by Contributing Correspondent
Zip Rand-Masterclean
When the Rand-Mastercleans first stepped off of the Mayflower some 900 or so years ago, we had no idea what a savage impact a very young, very, VERY hot Gary Burghoff would have on our family history. Well, here’s the dirt if you must have it:
VICE: The year was 1976. America was celebrating its 200th birhtday, and I was a boyish teenager helping Grandma Rand-Mastercleam finish up her bicentennial quilt. M*A*S*H was aplaying on the boob tube, and we were having a few chuckles when Grandma got racy and said, and I quote, “That Wayne Rogers gets my blood flowing, I’ll tell you that.” Well, I suppose I was caught up in all the craziness, because I blurted out “Well, my little penis would have a field day with that darling little Gary Burghoff!”
Vexation: Needless to say, the knitting needling halted to the sound of a record needle dragging across grooved vinyl, and while I was not cast out completely, I was certainly blackballed from any of the Rand-Masterclean’s reindeer games. I was teased, scoffed at, jostled, mimicked—even forced to sit alone at a table for twelve at the annual family reunion in Port Chester. I existed in a living hell for nearly one calendar year, until…
Vindication! Grandpa Rand-Masterclean let out his last wheezing gasp in March of ’77, and though I was cut out of his billions, I was allowed to scrape around in his study for whatever trinkets I wanted to keep as my own. Well, get this: in a check for petty cash under the pee-stained daybed mattress, what did I find? A curious little novelette entitled Dormitory Boy. Yes, a dirty little saga of boy meeting boy in the most intimate manner. And what did I find tucked inside? None other than three photos: one, a bare and hairy-chested Lyle Wagoner; a bathing-suited wet-as-a-washcloth Karl Malden; and, tucked neatly between page 86 and 87, this very photo of a very young, very hot Gary Burghoff!
VICE: The year was 1976. America was celebrating its 200th birhtday, and I was a boyish teenager helping Grandma Rand-Mastercleam finish up her bicentennial quilt. M*A*S*H was aplaying on the boob tube, and we were having a few chuckles when Grandma got racy and said, and I quote, “That Wayne Rogers gets my blood flowing, I’ll tell you that.” Well, I suppose I was caught up in all the craziness, because I blurted out “Well, my little penis would have a field day with that darling little Gary Burghoff!”
Vexation: Needless to say, the knitting needling halted to the sound of a record needle dragging across grooved vinyl, and while I was not cast out completely, I was certainly blackballed from any of the Rand-Masterclean’s reindeer games. I was teased, scoffed at, jostled, mimicked—even forced to sit alone at a table for twelve at the annual family reunion in Port Chester. I existed in a living hell for nearly one calendar year, until…
Vindication! Grandpa Rand-Masterclean let out his last wheezing gasp in March of ’77, and though I was cut out of his billions, I was allowed to scrape around in his study for whatever trinkets I wanted to keep as my own. Well, get this: in a check for petty cash under the pee-stained daybed mattress, what did I find? A curious little novelette entitled Dormitory Boy. Yes, a dirty little saga of boy meeting boy in the most intimate manner. And what did I find tucked inside? None other than three photos: one, a bare and hairy-chested Lyle Wagoner; a bathing-suited wet-as-a-washcloth Karl Malden; and, tucked neatly between page 86 and 87, this very photo of a very young, very hot Gary Burghoff!
God bless you Walter "Radar" O’Reilly! And for the rest of you Rand-Mastercleans out there who are jealous of the continued fame I have found on this blog: once and for all, in the name of justice, I did not plant those photos and pictures!
