rules are very specific about that.”
“He’s right,” confirmed Pops after leafing through the mountainous stack of rules that Frankie agreed to at Jonny’s birthday party. “The pug is not eligible.”
“I don’t know what you people think of me,” said Jonny, “but any rumors of a sexual relationship between Boris and me are just urban legends. My partner in today’s competition is sitting in the bleachers.”
The Cool Girls’ hearts all leapt to their throat at the idea that Jonny would perform the perversions he’d been inflicting on them in the privacy of the bathroom stalls at Pops’ Sugar Shack in front of an audience. But when he saw their horrified expressions, the muse chuckled and put their minds at ease.
“Relax, girls. Your tight and toned 20 year-old bodies are awesome to look at but when you’re in the sack, you all have a sense of condescending entitlement that is a boner killer. For a competition like this, I need a woman with experience who’s over all the sexual bullshit of a college freshman. Therefore, I choose as my partner in today’s competition... Thurston Howell’s personal attorney Fannie Saglow!!!”
“I choose as my partner in today’s competition... Fannie Saglow,” said Jonny.
The crowd gasped at the announcement but the millionaire was having none of it.
“Oh no you don’t,” Howell thundered. “The rules explicitly state that both partners have to be from the ranks of the Cool Kids.”
“That may be true in the draft you gave to your chauffeur,” said Boris. “But one of the changes I made that Frankie and Jesse signed off on was that the woman could be anyone. I’ve read enough of these idiotic Christmas stories to know that Jonny would be the one competing in this contest and we both realized that Annette would just lay there like the ex-Mouseketeer that she is. So, I rewrote that section so that Jonny could have any partner he chose.”
“He’s correct,” confirmed Pops. “The rules are clear about that.”
“It doesn’t surprise me that my idiot son would make a mistake like that,” fumed Howell as Jesse shied away from his father. “But by God, Ms. Saglow is my attorney and I won’t allow her to take part in this!”
“You won’t allow me?” responded Fannie angrily as she rose from her seat. “Listen to me, you old fool. If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have a fortune. I took care of your business interests when you were off on that island doing God knows what and ever since you got back, your mental capacity has been getting dimmer and dimmer. Before you went on that three-hour tour you were just cute and eccentric but ever since your wife Lovie died, you’ve turned into a mean old bastard. And don’t say that you were devastated by her death for an excuse, because you only married her for her money. Before that, you were just an unknown character actor who did the voice of Mr. Magoo!!!”
The bleacher fans were stupefied by the revelation as Howell appeared to shrink from the chastisement.
“And after all the crap I’ve taken from you, if you think that you get to tell me who I can have sex with, you have another think coming!”
With that, the attorney made her way out of the bleachers and made a bee-line to Jonny. The muse suddenly became uncustomarilly nervous at what they were about to spend Christmas morning doing and stuttered "I real...really appreciate this, Fannie, and s--s---so do all the kids on..." but she suddenly shut him up up by sticking her tongue down his throat.
“The name is Ambrosia, stud muffin," she moaned after saliva-punching Jonny's larynx. "Let’s teach these children how to screw.”
Jesse and Cordelia drew the short straw and went first. The couple dropped their designer robes and the fans were astounded at Jesse’s massive, Milton Berle-like member.
“I expected that,” whispered Fannie to Jonny. “His father won Lovie Howell’s heart because he had a gigantic dick, and he passed it on to Junior. That boy will do well for himself.”
Jesse and Cordelia’s routine was essentially a replay of her sex tape. There was a lot of unimaginative grinding and pumping and she was clearly playing to the crowd just as she had been performing for the camera. But there was also no doubt that she was into it and the ooohs and ahhs of the audience only intensified her reactions. Her eardrum-shattering screams of ecstasy were forceful and sincere but Jonny and Fannie had been around enough to tell the difference between a sex maniac who was with someone who knew how to work her body and a diva who got off at being the center of attention. The young crowd couldn’t make the distinction though and by the time Cordelia and Jesse got to their dismount, they were on their feet cheering wildly. Jonny looked worried but Fannie winked at him without concern. “The kids in the bleachers may fall for those theatrics but Pops is an experienced man of the world. He'll see right through them.”
It took several minutes for the crowd to settle down but then it was Jonny and Fannie’s turn. Jonny dropped his towel and the onlookers were appalled by his grotesquely misshapen genitalia, hideously twisted by decades of self-abuse. Not only that, but the girls he had been with were seeing it for the first time in direct sunlight and sans any alcoholic haze provided by the wine coolers Jonny bought them from the local Seven-11. None of them had seen a lot of penii but everyone immediately realized that the one hanging off Jonny was fully two sizes too small. The muse was visibly unnerved as his supporters tittered at his tiny, oddly-shaped wang.
“I'm just as God made me,” he said defensively. “Anyway, it's not the size of the Christmas tree...it's finding the right ornaments to cover its bare patches.”
