Ebony and Yellowy: Two Buddhist Republicans with Master’s Degrees in Nuclear Physics Leave Their Respective Girlfriends for Waylon Smithers’ Lifestyle

Homer Simpson. Artie Ziff. Jacques Brunswick (not his real last name, so go complain about it on the Internet). Lenny Leonard. What do these four men and others have in common? They all dated Marjorie “Marge” Bouvier, a blue-haired French-American with a voice that gets labeled “honeyed gravel” as repeatedly and tediously as Tom Waits’ gets called “whiskey soaked,” who will eventually have to choose between the Democratic Party and the Presbylutheran Church. But in that summer of 1983 (now 1999), as Leonid “Lenny” Leonard caressed Marge’s Gerald Johanssenesque four-foot locks of aquamarine with the piss-colored arms which poked out of his proto-retro quasi-orange “Bull Shirt” tee, he knew he could do better.

“Hey Homer,” Lenny slickly hollered to his equally facial haired companion, Homer Jason “Jay” Simpson, as he showed off his lady friend.  “You know, she wasn’t in Playboy for nothin’!  Hell, she’s as gorgeous as the Queen of Sheba, so give her your binky and she’ll drive you bongo. Now I must find the Akbar to my Jeff.” Lenny ran out of the movie theater, not caring to miss the last few scenes of Troy McClure’s Hail to the Chimpsons.

“Mmmmm…sloppy seconds,” purred Homer as he ogled his future wife and chugged a Duff Blue Ribbon simultaneously.

*                                  *                                              *

“You know, Moe, Playboy or not, there were two things wrong with her,” Lenny told the 25% Polish, 25% Italian, 25% Russian, 25% Yeti, 100% snake handler barkeep.  “She was too yellow, and she was too she.”

“Ah, Lenny, my good man, one of the secrets of Springfield is that it ain’t entirely white.  We got that Kwik-E-Mart Hindu next door, Apu Neidermeyer or somethin’.  Actually he might be one of ‘em newfangled Muslim types, but that don’t bother me because anybody who speaks Arabic could never be a bad man.”

“I’m banned from the Kwik-E-Mart for life,” lamented Lenny.  “That’s because Apu’s Sikh-looking half-brother Sanjay caught me trying to buy a Playboy with Marge Simpson as the centerfold when I was 17.”

“Wait, aren’t you and Midge the same age?” asked Moe as he poured Flintstones expy and town drunk extraordinaire Barney Gumble a 40 oz. Duff English and scratched his head in confusion when Barney failed to belch.

“Wait, you’re right, it wasn’t Marge. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA, it was her sister Patty!  I can’t believe I yellowed my yellow to Patty every night until I was 18!”  Lenny and Barney vomited in unison.

“I’ll get you a rag to clean up that mess, but not the one that was originally a French tapestry,” said Moe.  “But first, let me answer the phone.”  For Moe’s Tavern’s token phone had just begun to ring.

“Hello, Moe’s Tavern, it ain’t a gay bar because it’s pretty cool,” Moe greeted his first caller of the day, not noticing the winces of Lenny.

The caller had a heroin-soaked voice and was accompanied by the sounds of a moving large public vehicle and REO Speedwagon.  “Hey, is Anita there?  Last name, Hanjob.”

“Hold on, I’ll check,” said Moe.  “ANITA HANDJOB?  ANITA HANDJOB?  HEY, WHAT ARE YOU ALL JUST STANDING AROUND FOR?  ANITA HANDJOB, ANYONE?”

Everybody laughed, with the lone exception of Lenny, who proceeded to tuck his yellow hands inside of Moe’s beer-stained pants.  Moe was clearly pleasured, but kept a straight, angry face as he loudly screamed into the phone:

“LISTEN, YOU LITTLE CHEESE-EATING SURRENDER MONKEY!  ONE OF THESE DAYS I’M GONNA CATCH YOU AND I’M GONNA USE YOUR BLOOD TO PAINT MY WALL AND KEEP OUT THE WALL MONSTER!  THAT IS, UNTIL MY WALL DRIES AND I HAVE TO KILL SOME OTHER SPRINGFIELDERS FOR BLOOD.”

The prankster emitted a raspy snicker which was then accompanied by that of twenty to thirty schoolchildren.  Moe then hung up and believing the newfound stain on his dungarees to be yet more beer, he turned to Lenny.

“Well, if Apu’s out of the question, well then may I suggest somebody of the unambiguously black persuasion.  We got some celebrities here, like Blind Lemon—I mean Bleeding Gums Murphy!”

“I don’t know,” said Lenny.  “He don’t seem to have a very good dennal plan, with that name and all.  And ain’t he that lisping professional boxer who starred in The Simpsons universe’s version of that video game Punch Out!?”
“Naw, that’s Dredrick Tatum,” said Moe.  “Murphy’s a saxophonist who was recently revealed to be the long-lost brother of Dr. Julius Hibbert.  I mean, the grandfather of Bill Cosby’s children.  Wait, Hibbert and Cosby are basically the same person!  That means…squick…”

“No squick for me,” said Lenny.  “I’m crossing Murphy and Hibbert off my list.”

Moe refilled Barney’s malt liquor.  “Ah, well, Hibbert’s already married.  I mean, his wife’s a bit of an alky, which is kinda sad because she don’t have much of a personality otherwise, but he loves her and he don’t love what other men do to her when she’s tanked.  There are quite a few men in Springfield who have done it to her like that, and I might be one of them, but that ain’t any of your goddamn business.  I mean, I would let it be your business, if it weren’t against the law, but…”

“Well, that crosses off every African-American in Springfield,” cried Lenny.

“No, it don’t!” said Moe.  “I ain’t mentioned Black Smithers yet!”

“Waylon Smithers?  I mean, yeah, he’s gay and all which is what I was looking for, but his skin is yellow.  I specifically stated, ‘no yellow skin.’  He’s not Black Smithers, he’s Yellow Smithers.”

“Yellow Smithers was his replacement,” explained Moe.  “Mr. Burns replaced Black Smithers with that Malibu Stacy-collecting chump!  Black Waylon Smithers still lives in Springfield, but he’s now unemployed and spends his days rioting in Springfield’s Lower East Side.”

Lenny frowned.

“Ah, that ain’t doin’ you no good, I can tell,” said Moe.  “Well, we got one more cat you might dig.  Some say he’s from Iceland.  Say hello to Carl!”  Moe pointed out a young black man who was already sitting next to Lenny.

“Nice to meet you, Carl,” said Lenny, extending a hand which smelled like Moe.

“Nice to meet you, Lenny,” said Carl.  “Bernice, we’re through,” he said, as he turned to Dr. Hibbert’s drunken wife who sat at his other side.  Bernice Hibbert blacked out, and Springfield’s newest gay couple, Lenny Leonard and Carl Carlson, made passionate out for the first time.

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