Wednesday, June 25, 2008


Letters to My Father

Dear Dad,
Remember that one morning when you told me there was a Gnome riding a duck in the backyard? And when I went out into the backyard, you slammed the door and locked it? Well, I just wanted to tell you that I forgive you. Years later, I would find out you had a prostitute in the house and you wanted to have sexual relations with her. As a man, I can now say that I understand your needs and I understand why you needed to act the way you did.
The thing I still can't understand is how could you know years later I would actually come upon a gnome riding a duck. For, just today, I opened my door in my country house and there was a gnome on a duck "Ahoy!" he said. "I've brought you some muffins!"
I've never killed a gnome or a duck before, but I can only find closure in apologizing to you.

Dear Dad,

I'm glad you didn't write me back. You see, I believe some things are left unsaid. Like the story about the time you bet your friends I couldn't eat 11 hotdogs. I was so positive that I couldn't either, but you kept feeding me hotdogs and telling me in that grim voice of yours "You better finish!" That's the type of thing that's better left unsaid.
In your new life, I hope you have another son who can eat 12 hotdogs!

Dear Dad,
I was out in the hot springs this morning. I live on a mountain in a glorious country house I built from cardboard and pallets. It's not really altogether legal for me to be living out here, but I have many creditors and ex-wives that I need to escape. Kinda like you when you fled the country after murder. I'm not sure who you murdered, but I'm sure you had your reasons. Like, maybe he couldn't eat 11 hotdogs. I'm not really sure. Another gnome was out in the yard today on a duck.

Dear Dad,
There is a small army of gnomes on ducks in my front yard. The leader gnome has been knocking on my door and asking if I might have seen Jilly Bill. I tell them I don't know anything, but they persist. I'm not sure what to do. Maybe if I had that anti gnome spray you told me you owned. The kind that would keep you safe from gnomes and what I found out was really a butcher knife you used to slay five in a Boston warehouse in 1986. Anyway, the gnomes are calling again.

Dear Dad,
The gnomes have granted me immunity for the deaths of Jilly Bill and Garden Horse the duck. I told them my story and they feel that years of abuse at your hands had driven me to murder the gnome. I feel validated. This will be the last letter I write to you, as the gnomes are taking me to a far off land called Gnometown. I can't guess what Gnometown and my new home for me might entail. Maybe there's a place where you and I can finally make peace. However, Gnometown is not that place, for you are reviled as an evil despot and killer of gnomes. I thought you should know.
P.S. Do you still have that BMX bike I had? I would really like to have it back.

Wednesday, June 18, 2008

More Stories About Your Face

Meanwhile, in the Cave of the Flavor Savers

"General! The vents are locked."
"Blue and yellow?"
"Made green."
"Alright. Ipson!"
"Yes, General! How's that cheese?"
"Sir, we're losing the end."
"Does the family simply cut the end off? Or do they throw the entire cheese out?"
"They throw it out."

An Army of One...Middle Finger

Have you got what it takes to beat the odds and find adventure in life?
Has the War on Terror left you behind because you were too fat, stupid, or lazy to pick up a weapon?
Do you believe that the Army, Navy, and Air Force require you to fight on foreign sands?
Well, not any more.
If you have a middle finger, and you share the Bush Administrations values, WE WANT YOU – to flip off protesters from your car.
Imagine, traveling to exotic cities like San Francisco, Boston, or Seattle…to flip people off.
It takes 30 hippies to create a protest – it takes one middle finger to say "Hey, f@ck you!"
Be the finger that makes a difference – WWW.ARMYOFONE.COM.

That Time I Robbed Your House

Hey, man. It's funny that you stopped by. I wanted to talk to you, too.
Yeah, I heard you got robbed – listen, I wanted to talk to you about that. I robbed you.
I know that's what you thought. Let me explain. I had this really good burrito the other day and I was sitting there thinking "Man, I could really use another burrito like that." So, I figured I'd go down and get a burrito. Then, I realized I didn't have any money. So, I was like "Why not rob Kevin?" So, there you go. I figured I'd be –
Yeah, you'd be amazed how little you get for a wedding ring. I think it bought a burrito and then, like, there was 70 bucks left.
I know, I know. Look, I have the 70 bucks. I just owe you four bucks. Wait –
OK, you're not going to believe this, but I've been robbed. All of those 70 dollars are gone.
So, we can call the cops, like you're saying, or we can let Karma complete its cycle. You lost 74 bucks, and I lost 70.
I knew you wouldn't see things my way, Kevin.
Same to you.

The Dolphin Castle

A lot of people ask me about the Dolphin Castle I visited in Florida.
I can understand the curiosity, but c'mon. Some things are private.

