Free American Freak Show by Willie Geist Page B

champagne alone while sitting directly on the high-pressure jets, so I made my move. Even by my standards, we got pretty kooky that night (hint: Ping Pong balls plus instant gravy equals fun). But I knew you were a different kind of broad when I pulled out my money to pay for our night together. You pushed my hand away and said, “You don’t have to pay. I’m not a prostitute.” Do you remember what I said, Heather? I said, “Really? You could have fooled me with that gymnastics routine. I didn’t know whether to bang you or give you a perfect ten.” We shared a good laugh over that and then I said, “But wait, seriously, this one’s free?” I feel like that was a big moment for us.
    From there, things only got more amazing. I don’t kiss and tell, but let’s just say our one-on-one date in a hot air balloon definitely broke some FAA regulations. Ah, screw it, I’ll just say it: Heather stuffed an apple in my mouth like I was a holiday pig, hit me over the head with a sandbag, and sodomized me with a zucchini. Whatever happens tonight, we’ll always have that day. No one can take that away from us.
    Then there were the little things that really started to add up. We realized that we both love, love, love Michael Bublé, we both keep vegetable peelers in our bedside tables (what are the odds?!), and we share the same safe word (“Beowulf!”). When you screamed that at the top of your lungs on that fateful night, I realized that some greater force of destiny had put us in that steam shower together.
    So here’s the deal. I’ve had fun, you’ve had fun. If you want to take this thing to the next level, I’ve got some ideas. What if we hijacked a plane and had sex in the cockpit before turning the aircraft back over to the crew peacefully? I’ve always had a hijacking fantasy. Just throwing it out there. Heather, I know this sounds corny, but I don’t want to hijack a commercial jet and have sex in the cockpit with anyone but you.
    So pick the right guy. Do you really think that other hick is going to give you the marathon humiliation sessions you ache for? Let’s get weird.
    Wow. Heather, you’re crying. Why?
    “I can’t do this, Chris. It’s too hard. This isn’t fair. I wasn’t totally sure Governor Spitzer was here for the right reasons, and now I know he is. He wants to hijack a plane and have sex with me in the cockpit. I wish my grandmother was still alive to hear that.”
    I know how tough this seems, Heather. It feels like a big deal right now, but, honestly, these relationships don’t last, so don’t get too worked up about the decision. Our success rate on this show is like 8 percent. The over/under on you and the guy you choose here is 3 months and most of the guys on the crew here are taking the under. I don’t mean to undermine the entire premise of the show, but you really could just flip a coin.
    “Chris, I feel very deeply for these two men. Please respect that.”
    Okay. I’ll remind you of that deep love in 3 months when you’re living alone in Studio City auditioning for cat food commercials. Let’s get on with it, Heather. The decision is yours. Will it be Mark or Eliot? Two creeps, one rose. Gentlemen, come on out.
    “Thanks, Chris . . . I think. God, my heart is pounding out of my chest. We started this journey with 25 of the creepiest, sex-freak politicians in the country and I honestly believe I have the two creepiest of all standing in front of me. Just think, you were both considered stars in your political parties. I mean, Jesus, Mark, they wanted you to run for president. And look at you now.
    “I have come to love you both over the last couple of months in different ways. Mark, you are a beautiful romantic. Eliot, you are a demented sadomasochist. I’ve learned so much from you two disgraced politicians. Mark, your tedious stories about outdoor adventure taught me patience. Eliot, your floggings taught me how to enjoy pain. I want to thank you both with all of my