Go Topless Day is an annual event observed on the Sunday nearest August 26, Women’s Equality Day, to support the right of women to go topless in public on gender-equality grounds. Women bare their breasts (wearing either fake latex nipples or pasties to cover their nipples and avoid arrest due to laws in some states that prohibit women from showing their areola and nipples in public) in protest of the double standard.
Men are supposed to wear bras or bikini tops in support, but Hack wanted to mock Jonny’s man boob as well as bring awareness of the event to the general public, so he finessed the rules a little for this novel. Anyway, it’s Hack’s favorite holiday.
When Hack realized that today is William Shakespeare’s birthday, he thought the time was overdue for another of his adaptations of one of the Bard’s plays.
Boris and Jonny got the summons like a bad hand at a crooked table. Rufus T. Firefly’s office smelled of panic and cigar smoke, and the Dictator for Life was pacing like a man who’d misplaced his spine. “I’ve got sour news, boys,” Firefly said, voice cracking like cheap shellac. “You fled here to dodge that lunatic Donald Trump, and now he’s kicking down our door. The orange windbag’s declared war on us for our helium reserves. As if he didn’t already sound ridiculous every time he opened his mouth.”
Boris cocked an eyebrow and scratched his jowls. “I thought our spiritual ringer, Sister Ana of Armas, handed him her Nobel Peace Prize to keep his beady little eyes off our goofy gas.” Firefly snorted. “The man’s got the memory of a three-day-old gnat. He forgot. That’s why you’re here. Boris, you take the northern front and try not to get us all killed. Jonny—your job’s heavier. Sister Ana is the soul of this tin-pot republic. She breathes, we breathe. You get her south to our friends. It won’t be pretty, but you’re the only mug I trust to pull it off.”
Jonny opened his mouth to protest the partner split when the door swung open and the good sister walked in. They’d heard the hymns about her kindness and charity, but none of them mentioned she was built like trouble with a halo slapped on top. Boris clocked it instantly—Sister Ana froze when she saw Jonny, her angelic face melting into the same hungry look every Van Nuys tramp gave his pal when she’d already picked out the motel. The pug had seen that look a hundred times. It always ended the same way—wrinkled sheets, bad decisions, and regrets that didn’t last past breakfast.
Here’s hoping that all of you who brave the massive lines to see the documentary Melania on its opening day today have a GREAT TIME! Try not to let the crowds crush you!!!
Hack wrote this novel after María Corina Machado gave Donald Trump the medallion and certificate she received for being named the 2025 Nobel Peace Prize winner in a transparent attempt to make her his puppet president of Venezuela. And while Hack clearly doesn’t comprehend the insignificance of someone winning a trophy and then giving it to another person who didn’t, it’s even more fucking obvious that Trump doesn’t either.
