Balloons

by Angela Marquet

Six helium balloons sit in the corner of my room. Three
pink, three purple. One of the purples is a foil balloon with
pink and yellow letters that say HAPPY HAPPY
BIRTHDAY. All have purple, pink and yellow streamers
hanging down in tight curls like a fresh spiral perm. Five of
them are fine but one is beginning to worry me. It is pink. It
is losing helium. No longer does it spring up as youthfully as
it did before. Now it just sags. The foil balloon interests me,
too. It is fascinating to see what shapes you can make by
squeezing and pinching parts of it... This is what I do when I
am trapped in my room like I am now.

The balloons are a curious thing. The lone sagging pink
one could be me. ;

The balloons are all weighted down by jellybeans
wrapped in silver paper. They should be savoured as sweet
memories of my nineteenth birthday which began and ended
perfectly since I was able to see the two people who matter
more to me than anyone else.

Six balloons...Why not more? Why not less? Why six?
There could be many reasons. I don't know what they are. It
could be that they are sold in groups instead of singles.

a Perhaps I don't know why there
are six. Perhaps I will never
know why there are six. There
are five regular balloons. Is-five
a lucky number? Am I lucky?
And the colours: pink and
purple. My friends know that I
have a love affair with black.
Why pink and purple? Purple
means that you are sexually
frustrated. What does pink
suggest? Innocence? Can you
be sexually frustrated and
innocent at the same time?

I wonder how long it will be
before the helium leaves the
other balloons so that they
become sluggish and sagging
like me.

Many months later...

The six balloons are gone.
They stayed in the corner of my
bedroom gathering dust for
three months until my baby
cousin visited and scattered
them throughout my house. I
still have the big foil one. It is
deflated and folded away,
another memory of my carefree
youth.

graphics by Dana Kelly

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over THE EDGE*¥riday November 4, 1994 9

by Charles Hogg

Howard Stern, self-
proclaimed god of American

the printed word. Defying
better judgement and good
taste, Stern's new book Private
Parts is part autiobiography
and part social commentary.
While the book won't appeal to
all, it is certainly maddening;
Stern is sure to rouse emotions,
be it hate or laughter!

If you have never heard
Stern (which is likely since he
is rarely syndicated in
Canada), you will quickly
form an opinion about him
after reading some of this
book. His book tells of his
own life and trials in a
humourous, self-absorbed way.
and he is often harder on
himself than he is on various
targets. However, he also
writes on a variety of other
topics from lesbianism to the

radio, has entered the realm of |

Stern’s Private Parts

French. He is definately not
politically correct.

This book shouldn't
challenge your intellect as it is
not based on anything logical
but I warn you: it is not for the
sensitive reader: He pokes fun
at everyone, including himself
and anyone offended probably
should be (but all in all with a

"No wonder I was such a misfit. I obviously came from

a long line of them. I was sort of a late bloomer, too. I was the
last kid on the block to masturbate. One of my friends hinted
about it to me, so I decided that I'd try it. I ws about eleven years
old when I first tried. My parents left me alone in the house, so I
went up to the bedroom and took off my clothes. I laid down on

_ their bed spread-eagled and started playing with myself while

watching "Gilligan's Island."

T really had the hots for Ginger and I was waiting for her
to appear on the screen, but they kept showing Mrs. Howell III,
that old bag. Finally, Ginger came on, and I really started pulling
my pud. Mind you, I had no idea what happened during |
masturbation. Afier a few minutes, I started feeling warm all over
and then I felt something building. "Oh, man, this is it!" 1 thought
to myself. All of a sudden, warm liquid poured out of my penis, all
over my legs and my parents’ bed. I had urinated all over myself.”

Page 95 Private Parts

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grain of salt). Howard Stern
doesn't take himself seriously
so why should we? Pick it up
and laugh or pick it up and
write him some hate mail (he'll
love that!). But don't let this
piece of literature go to your
heart-just let is pass through
the bowels of your mind with a
smirk. Enjoy this excerpt:

by Howard Stern