The disgust of the perfect young sun gods and goddesses intensified when Fannie stripped to reveal her sagging, cellulite-covered body. In reality, her frame was perfectly normal for a 65 year-old woman but the kids were so brainwashed by the six-pack abs and augmented breasts that they ogled on TikTok that the sight of a real woman wasn’t something that their young brains could process. Fortunately, Fannie knew how awesome she was and didn’t need validation from a bunch of brainless kiddies to prove it, so she smiled at Jonny and purred “Come to Momma, you stud.”
“I’m right with you,” smiled the muse as Boris handed him a bottle. “Let me just take a Viagra and we can put on a show that will send these tykes to therapy for years!”
But just as he was about to pop a pill, Pops blew a whistle.
“No performance enhancing drugs allowed,” warned the judge. “Juicing is a rules violation that means immediate disqualification!”
Jonny looked at Boris desperately but the pug shrugged in defeat.
“I didn’t think to change that rule,” said Boris. “I thought it meant that you couldn’t inject steroids directly into your penis and after what happened last February, I knew you’d never do that again.”
Jonny left the disturbing statement hanging and focused on the matter at hand. “If I can’t be plumped by a Boner Pill, we don’t have a chance.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” responded Fannie slyly. With that, she reached between Jonny’s butt cheeks and began tickling his throbbing prostate gland.
What happened next? Well in Sex Beach they say, Jonny's small wang grew five sizes that day.
What followed can only be fully appreciated by the people who witnessed it. Jonny and Fannie lunged at each other with the wild abandon of two people who had no more shits to give. As opposed to Jesse and Cordelia’s carefully choreographed bumping and grinding, the two appropriately named sexagenariansNo kidding, "sexagenarians" is what you call somebody in their 60's. I looked it up. had merged into a twisting, gyrating, spinning Tasmanian Devil of hair-pulling, ass-slapping, flesh-grabbing and tongue-lashing. Their expanding guts, wrinkled faces and cottage-cheese textured butt cheeks were suddenly imperceptible to the crowd, who watched them meld into an interfused white-hot erotic demon. And while their predecessors put on a display that lasted a scant twenty minutes, the oldsters contributed a marathon that lasted well into the early afternoon. By the time they were finally finished, Jonny and Fannie were exhausted, the fans in the bleachers were exhausted, and the patience of the people reading this moronic story was exhausted.
There was no doubt in anyone’s mind who the winners of the contest were. The only thing needed to make it official was for the result to be announced by the judge of the tournament.
“I’m proud to crown the new Sex King & Queen of Sex Beach, this Christmas Day,” proclaimed Pops, feeling it necessary to remind everyone that this pornographic display was in observance of the most sacred day of the year. “Congratulations to the winners…Jesse Howell and Cordelia Kashdorian!!!”
The crowd was dumbfounded at the unexpected decision.
“I’d also like to announce that I will be closing the Sugar Shack,” Pops continued, “in order to take on my new position as a Senior Vice President at Howell Industries!”
The onlookers erupted in boos at the obvious fix but Jesse and Cordelia didn’t seem to notice as they approached Pops to receive their trophy. But just before they got to him, they were passed by Thurston Howell who grabbed the award himself and then turned to the bleachers.
“It’s been my dream to take control of Sex Beach for years,” said the millionaire. “I never thought that my worthless son would have it in him to beat anyone in a competition like this and I can see that I was absolutely right. But there’s nothing in the rules about it being illegal to bribe the judge with a cushy, high-paying executive position so I’m delighted to say that I won this contest by myself.”
Everyone looked to Boris for confirmation and the pug sadly shook his head in agreement at Howell’s proclamation.
“Bulldozers will be coming in to level the beach on Monday to start work on the sewage plant,” continued Howell. “You’ll all need to clear out by then.”
You could have heard a pin drop as the residents of Sex Beach let it sink in that they were losing their homes until finally one sad, sweet voice broke the silence.
“How could you, Mr. Howell?”
Jonny looked up to see the hot brunette with the ridiculous spray-on tan who had served as his diversion from his surprise party. But Howell’s stunned face registered a figure of far more significance to him.
The gorgeous girl with dark pigtails and chocolate brown skin made her way out of the bleachers and approached the mean old capitalist.
“After we were rescued from the island,” she said, “I went back to Kansas to marry my high school sweetheart. But when I found him living in a trailer and working in a filling station, I realized that wasn’t what I wanted any more. I wanted to live in a tropical paradise like our island and be put up in a life of luxury by a horny old millionaire like you. Well…not like you. You.”
The onlookers gasped in astonishment.
“But since Ginger was your girl, I knew that could never happen” she said.
“But since Ginger was your girl, I knew that could never happen. So, I moved here to Sex Beach to at least live out part of my dream.”
