Vlad descended the blood-red staircase of the Hotel Champagne, the definition of snazzy. He was clad in a blood-red top hat and blood-red bow tie. He was dressed in other attire as well, a blood-red denim jacket and blood-olive green polo shirt with an owl above his vampiric breastbone. His brown corduroy pants made a swishing sound with each step, like the waves of the Mediterranean lapping against a dying mermaid. He removed a wrinkled tissue and dabbed at the blood dripping from his fangs. The tissue was stained, not just with blood, but with the dried tears of the memories of his loves and conquests, and boogers. He winked at the chandelier, which did not respond to his advances as it was inanimate. He sidled his way up to the bar, whistling a nameless, repetitive tune. The bartender looked up from his meatball sandwich, locking eyes with the undeadly charmer.
“Yo, barkeep, get me a Ricky Ricardo,” he smiled, his teeth a crescent moon in the night sky of his face. The bartender poured his drink, which consisted of scotch, vodka, gin and whisky. It was named for the bandleader/ TV star, as it contained every kind of liquor found in his autopsy. Vlad sipped the cocktail noisily, savoring the flavors on his tongue, smelling the aroma in his nose, hearing the booze in his ears. Just then, a short blond woman with red hair and bald cap entered the bar, stumbling slightly as she shut the door behind her, the very picture of Romanticism. Her nose was sharp and prominent, like the tool of a gardener or a middle school custodian. Her eyes were reminiscent of Monet’s Water Lilies, wet and unfocused. Her legs reached all the way to the ground, and her arms did not. Vlad knew he must have her.
She locked eyes with him from across the room, and it was as if music was playing, or someone was humming loudly. He stretched his arm out toward her and gestured for her to sit next to him. She paused, removed her shoes and panties, and made a beeline for the bar. “What are you drinking, stranger?” she asked coquettishly, batting her eyelids like a Louisville slugger.
“A Ricky Ricardo,” Vlad replied, pointing his blood-red widow’s peak toward her generous bosom, which had just that afternoon made a sizable donation to the CCF.
“Ooh, I love Mexicans!” she giggled. Her name was Cecile, which was Italian for va –va-va-voom. Vlad ordered her a merlot, reading her mind as if it were a blood-red book. They toasted to their health, and to the bartenders, and guzzled their drinks like cacti in a snowstorm.
“You have the eyes of a woman,” he whispered, smelling her neck. She blushed, then turned a slight shade of blue. He ordered her another drink and stared deeply into her eyes. “I am a very mysterious stranger, but I am a sensitive, sincere mysterious stranger, and I can tell when I have met someone special. You are no doubt, someone of specialty.”
“And what exactly do you think my specialty is?” Cecile asked smokily, sipping her blood-red merlot seductively and swallowing with abandon. Vlad did not answer right away, savoring the suggestiveness of her query like a fine cigar, or a flirtatious fish taco. Their gestures became a symphony of sexual tension. She crossed her legs, and he licked his lips. He cocked an eyebrow and she eyebrowed his cock. She smelt it, he dealt it.
“Wanna get out of here?” Vlad thought he heard Cecile say. It was, in fact, the bartender, looking to close up shop. This was perfect. Vlad turned to Cecile, brushing his hand across her labia, and slyly suggested they venture to his room. Cecile turned slightly, then whipped around and waved jazz hands at him. This was how she was taught to show enthusiasm. It made Vlad laugh derisively, but fortunately neither knew what that word meant.
As they ascended the blood-red staircase to his room, Cecile felt she was making the best decision she had ever made in her entire life. Vlad was classy, he smelled like a leather sofa or the Library of Congress, and he seemed as if his wang would be humongous. At any rate, he’d be much nicer than that Frankenstein fella. Vlad smiled inwardly, with his stomach, because he knew what she was thinking. This was going to be like taking candy from a poorly secured candy warehouse. As he let Cecile into his room, he placed the blood-red Do Not Disturb sign on his outer doorknob. He most definitely did not want to be disturbed, not tonight. Disturbances suck ass. Vampires only suck necks.
Friday, December 26, 2008
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
THE MOST SADDIFUL TIME OF THE YEAR!
Tis the season for uplifting holiday movies that move you to feel the Christmas spirit. Films like It's a Wonderful Life, Miracle on 34th St. and A Christmas Story have rightly been deemed classics of feel-good holiday cheer. But what of the dark, depressing movies of the Winter Solstice season? How come nobody shows marathons of those flicks? Possibly because they aren't popular? Or because they don't exist? Well, don't exist no more, sad X-Mas movies! I have invented you, and now you, fair bloggy reader, get to read about them. Everybody wins! And loves Raymond!
PRANCER IN THE DARK: Prancer is slowly going blind, but needs to save money so that his son can pay for an operation once he begins to go blind. So he's forced to keep his job as third reindeer, despite the dangers he puts himself and Santa in. On Christmas Eve, the blindness kicks in and the sleigh crashes into a mountain, where they are not saved because none of them are Christie Brinkley.
FROSTY, THE SNOWMAN WHO FELL TO EARTH: Frosty has come to Earth to bring snow back to repopulate his planet. He opens FunValley Ski Resort in Montezuma and manufactures his own snow, but the fake snow renders the snowmen fakey as well, and the unseasonable Iowa weather melts him mid-December.
THE MISFIT TOYS: When the Misfit Doll files for divorce, she meets King Moonracer and Charlie-in-the-Box, who vie for her affection, and get sloppy drunk. All is well until they go on a hunt for wild Bumbles, and Misfit Doll learns that they are selling them to be used for reindeer food. She protests, but they do it anyway, and its' all very sad and Arthur Millery.
SANTA WITHOUT A CLAUS: The tormented upbringing of Santa Claus as an angst-ridden teen who races sleighs and gets in gang fights, falling for the future Mrs. Claus and befriending an elf named Plato. A toy monkey inspires him to give toys to all the children of the world, which is why for a time all Christmas presents were creepy monkey toys.
TOYS DON'T CRY: Hermey doesn't want to be a toymaker, he wants to be a dentist. When he finds a small town in Nebraska where he can pass for a dentist, he falls for one of the townspeople. But when his secret is revealed, the bigoted and psychotic townsfolk force Hermey to make them toy cigarettes and 40s of Old Style. This is the saddest Christmas movie of all.
PRANCER IN THE DARK: Prancer is slowly going blind, but needs to save money so that his son can pay for an operation once he begins to go blind. So he's forced to keep his job as third reindeer, despite the dangers he puts himself and Santa in. On Christmas Eve, the blindness kicks in and the sleigh crashes into a mountain, where they are not saved because none of them are Christie Brinkley.
FROSTY, THE SNOWMAN WHO FELL TO EARTH: Frosty has come to Earth to bring snow back to repopulate his planet. He opens FunValley Ski Resort in Montezuma and manufactures his own snow, but the fake snow renders the snowmen fakey as well, and the unseasonable Iowa weather melts him mid-December.
THE MISFIT TOYS: When the Misfit Doll files for divorce, she meets King Moonracer and Charlie-in-the-Box, who vie for her affection, and get sloppy drunk. All is well until they go on a hunt for wild Bumbles, and Misfit Doll learns that they are selling them to be used for reindeer food. She protests, but they do it anyway, and its' all very sad and Arthur Millery.
SANTA WITHOUT A CLAUS: The tormented upbringing of Santa Claus as an angst-ridden teen who races sleighs and gets in gang fights, falling for the future Mrs. Claus and befriending an elf named Plato. A toy monkey inspires him to give toys to all the children of the world, which is why for a time all Christmas presents were creepy monkey toys.
TOYS DON'T CRY: Hermey doesn't want to be a toymaker, he wants to be a dentist. When he finds a small town in Nebraska where he can pass for a dentist, he falls for one of the townspeople. But when his secret is revealed, the bigoted and psychotic townsfolk force Hermey to make them toy cigarettes and 40s of Old Style. This is the saddest Christmas movie of all.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
JESUS ALL OVER THE PLACE: MY CHRISTIAN ROCK ANTHEM!
1. When I look out my window/ I see my savior’s face.
If I go here or go there/ I see Him all over the place.
And in the night I can hear Him/ His voice is loud, His voice is deep.
He asks me to join His army/And I lose the need to sleep!
CHORUS: And then I Jesus all over the place! / I spread His love across your face. / And with His word and with His hand / I’ll spread stigmata across the land. And I will Jesus all over the place!
2. With the wings of an angel/ and the soul of a sword.
I will enter your heart/ and deposit the Lord.
And if Satan intervenes/ and I’m sure he will try
I will mold His love to an edge/ and will stab him to die…th.
CHORUS: And I will Jesus all over the place! /I’ll spray his love as if ‘twere mace. / And as the world descends to sin / I’ll laugh at them and at their sin.
MEGA GUITAR SOLO
3. And if I meet a lady/ on my Holy Crusade
I will anoint her in His love/ with my Anointing Blade.
Then we will live in love forever/ and be true to each other
And we will spread the word of the savior/ like creamy peanut butter!!
CHORUS: And we will Jesus all over the place! / We’ll make converts of the human race. / And if any soul stands in our way / We’ll show them there’ll be Heaven to pay. / And we will Jesus all over the place! / In Paris, Philly, Peru and Park Place. / We’ll even Jesus up in Outer Space! / Yes, we’ll be Jesusing all over the place. / Jesus all over the place!
If I go here or go there/ I see Him all over the place.
And in the night I can hear Him/ His voice is loud, His voice is deep.
He asks me to join His army/And I lose the need to sleep!
CHORUS: And then I Jesus all over the place! / I spread His love across your face. / And with His word and with His hand / I’ll spread stigmata across the land. And I will Jesus all over the place!
2. With the wings of an angel/ and the soul of a sword.
I will enter your heart/ and deposit the Lord.
And if Satan intervenes/ and I’m sure he will try
I will mold His love to an edge/ and will stab him to die…th.
CHORUS: And I will Jesus all over the place! /I’ll spray his love as if ‘twere mace. / And as the world descends to sin / I’ll laugh at them and at their sin.
MEGA GUITAR SOLO
3. And if I meet a lady/ on my Holy Crusade
I will anoint her in His love/ with my Anointing Blade.
Then we will live in love forever/ and be true to each other
And we will spread the word of the savior/ like creamy peanut butter!!
CHORUS: And we will Jesus all over the place! / We’ll make converts of the human race. / And if any soul stands in our way / We’ll show them there’ll be Heaven to pay. / And we will Jesus all over the place! / In Paris, Philly, Peru and Park Place. / We’ll even Jesus up in Outer Space! / Yes, we’ll be Jesusing all over the place. / Jesus all over the place!
Monday, December 22, 2008
SCRIPT DOCTOR: GLENGARRY GLEN ROSS
Now I know what you’re thinking to yourself, and no, I didn’t attempt to touch up the Pulitzer Prize winning playwright’s Pulitzer Prize winning play. I was asked to assist in the writing of the Blake monologue, which was added for the film adaptation. Needless to say, my genius went unnoticed yet again. But you can totally notice it. You better notice it! Or you can hit the bricks, pal!
-“Put that coffee down. Put it down. Coffee is for closers only. If you get a sit, you can have some decaf. Water is for salesmen working overtime. Any part-time employees must hold their breath until their shift is done; this oxygen is not for you! Any questions? This is all delineated in the handout, too.”
-“What’s my name? My cuff links cost more than your kidneys, that’s my name. You drove here in a Mercury Topaze; I took a solid gold helicopter to get here tonight, which I took underwater. That’s my name! Scooby Merced, that’s my porn star name!”
-“We’re adding a little something to this month’s sales contest. As you all know, first prize is a Cadillac El Dorado. Anybody wanna see second prize? Second prize is a set of steak knives. Third prize is you’re fired. Fourth prize is a TV/VCR combo. Fifth prize is we set your house on fire. Sixth prize is a year’s subscription to Rolling Stone. There is no seventh prize. Eighth prize is we poison your dog. This is also delineated in the handout.”
-“You know what it takes to sell real estate? (Blake produces a pair of brass balls.) It takes brass balls to sell real estate. (He then produces googly eye glasses.) It also takes googly eyes. And a carrot nose. Sorry, I ate the carrot on the way here.”
-“ABC, Always Be Closing, Always Be Closing. Also, AIDA, Attention, Interest, Decision, Action. Remember that. Live by it. Also, LMNOP. Just keep repeating it to yourself, LMNOP, LMNOP. If you can figure out something for that to stand for, you win a set of steak knives.”
-“Put that coffee down. Put it down. Coffee is for closers only. If you get a sit, you can have some decaf. Water is for salesmen working overtime. Any part-time employees must hold their breath until their shift is done; this oxygen is not for you! Any questions? This is all delineated in the handout, too.”
-“What’s my name? My cuff links cost more than your kidneys, that’s my name. You drove here in a Mercury Topaze; I took a solid gold helicopter to get here tonight, which I took underwater. That’s my name! Scooby Merced, that’s my porn star name!”
-“We’re adding a little something to this month’s sales contest. As you all know, first prize is a Cadillac El Dorado. Anybody wanna see second prize? Second prize is a set of steak knives. Third prize is you’re fired. Fourth prize is a TV/VCR combo. Fifth prize is we set your house on fire. Sixth prize is a year’s subscription to Rolling Stone. There is no seventh prize. Eighth prize is we poison your dog. This is also delineated in the handout.”
-“You know what it takes to sell real estate? (Blake produces a pair of brass balls.) It takes brass balls to sell real estate. (He then produces googly eye glasses.) It also takes googly eyes. And a carrot nose. Sorry, I ate the carrot on the way here.”
-“ABC, Always Be Closing, Always Be Closing. Also, AIDA, Attention, Interest, Decision, Action. Remember that. Live by it. Also, LMNOP. Just keep repeating it to yourself, LMNOP, LMNOP. If you can figure out something for that to stand for, you win a set of steak knives.”
Friday, December 19, 2008
G.I. JOE-ROSCOPE
ARIES: You are cautiously optimistic, drop the caution. You will be rescued shortly by Falcon and Lady Jaye, who will then successfully dismantle the Pyramid of Darkness.
TAURUS: Take advantage of some well-deserved time off. The Bed and Breakfast you’ll stay at is a Cobra front, and they will be easily dominated.
GEMINI: Everything isn’t always as it seems, Gemini. That new recruit, for example, is Destro in disguise. The metal head should have been a giveaway.
CANCER: Don’t rush around too much today; take a trip off the beaten path. Two kids are about to get peer-pressured into taking drugs, and you’d better pop over to help! Don’t stop to take off your uniform, either.
LEO: I’m not going to beat around the bush. That rocking horse you received for charity, filled with shrunken Cobra operatives. They’re most likely rewiring the base as we speak. But they’re still shrunken, so a couple of boot-stomps should take care of them.
VIRGO: Yes, Virgo, the kids all worship Snake Eyes and care very little for you. But what do you want? He’s a bad-ass ninja.
LIBRA: Stop flinching when Cobra shoots at you. They always miss, and this is a fact. Accept it.
SCORPIO: Okay, this is a little freaky. Cobra is creating a new bad guy out of the DNA of history’s baddest baddies. What I would do is send Livewire, Wild Bill and Chuckles out for reconnaissance (we both know they’re expendable) and take Cobra Commander and Dr. Mindbender by surprise when their guard is down. Sneak up behind Zartan and the Dreadnoks and steal their W.A.S.P. Fighters, then attack their base from the rear. Lucky numbers: 8 17 54 3 29.
SAGITTARIUS: Those phone calls from Sergeant Slaughter and William “The Fridge” Perry? I’d return them.
CAPRICORN: The moon landing DID happen. Stop being paranoid, Shipwreck.
AQUARIUS: Be careful of those new robot operatives, they have chips inside that are set to turn against you in the heat of battle. Best to melt them down for tank parts.
PISCES: You’ll receive mysterious messages from someone claiming to be, “The Viper.” He is not, repeat- not, a Cobra soldier, he is an Eastern European stereotype who is actually a Wiper, coming to wash the windows. Now you know. And knowing is half the battle.
TAURUS: Take advantage of some well-deserved time off. The Bed and Breakfast you’ll stay at is a Cobra front, and they will be easily dominated.
GEMINI: Everything isn’t always as it seems, Gemini. That new recruit, for example, is Destro in disguise. The metal head should have been a giveaway.
CANCER: Don’t rush around too much today; take a trip off the beaten path. Two kids are about to get peer-pressured into taking drugs, and you’d better pop over to help! Don’t stop to take off your uniform, either.
LEO: I’m not going to beat around the bush. That rocking horse you received for charity, filled with shrunken Cobra operatives. They’re most likely rewiring the base as we speak. But they’re still shrunken, so a couple of boot-stomps should take care of them.
VIRGO: Yes, Virgo, the kids all worship Snake Eyes and care very little for you. But what do you want? He’s a bad-ass ninja.
