Harvey Milk was a controversial figure. He was also a humanitarian and an ambassador of hope. He was an activist, a politician, and an icon. His legacy affects us all.

As a child growing up in rural Idaho, Harvey spent his time propelling marbles with one or the other powerful forefinger. When he wasn’t engaged in this timeless pursuit, he played local games such as ‘Stringy-pig-egg-string’ and ‘Tie your momma to a pig’. Occasionally however he would drape himself like a bony rug across the colonial facade that fronted his grandfather’s rustic pile. It was here that his history-making discovery was made. Gazing at the imposing panorama that presented itself to his eye, he suddenly noticed an unusual and unexpected thing happening just south of his Grandfather’s favourite cow, Mrs Lee. From out of Mrs Lee’s meaty underlumps issued a brilliant white sap. ‘Maw’ he yelled ‘sump’n’s comin’ outta Mrs Lee’s danglers’. Maw ran outside and screamed. Paw ran outside and spat. Grampaw ran outside, ran inside, then ran back outside again. By this stage Harvey had scooped some of Mrs Lee’s unanticipated dewdrops into an improvised goblet and was tasting them, tentatively. From this day forth he was a pariah wherever he went. But, just as it is to Eve’s unpopular gustatory experiment with the Edenic Granny Smith that we owe our knowledge of good and evil, so it is to Harvey that we are indebted for our knowledge of that pale duke of beverages to which he gave his surname.

Harvey sported his milk moustache with pride. Few understood what it was or what it meant, and those who did were either scandalised or compelled to sport their own. He invented and patented a kind of mechanical glass snood for extracting milk from cows’ udders that he named ‘The Suckle-Master’, and soon dairy farms were springing up all over America. But it couldn’t last. It was only a matter of time before the cordial faction was busting in on the milk crowd, pushing them around and getting all up in their faces. Cynical politicians and demented religious types were quick to capitalise on the outrage, as is their wont, and passed harsh, wankerish laws.

This film is an inspiration to anyone who ever enjoyed a cool glass of cowjuice on a summer evening, or wanted to do so, but was too afraid. After seeing ‘Milk’ I immediately went out and quaffed a quart of fresh, creamy milk. Let me tell you friends, it was delicious. There are some who would say I am an impressionable innocent who has been brainwashed by a piece of immoral propaganda. They are subnormal clown-folk, and to them I say: milk was Harvey’s gift to the world. His work for gay rights was good too. So take your cordial and your moralising, ye bigots, and flee the dairy. The cows are coming and their righteous hooves shall trample you like the used Suckle-Masters you indisputably are.


3 Responses to “Milk”

  1. Banjo Fett Says:

    Say, that reminds me, I was thinking of starting a Stringy-Pig-Egg-String league. Anyone interested?

    I’m tempted to write a sequel to Milk.

    Called ‘Yoghurt’.

  2. johnlebaptiste Says:

    Sure. I’ll bring the stringy pig, you bring the egg string.

    Bring on the sequel. Harvey could have a yoghurt-loving cleric as his sidekick. Tagline: It’s Mullah-time.

  3. Banjo Fett Says:

    Yes, it could be quite a ‘cultured’ piece on the ‘whey’ people resolve ‘trifling’ matters that ‘strain’ their relationships, like running out of hair ‘mousse’.

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