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April 04, 2014

Have you had a charity-gasm lately?

Hey guys, it’s charity event season in New York! And that only means one thing! We’re going to have a charity-gasm!

Mitzy and I are going to the Keep A Child Alive Ball. Mitzy is my best straight friend. I love you Mitzy! You’re going to die alone, you fag hag! Kidding!

Oh my god, as soon as we walked in, we saw Tyra Banks and Oprah Winfrey (such an inspiration). Then we ran into Morgan Freeman and Maya Angelou (all black people are such an inspiration to me). And while David Beckham was sitting, I saw his bulge!

Unfortunately right then, this kid dragging his IV stand got in the way. His leg had been shriveled from the cancer, so I had to remind myself it wasn’t his fault. [Deep breath]. He wheeled over and did some wheelies and other tricks for us, and we threw him scraps of bean curd. Still looking at that stump of his wasn’t exactly the first thing you’d choose to see when you’re trying to eat your kale salad entrée with goat cheese, but again: not his fault, [deep breath], not his fault.

During our dessert salads of kale and chocolate, Ashton Kutcher took the stage! He told us about Cindy, this 8-year-old girl with brain cancer. It was so sad! Boo hoo! But here’s the thing: I could actually imagine Ashton holding one of Cindy’s hands as I held the other. And unlike the Ashton who was speaking, mine was the young Ashton—you know, who was still 22 and hadn’t yet bloated up by those 8 pounds.

Ashton, I want to cream charity down your throat!

Then he got down to business. He started talking about what volunteering does to him, how it makes him feel. Mitzy’s eyes hooded at that, and I could practically see what Ashton’s muscles must look like when they’re engorged on charity.

Ashton, I will make you gag on my charity.

He talked about how we were the only ones standing up for the “Cindys” of the world. He said we’d never stop coming these parties until whatever it was she had was cured. Then he looked us in the eye, and you know what he said? “Thank you. Thank you for being who you are.”

And the whole room erupted! It was an 800-person CHARITY-GASM!

Everyone was on their feet, and we were clapping and coming so hard! I saw an heiress cry out as a charity-gasm wracked her body. A hedge fund manager ejaculated tears into his wife’s face. And in the corner, one of the wait staff wept as she watched us and felt—truly felt, perhaps for the first time ever—the smallness of her own life.

Afterward as I collapsed, sweating, in my chair, I had a vision. Cindy and that other kid were begging on the filthy streets of Calcutta. Then Ashton and I showed up. First I cried into their filthy little faces and used my tears to cleanse them. Then Ashton said, “We’re taking you with us.”

Cindy smiled. “But I thought people like you didn’t exist?”

I took her hand. “Come around the corner. We have a party bus.”

It was the hope on her leprous little face that did it! I ejaculated tears all over this hot waiter’s back!

Oh thank you, Ashton. I thought nothing could take the numbness away, but multiple charity-gasms are even better than a round of crow pose and anus blossoms at Bikram yoga! Pik Pik, my Vietnamese masseur, is certainly going to earn his $500/hour tomorrow!

Next up: the Metropolitan Museum of Art Costume Gala. And guess what? The Obamas were there.

The guest of honor was Nadugu, this sad little thing who’d been taken as a slave in Africa and forced to dig for diamonds. But you should have seen this freaking guy! He was ripped! Seriously he looked like Solomon Northup in Twelve Years A Slave!

Mitzy and I were going to ask him about forced-labor dieting and digging workouts, so we could pass them on to Faisal, our Egyptian personal trainer, but then Nadugu got up to give a speech.

He talked about how all these people had drowned when the Ts#$jskmzspt River flooded and about how they had to eat bird seed for months afterward. The parts I caught between mouthfuls of cherry demi-glaze kale salad were actually really sort of sad. I guess sometimes I forget there are other people in the world, but Nadugu reminded me. I kind of loved myself for realizing that.

But I couldn’t cry. That’s the God’s honest truth. The thing was: one of Nadugu’s teeth was almost black. It was very difficult to get a charity-on looking at that little baked bean dancing in those big black gums. Even beyond that though, something was missing.

Then I caught a look at someone very striking in the mirror. It was me. Seeing myself standing there…I looked so sad and concerned. Yet I also looked so tan and cut. It did something to me. You must understand: I eat a diet consisting only of organic kale, nut paste and goji berries. Sculpting my body is my spirituality. And as I stared in the mirror, I realized I was not only a beautiful person, I was a good beautiful person. Witnessing such perfection in a single being almost brought me to tears. It was honestly one of the most moving things I’ve ever seen in my life. 

But then something truly magical happened.

Michelle Obama looked into the mirror too.

Normally I’m not attracted to women, but she was gently stroking one of those cock-hard arms of hers. Our eyes met. Then they feasted on each other’s bodies. Lucky for us, that was when Nadugu began talking about how he’d recently sold his daughter to some Arab.

Everyone’s eyes were on Michelle. Right as Nadugu began wailing, Michelle moaned softly and flexed her arm, and the whole room climaxed together. It hit me all once: We’re CHARITY-GASMING with the first lady! And nothing can stop us now!

We’re charity-gasming through the halls! We’re charity-gasming in the streets! We’re charity-gasming to a town near you, you sad little Middle American!

That night, as I lay in bed next to this totally hot caterer (he even swallowed), I knew what I had to do. I would never stop going to charity events, never stop charity-gasming, until all the world’s problems are solved. I would double my commitment to ending world hunger, which meant I would double my attendance of charitable feasts.

I may even throw my own event. If you’re poor, dark-skinned enough and you weigh under 120 lbs, I’m looking for you. My friends and I want your sorrow. We will drink it.

Come, nourish us. We’re going to listen to your troubles. Then we’re going to solve them so hard that we can barely stand!