LIBRA: Stop flinching when Cobra shoots at you. They always miss, and this is a fact. Accept it.
SCORPIO: Okay, this is a little freaky. Cobra is creating a new bad guy out of the DNA of history’s baddest baddies. What I would do is send Livewire, Wild Bill and Chuckles out for reconnaissance (we both know they’re expendable) and take Cobra Commander and Dr. Mindbender by surprise when their guard is down. Sneak up behind Zartan and the Dreadnoks and steal their W.A.S.P. Fighters, then attack their base from the rear. Lucky numbers: 8 17 54 3 29.
SAGITTARIUS: Those phone calls from Sergeant Slaughter and William “The Fridge” Perry? I’d return them.
CAPRICORN: The moon landing DID happen. Stop being paranoid, Shipwreck.
AQUARIUS: Be careful of those new robot operatives, they have chips inside that are set to turn against you in the heat of battle. Best to melt them down for tank parts.
PISCES: You’ll receive mysterious messages from someone claiming to be, “The Viper.” He is not, repeat- not, a Cobra soldier, he is an Eastern European stereotype who is actually a Wiper, coming to wash the windows. Now you know. And knowing is half the battle.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
101 HORSE JOKES, NUMBERS 56-65
WHY DID THE HOMELESS HORSE HAVE A SEVERE MENTAL DISORDER?
Because it had become unstable.
WHAT DID THE PONY SAY TO THE STALLION?
I look up to you… Don’t ever disappoint me.
WHY COULDN’T THE HORSE RUN COUNTER-CLOCKWISE AROUND THE RACE TRACK?
Because horses can’t tell time.
HOW MANY HORSES DOES IT TAKE TO SCREW IN A LIGHT BULB?
One horse and one cowboy. The cowboy sits on the horse to reach the light bulb and screw it in. The horse, having no phalanges, is incapable of doing this, and the cowboy would most likely be unable to reach most light bulbs without the aid of a horse.
WHY WASN’T THE HORSE ALLOWED IN THE COUNTRY CLUB?
Because it was a race horse.
A horse walks into a bar. The bartender asks, “Why the long face?” The horse replies, “Why the male-pattern baldness and severe eczema?” To which the bartender says, “It’s genetic, my maternal grandfather was bald and both my parents suffered with skin disease.” The horse says, “Mine is genetic as well, but my face is average, nay attractive for my species.” The horse wins.
WHAT DO YOU GET WHEN YOU CROSS A MARE WITH A VICTIM OF THE GALLOWS?
A prisoner who’s hung like a horse.
WHERE DID THE HORSE RECEIVE HIS BACHELOR’S DEGREE?
The University of Horses
KNOCK, KNOCK.
Who’s there?
MR. ED.
Mr. Ed who?
MR. ED GEIN, YOU BETTER RUN!
This isn’t really a horse joke.
IT SORT OF IS, THOUGH. MR. ED WAS A HORSE.
I still think it’s a bit of a stretch.
MAYBE SO, BUT DID YOU SEE THE LAST JOKE? UNIVERSITY OF HORSES? WTF?
Yeah, but at least that had horses in the punch line.
WELL, WHAT DO I KNOW ABOUT HORSES, I’M JUST AN INFAMOUS SERIAL KILLER.
Oh, right. I better run.
TOO LATE, CHUM. YOU’RE ALREADY DEAD. NOW WHO HAS THE LAST LAUGH? HA HA HA HA HA! I’M ED GEIN, AND I APPROVE THIS KNOCK KNOCK JOKE.
Because it had become unstable.
WHAT DID THE PONY SAY TO THE STALLION?
I look up to you… Don’t ever disappoint me.
WHY COULDN’T THE HORSE RUN COUNTER-CLOCKWISE AROUND THE RACE TRACK?
Because horses can’t tell time.
HOW MANY HORSES DOES IT TAKE TO SCREW IN A LIGHT BULB?
One horse and one cowboy. The cowboy sits on the horse to reach the light bulb and screw it in. The horse, having no phalanges, is incapable of doing this, and the cowboy would most likely be unable to reach most light bulbs without the aid of a horse.
WHY WASN’T THE HORSE ALLOWED IN THE COUNTRY CLUB?
Because it was a race horse.
A horse walks into a bar. The bartender asks, “Why the long face?” The horse replies, “Why the male-pattern baldness and severe eczema?” To which the bartender says, “It’s genetic, my maternal grandfather was bald and both my parents suffered with skin disease.” The horse says, “Mine is genetic as well, but my face is average, nay attractive for my species.” The horse wins.
WHAT DO YOU GET WHEN YOU CROSS A MARE WITH A VICTIM OF THE GALLOWS?
A prisoner who’s hung like a horse.
WHERE DID THE HORSE RECEIVE HIS BACHELOR’S DEGREE?
The University of Horses
KNOCK, KNOCK.
Who’s there?
MR. ED.
Mr. Ed who?
MR. ED GEIN, YOU BETTER RUN!
This isn’t really a horse joke.
IT SORT OF IS, THOUGH. MR. ED WAS A HORSE.
I still think it’s a bit of a stretch.
MAYBE SO, BUT DID YOU SEE THE LAST JOKE? UNIVERSITY OF HORSES? WTF?
Yeah, but at least that had horses in the punch line.
WELL, WHAT DO I KNOW ABOUT HORSES, I’M JUST AN INFAMOUS SERIAL KILLER.
Oh, right. I better run.
TOO LATE, CHUM. YOU’RE ALREADY DEAD. NOW WHO HAS THE LAST LAUGH? HA HA HA HA HA! I’M ED GEIN, AND I APPROVE THIS KNOCK KNOCK JOKE.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
SHE’S OUT OF CONTROL: A NEW HIT SONG!
Lyrics by M.J. Hansen, inspired by the movie, "She's Out of Control." Reasons unknown.
I've got a story won't take a few stanzas,
About the daughter of Tony Danza.
She had control, now it's all gone,
So let's defenestrate Wallace Shawn.
CHORUS: Let's defenestrate Wallace Shawn x2
Before the movie goes on too long,
Let's defenestrate Wallace Shawn
She used to look so nerdy and geekylike,
Now Tony gawks at her all dirty and freakylike.
The way she looks he thinks is just plain wrong,
So let's defenestrate Wallace Shawn.
CHORUS
You were a boxer, so you've got some brawn,
Let's defenestrate Wallace Shawn.
BRIDGE: If you've no daughter you wouldn't understand,
When she's at the beach things get out of hand.
No glasses or braces to define her role,
And of course all the boys think she's out of control.
Now Tony's angry and it just won't pass.
He's going out, he's gonna kick some ass.
Although the radio broadcast is still on,
Let's defenestrate Wallace Shawn.
CHORUS
All through the night until the break of dawn,
Let's defenestrate Wallace Shawn.
CHORUS
It's so much fun they even wrote a song,
Let's defenestrate Wallace Shawn x4
(She's out of control) x4
I've got a story won't take a few stanzas,
About the daughter of Tony Danza.
She had control, now it's all gone,
So let's defenestrate Wallace Shawn.
CHORUS: Let's defenestrate Wallace Shawn x2
Before the movie goes on too long,
Let's defenestrate Wallace Shawn
She used to look so nerdy and geekylike,
Now Tony gawks at her all dirty and freakylike.
The way she looks he thinks is just plain wrong,
So let's defenestrate Wallace Shawn.
CHORUS
You were a boxer, so you've got some brawn,
Let's defenestrate Wallace Shawn.
BRIDGE: If you've no daughter you wouldn't understand,
When she's at the beach things get out of hand.
No glasses or braces to define her role,
And of course all the boys think she's out of control.
Now Tony's angry and it just won't pass.
He's going out, he's gonna kick some ass.
Although the radio broadcast is still on,
Let's defenestrate Wallace Shawn.
CHORUS
All through the night until the break of dawn,
Let's defenestrate Wallace Shawn.
CHORUS
It's so much fun they even wrote a song,
Let's defenestrate Wallace Shawn x4
(She's out of control) x4
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
IF PRINCE WERE MY LANDLORD
2 my 10ants:
this notice is 2 inform u that 2morrow i will b spraying 4 bugs. i will not b using a spray that could hurt u.
if u will b in b2een 12 n 3, u should tell me n u n i can get 2gether to cum up with another time i can cum spray.
10ants who r 4 days late with $$$ will b charged more $$$.
if u r 3 weeks late with $$$ u will no what it sounds like when doves cry.
nothing compares 2 u not doing laundry after 10. i would die 4 u if u would.
let's go crazy but let's not smoke in our apts.
please do not mention batdance.
thanx
prince
this notice is 2 inform u that 2morrow i will b spraying 4 bugs. i will not b using a spray that could hurt u.
if u will b in b2een 12 n 3, u should tell me n u n i can get 2gether to cum up with another time i can cum spray.
10ants who r 4 days late with $$$ will b charged more $$$.
if u r 3 weeks late with $$$ u will no what it sounds like when doves cry.
nothing compares 2 u not doing laundry after 10. i would die 4 u if u would.
let's go crazy but let's not smoke in our apts.
please do not mention batdance.
thanx
prince
Monday, December 15, 2008
COMICS WITHOUT COMICS
With the crazy runaway internet success of post-modern deconstruction of the comic’s page (see Garfield Without Garfield, Marmaduke With 50% Marmaduke, and For Better Or Worse Without Logic), I have invented my own take on the funny pages: Comics Without Comics. It’s sure to revolutionize printed cartoons, like New Wave Cinema and the Rachel Haircut. And you were there first! Right after me! Take a gander at the future of the future.
BEETLE BAILEY
Sarge: Beetle! Wake up, you goldbrick!
Beetle: ZZZZZ.
Sarge: Beetle Bailey, if you don’t wake up this instant-
Beetle: But I am awake, Sarge. I just said ZZZZZ.
Sarge: God, I hate you. I dream of murdering you in your sleep.
Beetle: I know. That’s why I never sleep, I just say ZZZZZ.
Sarge: Beeeeeeeetle!
B.C.
Curls: What’s the good word today, BC?
BC: Just the all-powerful word of our Lord and Savior, Curls.
Curls: You got that right. We are such Christian cavemen.
BC: Amen! The Holiest Punch Line of All.
JUDGE PARKER
Narration: “As the Judge prepares his case…”
Katherine: Alan, I have to confess something.
Judge: Confess? It sounds serious.
Katherine: I’m afraid it is…
FAMILY CIRCUS
Billy: Mom, Jeffy made a winsome malapropism before I could!
BLONDIE
Blondie: Dagwood, that sandwich is huge!
Dagwood: Yes, I used everything in the kitchen to make it.
Blondie: I guess you could call it a suicide sandwich.
Dagwood: That seems like an inappropriately morbid name.
Blondie: Oh, no. I call it that because it’s the term used when you mix all the flavors of fountain drinks together, a suicide soda.
Dagwood: Oh!
Blondie: Also, I hope you choke on it.
Dagwood: Well, I could see that al- HUH??
REX MORGAN, MD
Narration: As Rex prepares a patient for the ER…
June: Rex, I have to confess something.
Rex: Confess? It sounds serious.
June: I’m afraid it is…
DENNIS THE MENACE
Dennis: Mr. Wilson, I cleaned your lawn for you!
Wilson: “Cleaned” my lawn? Wait, where did it go?
Dennis: I took it to the cleaners.
Wilson: What? You took my lawn to the cleaners?
Dennis: No, Mr. Wilson, I brought you some food. Have you taken your medicine?
Wilson: Where’s my lawn, Dennis? What did you do with my lawn?
Dennis: Mr. Wilson, you don’t have a lawn, you’re at Shady Oaks Rest Home now. Why don’t you lie down?
Wilson: Deeeeeeeeennis!!!
BEETLE BAILEY
Sarge: Beetle! Wake up, you goldbrick!
Beetle: ZZZZZ.
Sarge: Beetle Bailey, if you don’t wake up this instant-
Beetle: But I am awake, Sarge. I just said ZZZZZ.
Sarge: God, I hate you. I dream of murdering you in your sleep.
Beetle: I know. That’s why I never sleep, I just say ZZZZZ.
Sarge: Beeeeeeeetle!
B.C.
Curls: What’s the good word today, BC?
BC: Just the all-powerful word of our Lord and Savior, Curls.
Curls: You got that right. We are such Christian cavemen.
BC: Amen! The Holiest Punch Line of All.
JUDGE PARKER
Narration: “As the Judge prepares his case…”
Katherine: Alan, I have to confess something.
Judge: Confess? It sounds serious.
Katherine: I’m afraid it is…
FAMILY CIRCUS
Billy: Mom, Jeffy made a winsome malapropism before I could!
BLONDIE
Blondie: Dagwood, that sandwich is huge!
Dagwood: Yes, I used everything in the kitchen to make it.
Blondie: I guess you could call it a suicide sandwich.
Dagwood: That seems like an inappropriately morbid name.
Blondie: Oh, no. I call it that because it’s the term used when you mix all the flavors of fountain drinks together, a suicide soda.
Dagwood: Oh!
Blondie: Also, I hope you choke on it.
Dagwood: Well, I could see that al- HUH??
REX MORGAN, MD
Narration: As Rex prepares a patient for the ER…
June: Rex, I have to confess something.
Rex: Confess? It sounds serious.
June: I’m afraid it is…
DENNIS THE MENACE
Dennis: Mr. Wilson, I cleaned your lawn for you!
Wilson: “Cleaned” my lawn? Wait, where did it go?
Dennis: I took it to the cleaners.
Wilson: What? You took my lawn to the cleaners?
Dennis: No, Mr. Wilson, I brought you some food. Have you taken your medicine?
Wilson: Where’s my lawn, Dennis? What did you do with my lawn?
Dennis: Mr. Wilson, you don’t have a lawn, you’re at Shady Oaks Rest Home now. Why don’t you lie down?
Wilson: Deeeeeeeeennis!!!
Friday, December 12, 2008
OTT: A COMEDY OF ANGER PART II: THE AGONY OF THE BEAT!
ANNOUNCER: Here we go into Round Two! Let's see what shapes up.
Ken and Kim lock hands again.
KEN: Give up, Kim. You've made me angry, and you know what I'm like when I'm angry. I'm like a runaway train, fueled with rage. Or a charging bull, with goring on the brain. Or a ticking time bomb, except instead of minutes, there's... meanness!
KIM: I'm not afraid of you. I've beaten children scarier than you. And kittens! It's you who should be afraid of me. I'm so mean, I beat children! And kittens!
KEN: And what do you do for an encore, set fire to a pack of nuns?
KIM: You know what the Old Man said about setting fire to nuns.
OLD MAN: Never set fire to nuns.
KIM: Your tactic isn't working, you know. It didn't work then and it won't work now.
KEN: Yeah, like I need tactics to defeat you. You think I know what you're talking about? Well, I don't. Take that!
KIM: You don't remember how when we were kids, we used to fight over the Old Man. You used to say he loved you more, even though you knew it was a lie!
KEN: It was not a lie! Besides, you know what the Old Man used to say about remembering things.
OLD MAN: Nostalgia's for sissies! (Fondly.) My ma used to say that.
Bell rings.
ANNOUNCER: It looks like we're still deadlocked at the close of Round Two, in a match where not much appears to be happening, but it's not boring, not in the slightest! In fact, it's much more exciting than a fight full of action, close calls and shocks because the stillness is just so intense. Still, if the opponents want to ever end this champeenship, preferably tonight, they may want to actually put some muscle into it and really truly, you know, fight. But hey, that's just my opinion, and if you think the people want to just watch you holding hands and yelling at each other a lot, who am I to judge?
Bell rings.
ANNOUNCER: Oh boy! Round Three, the so-called "final round" is about to begin, maybe we'll finally see some what-do-you-call-it, action. I don't know, maybe Kim will move her arm an inch, wouldn't that be a novelty! Maybe next week we can skip the big events and just show paint drying- beige paint! I... (Clears throat.) Yes, sorry, very sorry. Round Three, folks, and what surprises will be in store this round- this final round! Who will win? Who will lose? We shall soon see.
Ken and Kim lock arms once more.
KEN: You're wrong, you know. I was always the Old Man's favorite. You know how I know? He told me himself, take that! He took me fishing when you weren't looking and while we were out on the lake, he confessed I'd always been better than you. I remember exactly what he said to me.
OLD MAN: Son, yer old enough to know yer my favorite son. There ain't no other son in the world I can think of better than you, none I met yet anyway. You'd be the son I never had, had I never had you. Far as male offspring I created, yer the tops. A-number one, Ken, and don't you forget. And one more thing: never ever tell no one about this. This never happened, we never conversated on this. Get me?
KEN: Oops.
KIM: (Laughing.) Oh, it is to laugh. The Old Man really gave you a Grade-A leg-pulling. You think you were the favored child? You best think again. Once, when you were tying your shoes, the Old Man and I snuck up to Duluth for some ice cream, and it was there he revealed who truly meant the most to him. I remember it as if it were about to be repeated verbatim.
