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      Great Sex During Pregnancy

      April 1, 2009
      From the column 'Skinema'


       


       

      Adameve.com
      Dir: Ernest Greene
      Rating: 10


      Can you do me a favor? Pretend like you didn’t see the picture above and when I ask you to guess what my wiener put inside my wife’s guts, just say, “I don’t know, what?” and then when I tell you, act surprised. OK?

      Hey, guess what my wiener put inside my wife’s guts? You don’t know? Come on. Take a guess. Give up? A freaking baby! My wiener shot a baby into my wife’s stomach like NASA used to shoot monkeys into space. It’ll return from its voyage in her belly on September 11, to honor everyone who died in the World Trade Center. I’ve been meaning to suggest to my wife that we name the baby World Trade Nieratko. Or Fuck Iraq Nieratko. Or maybe spell Iraq with a U and not an I so the baby’s initials would be F.U.N.

      It’s probably not a smart idea for me to make any of those suggestions right now because the baby-naming topic has been a real issue lately. From the moment I met my wife, Cris, I knew I was going to marry her, so it wasn’t long until I began declaring that when Chris and Cris would have babies we’d be naming them all Chris, or a variation thereof, like George Foreman. Many people laughed at what they thought was a joke. I was being serious. And my wife seemed to be going along with it. Even last year when we made that lazy baby who quit on us before we even got to name it, she was still on board the All Chris Train. But something has changed. And I don’t like it.

      We were trying for nearly two years to make this baby, including the time of the lazy baby. We’d given up stressing over it and returned to fornicating for pleasure as opposed to procreation. It was cool. Making a baby was kind of an afterthought to getting it on—we’d give each other a sly look like, “Do you think?” But we never said anything out loud.

      Then on Christmas morning my wife woke me up with a small wrapped gift. Inside was a dipstick with a + sign on it. It was the greatest Christmas present anyone had ever given me. And a sign that we should name the baby Christmas! Christmas Present Nieratko! Chris for short. I danced around the house singing Christmas carols. “Everyone loves Christmas!” I screamed, “Even the Jews! Our baby will have its own holiday and songs sung in its honor! Christmas Nieratko! I love it. I’m dreaming of a white Christmas! It is going to be white, right? It better be or you got some ’splainin’ to do, Lucy!”

      “We’re not naming our baby Christmas,” she replied.

      “Uh… what?” Just like the Grinch who stole Christmas, my wife shattered my Christmas dreams. Then she told me if it’s a girl she wants to name her Chloe. “Chloe?!?” I screamed. “We can’t name her Chloe! Chloe is a porn star’s name! Or worse yet, that actress who plays a Mormon on HBO. No. No. No. No Chloe. Christmas!”

      “And if it’s a boy?” My wife asked.

      “CHRISTMAS! It’s a gender-neutral name! Christmas if it’s a boy and Christmas if it’s a girl!”

      “No Christmas.” She replied.

      And that’s where we left it. I’m still in shock that my wife doesn’t like the name Christmas. I had to walk away.

      For more of Chris go to chrisnieratko.com or NJSkateshop.com.
       

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