Will You Make A Suitable Bride For Oscar Isaac?

1. Oscar the actor is a small man of passions and pleasures, and he must not be wedded lightly. Tell it truly: To hang on the arm of Isaac—this is what you most desire?: Is this a joke? I would cut my own little throat to swap rings with Oscar the brow-heavy bad boy.; Ever since my sickly father would dandle me on his knee, I’ve dreamt of my maiden’s day with Oscar Isaac, and the strewn garlands, and the reels we’ll dance.; If I must be wed to the star of Inside Llewyn Davis, I will set my jaw and bear it. But his days will be cold, and his nights colder.; I’m not up to much these days; I’ll marry whomever.

2. Suppose Oscar came home from set in a black humor, snarling and brooding. As his bride, how would you unknit the sorrowed furrows of his famous brow and soothe him?: I would say to him, “Oscar, you splendid son of a bitch, you jagged spar of a Hollywood throb, it’s me, your bride, your beautiful goddamn bride, resplendent in black lace, brimmed up with a whole day’s worth of sexual energies. Let’s tango, muchachito,” and I’d say it all husky, like a bartender.; I would draw him his daily salted bath, and scatter basil leaves on the waters, and thumb-press the knots from his gnarled calves, and stroke back his locks with a mother-of-pearl comb, and sing to him the half-remembered cooing-songs of his crib days.; I would retreat to the annex and fitfully pick at a cold goose supper until his hateful yelps and crude howls taper off.; I think Planet Earth is on Netflix these days, so that’s an option.

3. There is a name, a pet name, that only Oscar’s true beloved may call him, that she must call him by nothing but; else he’ll discard her as simply as pouring out turned milk, as he’s done to so many would-be brides. Can you intuit this pet name?: Isaac Gumption; Puddles The Dog That Is Capable Of Bravura Performances; Bubblegum Husband; Cardamom Blessing; For Your Consideration, Oscar Isaac; Something like “Oskie,” maybe?

4. Far too much hinges on the wedding ceremonials and the pageantry of it all. The slightest stumble spells disaster. Thus, how will you utter the all-important “I do”?: A low, throaty bark, weary and powerful, like the final shot at Iwo Jima; Loud, orgasmic, and repeatedly for the better part of an hour; I will violently cough through it to introduce exploitable ambiguity; I’ll probably swap it out for something lower-key, like “Let’s rock,” or “Rack ’em.”

5. We blush to broach it, but: the sexual duties. For Oscar is as particular in his carnalities as in all else, and we would rather die than let his needfulnesses go unanswered. Please now, what are your nighttime specialties?: I’m ambidextrous and relentless.; I’ve studied and mastered the hidden positions: the Macedonian Loom, the True Cross, the Marriage of Sex Figaro, the Monday Night Foot-Ball, and even Kasparov’s Gambit. My body is his Sculpey.; When Oscar kisses me, it will be as though he’s entered a den of tongues, dozens of them, desperate to repel an intruder whose resemblance to themselves only amplifies their fear. He will hate this.; Anything except him putting out a cigarette between my buttocks.

6. And of course, how would you describe your scent?: Gym sock full of grapefruit pith; Drenched gifted child; Sun-baked mud brick; Bronx Zoo hurricane; American gunsmoke; One of those endless perfumed Barcelona nights where promises are whispered and broken; Ice, for Oscar

7. Is there a snip of a message you would have us pass on to him before a choosing is made? A sweetness, perhaps, for sweet Oscar?: Great news, Oscar, because here comes your darling bride, thick and sweet as blackstrap molasses, barreling down the matrimonial chute at the speed of Oscar, whispering “Mrs. Oscar Isaac” into cupped hands, and trembling with barely suppressed erotic frenzy. Arriba, baby!; Oscar the actor, I am not yet yours, and yet my love for you doubles and redoubles with each passing hour, and by the end of today, I shall be distended with it. Please, O dearest, lance this lovelorn boil!; I have nothing to say to Oscar Isaac. He is nothing but trouble, and I pity whatever bride he drags across his threshold. Spit in his fucking face for me.; A Most Violent Year

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