OLD MAN: Kim, I'd be lyin' if I said I had a daughter I had more love and respect for. I'd challenge you to find a girl I fathered I'd choose over you, but I ain't into time wastin'. It's why I don't do crosswords or watch the news or yield to oncoming traffic. There's no point to it! There is a point to this, and that's to say yer my favorite daughter in the history of this country. But you have to keep this under yer hat, hear?
KIM: See? Who's the favorite now?
KEN: It's not true! Take it back!
KIM: You take it back!
They really begin struggling now. Ken seems to be winning at first, but then Kim comes out of nowhere to a strong lead. All the while, the Old Man is jumping up and down with excitement.
OLD MAN: That's it! You got 'em! Make yer Old Man proud!
KEN: You bet I will!
KIM: He's talking to me, loser!
KEN: No, he's not! Take that!
OLD MAN: Remember which of you is my favorite.
KEN & KIM: (Unison.) Me!
OLD MAN: That's right.
The struggling stops. Ken and Kim look at the Old Man.
KIM: Wait. Which one are you talking to?
OLD MAN: You heard me. My favorite.
KEN: Which one is that?
OLD MAN: You know... the one I told.
KIM: But you told us both.
KEN: Yeah. Hey, yeah! What is this?
OLD MAN: All right, you got me. But look where it got you. Yer gonna be champeens! You see, in the end, you were both my favorite, but I couldn't let you know, or you wouldn't be the winners you are today. Yer Old Man was teaching you a lifelong lesson, and as a bonus it lasted into the afterlife. In a way, yer both winners.
Ken knocks down Kim's arm.
KEN: But in another way, I win! Take that! Ha ha! I am the champeen!
KIM: No fair! The Old Man distracted me.
Bell rings.
ANNOUNCER: Sweet Joey Christmas, folks, it looks like we finally have a winner! Coming out of nowhere with a lightning move, it's Ken Ott! He's the champeen- the arm-wrestling champeen! Congratulations, Ken!
KIM: Foul, rematch!
OLD MAN: Ken, weren't you listening to my change of heart speech? There's not supposed to be a clear winner today.
KEN: Suck it, Old Man, I'm the champeen. And loser-face over here is still a loser-face.
KIM: I'm gonna rip your teeth out and glue them to a schnauzer! I'm gonna fracture your leg bones with a collection of decorative plates! I'm gonna steal your identity and give it to a slow kid with braces!
OLD MAN: That's the way, Kim! Get angry, and don't forget about what to do with yer anger.
KIM: I'll show you what I'm gonna do with my anger! You ruined me, Old Man! Ruined me!
She begins chasing him offstage.
OLD MAN: Now wait; you wouldn't harm a spirit, would you?
KIM: I've beaten children! And kittens!
Ken follows them off.
KEN: Loser-face, loser-face, bow down to the champeen!
Stage is empty. Pause.
ANNOUNCER: Oh, I see how it is. The fight is over and so everyone thinks it's time to leave. What about me? What am I supposed to announce now? The chairs are... askew? The table stays still. This is crap- bull-crap! You know what? I'm just gonna leave. I am. I'm leaving. (Pause.) Screw this.
Sound of Announcer walking away. Lights.
End!!!!
Thursday, December 11, 2008
OTT: A COMEDY OF ANGER, PART I: THE THRILL OF MYSTERY!
A table center stage, two chairs on either side. At rise exciting music heralds an exciting event. An offstage announcer begins his announcing.
ANNOUNCER: Ladies and gentlemen, prepare yourselves and your loved ones for the fight of their lives! For tonight, we bring you the 25th Annual Bi-Weekly Semi-Pro Arm Wrestling Champeenship Fight Games! And this year is a spectacularly special one, with sibling rivalry as the theme. For the opponents are not only siblings, they're also rivals as well! In this corner, the number one favorite son loaded gun of an East-Coast champeen, Ken Ott!
Ken enters with much pizzazz.
KEN: That's right! I am the champeen! And I will take down any who challenge my champeenship! Any! Especially my loser-face sister.
ANNOUNCER: Speaking of the loserface, here she is now! Hailing from the same womb which brought you Ken, the bitter, spitting, twisted sister of rage, Kim Ott!
Kim enters with just as much pizzazz.
KIM: I'd like to set the record straight. I placed second in the Sister Face-Off 2005, that does not make me a loser-face.
KEN: Loser-cough! Loser-cough!
KIM: If you want to see a real loser's face, an entire loser body, complete with loser-arms and legs and a loser-digestive system, check this loser out!
KEN: In your dreams, bozo! Take that!
KIM: You're the bozo, and I mean Bozo the clown. You couldn't beat me in arm-wrestling with both hands tied behind your back.
KEN: That was an unfair advantage and you know it.
KIM: Ha! Remember what the Old Man said about unfairness.
Behind them appears the Old Man.
OLD MAN: Nothin' in life is unfair, and if anyone tells ya different, kick 'em in the neck!
ANNOUNCER: Folks, either this excitement is contagious or my pink-eye is! You can feel the anger between these two radiating throughout the Old Man Memorial Stadium Arena Dome all the way into the parking ramp. The tension is so thick; you could cut it with a knife- a Ginsu knife!
KEN: Who'd you have to bake cookies for to get into this champeenship, anyway?
KIM: Your mom!
KEN: Loser-face, she's your mom, too. Take that!
KIM: Ooh, I swear to my sweet lord, I'm gonna smush you like a miniature pinscher. I'm so angry, I don't know which way is up and which way's Mecca!
KEN: Remember what the Old Man said about anger.
OLD MAN: Use it, but don't lose it.
KIM: And I plan to use it... on you!
KEN: Not if I use it first! Take that!
ANNOUNCER: Folks, the action is heating up faster than a Sasquatch in the desert- the Gobi desert! But before we get to the main event, let's hear what our contenders have to say for themselves- and to each other!
Ken rises, addresses the audience.
KEN: Ken Ott, vital stats: 28 years old, Libra, one-eight-seven l-b-s, six-foot something or other, ATM PIN code none of your beeswax. Am I single? Yes. Am I wanted? You bet I am. Am I a hero? If you define hero the way I do, which is aggressive, triumphant, tall, angry, heroic, Libra, 28 year old, then absolutely yes. More importantly, I'm an Ott, which the Old Man defines this way.
OLD MAN: O: Own yer opponent, liked a swiped library book. T: Take down yer enemies with the eye of the cougar, ears of the falcon, lips of the cobra, and forearms of the cougar. T: Tip exactly 12%, no more, no less.
Ken sits, Kim rises and addresses the audience.
KIM: I should dispel the rumors that surround the name Kim Ott. Yes, I once beat a man to the point he could only remember up to the age of five, but the man in question wasn't the president. Yes, I fed a school of piranhas to my ex-husband, but it was more of a brunch than a lunch. And yes, I've competed victoriously in seven continents, but not the seven you're thinking of. As the Old Man used to say, there's three things that make you an Ott.
OLD MAN: O: Obliterate the opposition until even their dentist don't recognize 'em. T: Transform yer anger into a ball, a wrecking ball or a bowling ball, or one of them ball-shaped bombs with the fuses on top. T: Tie-dyed t-shirts are for hippie wusses and yuppie pusses.
ANNOUNCER: Okay, we're all sitting on the edges of our seats here at the Stadium Arena Dome. The proprietors apologize and say they expect the rest of the seats to be completed mid-winter. In any event, we are gearing up for one heck of a fight tonight. One hell of a heck of a fight! Our two champeens are chomping at the bit to get started, and that is exactly what we will do- right after this station break!
OLD MAN: Ken, Ken, get yer keister over here!
KEN: What are you doing here? I thought you were dead.
OLD MAN: I am dead, Ken, but you can't keep an Old Man like me down. Remember what I said: If yer gonna die, die fighting, then come back and kick some corporeal ass!
KEN: You bet I will.
OLD MAN: That's right, I didn't raise no fool. Now I want ya to look at yer sister. Forget she's yer kin, Ken, she's yer blood enemy today. I want ya to get angry. Real angry! See red, deep, dark red. And then I want ya to take that anger and do what?
KEN: Use it.
OLD MAN: What's that? I can't hear ya, boy!
KEN: Use it!
OLD MAN: And what aren't ya not gonna do?
KEN: Lose it!
OLD MAN: That's right. Make yer Old Man's ghost proud.
KEN: You bet I will.
Bell rings, Ken goes back to his corner.
OLD MAN: Kim! Come lend yer ear to yer Old Man.
KIM: I knew you'd come see me win.
OLD MAN: Yeah, well, ya'd better beat that sorry excuse for a sibling yer fighting.
KIM: You know me.
OLD MAN: I do, Kim. I know yer of the "fairer sex" but ya fight tough and rumble, rough and tumble. Now I want ya to look at yer brother. Forget he's yer kin, Kim, he's yer blood enemy today. I don't have to tell ya to get angry, or what ya do with that anger.
KIM: Use it.
OLD MAN: And I don't even have to ask what ya ain't gonna do with it.
KIM: Lose it.
OLD MAN: Yer the spittin' image of yer Old Man, if he had girlie parts. Don't let him down. KIM: You know me.
Bell rings, Kim goes back to her corner.
ANNOUNCER: And we're back, folks. The station has fully broken and we're ready now for the match- the big match! A match made in heredity as brother is pitted against sister and only one can walk away a champeen! Are we ready, opponents?
KEN: You bet I am!
KIM: You know me!
ANNOUNCER: All right, then. On your marks-
Ken and Kim place their arms on the table.
ANNOUNCER: Get set-
Ken and Kim grab each other's hands.
ANNOUNCER: Go!
Bell rings. The fight begins. Much struggling.
KEN: You're going down, Kim. All the way, down. Down to the deepest depths of loserdom.
KIM: Oh, I'm going down, all right. But I'm taking you down first. And I'll be right behind you.
KEN: Always behind, sis. Always last.
KIM: No way, Ken. I'm the winner here and you know it.
KEN: Don't get a swelled head over there. Remember what the Old Man said about swelled heads.
OLD MAN: A swelled head makes you look foreign.
KIM: I have to admit, that was a quote I never really got.
KEN: I'm sure the Old Man's wisdom is lost on a girl, which explains both your girliness and your not getting his advice. Take that!
KIM: I got it when there was something to get. You're the one who misinterpreted his words all the time.
KEN: Please, you'd spend all day with your girlie friends, braiding each other's hair and dreaming about which pony you'd marry.
KIM: Not even close! Besides, you remember what the Old Man said about ponies.
OLD MAN: Ponies are the turds of stallions.
Bell rings.
ANNOUNCER: And it looks like a stalemate at the end of Round One. But it's certainly not for disinterest on the competitor's part. You can see the fury in the eyes of the Otts- the white-hot fury!
WHAT WILL HAPPEN NEXT? STAY TUNED FOR PART II!
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
NOVA SCOTIA OR BUST!
Nova Scotia or bust! I’ve got my passport, my hat, my stonewashed jean jacket, my bubble gum cigar, and my six-o’clock shadow. It was a five-o’clock shadow, but in Nova Scotia they’re an hour ahead. I’m prepared for the Scoche, baby!
What’ll I do first when I get there? Dip my toes in the carbonated Nehi Sea-hi? Nibble on the fabled Skyscraper Hot Dog? Wander aimlessly through the transparent Museum of the Invisible? There are so many sights to see and new experiences to experience, new-style. Certainly more than in this raggedy old burg. I need to shake the dust of this town off, and if that doesn’t work, I’ll take advantage of Nova Scotia’s free dry-cleaning system. Yes, it was a controversial decision for the Scotialites to go with universal dry-cleaning over health care, but really, who wants to feel healthy in unclean clothes? Nova Scotia or bust!
Here are some fun facts to pass the time. Residents of Nova Scotia settled on the term Scotialites after trying out Nova Scotiersteins, Scottie Dawgs, Scott Howards, Scotianistas and Nova Scotianeers. The official bird is the Vampire Peacock, chief exports include coffee mugs, nectarines, bowling pins and fake IDs and most importantly it boasts the cutest kittens per capita than anywhere in North America. Historically speaking, Nova Scotia was founded in 1695, when explorers Siegfried Novus and Scotia Pippinstock left their home (what was then called Venice, but which we now call What Cheer) in a hot air balloon, determined to reach the moon. After consuming all their wine and doing whip-its their first day airborne, they passed out and ended up in what is now, of course, known as Nova Scotia. At first believing they were on the moon, they proceeded to live as they felt the astronauts would, hopping around as if in zero gravity and eating freeze-dried brie and crackers. It was their loved ones back home who eventually tipped them off to their whereabouts, as all their postcards from the moon said Greetings from Nova Scotia on the front. This is why some of the elder Scotialites still refer to the native buffalo as Martians, since the settlers believed these creatures to be visitors from Mars and unsuccessfully tried charging them rent for roaming the lunar fields.
Some people refer to Nova Scotia as the Land of Milk and Cookies, or the Land Time Forgot to Remember, where the deer and the antelope have deer on antelope relations. Scotialites brag they built this province on rock and pop, and for a while their credo was, “If you seek a pleasant peninsula, check out that one,” referring to the Peninsula of Pleasance, located in the backyard of Halloween star P.J. Soles. Nova Scotia is for lovers, too. For young lovers, there’s Make-Out Point, for the more adventurous there’s Three-Way Canyon, and for the anything but crowd, there’s Mutual Masturbation Cove. It has so much to offer, and it’s where I plan to start my life over, leaving behind only a dead end job at a Dead End Manufacturer and crappy little one bedroom apartment overlooking a cotton candy depository. It’s here I plan to make a lasting contribution to the world, like teaching sign language to the Sasquatch, or feeding Hungry Man dinners to all the hungry men, and occasional woman. Then I’ll retire and move into one of those condos hung from a tree branch, probably married to one of the Scoche’s famous lady mimes. And, God willing, when I die, I will be frozen and interred at St. Tobias’s Funeral Home and Wacky Wax Museum, so that future generations can admire my hairline and possibly mistake me for Liberace. And yes, I will have to put up with the little things, like the province’s vague smell of circus peanuts, the fact that all the pigeons have been conditioned to point and laugh, and the way the libraries use the less conventional Louie Decimal System. But that’s small potatoes compared to the large potatoes that’s living in the greatest land in the world. And yet it’s all a pipe dream until I actually arrive. I’m determined, though, that the next person to stop for me will take me all the way. And why wouldn’t they? Nova Scotia or bust!
What’ll I do first when I get there? Dip my toes in the carbonated Nehi Sea-hi? Nibble on the fabled Skyscraper Hot Dog? Wander aimlessly through the transparent Museum of the Invisible? There are so many sights to see and new experiences to experience, new-style. Certainly more than in this raggedy old burg. I need to shake the dust of this town off, and if that doesn’t work, I’ll take advantage of Nova Scotia’s free dry-cleaning system. Yes, it was a controversial decision for the Scotialites to go with universal dry-cleaning over health care, but really, who wants to feel healthy in unclean clothes? Nova Scotia or bust!
Here are some fun facts to pass the time. Residents of Nova Scotia settled on the term Scotialites after trying out Nova Scotiersteins, Scottie Dawgs, Scott Howards, Scotianistas and Nova Scotianeers. The official bird is the Vampire Peacock, chief exports include coffee mugs, nectarines, bowling pins and fake IDs and most importantly it boasts the cutest kittens per capita than anywhere in North America. Historically speaking, Nova Scotia was founded in 1695, when explorers Siegfried Novus and Scotia Pippinstock left their home (what was then called Venice, but which we now call What Cheer) in a hot air balloon, determined to reach the moon. After consuming all their wine and doing whip-its their first day airborne, they passed out and ended up in what is now, of course, known as Nova Scotia. At first believing they were on the moon, they proceeded to live as they felt the astronauts would, hopping around as if in zero gravity and eating freeze-dried brie and crackers. It was their loved ones back home who eventually tipped them off to their whereabouts, as all their postcards from the moon said Greetings from Nova Scotia on the front. This is why some of the elder Scotialites still refer to the native buffalo as Martians, since the settlers believed these creatures to be visitors from Mars and unsuccessfully tried charging them rent for roaming the lunar fields.
