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BEWARE THE DEVIOUS BISEXUAL!

Oh dear, Lucifer Box has found himself in quite a spot of trouble all over again. Although murder and mayhem are surely de rigueur for a modish secret agent, assassin, internationally celebrated painter, and bisexual Lothario who still manages to maintain a youthfully svelte figure in his late 40s... one would still never expect to have to face off against the actual Lucifer, Prince of Darkness. That's not in the job description! I certainly felt quite a bit of empathy for poor Lucifer Box, as we share distinct similarities. Minus the secret agent, assassin, internationally celebrated painter, Lothario, and maintaining a youthfully svelte figure parts, of course... we are practically brothers from another mother!

I must say, to this day I have found scant evidence that male bisexuals even exist, except in books like this one, and perhaps pornography - if I were to ever view such an uncouth genre. Never! It is as if all the bisexuals of the world were women. Where are my brother comrades-in-arms? All of my once bisexual friends have long since married the opposite sex and have named their prior exploits "experimentation" - alas, and I say Fie on Experimenters! The true male bisexual is a rare breed indeed: a precious, precious thing. Much like a unicorn. Or griffin! Or perhaps a hippogriff.

Why just the other day, while strolling the urine-soaked and garbage-strewn streets of the Tenderloin, my dear friend K__ inquired whether or not I "was still bisexual". I could have smacked him smartly across his cheeky, chubby face, save for the fact that he is also my boss, so instead I settled for making a demeaning comment about how wonderfully predictable his life in the suburbs must be, and how he must feel scads of happiness when seeing the same wife and child day-in and day-out, 365 days a year. Such ignoble inquiries are par for the course for unicorns such as myself and dear Lucifer Box, and must be dealt with rigorously.

Why just the other week, my charming sister alluded to her ongoing delusion that I "must have so many options". I could have wrung her neck, except for the fact that she made this comment over a trunk call and also I could never actually wring her neck, as she is far too strong and my lovely, long-fingered hands - "a pianist's hands", as my dear mother once said - are far too delicate. Instead I sighed heavily and reminded her that for me, being bisexual only means that I view both genders with equal disdain.

Well at least she's nothing like poor Lucifer Box's sister, who turned out to be a trashy murderous Satan-worshiper. My sister would certainly never worship Satan - that would be far too louche for a dedicated wife, mother of two, licensed practitioner of Chinese medicine, and Los Angelene fashion plate. As my dear father is wont to say, "Worshiping Satan is so last millennium, and for losers". The acclaimed Monday lineage only engages in self-worship!

To sum up, this novel was fair to middling. It passed the time. It was what one calls a "bus book" - which means I read it in 15 minute increments whenever I found myself on a bus to and from what I suppose I call "work". Buses are surely the most plebeian of transports, and books are never welcome there, but I do enjoy mingling with the masses on occasion. Perhaps I shall discover a fellow bisexual busing one day? If so, I shall promptly ignore him, as bisexuality should never be encouraged. I would be appalled to see too many of my dangerous type running around rampant! We would rule the world, and that would be very bad news indeed for all of you sadly limited non-bisexual types.