“Mary Ann, my child,” said Howell, wiping a tear from his eye, “no man in the history of the planet has ever preferred Ginger Grant to you. Sure, I put her up in an apartment for a few years after we were rescued but that was only because I knew that tramp would put out while I strung her along about financially backing her big comeback movie, SalomeThat's the title of Norma Desmond's comeback film in Sunset Boulevard. Smart, huh?. But when she was finally spit out of the bottom of the porn industry and died from a heroin overdose alone and forgotten, I didn’t care a hoot. Because it was you, Mary Ann. It was always you. That’s why I became obsessed with destroying Sex Beach. Because it reminded me so much of that god-forsaken island…the only place that I was ever happy. But now that you’re back in my life, I’ll build a luxury apartment tower right on the sand, where you’ll live in the penthouse and I’ll have a key. And by God, I may not be able to satisfy you sexually but after my magnificently hung son — whose forgiveness I beg after treating him like dirt since the day he was born — marries that empty-headed gold digger Claudia Kashdorian and realizes what a mistake he made, we’ll share you. I’ll be your Sugar Daddy and he’ll be your Sugar Sonny!”
Howell happily opened his arms and both Jesse and Mary Ann ran to his embrace.
“And as for the good people of Sex Beach,” he continued, “I will spend the rest of my life committed to preserving its pristine shoreline so that young, gorgeous people will continue to come here to screw each other’s brains out, even though they don’t really know what they’re doing because their good looks never required them to experiment sexually or care about what their partner wanted, and the most potent and effective partners spring from the old and unattractive who really have to work to get some poon tang. Heaven and Christmas be praised!!!”
The Cool Kids did a final reprise of their opening song about summer friendships lasting forever with even Mr. Howell joining in for a chorus, although his voice was inexplicably dubbed by Italian lounge singer Lou Canova which left a turd on the whole number. But everyone's hearts were so overflowing with the spirit of Christas that no one seemed to mind.
So all was happiness in Sex Beach. Thurston Howell took Mary Ann as his mistress until his death from a massive heart attack while she was on top of him six months later which he considered to be totally worth it. Jesse and Cordelia married in a tackily spectacular ceremony that ended six weeks later in a divorce that cost him half his inheritance. Frankie and Annette also married but it was a happy union that lasted for many years until her tragic death from complications from multiple sclerosis. Moose won the Mr. Universe contest, became an action movie star and ultimately the governor of California. Pops was caught up in an insider trading scandal at Howell Industries and spent two years in prison. Fannie Saglow was disbarred for her part in trying to screw over her client by participating in this idiotic contest but she took the tens of millions of dollars that she had embezzled from him over the years and retired in luxury to a tropical island where buff young native boys devoted their lives to trying to meet her insatiable sexual demands. And everyone in Sex Beach, whether they were young or old, hot or not (although really almost everybody at Sex Beach was young and hot), had the best Christmas ever.
But happiest of all were Jonny and Boris. After living through this smutty story that really had nothing to do with Christmas, they were relieved that it ended in the most clichéd manner possible: with a mean old millionaire renouncing his past evil because of the spirit of the Yuletide. And Jonny took turning 60 in stride because not only did it mean being eligible for lots of senior discounts but he decided that he wasn’t just a 60 year-old man; he was a 60 year-old Jonny and that could mean anything that he wanted it to mean. So with a tip of his hat to their young friends, the muse and his pug returned to Casa de Jonny where all his "old" friends wondered where the hell they had been for the past six months. Master and pug were vague in their answer and only responded that they were just happy to be back home with the real Cool Kids.
And happiness to you, dear friend. Whether you think of yourself as young or old, you’re right no matter what your age is but you should probably keep those kind of simplistic aphorisms to yourself because there’s nothing more pathetic than an old codger who’s trying to come off as younger than he is. Simply accept the present version of you for what it is because the past is past and the future may not even happen so try to live in the here-and-now because that’s the only place where you’ll find true happiness.
And know that you always have a loving friend in Jonny M.
(and a team of ghostwriters)
Anything in Jonny's refrigerator with an expiration date of 2010 or later
Thurston Howell III
Sexy beach doggie
Hot Surfer Babe
Hot Surfer Babe
Hot Surfer Babe
Von Zipper's henchwoman
Eric Von Zipper
Von Zipper's henchman
Von Zipper's henchman
Von Zipper's henchman
Sex Beach poster girl
Jonny's sex partner
Jonny's sex partner
Wet tee-shirt contestant
Wet tee-shirt contestant
Wet tee-shirt contestant
Person in bleachers
Person in bleachers
Person in bleachers
Person in bleachers
Person in bleachers
Person in bleachers
Baby Momma in bleachers
Person in bleachers
Mary Ann Summers
Person in bleachers
Person in bleachers
Person in bleachers
Hawkeye the Beachcomber
Person in bleachers
Person in bleachers
Tall Person in bleachers
Person in bleachers
Person in bleachers
Person in bleachers
Person in bleachers
Person in bleachers
Person in bleachers
Person in bleachers
Rosanna De Candia
Sara J. Stuckey
Dr. Marcus Ringer
Dan E. Campbell
Steve B. Green
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