Some people refer to Nova Scotia as the Land of Milk and Cookies, or the Land Time Forgot to Remember, where the deer and the antelope have deer on antelope relations. Scotialites brag they built this province on rock and pop, and for a while their credo was, “If you seek a pleasant peninsula, check out that one,” referring to the Peninsula of Pleasance, located in the backyard of Halloween star P.J. Soles. Nova Scotia is for lovers, too. For young lovers, there’s Make-Out Point, for the more adventurous there’s Three-Way Canyon, and for the anything but crowd, there’s Mutual Masturbation Cove. It has so much to offer, and it’s where I plan to start my life over, leaving behind only a dead end job at a Dead End Manufacturer and crappy little one bedroom apartment overlooking a cotton candy depository. It’s here I plan to make a lasting contribution to the world, like teaching sign language to the Sasquatch, or feeding Hungry Man dinners to all the hungry men, and occasional woman. Then I’ll retire and move into one of those condos hung from a tree branch, probably married to one of the Scoche’s famous lady mimes. And, God willing, when I die, I will be frozen and interred at St. Tobias’s Funeral Home and Wacky Wax Museum, so that future generations can admire my hairline and possibly mistake me for Liberace. And yes, I will have to put up with the little things, like the province’s vague smell of circus peanuts, the fact that all the pigeons have been conditioned to point and laugh, and the way the libraries use the less conventional Louie Decimal System. But that’s small potatoes compared to the large potatoes that’s living in the greatest land in the world. And yet it’s all a pipe dream until I actually arrive. I’m determined, though, that the next person to stop for me will take me all the way. And why wouldn’t they? Nova Scotia or bust!
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
LITTLE KNOWN FACTS: THE DINOSAUR WORLD
-The Pterodactyl was nicknamed the Sweet Potato of the Sky.
-Saber-Tooth Tigers briefly attempted a positive image spin by changing their name to The Butter Knife Kitties. No one was fooled, and the name was retired due to this, and to the fact that the Burger King tie-in toys turned out to be a choking hazard.
-Among the cultural and scientific advances created by the dinosaurs: vegetarianism, transience, lizards, fossils, swimming for long distances, growling, summer school, express mail and the RSVP.
-Brontosauruses did in fact have a brain the size of a pea, which wreaked havoc on their memory, and as such they were constantly sending out birthday cards to keep from missing out on the actual day.
-Triceratops was not only known for their three horns, but for being the swingingest dinosaur, if you know what I mean.
-The arms of the Tyrannosaurus Rex were placed perfectly for Texas Hold ‘Em, but ironically their favorite card game was 52 Pick Up.
-The only known dinosaur poet was William Carlos Williams.
-The term, “egg on one’s face,” is derived from the dinosaurs. It was literally being caught with the fetus of another dinosaur on your face, which was a tremendous social faux-pas and usually resulted in scorn, ridicule and disembowelment, much like today.
-There was a brief and unsuccessful attempt at bringing dinosaurs back to life six years ago, based on the classic science fiction film about reanimating prehistoric creatures, Cocoon. Much like that film, the project’s ending was bittersweet, in a heartbreaking cut in funding.
-The meteor that ultimately killed off the dinosaurs was foreseen by a soothsayer, who was roundly ignored, due to his alarmingly terrible track record. Among his other predictions were the carnivores seeing the destructive nature of their ways, the stegosaurus landing on the moon and the insistence that there was no way George W. Bush would serve two terms.
-Saber-Tooth Tigers briefly attempted a positive image spin by changing their name to The Butter Knife Kitties. No one was fooled, and the name was retired due to this, and to the fact that the Burger King tie-in toys turned out to be a choking hazard.
-Among the cultural and scientific advances created by the dinosaurs: vegetarianism, transience, lizards, fossils, swimming for long distances, growling, summer school, express mail and the RSVP.
-Brontosauruses did in fact have a brain the size of a pea, which wreaked havoc on their memory, and as such they were constantly sending out birthday cards to keep from missing out on the actual day.
-Triceratops was not only known for their three horns, but for being the swingingest dinosaur, if you know what I mean.
-The arms of the Tyrannosaurus Rex were placed perfectly for Texas Hold ‘Em, but ironically their favorite card game was 52 Pick Up.
-The only known dinosaur poet was William Carlos Williams.
-The term, “egg on one’s face,” is derived from the dinosaurs. It was literally being caught with the fetus of another dinosaur on your face, which was a tremendous social faux-pas and usually resulted in scorn, ridicule and disembowelment, much like today.
-There was a brief and unsuccessful attempt at bringing dinosaurs back to life six years ago, based on the classic science fiction film about reanimating prehistoric creatures, Cocoon. Much like that film, the project’s ending was bittersweet, in a heartbreaking cut in funding.
-The meteor that ultimately killed off the dinosaurs was foreseen by a soothsayer, who was roundly ignored, due to his alarmingly terrible track record. Among his other predictions were the carnivores seeing the destructive nature of their ways, the stegosaurus landing on the moon and the insistence that there was no way George W. Bush would serve two terms.
Monday, December 8, 2008
BENNY MASONSTEIN: POPE OF THE ONE-LINERS!
“Don’t get me started on my mother-in-law, or as I like to call her, Darth Va-Don’t!”
“Take my wife- Away! Forever!”
“If you come to a fork in the road, stick it up your eyeball!”
“He’s as dull as a marching band, a regular John Phillip Snooze-a!”
“My wife is a light eater, when it’s light out, she eats fire.”
“A homeless person came up to me and said he hadn’t had a bite in weeks, so I poisoned him.”
“My mother-in-law inspires me… to contract Helen Keller Disease!”
“I bought my wife a toaster for our anniversary and she said she was upset. I said, ‘You wanna see upset, wait’ll I taste your toast!’”
“My wife wanted a nose job, but the doctor said she’d need a nose occupation!”
“I’d like to look you up, but my phone book didn’t come with the Schmuck Pages.”
“My wife is actually a sweet and loving person, except on days that end in ‘Y’ and the one that ends in ‘R.’”
“And the airline food they served me, I’d take the gas chamber over that stuff. It makes me want to barf- into the barf bag!”
“When you’re my age, you have no sex drive, you have sex walk. With your sex walker.”
“The difference between my wife and a pit-bull is one wears high heels, spends all my money and shares my bed, and the other I’ve been married to for twenty-six years. And I can’t remember which is which!”
“I asked a Jewish man, ‘Do you know where Michigan Avenue is?’ He said, ‘Yes,’ and he walked away. So I poisoned him.”
“Take my wife- Away! Forever!”
“If you come to a fork in the road, stick it up your eyeball!”
“He’s as dull as a marching band, a regular John Phillip Snooze-a!”
“My wife is a light eater, when it’s light out, she eats fire.”
“A homeless person came up to me and said he hadn’t had a bite in weeks, so I poisoned him.”
“My mother-in-law inspires me… to contract Helen Keller Disease!”
“I bought my wife a toaster for our anniversary and she said she was upset. I said, ‘You wanna see upset, wait’ll I taste your toast!’”
“My wife wanted a nose job, but the doctor said she’d need a nose occupation!”
“I’d like to look you up, but my phone book didn’t come with the Schmuck Pages.”
“My wife is actually a sweet and loving person, except on days that end in ‘Y’ and the one that ends in ‘R.’”
“And the airline food they served me, I’d take the gas chamber over that stuff. It makes me want to barf- into the barf bag!”
“When you’re my age, you have no sex drive, you have sex walk. With your sex walker.”
“The difference between my wife and a pit-bull is one wears high heels, spends all my money and shares my bed, and the other I’ve been married to for twenty-six years. And I can’t remember which is which!”
“I asked a Jewish man, ‘Do you know where Michigan Avenue is?’ He said, ‘Yes,’ and he walked away. So I poisoned him.”
Friday, December 5, 2008
THE VELVETEEN LANDLADY: MEMORABLE QUOTES
Anyone not in the know does not know that the quickest way to make a fast buck is in the Hallmark Hall of Fame Film biz. Hallmark Hall of Fame movies tug at your heartstrings relentlessly, like a crazed harpist or a puppeteer with better things to do. The best Hallmark Hall of Fame movies take place during the holidays, and what better holiday than Christmas. None better, that’s right. So I present to you the tagline and memorable quotes for what will someday possibly be a modern day holiday staple, The Velveteen Landlady. It’s a heartwarming story of an icy landlady who warms up to become saintly just in time for Christmastime. Enjoy!
TAGLINE: She found a new lease on life- in the credit union of her heart.
MEMORABLE QUOTES:
Sue: You people think love means never having to pay your rent. I say, in that case, love means you’re out on your ass! Call it the Socratic Method!
-------
Tiny Tina: My dad is dead, my mom is in a coma, my brother’s got non-Hodgman’s Limpwristia and I’ve got a terminal case of the vapours. But at least we have a place to live. It’s the best Christmas ever!
-------
Mary Ellen: Sue, how did you get so mean-spirited?
Sue: I’ve always hated Christmas. My parents didn’t believe in me, so I was constantly neglected.
Mary Ellen: So they kept you from following your dreams?
Sue: No, they literally didn’t believe in me. People would ask about me, and my parents wouldn’t know who they were talking about. I was like Santa Claus to them, only my belly wasn’t a bowl full of jelly. It was bowl full of sadness.
-------
Ghost of Christmas Dolls: Sue Ebekneez, you’ve forgotten the true meaning of Christmas. It’s about love and forgiveness and forgetness, but also about rememberness, of the good things. In short, cheer up, crabtard!
-------
Mary Ellen: But I-I’ve no place to go!
Sue: Well, maybe three wiseguys could take you to a manger in the North Pole with Santa Christ and Joseph the Elf Carpenter.
Mary Ellen: You had to try hard to be that wrong.
------
Ghost of Christmas Parties: You know why they call it eggnog, don’t you? Because it’s made of eggs and you nog if you drink too much of it!
Sue: That doesn’t make sense.
Ghost of Christmas Parties: Hey, who’s the ghost here?
-------
Sue: I believe! I believe in miracle ears! And brides of frankincense and myrrh-myrrh’s of the heart! And I feel as though a great weight has been lifted off of my hairpiece! Everyone can live forever free and at reduced rates! Amen Christmas, whoever you are!
Tiny Tina: And God bless us everybody!
Sue: Don’t get greedy, kid. Jesus!
TAGLINE: She found a new lease on life- in the credit union of her heart.
MEMORABLE QUOTES:
Sue: You people think love means never having to pay your rent. I say, in that case, love means you’re out on your ass! Call it the Socratic Method!
-------
Tiny Tina: My dad is dead, my mom is in a coma, my brother’s got non-Hodgman’s Limpwristia and I’ve got a terminal case of the vapours. But at least we have a place to live. It’s the best Christmas ever!
-------
Mary Ellen: Sue, how did you get so mean-spirited?
Sue: I’ve always hated Christmas. My parents didn’t believe in me, so I was constantly neglected.
Mary Ellen: So they kept you from following your dreams?
Sue: No, they literally didn’t believe in me. People would ask about me, and my parents wouldn’t know who they were talking about. I was like Santa Claus to them, only my belly wasn’t a bowl full of jelly. It was bowl full of sadness.
-------
Ghost of Christmas Dolls: Sue Ebekneez, you’ve forgotten the true meaning of Christmas. It’s about love and forgiveness and forgetness, but also about rememberness, of the good things. In short, cheer up, crabtard!
-------
Mary Ellen: But I-I’ve no place to go!
Sue: Well, maybe three wiseguys could take you to a manger in the North Pole with Santa Christ and Joseph the Elf Carpenter.
Mary Ellen: You had to try hard to be that wrong.
------
Ghost of Christmas Parties: You know why they call it eggnog, don’t you? Because it’s made of eggs and you nog if you drink too much of it!
Sue: That doesn’t make sense.
Ghost of Christmas Parties: Hey, who’s the ghost here?
-------
Sue: I believe! I believe in miracle ears! And brides of frankincense and myrrh-myrrh’s of the heart! And I feel as though a great weight has been lifted off of my hairpiece! Everyone can live forever free and at reduced rates! Amen Christmas, whoever you are!
Tiny Tina: And God bless us everybody!
Sue: Don’t get greedy, kid. Jesus!
Thursday, December 4, 2008
SPACEMAN SQUAD! IN: THE TROUBLE WITH SPACE-ANGELS
Starday Seven thousand, six hundred and twenty-four. The starship Jefferson is quickly approaching the Theremin Way, a galaxy roughly eight light years and ninety-six thousand dog years from our own. On a routine fly-through, Spacemans Frank and Larry have no idea the gut-churgling dangerousness that lies ahead. Forever.
“Pass me some Ice-Cream of the Present, Larry,” Frank requested, his voice full of longing, his mouth full of freeze-dried flan.
“For cry-yi, save some food for the space trek back to Spaceman Squad H Quarters,” Larry suggested tersely, with an empty mouth, but a voice full of angritude.
“Calm your jets and cool off your ponies, I’m only consuming the desserts.”
“For the love of Ghost Dad, you’re getting interstellar pastry all over your sleek silver Spaceman Squad suit.” And he was. Each member of the elite intergalactic security service Spaceman Squad was issued a highly technological space suit stuffed with a top-secret poly-fiber to prevent coldness encroaching upon their personages. Their sleek silverness commanded authority and the lasername tag informed the uninitiated who they were, in a fairly painless initiation. Spaceman Frank’s suit was currently covered in various futuristic creams and jellies. It looked like a modern art painting. In space. “You know I have a sweet tooth,” he whinnied, not unlike a horse would.
“And unlike me, you have no wisdom teeth,” Larry bit back, in a clever pun.
“That doesn’t even make sense to me,” Frank retorted, scratching his head and rubbing his tummy. Frank was, as they say deep in the stars, not the brightest laser beam in the laser gun. His often unorthodox mannerisms unsettled his partner Larry, a bona fide orthodachshund. Larry did not know it, but Frank was actually attempting to eat all of the desserts in refrigeration storage. However, he was about to find out.
“I am attempting to eat all of the desserts in refrigeration storage,” Frank explained. Larry asked him to explain, for he was unaware of the responsorial answer. But in another, more subtexticle way, he was aware. Much has been written about adventure and intrigue and adventure in deep space, but little of this writing has included the sheer boring dullishness of actual space travel. As has been clarifically and hysterolicoricely been illustrated here, civil servants in the elitist Spaceman Squad will go to great lengths to combatify the boredom which attacks their fragile interest in their occupation. Spacemans Frank and Larry would laugh as long and hard as you, the reader, currently are, if they could observe themselves right now, especially considering the life-enthreating moments right directly ahead of themselves.
As if it had been following along at home, the Navigatrix 3900 began beeping, in an effort to inform the Spacemans of the Jefferson Starship they had reached their destination, the Theremin Way. Despite taking roughly 3.86 minutes to notice the beeping, Spacemans Frank and Larry leapt to action, scrambling frantically to their seats and engaging in very, very, technologically advanced dialogue.
“Computron reading nugatory life-forms,” reported Frank.
“Atmosphomometer is stablitating,” declared Larry.
“Landing cyculation in the direction of the Moon of Rumann,” spake Frank.
“Gravitational shacklefords disengagered. And I’m floating in a most-ah pe-cul-iar wa-ay,” observed Larry, in a serviceable Bowie impersonation.
“My tummy is achey,” lamented Frank, also in a Bowie impersonation. Larry was busily readying a raspberry retort, when a shocking wave of shock struck the Jefferson directly about the nose, causing quakes throughout. The Spacemans responded by vomitation, screamulation, general confusion, denial, anger, bargaining, acceptance, and lastly comatoseness.
Larry and Frank came to in a room full to the brim with darkness. They could not see their hands in front of their faces, or any extremities in front of any faces. Larry could discern from his enheightened sense memory gland that they were no longer on the starship Jefferson, yet he was unable to put his finger on their current location. And even if he could, it wasn’t like he could see where his finger had been put. This place, he thought amongst himself, was unrecognizatory, brand-spankling new and unlike anyplace he’d been in his long and storied career in Spaceman Squad. In fact, it was safe to say that he had never not seen a place like this in his entiresome life.
Frank, meanwhile, was smelling the smell of a familiar smell. It was the unmistakable aroma of funnel cake, and it made him instantly aware of their surroundings and the danger they were facing, in any direction.
“Larry,” Frank whispered.
“Frank,” Larry whispered back.
“We have to exit here right now!” Frank whispered more urgently.
“But why, Frank? And how? And when?” Larry responded with a barrage of questions.
“Because we’re-“ Frank braced himself verbally before he revealed the rest of his statement, “-out of our jurisdiction!”
This was one of the greatest offenses and officer of Spaceman Squad could commit, second only to staining their Spaceman Squad spacesuit. The two Spacemans scrambled to find an exit, but were stopped suddenly by the presence of a loud, low growling, and the presence of a creature making a loud, low growling noise.
“What on the Moon of Rumann was that?” Larry asked to no one in particular except Frank. But before Frank could reply, the lights were illuminatarated and they saw with their own two (four collectively) eyes.
It was a hairsome creature, twelve feet tall if it were a day, with four arms for forearms and eight eyes on its chest. Its head appeared to be nothing more than a big, bushy unibrow and it hopped in place on one rotting wooden peg leg. Where a human’s navel would normally appear to be was an enormous maw with at least six dozen sets of teeth sharp enough to cut through a fistful of commemorative coins. And strangely, the smell of funnel cake was actually coming from the creature and not, as Frank had surmised the room. This meant they were not out of their jurisdiction after all. This little bit of fortunation was lost on the Spacemans, confrontated as they were by a mystiquious tall creature.
