The next naughty bit is called "Voyeur." It's me walking down the street doing what I always do: Trying to peek into windows in hopes of seeing a naked woman. This time, I totally score: Two attractive ladies are doing the Dance of Lesbonics as I watch through stage windows. Sexy music plays. My rampaging erection has returned two-fold. Boy, is this hot. The two ethnic ladies are wrapped in silk sheets, and writhing around and touching the other as if trying to extract Tom Cruise's home phone number from an orifice. CBS sure liked this one. They wanted to have me go in there and get it on with them, so they could call it "Touched by an A-Hole." But I vetoed that one. I come center stage, and it is they who touch me. Because that is the natural order of things in the world of David. My name is David, and I am the best; all the pretty women wanna feel my chest. See? I rap, too. The sexy women hit a platform on the right side of the stage. They raise a satin sheet, are silhouetted for a moment, and as I pull the sheet, they are gone. Think I'm going to tell you how I did that? Yeah, right. So you can go making attractive women disappear all the time and reappear in your bed? Back off, buddy. These girls are mine, all mine. And it has nothing to do with the floor platform that's moving on stage. Nothing at all. I move to another platform on the left and hold up the sheet, which has a rounded, bulky top (pay no attention to that). I hold it up and it stays there. The shape of two women appears. I pull the sheet, and there they are: Two hotties ready to tear my clothes off. God, I love myself. In moments like this, I couldn't give a damn where Claudia is and which tennis instructor she's boffing. The scene ends with me staring through the windowpane and looking awfully spent.
The next amazing illusion brings back Jacob the cherub and a new guy, "Big Daddy," a man who wrote to me telling a sob story about his estranged son. It's fake as all get out (as is the "photo" of the middle-aged man), but it works as the sad violin plays. Big Daddy, who looks like a retired running back, tells the story of how he abandoned his wife and son, Mike, and how now he wants to get closer to the boy, who is now grown. Big Daddy was in the military and spent two months in Hawaii, which he says was "paradise." Now he wants his son to go to Hawaii and see what it's like, maybe even get lei'd. (My joke, not his.) I introduce Mike, a dreadlock-wearing young man in the audience who doesn't seem too thrilled to be onstage talking about his estranged dad. Don't worry, folks. This trick totally pays off. I end up looking like Mama Love, and the women just eat that up. I go back via satellite to "Brett," my point man in Hawaii (and a fantastic coke dealer on the weekends), who has set up a little platform amid all the sand and surf. "There are no trapdoors in Hawaii," I announce, which is complete and utter bullshit, but hey, we're in Memphis. Who's gonna know? These people are just happy to be in any city that doesn't specifically require that you marry your cousin by law. Two lackeys fold out a piece of canvas on the sand while I tell the audience that it's been raining all morning and that it might cause problems. Yeah, problems with me blowing their little minds! All part of the trick, folks, all part of the trick. I then lambaste the cynics who say that this might not be real. It's an illusion. And illusions are real! So bite me. I whip out a steel ball and threaten to throw it into the audience to select my next victims. The audience laughs. Yeah, cracking people in the head with steel is funny. Or so my Mafia-affiliated friends tell me. I throw the near-weightless ball to the audience, and then let the person who caught it throw the ball to select someone else. I have a guy in a striped shirt write his initials, "TS," on my arm with a Sharpie. I ask Jacob to write a big "J," which he does in reverse, on the big postcard. Then I have everybody stand in front of the postcard, take a Polaroid, and then have somebody write on the bottom of the photo. Long set-up, I know, but it's brilliant, I promise. Just stay with me.