“What do we do?” asked Frank, as they had not covered this scenario in Spaceman Squad training.
“I don’t know,” Larry said, searching frantiferously for a door or window. The room was nothing more than a black box, with no discernible entrances or exits. And no sign of the Jefferson Starship. There appeared to be no escape, and as the creature hopped maddily toward them, Spacemans Larry and Frank really, really really began to panic.
WILL THEY ESCAPE? WILL THEY BE DEVOURED OR WORSE THAN DEVOURED? WATCH FOR THE NEXT EXCITEMENTING INSTALLERATION!
“Pass me some Ice-Cream of the Present, Larry,” Frank requested, his voice full of longing, his mouth full of freeze-dried flan.
“For cry-yi, save some food for the space trek back to Spaceman Squad H Quarters,” Larry suggested tersely, with an empty mouth, but a voice full of angritude.
“Calm your jets and cool off your ponies, I’m only consuming the desserts.”
“For the love of Ghost Dad, you’re getting interstellar pastry all over your sleek silver Spaceman Squad suit.” And he was. Each member of the elite intergalactic security service Spaceman Squad was issued a highly technological space suit stuffed with a top-secret poly-fiber to prevent coldness encroaching upon their personages. Their sleek silverness commanded authority and the lasername tag informed the uninitiated who they were, in a fairly painless initiation. Spaceman Frank’s suit was currently covered in various futuristic creams and jellies. It looked like a modern art painting. In space. “You know I have a sweet tooth,” he whinnied, not unlike a horse would.
“And unlike me, you have no wisdom teeth,” Larry bit back, in a clever pun.
“That doesn’t even make sense to me,” Frank retorted, scratching his head and rubbing his tummy. Frank was, as they say deep in the stars, not the brightest laser beam in the laser gun. His often unorthodox mannerisms unsettled his partner Larry, a bona fide orthodachshund. Larry did not know it, but Frank was actually attempting to eat all of the desserts in refrigeration storage. However, he was about to find out.
“I am attempting to eat all of the desserts in refrigeration storage,” Frank explained. Larry asked him to explain, for he was unaware of the responsorial answer. But in another, more subtexticle way, he was aware. Much has been written about adventure and intrigue and adventure in deep space, but little of this writing has included the sheer boring dullishness of actual space travel. As has been clarifically and hysterolicoricely been illustrated here, civil servants in the elitist Spaceman Squad will go to great lengths to combatify the boredom which attacks their fragile interest in their occupation. Spacemans Frank and Larry would laugh as long and hard as you, the reader, currently are, if they could observe themselves right now, especially considering the life-enthreating moments right directly ahead of themselves.
As if it had been following along at home, the Navigatrix 3900 began beeping, in an effort to inform the Spacemans of the Jefferson Starship they had reached their destination, the Theremin Way. Despite taking roughly 3.86 minutes to notice the beeping, Spacemans Frank and Larry leapt to action, scrambling frantically to their seats and engaging in very, very, technologically advanced dialogue.
“Computron reading nugatory life-forms,” reported Frank.
“Atmosphomometer is stablitating,” declared Larry.
“Landing cyculation in the direction of the Moon of Rumann,” spake Frank.
“Gravitational shacklefords disengagered. And I’m floating in a most-ah pe-cul-iar wa-ay,” observed Larry, in a serviceable Bowie impersonation.
“My tummy is achey,” lamented Frank, also in a Bowie impersonation. Larry was busily readying a raspberry retort, when a shocking wave of shock struck the Jefferson directly about the nose, causing quakes throughout. The Spacemans responded by vomitation, screamulation, general confusion, denial, anger, bargaining, acceptance, and lastly comatoseness.
Larry and Frank came to in a room full to the brim with darkness. They could not see their hands in front of their faces, or any extremities in front of any faces. Larry could discern from his enheightened sense memory gland that they were no longer on the starship Jefferson, yet he was unable to put his finger on their current location. And even if he could, it wasn’t like he could see where his finger had been put. This place, he thought amongst himself, was unrecognizatory, brand-spankling new and unlike anyplace he’d been in his long and storied career in Spaceman Squad. In fact, it was safe to say that he had never not seen a place like this in his entiresome life.
Frank, meanwhile, was smelling the smell of a familiar smell. It was the unmistakable aroma of funnel cake, and it made him instantly aware of their surroundings and the danger they were facing, in any direction.
“Larry,” Frank whispered.
“Frank,” Larry whispered back.
“We have to exit here right now!” Frank whispered more urgently.
“But why, Frank? And how? And when?” Larry responded with a barrage of questions.
“Because we’re-“ Frank braced himself verbally before he revealed the rest of his statement, “-out of our jurisdiction!”
This was one of the greatest offenses and officer of Spaceman Squad could commit, second only to staining their Spaceman Squad spacesuit. The two Spacemans scrambled to find an exit, but were stopped suddenly by the presence of a loud, low growling, and the presence of a creature making a loud, low growling noise.
“What on the Moon of Rumann was that?” Larry asked to no one in particular except Frank. But before Frank could reply, the lights were illuminatarated and they saw with their own two (four collectively) eyes.
It was a hairsome creature, twelve feet tall if it were a day, with four arms for forearms and eight eyes on its chest. Its head appeared to be nothing more than a big, bushy unibrow and it hopped in place on one rotting wooden peg leg. Where a human’s navel would normally appear to be was an enormous maw with at least six dozen sets of teeth sharp enough to cut through a fistful of commemorative coins. And strangely, the smell of funnel cake was actually coming from the creature and not, as Frank had surmised the room. This meant they were not out of their jurisdiction after all. This little bit of fortunation was lost on the Spacemans, confrontated as they were by a mystiquious tall creature.
“What do we do?” asked Frank, as they had not covered this scenario in Spaceman Squad training.
“I don’t know,” Larry said, searching frantiferously for a door or window. The room was nothing more than a black box, with no discernible entrances or exits. And no sign of the Jefferson Starship. There appeared to be no escape, and as the creature hopped maddily toward them, Spacemans Larry and Frank really, really really began to panic.
WILL THEY ESCAPE? WILL THEY BE DEVOURED OR WORSE THAN DEVOURED? WATCH FOR THE NEXT EXCITEMENTING INSTALLERATION!
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
THE HOO-HA MONOLOGUE
My hoo-ha is a delicate rose, unfurling, petal by petal, second by second, then re-furling all at once super-quick like a slap bracelet. It contains all the colors of the rainbow combined, which is to say it is black, like a cup of coffee, or a pot of coffee. My hoo-ha sings the body electric, although it is slightly sharp and two beats too fast. It is the alpha and omega, the cradle of life, the quickening, the Klumps, the Wrath of Khan. It is all of these things, and it is none of these things. And it is some of these things. My hoo-ha is a three-way mirror, offering perspective, but not flattery, and found in many, many dressing rooms across this land.
Some say the hoo-ha is mythical, like a Cyclops, but I can not only speak of its existence, but proudly proclaim ownership, including certificate of authenticity. Not of a Cyclops, those are indeed mythical. Some claim the hoo-ha can never be truly understood, not by mankind, nor by computers, nor even by the smartest people in the world, the computers of mankind. Yet I say that the hoo-ha is at once complex and simple, and to truly understand one must look without and within at the same time, so it helps to have bifocals. The hoo-ha is like a snake consuming itself, cyclical and self-reflective but not at all slimy. It is like the skeleton that will not cross the road because it doesn’t have the guts. It is the proverbial ant from that proverb about the ant. It is anything you want it to be, like an abstract painting or a terrible balloon animal.
My dream is that one day all the soldiers and warriors and politicians and hunters and police officers will put down their guns and swords and knives and bombs and Chinese throwing stars and replace them with hoo-has. Then we would be a society ruled by love, and the only violence inflicted upon the world would have to be done via hoo-ha, which would not only be impossible, but very difficult as well. This would pave the way for a hoo-ha President, or King, and an all hoo-ha Congress. A hoo-ha could be an astronaut, or a novelist, or a notary public, possibly even all three! That hoo-ha would grace the cover of Time magazine, and tell its harrowing story in an in-depth interview, culminating in the highest honor, winning the Nobel Prize. Or a star on the Walk of Fame. It may sound crazy, it may sound impossible, but that is how it all starts. With a dream, and a hoo-ha. My hoo-ha.
My hoo-ha is my best friend, my pen pal, my Secret Santa. It does not define me, but could potentially be used as a synonym for me, in a pinch. I am my hoo-ha, and it is me. We are one and the same, a Holy Trinity if you count me twice. And I certainly do. I certainly do. Count me twice.
Some say the hoo-ha is mythical, like a Cyclops, but I can not only speak of its existence, but proudly proclaim ownership, including certificate of authenticity. Not of a Cyclops, those are indeed mythical. Some claim the hoo-ha can never be truly understood, not by mankind, nor by computers, nor even by the smartest people in the world, the computers of mankind. Yet I say that the hoo-ha is at once complex and simple, and to truly understand one must look without and within at the same time, so it helps to have bifocals. The hoo-ha is like a snake consuming itself, cyclical and self-reflective but not at all slimy. It is like the skeleton that will not cross the road because it doesn’t have the guts. It is the proverbial ant from that proverb about the ant. It is anything you want it to be, like an abstract painting or a terrible balloon animal.
My dream is that one day all the soldiers and warriors and politicians and hunters and police officers will put down their guns and swords and knives and bombs and Chinese throwing stars and replace them with hoo-has. Then we would be a society ruled by love, and the only violence inflicted upon the world would have to be done via hoo-ha, which would not only be impossible, but very difficult as well. This would pave the way for a hoo-ha President, or King, and an all hoo-ha Congress. A hoo-ha could be an astronaut, or a novelist, or a notary public, possibly even all three! That hoo-ha would grace the cover of Time magazine, and tell its harrowing story in an in-depth interview, culminating in the highest honor, winning the Nobel Prize. Or a star on the Walk of Fame. It may sound crazy, it may sound impossible, but that is how it all starts. With a dream, and a hoo-ha. My hoo-ha.
My hoo-ha is my best friend, my pen pal, my Secret Santa. It does not define me, but could potentially be used as a synonym for me, in a pinch. I am my hoo-ha, and it is me. We are one and the same, a Holy Trinity if you count me twice. And I certainly do. I certainly do. Count me twice.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
PEARLS OF WISDOM FOR ABSOLUTE FREE!
Lost? Unsure? Question marks finishing all your sentences? Please give these Pearls of Wisdom a try. The only thing you have to lose is your uncertainty and your car keys.
-A down pillow is just a duck with all the yummy parts removed.
-If you keep an elbow handy, you’ll never get a leg to stand on.
-Imagine a cat. You are the cat. You poop in a box. That is gross.
-If everyone pitches in, there will be no one to pitch out, aka catch.
-A person without ambition is like a horse with no legs. Neither can move forward, and both are eventually shot.
-There’s no I in team, nor is there a U. Let’s work by ourselves.
-The opposite of hate isn’t love, it’s cold. Or, wait. That’s the opposite of hot. I don’t know what the opposite of hate is. Love?
-Only through understanding can we come together, so quit trying other methods, you’re wasting our time.
-Who’s a good person? Who’s a good person? You are! Yes, you are! Yes, you are a good person! Yes-you-are!
-Blah blah blah blah blah happiness blah blah blah friendship blah.
-A smile is a frown turned upside down and a wink is your eye as an anus.
-A down pillow is just a duck with all the yummy parts removed.
-If you keep an elbow handy, you’ll never get a leg to stand on.
-Imagine a cat. You are the cat. You poop in a box. That is gross.
-If everyone pitches in, there will be no one to pitch out, aka catch.
-A person without ambition is like a horse with no legs. Neither can move forward, and both are eventually shot.
-There’s no I in team, nor is there a U. Let’s work by ourselves.
-The opposite of hate isn’t love, it’s cold. Or, wait. That’s the opposite of hot. I don’t know what the opposite of hate is. Love?
-Only through understanding can we come together, so quit trying other methods, you’re wasting our time.
-Who’s a good person? Who’s a good person? You are! Yes, you are! Yes, you are a good person! Yes-you-are!
-Blah blah blah blah blah happiness blah blah blah friendship blah.
-A smile is a frown turned upside down and a wink is your eye as an anus.
Monday, December 1, 2008
LEAVES OF FALL: A REALLY DEEP POEM
When it’s Fall, the leaves change,
And then they fall.
And I will change, and I will leave,
And you will fall.
The colors of the leaves, they will change,
Becoming deeper as the fall.
I will become deeper, too, once I leave,
But my leaving will not fall.
Because unlike the leaves of Fall, which are the plural
Of leaf, those beauties of Mother Nature, my leaving
Is a verb, to go away from you. Not literally go away
From you specifically, but to go away and in this
Particular case, the going away is from you specifically.
But anyway, back to the poem.
My heart will leave, and your heart will fall.
Much like the leaves of Fall fall.
My feet will leave, raising up and then
Falling
Forward.
Maybe backward a couple of times.
But mostly forward.
Away from you.
Like the leaves. A little.
And then they fall.
And I will change, and I will leave,
And you will fall.
The colors of the leaves, they will change,
Becoming deeper as the fall.
I will become deeper, too, once I leave,
But my leaving will not fall.
Because unlike the leaves of Fall, which are the plural
Of leaf, those beauties of Mother Nature, my leaving
Is a verb, to go away from you. Not literally go away
From you specifically, but to go away and in this
Particular case, the going away is from you specifically.
But anyway, back to the poem.
My heart will leave, and your heart will fall.
Much like the leaves of Fall fall.
My feet will leave, raising up and then
Falling
Forward.
Maybe backward a couple of times.
But mostly forward.
Away from you.
Like the leaves. A little.
Friday, November 28, 2008
SHAKESPEARE’S INSULTS TRANSLATED, FINALLY
Billy-Boy Shakespeare is rightly considered one of the greatest living authors who died a really, really, really long time ago (see also: Marlowe, Jonson, Steele, Grisham, Clancy and that chick who writes all the cat mystery books.) The problem is that he’s so hard to understand in this Internutso MTV 2 modern age world. The mysterious vibe his Elizabethan soliloquies evoke probably got him loads of trim in his day but leave us today dudes poetically blue-balled. So, for your pleasure I have translated some of Shakespeare’s most biting retorts into the modern vernacular. So now when you read the great master’s works, you know how far the dissed have been put down. Snap!
-“I biteth my thumbeth at thee!” “What are you looking at,
dicknose?”
-“Get thee to a nunnery, wench!” “Get yer face outta my eyeholes,
nungirl!”
-“Friends, Romans, Countrymen, “Put skates on your face, and
lend me your ears" skate!"
-“To be or not to be…” “Why, I oughta…”
-“Four score and 7 years ago” “Bite my thumb off, cakemunch!”
-“It was the best of times, “When you sit around the house,
It was the worst of times.” The house, like, breaks apart!”
It was the worst of times.” The house, like, breaks apart!”
-“Out! Out! Damned, cursed “You’re so gay!”
Fouleth spot! Outeth, thee!”
Fouleth spot! Outeth, thee!”
Thursday, November 27, 2008
NOTES FOR MY MEMOIR: THE LIVES AND LOVES IN THE LOVELIVES OF M.J. HANSEN
These are just a few conceptual ideas and remembrances for my planned tome on my love life. If anyone reading this thinks of anything I left out, by all means, let me know! I love being corrected on the details of my life!
The book shouldn’t be just a big bragfest, it should also be inspiring to millions of hundreds of a few people. I’m thinking about 70% bragfest, 10% inspiration, and 20% pictorial. I believe that’s the same ratio Stephen Hawking uses. For it to be truly inspirational, it would help if I had some sort of physical handicap, like the truck driver who has no arms but delivers bibles cross-country by using his feet, or the female super-spy who succeeds despite her enormous breasts. Maybe if I gave myself a cleft chin, or an embarrassing middle initial?
My first conquest was Maria, an exchange student from Paraguay who had an earthy sexuality, like a peasant girl, or a mud wrestler. We used to steal kisses between classes and refuse to return them, unless the ransom was paid. She was quite possibly my first true love, though it would not be, as I spoke Spanish at a third grade level, and she spoke no Spanish whatsoever. She moved the next day.
I also recall my English teacher, whose affair with the school nurse scandalized the class and faculty of Super Grover Cleveland High. When she revealed she was leaving him for one of the cafeteria women, he had a nervous breakdown in a class on punctuation, referring to periods as menses and confessing of the night in college he wrote a novella composed entirely of semi-colons.
To add humanity, I’ll include the details of the ill-fated Swingers Party I threw in 1981. I thought my friends were more open-minded, and would be into putting their keys into a fishbowl, but no! Most of them groused about how wet their keys got, and in the process I smothered my goldfish to death. Hoist by my own petard (which didn’t even end up happening that night!)
To avoid legal action and to respect the privacy of my many partners, I shall not refer to them by name, only by their measurements, where they are ticklish and the Senators to whom they are married. The only exception would be Christina Ricci, because she would be offended if I didn’t mention her, and also because we’ve never done it. Nor have we ever met (maybe just put her in the index or acknowledgements?)
Lastly, I should be aware of my audience and keep my language from getting too coarse. For example, the act of intercourse, regardless of position, time span and inclusion of AV equipment will only be referred to as making love. Any particularly involved or graphic forms of foreplay will be referred to by the code word, “Prep Time.” And for the true puritans, anytime I have to describe just sitting and holding interlocked hands with my partner, this act will be referred to as, “finger-banging.” I think this should cover all my bases, which, as this book shall reveal, I have done severally. And separately, if you know what I mean.
The book shouldn’t be just a big bragfest, it should also be inspiring to millions of hundreds of a few people. I’m thinking about 70% bragfest, 10% inspiration, and 20% pictorial. I believe that’s the same ratio Stephen Hawking uses. For it to be truly inspirational, it would help if I had some sort of physical handicap, like the truck driver who has no arms but delivers bibles cross-country by using his feet, or the female super-spy who succeeds despite her enormous breasts. Maybe if I gave myself a cleft chin, or an embarrassing middle initial?
My first conquest was Maria, an exchange student from Paraguay who had an earthy sexuality, like a peasant girl, or a mud wrestler. We used to steal kisses between classes and refuse to return them, unless the ransom was paid. She was quite possibly my first true love, though it would not be, as I spoke Spanish at a third grade level, and she spoke no Spanish whatsoever. She moved the next day.
I also recall my English teacher, whose affair with the school nurse scandalized the class and faculty of Super Grover Cleveland High. When she revealed she was leaving him for one of the cafeteria women, he had a nervous breakdown in a class on punctuation, referring to periods as menses and confessing of the night in college he wrote a novella composed entirely of semi-colons.
To add humanity, I’ll include the details of the ill-fated Swingers Party I threw in 1981. I thought my friends were more open-minded, and would be into putting their keys into a fishbowl, but no! Most of them groused about how wet their keys got, and in the process I smothered my goldfish to death. Hoist by my own petard (which didn’t even end up happening that night!)
To avoid legal action and to respect the privacy of my many partners, I shall not refer to them by name, only by their measurements, where they are ticklish and the Senators to whom they are married. The only exception would be Christina Ricci, because she would be offended if I didn’t mention her, and also because we’ve never done it. Nor have we ever met (maybe just put her in the index or acknowledgements?)
Lastly, I should be aware of my audience and keep my language from getting too coarse. For example, the act of intercourse, regardless of position, time span and inclusion of AV equipment will only be referred to as making love. Any particularly involved or graphic forms of foreplay will be referred to by the code word, “Prep Time.” And for the true puritans, anytime I have to describe just sitting and holding interlocked hands with my partner, this act will be referred to as, “finger-banging.” I think this should cover all my bases, which, as this book shall reveal, I have done severally. And separately, if you know what I mean.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
STRANGER DANGER SAFETYNESS
Hey kids! Are you ready for the summer? Can you hardly keep yourselves from counting down the minutes until that final bell rings and you can finally be afforded your sweet, glorious freedom? I know the feeling, and it’s a beaut. But be aware, be a very ware, that with great freedom comes spooktacular stranger dangerousness! And yes, you too are just a heartbeat away from becoming a statistic on the side of the road. But hey, this shouldn’t stop you from having fun! Just so long as you follow these five rules of Stranger Danger Safetyness to the letter.
1. If you’re home alone and a stranger calls, don’t worry! You needn’t lie. If he asks for your mother, tell them she can’t come to the phone right now. She can’t come to the phone, since she is at work. If he asks for your father, just say he’s jerking off in the neighbor’s garden. Again, you’re not required to lie. If he asks for your address to deliver candy, DO NOT lie and tell him you’re diabetic. Strangers can see through lies, and you may think this little lie can pass undetected thanks to HIPAA laws, but there’s no HIPAA law governing your conscience.
2. If you feel threatened after a stranger calls, contact a familiar grown-up, such as a grandparent, great-grandparent, aunt, uncle, older cousin, policeman, fireman, mailman, milkman, meter maid, cable guy, pizza guy, grocers, butchers, or next-door neighbors. In no circumstance should you call your parents, if they cared about you, they’d be there.
3. If the calls are coming from inside the house, you’re screwed.
4. If a stranger comes to the door asking you to sign for a package, you have three options: A. Run up to your room and lock the door until night falls. B. Lure the stranger into the backyard, where all the grown-ups are waiting for him, so they can trap him with their proton packs and take him back to Strangerbuster HQ. C. Open the door, sign for the package, and save it for Mother’s Day, to avoid having to buy anything.
5. If you are abducted by the stranger, don’t fight it. He may be wealthy or magic, and he certainly loves you more than your parents. And that’s one to grow on.
1. If you’re home alone and a stranger calls, don’t worry! You needn’t lie. If he asks for your mother, tell them she can’t come to the phone right now. She can’t come to the phone, since she is at work. If he asks for your father, just say he’s jerking off in the neighbor’s garden. Again, you’re not required to lie. If he asks for your address to deliver candy, DO NOT lie and tell him you’re diabetic. Strangers can see through lies, and you may think this little lie can pass undetected thanks to HIPAA laws, but there’s no HIPAA law governing your conscience.
2. If you feel threatened after a stranger calls, contact a familiar grown-up, such as a grandparent, great-grandparent, aunt, uncle, older cousin, policeman, fireman, mailman, milkman, meter maid, cable guy, pizza guy, grocers, butchers, or next-door neighbors. In no circumstance should you call your parents, if they cared about you, they’d be there.
3. If the calls are coming from inside the house, you’re screwed.
4. If a stranger comes to the door asking you to sign for a package, you have three options: A. Run up to your room and lock the door until night falls. B. Lure the stranger into the backyard, where all the grown-ups are waiting for him, so they can trap him with their proton packs and take him back to Strangerbuster HQ. C. Open the door, sign for the package, and save it for Mother’s Day, to avoid having to buy anything.
5. If you are abducted by the stranger, don’t fight it. He may be wealthy or magic, and he certainly loves you more than your parents. And that’s one to grow on.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
THE AMAZING SUPER QUIET VACUUMATIC 6000!!!
Thank you for your purchase of the Amazing Super Quiet Vacuumatic 6000!!! The three exclamation points mean triple the excitement! We’re positive you have made a terrific purchase, and will never need to purchase a new vacuum again, especially if you know what’s good for you (see below)! What makes this cleaning product so much better than all the rest? We’d let the product speak for itself, but we had to destroy all of those prototypes (NOTE: If, on the off chance your Amazing Super Quiet Vacuumatic 6000!!! Can speak for itself, leave the house and contact your local authorities immediately. DO NOT contact the authorities while in the house, as the Amazing Super Quiet Vacuumatic 6000!!! Will know what you’re up to, and will not allow you to complete the call.)
Your old vacuum may have been able to pick up specks of dirt, dust, and miniature food particles, but what of all the infinite other foreign objects strewn about your house? This is why your new Amazing Super Quiet Vacuumatic 6000!!! is head and shoulders above the competition. It can pick up all of these things and much, much, much, much, much more, including:
-Nuts, screws and bolts
-Severed limbs
-Small mammals and reptiles
-Flatware
-Owl scat
-Human hair, fingernails and teeth
-Books (except the Bible)
-Money (except pesos and yen)
-Clothing
-Orphans
-Carpeting and hardwood floors
-Godzilla!
-Woodwind instruments
-Sinfulness
-Disease
And there’s so much more! In fact, there may be nothing the Amazing Super Quiet Vacuumatic 6000!!! cannot pick up. And if we were you, we wouldn’t express any doubts about this, especially around the machine. But what are you waiting for? See for yourself! Sign the waiver, have it notarized, Express mail it in and try for yourself. We guarantee we will never hear you complain about this product!
(WARNING: Before introducing this product into your home, follow these six (6) Safety Steps. 1. Remove any and all cleaning implements from the house, including other vacuums, brooms, mops and cleaning staff. The Amazing Super Vacuumatic 6000!!! will show dominance if you do not do so, and this company and its parent companies will not be held liable for the consequences if you do not. 2. Prepare a proper living space for the Amazing Super Vacuumatic 6000!!! This should a room at least 20 x 20, with an eastern exposure and no pictures on the walls. The room itself should be bare, save for a small stool and two bowls, one for water and one for “bones.” 3. If you have not been baptized in the Catholic Church, do so immediately. Also, if you are living unwed with anyone or anything, marry them forthwith. 4. The Amazing Super Quiet Vacuumatic 6000!!! is, as the name suggests, super quiet, so we would advise rigging some sort of alarm system, such as motion detectors and/or tripwire to inform you of when it is running. 5. If you are a musician, you will want to remove any and all evidence of this from your home, and never sing or play your instrument within 500 feet of the Amazing Super Quiet Vacuumatic 6000!!! This is an issue our engineers are working to rectify. 6. If, in fact, all the issues are rectified, we will contact you for a recall. However, this must be done delicately so as not to enrage the machine, so we will send you a postcard from Cheyenne, which will say on the back, “Wish you were here!” in half-cursive. Two weeks from the receipt of said postcard, you are to vacate your home and not return for 48 hours, after which it will be safe to reenter. We apologize for the inconvenience, and also because we may have said too much.)
Your old vacuum may have been able to pick up specks of dirt, dust, and miniature food particles, but what of all the infinite other foreign objects strewn about your house? This is why your new Amazing Super Quiet Vacuumatic 6000!!! is head and shoulders above the competition. It can pick up all of these things and much, much, much, much, much more, including:
-Nuts, screws and bolts
-Severed limbs
-Small mammals and reptiles
-Flatware
-Owl scat
-Human hair, fingernails and teeth
-Books (except the Bible)
-Money (except pesos and yen)
-Clothing
-Orphans
-Carpeting and hardwood floors
-Godzilla!
-Woodwind instruments
-Sinfulness
-Disease
And there’s so much more! In fact, there may be nothing the Amazing Super Quiet Vacuumatic 6000!!! cannot pick up. And if we were you, we wouldn’t express any doubts about this, especially around the machine. But what are you waiting for? See for yourself! Sign the waiver, have it notarized, Express mail it in and try for yourself. We guarantee we will never hear you complain about this product!
(WARNING: Before introducing this product into your home, follow these six (6) Safety Steps. 1. Remove any and all cleaning implements from the house, including other vacuums, brooms, mops and cleaning staff. The Amazing Super Vacuumatic 6000!!! will show dominance if you do not do so, and this company and its parent companies will not be held liable for the consequences if you do not. 2. Prepare a proper living space for the Amazing Super Vacuumatic 6000!!! This should a room at least 20 x 20, with an eastern exposure and no pictures on the walls. The room itself should be bare, save for a small stool and two bowls, one for water and one for “bones.” 3. If you have not been baptized in the Catholic Church, do so immediately. Also, if you are living unwed with anyone or anything, marry them forthwith. 4. The Amazing Super Quiet Vacuumatic 6000!!! is, as the name suggests, super quiet, so we would advise rigging some sort of alarm system, such as motion detectors and/or tripwire to inform you of when it is running. 5. If you are a musician, you will want to remove any and all evidence of this from your home, and never sing or play your instrument within 500 feet of the Amazing Super Quiet Vacuumatic 6000!!! This is an issue our engineers are working to rectify. 6. If, in fact, all the issues are rectified, we will contact you for a recall. However, this must be done delicately so as not to enrage the machine, so we will send you a postcard from Cheyenne, which will say on the back, “Wish you were here!” in half-cursive. Two weeks from the receipt of said postcard, you are to vacate your home and not return for 48 hours, after which it will be safe to reenter. We apologize for the inconvenience, and also because we may have said too much.)
Monday, November 24, 2008
SCRIPT DOCTOR: THE INFAMOUS YOGURT COMMERCIAL!
Sad news, comrades and comrettes! I've now officially been rejected from the lucrative world of commercials. Which is extra sad because my ideas were terrific, forward-thinking, innovative, edgy and terrific. I was specifically writing for the yogurt campaign in which two women eating the most delicious yogurt ever compare it to other pleasures of life to illustrate its yumminess. For some reason, the company did not care for suggestions, which for your pleasure I have compiled here. You're welcome!
-This is like drinking an entire bottle of Scotch good.
-This is like taking a dump in your backyard good.
-This is like Robocop good- and that's my favorite movie ever!
-This is like drowning a puppy good- a sackful of puppies!
-This is like making racist comments and not caring who hears you good.
-This is like calling in sick and then contracting a nasty virus and going in to work the next day anyway good.
-This is like baking a dead mouse in your three-year-old's birthday cake good.
-This is like penis in my vagina good.
-This is like getting married in a little Parisian villa and taking his name and evading tax fraud good.
-This is like setting fire to a hobo village by urinating on it and rubbing two sticks together until they ignite good.
-This is like exchanging all your wedding presents for Ecstasy good.
-This is like Hall and Oates making out with each other while Seals and Crofts watch, and then they switch partners good.
-This is like telling your kids their invisible friends are prettier than them good.
-This is like stalking a married co-worker and half the time pretending like it's a joke and sending threatening letters in pregnancy test boxes good.
-This is like the other brand of yogurt I really like good.
-This is like drinking an entire bottle of Scotch good.
-This is like taking a dump in your backyard good.
-This is like Robocop good- and that's my favorite movie ever!
-This is like drowning a puppy good- a sackful of puppies!
-This is like making racist comments and not caring who hears you good.
-This is like calling in sick and then contracting a nasty virus and going in to work the next day anyway good.
-This is like baking a dead mouse in your three-year-old's birthday cake good.
-This is like penis in my vagina good.
-This is like getting married in a little Parisian villa and taking his name and evading tax fraud good.
-This is like setting fire to a hobo village by urinating on it and rubbing two sticks together until they ignite good.
-This is like exchanging all your wedding presents for Ecstasy good.
-This is like Hall and Oates making out with each other while Seals and Crofts watch, and then they switch partners good.
-This is like telling your kids their invisible friends are prettier than them good.
-This is like stalking a married co-worker and half the time pretending like it's a joke and sending threatening letters in pregnancy test boxes good.
-This is like the other brand of yogurt I really like good.
Friday, November 21, 2008
THE WORLD’S LEAST SUCCESSFUL SIMILES… IN THE WORLD!
-Her heart went out to him, like a removable heart.
-The horse was stunning, like a really good picture of a horse.
-His laugh was deep and menacing, like that guy you know, Troy something.
-The days of her summer vacation seemed to fly by like a raisin in the sun.
-Gerry’s hopes were dashed, like the long part of Morse Code.
-The couch sat in the center of the room like a sofa.
-The racecar turned the corner like the jawbone of an ass.
-Jessie had burnt the cake until it was unrecognizable, like her favorite color.
-Peter was a force of nature, like a birthday or a pretty view.
-The police officer’s handshake was firm and professional, like a mailman’s handshake.
-The moment was nothing short of auspicious, like Fred Savage.
-When he heard of his great-aunt’s death, Charlie wept openly, tears flowing from his face like a wet and runny oasis.
-The horse was stunning, like a really good picture of a horse.
-His laugh was deep and menacing, like that guy you know, Troy something.
-The days of her summer vacation seemed to fly by like a raisin in the sun.
-Gerry’s hopes were dashed, like the long part of Morse Code.
-The couch sat in the center of the room like a sofa.
-The racecar turned the corner like the jawbone of an ass.
-Jessie had burnt the cake until it was unrecognizable, like her favorite color.
-Peter was a force of nature, like a birthday or a pretty view.
-The police officer’s handshake was firm and professional, like a mailman’s handshake.
-The moment was nothing short of auspicious, like Fred Savage.
-When he heard of his great-aunt’s death, Charlie wept openly, tears flowing from his face like a wet and runny oasis.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
MY VERY OWN PASSION PLAY
This year, to celebrate MY birthday, I’ve decided to commission myself to write and direct and co-star in a passion play based on my birth and formative years. BYOB (Bring Your Own Birthday!) I’ve compiled an outline of what is to transpire, which is rough, as were my formative years.
1. Everyone will assemble at the house my parents lived in when I was born. Attendance is mandatory, but not required. If you do not know the address of the house my parents lived in when I was born, you’re uninvited. We’ll skip my conception, since there may be children present and also because icky. The first 500 guests will lie on the kitchen floor, writhing and squiggling and making jazz hands, symbolizing my mother’s water breaking. The rest will represent my father, and chain-smoke and freak out. They will repeat the incantation, “Oh God Oh God Oh God,” until the Amniotic Fluid Players rise up and, in the voice of God intone, “Chill out, for real, Dad.” I will then make my grand entrance, walking through the back door, symbolizing my grand entrance.
2. I will next be “baptized” in “Holy Water” (i.e. consume six shots of tequila) and thus become “Catholic” (i.e. drunk.)
3. 200 of the guests will then present me with various gifts, such as argyle sweaters, Apple computers, and an El Camino. This will symbolize my righteousness, as well as the bodaciousness of my being.
4. Everyone shall give me a pat on my back, and intone the phrase, “Good game,” reminding everyone of what a good liver I am, and how I’ve caught the long fly ball in the left field that is this rocky road called life, by which I mean to say that I’ve triumphed in the home stretch where others did not possess the wings with which to fly, and I’ve done so without fear of failure or without fear of mixing metaphors.
5. There shall then be dancing, and it shall be to Girl Group music, symbolic of how Girl Group music is the best music. There will also be a performance of my emo-funk band, Qualified to Saddify You, the most depressing lyrics and the hippest dance beats in a perfect marriage of sweat and tears, like saltwater taffy.
6. My father (portrayed by a celebrity look-alike of my father) will show me how to throw a football through a tire swing, a perfect illustration of my hatred of footballs and tire swings.
7. My cake will be wheeled out, a life-size replica of me, which I shall serve in a reproduction of the Last Supper, presenting my body, my blood, my nose and my brains (which will actually be cold spaghetti!)
8. Finally, as the sun rises, most likely in the east, we shall conclude our festivities, a little richer in spirit (you) and a lot richer in stuff (me.)
1. Everyone will assemble at the house my parents lived in when I was born. Attendance is mandatory, but not required. If you do not know the address of the house my parents lived in when I was born, you’re uninvited. We’ll skip my conception, since there may be children present and also because icky. The first 500 guests will lie on the kitchen floor, writhing and squiggling and making jazz hands, symbolizing my mother’s water breaking. The rest will represent my father, and chain-smoke and freak out. They will repeat the incantation, “Oh God Oh God Oh God,” until the Amniotic Fluid Players rise up and, in the voice of God intone, “Chill out, for real, Dad.” I will then make my grand entrance, walking through the back door, symbolizing my grand entrance.
2. I will next be “baptized” in “Holy Water” (i.e. consume six shots of tequila) and thus become “Catholic” (i.e. drunk.)
3. 200 of the guests will then present me with various gifts, such as argyle sweaters, Apple computers, and an El Camino. This will symbolize my righteousness, as well as the bodaciousness of my being.
4. Everyone shall give me a pat on my back, and intone the phrase, “Good game,” reminding everyone of what a good liver I am, and how I’ve caught the long fly ball in the left field that is this rocky road called life, by which I mean to say that I’ve triumphed in the home stretch where others did not possess the wings with which to fly, and I’ve done so without fear of failure or without fear of mixing metaphors.
5. There shall then be dancing, and it shall be to Girl Group music, symbolic of how Girl Group music is the best music. There will also be a performance of my emo-funk band, Qualified to Saddify You, the most depressing lyrics and the hippest dance beats in a perfect marriage of sweat and tears, like saltwater taffy.
6. My father (portrayed by a celebrity look-alike of my father) will show me how to throw a football through a tire swing, a perfect illustration of my hatred of footballs and tire swings.
7. My cake will be wheeled out, a life-size replica of me, which I shall serve in a reproduction of the Last Supper, presenting my body, my blood, my nose and my brains (which will actually be cold spaghetti!)
8. Finally, as the sun rises, most likely in the east, we shall conclude our festivities, a little richer in spirit (you) and a lot richer in stuff (me.)
OLD POSSUM’S CALAMITOUS COLLECTION OF CRAZY NAMES FOR CATS AND OTHER PETS, TOO!
Anyone who’s as cccccccccrazy about musical theatre as I may someday be has just gots to be familiar with the long-running show of ever-times, CATS. To paraphrase someone, that show must have about nine lifetimes or something! If you’re not familiar with the show, it’s actually based on a book of poetry by the happiest of cuddly-poets ever, T.S. Eliot. Eliot had an unusual procedure for naming cats, which always resulted in cuckoo-nutso names, and has now been declared illegal in 28 states (including yours!) What you may not know is that he also named other pets, and here now I will share with you just a smattering of those equally cuckoo-nutso names (including some cat ones!)
-Platypus Jack (dog)
-Bubblypants McMillan (beta fish)
-Dog (cat)
-Number Johnny Five (mouse)
-Penis Breath (Eliot’s brother)
-Sweet Potato (manatee)
-Carmen San Diego (wolf spider)
-Use Your Illusion II (rock)
-Fleblee McGooGoo (daughter)
-Stupid-Ass Bird (canary)
-Untitled (boa constrictor)
-Yes, I Can (Sammy Davis, Jr.’s autobiography)
-Ali No Gator (crocodile)
-Super Bowl Shuffle (horse)
-Mickey (mouse)
-Platypus Jack (dog)
-Bubblypants McMillan (beta fish)
-Dog (cat)
-Number Johnny Five (mouse)
-Penis Breath (Eliot’s brother)
-Sweet Potato (manatee)
-Carmen San Diego (wolf spider)
-Use Your Illusion II (rock)
-Fleblee McGooGoo (daughter)
-Stupid-Ass Bird (canary)
-Untitled (boa constrictor)
-Yes, I Can (Sammy Davis, Jr.’s autobiography)
-Ali No Gator (crocodile)
-Super Bowl Shuffle (horse)
-Mickey (mouse)
MY TEEN-AGED PAIN AS WRITTEN BY ME AT AGE SIXTEEN
No-one understand$ me
(Man!)
I’m like a forgotten scarf
Or
I’m like a forgotten pair of mittens
(Minus one!)
No-one with which to shareth mine life, and
Worse no finger-
holes.
I am so far away .
Like a far away place
(Man!)
I’m like a forgotten scarf
Or
I’m like a forgotten pair of mittens
(Minus one!)
No-one with which to shareth mine life, and
Worse no finger-
holes.
I am so far away .
Like a far away place
(such as Hawaii or Alaska.)
Call me non-contiguous, that is, if you call me.
At
All.
My Teen-Aged Pain is a visceral sensation, like the gnashing of teeth or the aching of head. No-body cares if I am alive or I’m dead. And only a loser (such as like Me) would rhyme, anytime. I’m a free-verse poem
On the wall
Of now-here.
Call me non-contiguous, that is, if you call me.
At
All.
My Teen-Aged Pain is a visceral sensation, like the gnashing of teeth or the aching of head. No-body cares if I am alive or I’m dead. And only a loser (such as like Me) would rhyme, anytime. I’m a free-verse poem
On the wall
Of now-here.
You don’t get me and your name is Every-
One.
My Teen-Aged Pain is better (worse) than yours (mine.) It fills me up like a cat is filled up
With catgut. And so I ask myself (self?), why is it that
That I feel
I feel so
Emptiness?
One.
My Teen-Aged Pain is better (worse) than yours (mine.) It fills me up like a cat is filled up
With catgut. And so I ask myself (self?), why is it that
That I feel
I feel so
Emptiness?
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
THE SUPER-BLOG OF KATIE BREEN, SUPER-TEMP!
OMG, you guys! I just got back from the sweetest temp gig ever! The Radicool Pizza Temp Agency texted me yester-to the-day for a two-day job as a lion tamer. ROFL over and over and over and over again, right? Totally!
So yeah I headed over to the Fingerling Bros. Circus and was sent to the head lion tamer Mike Bodega. He gave me this badass whip and woody-smelling chair. He also gave me this pith helmet I had to wear- on my head! Gross! Mike was hot and he was 45 and had a salt-and-pepper beard with I think a hint of cumin. There were like all these wood chips around like someone had like puked and then like I almost puked from thinking about like puking. LMAO!
The first day Mike pretended to be a lion and I whipped him and chaired him. It was pretty hot IMHO, but YMMV. The next day he had me actually taming out the lions. I had to get all up in the grill of this jungle king and get a mad whiff of his NSFW breath. P to the U! But I used all the skillz Mike showed me like giving what he called bedroom eyes and showing my midriff and the lion totally rolled over, just like Mike. I then got my $$$.
So yeah lion taming totally PWNs and all that, but I don’t think I’d wanna do it for realz full-timez yo. I’m just so not a cat person. Or a wearer of yuckified pith helmets! C-Ya!
So yeah I headed over to the Fingerling Bros. Circus and was sent to the head lion tamer Mike Bodega. He gave me this badass whip and woody-smelling chair. He also gave me this pith helmet I had to wear- on my head! Gross! Mike was hot and he was 45 and had a salt-and-pepper beard with I think a hint of cumin. There were like all these wood chips around like someone had like puked and then like I almost puked from thinking about like puking. LMAO!
The first day Mike pretended to be a lion and I whipped him and chaired him. It was pretty hot IMHO, but YMMV. The next day he had me actually taming out the lions. I had to get all up in the grill of this jungle king and get a mad whiff of his NSFW breath. P to the U! But I used all the skillz Mike showed me like giving what he called bedroom eyes and showing my midriff and the lion totally rolled over, just like Mike. I then got my $$$.
So yeah lion taming totally PWNs and all that, but I don’t think I’d wanna do it for realz full-timez yo. I’m just so not a cat person. Or a wearer of yuckified pith helmets! C-Ya!
DEATH OF A SALESMAN: THE LOST SCENE
(Linda, Biff and Happy are in the Loman Family Kitchen. Linda is drinking coffee through a silly straw, Biff is eating wedding cake out of his fist, and Happy is dribbling a basketball between his legs.)
LINDA: Boys, I’m terribly worried about your father, the salesman. I spoke to your cousins Kapow and Contented to see if they had any advice, as you might recall your aunt Willymina was a despondent saleswoman.
HAPPY: Ah, there’s nothing wrong with Pop, boy! He’s 23 Skidoo, the cat’s footie pajamas, the bee’s knees and elbows and hip-joints! Check this out, this should snap the Old Man out of any funk.
(He spins the ball on his fingertip.)
LINDA: That’s super-impressive, son. But I fail to see how it will help your father. You know how disoriented he gets when you spin him on your forefinger.
BIFF: You got anymore of this hitched cake, Ma?
LINDA: Biffy, light of my loins, we were saving that for our anniversary. Besides, it won’t do to have your children eat your wedding cake; it’s considered culinary incest in the kitchens of decent churchgoers.
BIFF: Yeah right, Ma, like Dad would ever eat cake. He’s not a Cake Eater like you!
(He grabs the rest of the cake from the fridge, a root beer and a sensible meal for dinner and exits within a huff.)
HAPPY: Biff, you douchetard! Mom, he totally killed my b-ball buzz!
LINDA: Try being a long-suffering wife, fruit of my loomgina.
(Mickey Moses Kaminsky enters, he’s totally a handyman.)
MICKEY: Helloooo, Loman family!
LINDA: Howdy, etranger. That’s French for, “Howdy, stranger.”
MICKEY: I’m Mickey Moses Kaminsky, your local handyman, which is English for l’homme du hande.
HAPPY: That’s alright Jack and boxcar Betty, but why have you came to our house?
MICKEY: Well, as I stated in English, I’m your local handyman, and I just couldn’t help but notice that somebody, or somethingy has completely broken out your fourth wall here.
LINDA: Bull honky!
MICKEY: Truth honky! It’s almost completely eviscerated. The frame is still here, but the wall, she’s-a totally gone. Gone like Vince Vaughn.
HAPPY: That explains why the electric bill has been so freaking freakishly large.
MICKEY: Where’s Poppa, anyway?
LINDA: He’s away. On business. Death business.
MICKEY: Well well well well well you just have him call me when gets back. You hear?
HAPPY: Shall do, kind sir.
MICKEY: This old house. I pity the fool.
LINDA: Don’t. Don’t do it. This house is like a view from the bridge, ‘tisn’t a crucible. You can ask all my sons, and the misfits, and after the fall they too arise and will tell you the price, which is not broken glass and also there’s a play about a clock.
MICKEY: My humblest of apologies m’a’a’am. Attention must be paid, as someone will no doubt later say, to this man and his family of familiars. Attention paid like David Spade.
BIFF: (From upstairs window.) Sweet Joseph Christmas, can’t a Biff eat in peace?
(End of lost scene.)
LINDA: Boys, I’m terribly worried about your father, the salesman. I spoke to your cousins Kapow and Contented to see if they had any advice, as you might recall your aunt Willymina was a despondent saleswoman.
HAPPY: Ah, there’s nothing wrong with Pop, boy! He’s 23 Skidoo, the cat’s footie pajamas, the bee’s knees and elbows and hip-joints! Check this out, this should snap the Old Man out of any funk.
(He spins the ball on his fingertip.)
LINDA: That’s super-impressive, son. But I fail to see how it will help your father. You know how disoriented he gets when you spin him on your forefinger.
BIFF: You got anymore of this hitched cake, Ma?
LINDA: Biffy, light of my loins, we were saving that for our anniversary. Besides, it won’t do to have your children eat your wedding cake; it’s considered culinary incest in the kitchens of decent churchgoers.
BIFF: Yeah right, Ma, like Dad would ever eat cake. He’s not a Cake Eater like you!
(He grabs the rest of the cake from the fridge, a root beer and a sensible meal for dinner and exits within a huff.)
HAPPY: Biff, you douchetard! Mom, he totally killed my b-ball buzz!
LINDA: Try being a long-suffering wife, fruit of my loomgina.
(Mickey Moses Kaminsky enters, he’s totally a handyman.)
MICKEY: Helloooo, Loman family!
LINDA: Howdy, etranger. That’s French for, “Howdy, stranger.”
MICKEY: I’m Mickey Moses Kaminsky, your local handyman, which is English for l’homme du hande.
HAPPY: That’s alright Jack and boxcar Betty, but why have you came to our house?
MICKEY: Well, as I stated in English, I’m your local handyman, and I just couldn’t help but notice that somebody, or somethingy has completely broken out your fourth wall here.
LINDA: Bull honky!
MICKEY: Truth honky! It’s almost completely eviscerated. The frame is still here, but the wall, she’s-a totally gone. Gone like Vince Vaughn.
HAPPY: That explains why the electric bill has been so freaking freakishly large.
MICKEY: Where’s Poppa, anyway?
LINDA: He’s away. On business. Death business.
MICKEY: Well well well well well you just have him call me when gets back. You hear?
HAPPY: Shall do, kind sir.
MICKEY: This old house. I pity the fool.
LINDA: Don’t. Don’t do it. This house is like a view from the bridge, ‘tisn’t a crucible. You can ask all my sons, and the misfits, and after the fall they too arise and will tell you the price, which is not broken glass and also there’s a play about a clock.
MICKEY: My humblest of apologies m’a’a’am. Attention must be paid, as someone will no doubt later say, to this man and his family of familiars. Attention paid like David Spade.
BIFF: (From upstairs window.) Sweet Joseph Christmas, can’t a Biff eat in peace?
(End of lost scene.)
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
POSTCARDS FROM A SUBMARINE
Ted,
You’ll never guess where I am! I finally took the plunge (literally!) and am taking my dream vacation: 2 months on a nuclear-powered submarine! It took some convincing to get the captain and crew to allow me to tag along with them (A fistful of Lincolns and a dozen peanut butter cookies did the trick) but now, here I am! I’ll see you soon, in 2 months!
Chuck
Ted,
A couple of fun facts about submarines. Fun Fact #1: submarines are small. Like teeny tiny. Sure, they look huge on Hi-Def but the inside is the definition of “cramped.” Fun Fact #2: There are no single rooms in submarines. Everybody is crammed into these little rooms with teeny tiny lockers and a miniscule bunk bed. Except me. Since I’m not one of the crew, I get to sleep in the kitchen. Fun!
Chuck
Ted,
You may have noticed the Fun Facts in my last postcard were not exactly fun. This is because a submarine trip is not nearly as fun as it looks. The brochures and commercials make it look glamorous and exciting. They leave out the dark, monotonous and smelly. Yes, you can smell the ocean, and you really get to know the smell of the crew, too. Sometimes their smells battle it out to see which is stronger, and you know who wins? Nobody.
Chuck
Ted,
I am no longer bored; I can say that at least. You can be the first to tell the rest of the world that giant squids A: actually exist, and B: would make terrible pets. I’ve heard that squid are supposed to be intelligent, and while I couldn’t gauge that, I can say that they are excellent at shaking submarines and making you spill coffee all over your last clean shirt. Also, the captain screams like a girl and does spazzy jumping jacks when he’s upset. I’m sure I’d make a better captain than him.
Chuck
Ted,
They say nothing is truly fun unless you’re breaking the law. This is especially true in terms of a mutiny. Sure, there was some resistance, you’re gonna run into that, but there’s also lots of drinking, and most importantly, I’m in command now. I convinced some of the other sailors to side with me, and now we’re taking the submarine back. And I think I get to keep it, so even though I don’t want it, I have a terrific Father’s Day gift. See you real soon!
Chuck
Ted,
It occurs to me that you have not been receiving any of my postcards, since we’re on a submarine and there’s no mail service. I realized this today as I insisted that we get newer magazines, and became embarrassed when I realized my screaming and beating had been all for naught. Was my face red! The trip back is taking much longer than anticipated, since our navigator is a captain loyalist. I’m pretty sure I can feel my way back.
Chuck
Ted,
More submarine Fun Facts! A submarine cannot go in reverse, or magically turn around once it has been lodged in an underwater cave. Also, the underwater caves are not clearly marked AT ALL so they seem to pop up without warning, no matter what the sonar officer claims. So yeah, we’re stuck here pretty permanently, you probably won’t be seeing me again, but at least I’m captain and so by nautical rules I am Emperor of the Submarine and all shall bow down before me. Unless they decide to mutiny, which I guess I wouldn’t blame them, it would just be, let’s say, disappointing. Anyhow, be sure to keep feeding my fish and Tivo the big game, just in case!
Lord Chuck
You’ll never guess where I am! I finally took the plunge (literally!) and am taking my dream vacation: 2 months on a nuclear-powered submarine! It took some convincing to get the captain and crew to allow me to tag along with them (A fistful of Lincolns and a dozen peanut butter cookies did the trick) but now, here I am! I’ll see you soon, in 2 months!
Chuck
Ted,
A couple of fun facts about submarines. Fun Fact #1: submarines are small. Like teeny tiny. Sure, they look huge on Hi-Def but the inside is the definition of “cramped.” Fun Fact #2: There are no single rooms in submarines. Everybody is crammed into these little rooms with teeny tiny lockers and a miniscule bunk bed. Except me. Since I’m not one of the crew, I get to sleep in the kitchen. Fun!
Chuck
Ted,
You may have noticed the Fun Facts in my last postcard were not exactly fun. This is because a submarine trip is not nearly as fun as it looks. The brochures and commercials make it look glamorous and exciting. They leave out the dark, monotonous and smelly. Yes, you can smell the ocean, and you really get to know the smell of the crew, too. Sometimes their smells battle it out to see which is stronger, and you know who wins? Nobody.
Chuck
Ted,
I am no longer bored; I can say that at least. You can be the first to tell the rest of the world that giant squids A: actually exist, and B: would make terrible pets. I’ve heard that squid are supposed to be intelligent, and while I couldn’t gauge that, I can say that they are excellent at shaking submarines and making you spill coffee all over your last clean shirt. Also, the captain screams like a girl and does spazzy jumping jacks when he’s upset. I’m sure I’d make a better captain than him.
Chuck
Ted,
They say nothing is truly fun unless you’re breaking the law. This is especially true in terms of a mutiny. Sure, there was some resistance, you’re gonna run into that, but there’s also lots of drinking, and most importantly, I’m in command now. I convinced some of the other sailors to side with me, and now we’re taking the submarine back. And I think I get to keep it, so even though I don’t want it, I have a terrific Father’s Day gift. See you real soon!
Chuck
Ted,
It occurs to me that you have not been receiving any of my postcards, since we’re on a submarine and there’s no mail service. I realized this today as I insisted that we get newer magazines, and became embarrassed when I realized my screaming and beating had been all for naught. Was my face red! The trip back is taking much longer than anticipated, since our navigator is a captain loyalist. I’m pretty sure I can feel my way back.
Chuck
Ted,
More submarine Fun Facts! A submarine cannot go in reverse, or magically turn around once it has been lodged in an underwater cave. Also, the underwater caves are not clearly marked AT ALL so they seem to pop up without warning, no matter what the sonar officer claims. So yeah, we’re stuck here pretty permanently, you probably won’t be seeing me again, but at least I’m captain and so by nautical rules I am Emperor of the Submarine and all shall bow down before me. Unless they decide to mutiny, which I guess I wouldn’t blame them, it would just be, let’s say, disappointing. Anyhow, be sure to keep feeding my fish and Tivo the big game, just in case!
Lord Chuck
THE RETURN OF THE PRODIGAL SON
On the fortnight the prodigal son returned, Ma was knitting a fire in the stove and Pa was building a Trojan horse out of used horse parts and Trojans. Ma’s famous smackleberry pie was cooling on the windowsill and the warmth wafted through the backyard like the ghost of memories wafting in the backyard, smelling of pie. Neither Ma nor Pa were anticipating anything unusual this fine July fortnight, and yet they were screening their calls just the same.
It was a quarter past half when Ma let out a shrill sob. Pa looked up from his workbench, momentarily distracted by the shrill sob just let out by Ma. “The hell was that?” he inquired?
“A thousand and one Arabian pardons, Pa, I was just sobbing shrilly,” Ma lamented. “I was just reminded of little Tad again. Why it seems like only yesterday he left us behind for a big career in the big city.”
“Well, it wasn’t only yesterday; it was twelve years and six minutes ago,” Pa spat, moistening the davenport.
“Don’t moisten the davenport with your grudges, Pa. We’ll get mold in the folds of the couch.” Ma was nervously pacing back and forth, a habit she had picked up as an infant, and for which she was known county-wide, lettering in pacing back and forth in high school.
As Pa was preparing a raspberry retort, there came a knocking upon the door, and the air became still and tense, like a crouching tiger or a crossword you know is wrong. At first, Ma and Pa pretended not to be home by pantomiming being other places, such as the grocery store and the bowling alley. But after a pause pregnant with little baby pauses, the knocking commenced to continue to start up again. Pa started for the door and Ma finished for the door for him, as was custom in the region. At first she didn’t answer the door, intimidated by the inquisitive nature of this rectangle. Finally, she turned the knob and thrust open the door, in an effort to discern exactly who-or what- but really who was the source of the inknockulation.
Tad had barely changed in the twelve years and fifteen minutes since he’d pulled up stakes and headed east to find fame, fortune and his contact lens. His hands appeared rough, like a carpenter’s or and Osmond’s, and he had the world-weary expression of someone twice his age and half his cap size. Bangs congregated on his forehead like nuns in a calendar of nuns, and his chest was sunken like a prize at the very, very, very bottom of a cereal box. There were great bags under his eyes and adequate shoes over his socks. His overall demeanor was that of a scarecrow, complete with floppy hat and total lack of blackbirds. “Ma, Pa, I’ve returned,” he announced vocally.
Upon the arrival of Tad’s announcement, Ma erupted into sobs and Pa erupted into nonchalance. Tad waited for a sign to be invited in, like a polite vampire, and nearly three hours passed before Pa came back to ask why in the name of Jesus Christ Bananas he hadn’t come in yet.
The family now a whole, they sat at the kitchen table, dining on crusty bread and crusty yogurt, speaking of their crusty past. When talk turned to Tad’s departure, he explained what had transpired. “I found fame, but not fortune. I was named Happiest Boy Alive in St. Angeles County Fair. I was called upon to fight fires, return library books and kiss attractive women on the cheek. I ran for mayor, but lost to a science-fiction author who promised to write everyone in the district into his next novel. It was all downhill from there. I subsisted on school lunches and free grocery samples until I was discovered by a talent agent.
“For a couple of years I danced in a ballet company until I was just too tired. Penniless and loaferless, I lived underneath a minivan until it was re-parked. I now return home, in the hopes that you’ll forgive me and accept me back into your arms and into my room.”
After much hemming and hawing, Ma and Pa had three new pairs of slacks. They sold them and were able to raise enough money to either cure cancer or allow Tad to move back. As cancer still murders people and sundry animals to this very absolute second, you can guess the decision they made. But you must ask yourself, knowing what you now know, would you have done then what they did, or not knowing then what they didn’t know, would you in the past do what was ultimately done in the future, or would you presently do what was done, and how, knowing what was known and will be known now and before and to be known at a later time?
Show your work.
It was a quarter past half when Ma let out a shrill sob. Pa looked up from his workbench, momentarily distracted by the shrill sob just let out by Ma. “The hell was that?” he inquired?
“A thousand and one Arabian pardons, Pa, I was just sobbing shrilly,” Ma lamented. “I was just reminded of little Tad again. Why it seems like only yesterday he left us behind for a big career in the big city.”
“Well, it wasn’t only yesterday; it was twelve years and six minutes ago,” Pa spat, moistening the davenport.
“Don’t moisten the davenport with your grudges, Pa. We’ll get mold in the folds of the couch.” Ma was nervously pacing back and forth, a habit she had picked up as an infant, and for which she was known county-wide, lettering in pacing back and forth in high school.
As Pa was preparing a raspberry retort, there came a knocking upon the door, and the air became still and tense, like a crouching tiger or a crossword you know is wrong. At first, Ma and Pa pretended not to be home by pantomiming being other places, such as the grocery store and the bowling alley. But after a pause pregnant with little baby pauses, the knocking commenced to continue to start up again. Pa started for the door and Ma finished for the door for him, as was custom in the region. At first she didn’t answer the door, intimidated by the inquisitive nature of this rectangle. Finally, she turned the knob and thrust open the door, in an effort to discern exactly who-or what- but really who was the source of the inknockulation.
Tad had barely changed in the twelve years and fifteen minutes since he’d pulled up stakes and headed east to find fame, fortune and his contact lens. His hands appeared rough, like a carpenter’s or and Osmond’s, and he had the world-weary expression of someone twice his age and half his cap size. Bangs congregated on his forehead like nuns in a calendar of nuns, and his chest was sunken like a prize at the very, very, very bottom of a cereal box. There were great bags under his eyes and adequate shoes over his socks. His overall demeanor was that of a scarecrow, complete with floppy hat and total lack of blackbirds. “Ma, Pa, I’ve returned,” he announced vocally.
Upon the arrival of Tad’s announcement, Ma erupted into sobs and Pa erupted into nonchalance. Tad waited for a sign to be invited in, like a polite vampire, and nearly three hours passed before Pa came back to ask why in the name of Jesus Christ Bananas he hadn’t come in yet.
The family now a whole, they sat at the kitchen table, dining on crusty bread and crusty yogurt, speaking of their crusty past. When talk turned to Tad’s departure, he explained what had transpired. “I found fame, but not fortune. I was named Happiest Boy Alive in St. Angeles County Fair. I was called upon to fight fires, return library books and kiss attractive women on the cheek. I ran for mayor, but lost to a science-fiction author who promised to write everyone in the district into his next novel. It was all downhill from there. I subsisted on school lunches and free grocery samples until I was discovered by a talent agent.
“For a couple of years I danced in a ballet company until I was just too tired. Penniless and loaferless, I lived underneath a minivan until it was re-parked. I now return home, in the hopes that you’ll forgive me and accept me back into your arms and into my room.”
After much hemming and hawing, Ma and Pa had three new pairs of slacks. They sold them and were able to raise enough money to either cure cancer or allow Tad to move back. As cancer still murders people and sundry animals to this very absolute second, you can guess the decision they made. But you must ask yourself, knowing what you now know, would you have done then what they did, or not knowing then what they didn’t know, would you in the past do what was ultimately done in the future, or would you presently do what was done, and how, knowing what was known and will be known now and before and to be known at a later time?
Show your work.
Monday, November 17, 2008
PRESIDENTIAL EPITAPHS
The Official President of the U.S. States of America is the highest office one can hold at any given time. You have powers that no other citizen in the free world has, not even the Pope! Powers like veto, checks, balances, pardons, planes, who goes on what dollar, and when and where to see whatever movie you like, no backtalk. Most importantly, the President gets to choose his own epitaph, the words that will ring throughout this nation’s cemeteries for their entire life, immortalizing them in the most literal sense imaginable. Here are the Top 20 Most Memorable Presidential Epitaphs. Read them and weep openly for those bygone Commanders in Chiefs.
GEORGE WASHINGTON: Your First Is Always the Most Memorable
JOHN ADAMS: George Washington Deflowered Me
THOMAS JEFFERSON: I Like My Afterlife Like I Like My Women, if You Get My Meaning
JOHN QUINCY ADAMS: My Only Regret is Not Being Doinked By George Washington
ANDREW JACKSON: Call me Stonewall to my Face- My Stone Wallface!
MARTIN VAN BUREN: I Seem to Have Abolitioned Myself
WILLIAM HENRY HARRISON: That Went Really Really Really Really Fast
ZACHARY TYLER: C-Ya Livies! Luvs Ya, K? ;)
ABRAHAM LINCOLN: You Can Fool Some of the People Some of the Time, You Can Fool All of the People Some of the Time, But You Can’t Stop a Bullet with a Stovepipe Hat. Anytime.
ANDREW JOHNSON: Stop Calling me Stonewall!
RUTHERFORD B. HAYES: Is Now Rutherford B. Deceased
JAMES A. GARFIELD: I’m Not Overweight, I’m Undertall
GROVER CLEVELAND: We Hardly Knewer Cleveland
WILLIAM HOWARD TAFT: Three Names was Not Enough
WOODROW WILSON: The President So Nice They Named Him Twice
CALVIN COOLIDGE: Was Radicoolidge
HERBERT HOOVER: Is This Heaven? Iowa
JOHN F. KENNEDY: This Tawch Will Buhn Forevah.
GERALD FORD: I Just Kept Falling Down Until I Was Dead
RONALD REAGAN: Do I Sound Like a Musical Robot?
GEORGE WASHINGTON: Your First Is Always the Most Memorable
JOHN ADAMS: George Washington Deflowered Me
THOMAS JEFFERSON: I Like My Afterlife Like I Like My Women, if You Get My Meaning
JOHN QUINCY ADAMS: My Only Regret is Not Being Doinked By George Washington
ANDREW JACKSON: Call me Stonewall to my Face- My Stone Wallface!
MARTIN VAN BUREN: I Seem to Have Abolitioned Myself
WILLIAM HENRY HARRISON: That Went Really Really Really Really Fast
ZACHARY TYLER: C-Ya Livies! Luvs Ya, K? ;)
ABRAHAM LINCOLN: You Can Fool Some of the People Some of the Time, You Can Fool All of the People Some of the Time, But You Can’t Stop a Bullet with a Stovepipe Hat. Anytime.
ANDREW JOHNSON: Stop Calling me Stonewall!
RUTHERFORD B. HAYES: Is Now Rutherford B. Deceased
JAMES A. GARFIELD: I’m Not Overweight, I’m Undertall
GROVER CLEVELAND: We Hardly Knewer Cleveland
WILLIAM HOWARD TAFT: Three Names was Not Enough
WOODROW WILSON: The President So Nice They Named Him Twice
CALVIN COOLIDGE: Was Radicoolidge
HERBERT HOOVER: Is This Heaven? Iowa
JOHN F. KENNEDY: This Tawch Will Buhn Forevah.
GERALD FORD: I Just Kept Falling Down Until I Was Dead
RONALD REAGAN: Do I Sound Like a Musical Robot?
DR. WIZARD’S SURPRISE TWIST ENDINGS FOR EVERYDAY USEAGE!
Thank you, thank you, it’s great to be back on the internet. Now, I don’t know if you’ve been paying attention the way I’ve been paying it, but the big thing in Hollywoodville and Book Central is the Surprise Twist Ending. I know you’ve seen them too, the It Was Her Brother All Along, or It Was All a Dream, or the ever-popular They Were Actually the Same Person Somehow But One Died. It sure takes a so-so scenario and gooses it up a gosling, doesn’t it? In fact, it’s so effective; I’ve decided it should be put to everyday use. So the next time you find yourself sharing that boring anecdote about Cousin Shirley’s dog running away or composing an e-mail about your night of cooking pork roast and watching America’s Got Models, spice it up a little with these Surprise Twist Endings. Spoiler Alert: You’ll love ‘em!
-She was actually the ghost of her mother the whole time!
-I wasn’t actually wearing the striped shirt!
-The calls were coming from the other end of the phone!
-She’s my dog and my cat!
-The house was built on an Indian Pet Cemetery!
-The beard was more of a goatee!
-I never actually told her where I was going!
-I didn’t wash my hands!
-I did wash my hands, but I didn’t actually go to the bathroom… nothing came out!
-Halfway through dinner I morphed from myself to a woman named Alice Munroe!
-Also, my husband was faking his death for the insurance!
-The mums were really lilies!
-She was actually the ghost of her mother the whole time!
-I wasn’t actually wearing the striped shirt!
-The calls were coming from the other end of the phone!
-She’s my dog and my cat!
-The house was built on an Indian Pet Cemetery!
-The beard was more of a goatee!
-I never actually told her where I was going!
-I didn’t wash my hands!
-I did wash my hands, but I didn’t actually go to the bathroom… nothing came out!
-Halfway through dinner I morphed from myself to a woman named Alice Munroe!
-Also, my husband was faking his death for the insurance!
-The mums were really lilies!
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