Astronauts that Live in My Basement

What's the first thing you think about when you think about astronauts? I know, me too: space. But you wouldn't think of my basement, would you? I guess the title probably grabbed a few of you by the eyes and pulled you in for more.
Well, there is more.
About two years ago I was down in my basement and I heard this "Shhhhh." I kinda looked around and noticed that three astronauts were hunkered down behind an old couch.
I knew they were astronauts because they had those puffy suits and the face shields and stuff.
They kinda looked at me and I just nodded. I could see what they were up to. My basement looks much like the moon, except for the couch and the collection of old parkas on the couch. Plus there's a Coca Cola sign from 1987 on the wall. Otherwise: moon.
The astronauts told me not to tell anyone about their fake moon landing, but it's my basement.

I Would Like to Extend an Olive Branch to You, Other Race Guy

Working in an office can be extremely political these days. You have people of all walks of life, be they red, yellow, or Mormon. It's very important to step around these people and make sure that you don't slip up and say something that they might take offense at.
Like the other day, I was in the elevator and this Communist got on and we started chatting.
I knew he was a Communist, because we were chatting about how much I hated Communists.
Before I knew it, I had insulted this man and his religion.
So, you can see how you need to be careful about people of other races – especially dirty Communists.
And that got me to thinking: isn't there a better way to go about dealing with people that you don't agree with or look like or shop at the same malls as?
There is!
That's why I'm extending this olive branch of peace to everyone who is different.
Yes, the olive tree is an elusive one and I found myself traveling all the way to my neighbor's lawn to acquire it.
Now that Thursday is here, and I have to go back to work, I will be brining the olive branch in, so that the next time someone gets on the elevator and they are different, I will point the olive branch at them.
It just makes sense.

I Don't Know About This Iran War Thing

I don't know much about all this Iran war business, but I will tell you this: I'm not about to start going to war for someone's oil and junk. I mean, what's the big deal about going to war for oil? You don't see people going to war at gas stations over it.
Like the other day, I was at the gas station and there was this car ahead of me and I started really laying into my horn, thinking this would make the guy hurry. It didn't.
That's how I know you can't get oil with pressure and stuff.
So, the next day I went to the gas station and no one was ahead of me. So, I couldn't prove anything. But the next day, I went in with my tank completely full and there was this guy ahead of me again. So, I pulled up next to him and I motioned for him to come up to my car.
He kind of gave me a look and I said "Hey, take a look in here." And I pointed at my gas gauge. "I don't need your oil, Sam!"
And then I drove off.
Therefore, I think there's always a peaceful solution when it comes to oil.

I'm Already Fired

I understand you want to talk to me about some of the things I've been doing around the office?
Oh, really? Well, listen: I've already been fired.
You look surprised? Well, don't be. Someone higher up than you fired me just an hour ago, before you even invited me in for this One-on-One meeting in the security podium.
It doesn't matter who did it. It's been done. I've been fired. And not by you.
No, the person who fired me was 100% more qualified to do the job. They listed the large spreadsheet full of infractions, my attendance, and nine other counts of why I am an inept worker and need to be taken away from this company.
So don't even try it.
Sure, I'm confident that you too could make a good case for having me fired. The point is: someone made a better one.
That someone wasn't you.
Yes, of course, by all means, escort me to the door – but it's not the first time. I was escorted to the door just a half hour ago, and therefore am too tired to fight back.
The biting and snarling that accompanied my previous departure was something to behold. But not this time: you didn't anger me in the least.
Sure, you can pepper your dialogue with "crazy" and "nuts" and search my pockets for contraband, but it's nothing compared to the thrashing I received when one of your betters hauled me out the door and told me to return all that copy paper.
Let this be a lesson to you.

Who I'm Voting for and Why

To all those concerned, I want you to know I made a decision today. I have decided to throw my vote in for a man who best represents what I stand for and what I believe the United States should stand for.
This is no ordinary man, you won't find him on CNN every night debating about the war and oil and stuff. This man is different.
He believes in things I believe in. Like the time he believed in me.
That's right, that man is my plumber.
He was over the other day fixing my toilet. I was watching old Newhart reruns and drinking. I offered him a beer, but my plumber refused. He said "I have job to do."
I applauded his morals and finished my beer and then made some pizza. I stood in the doorway of my bathroom and watched him work.
With my mouth full and beer dribbling down my chin, I asked "You need some pizza?"
He didn't understand me, so I asked again "Woo Wee Won Weeza?"
He looked at me and nodded. I went to the kitchen and remembered that I had eaten the last slice. I came back with the news.
He told me he was just about done. He was so classy he didn't even acknowledge the fact that I had teased him with pizza.
I sat back down and pulled out a can of paint and began huffing as he continued to toil in my bathroom.
This was a man that would work for America. I've seen America, and it's full of drunk, overweight men who huff gas and masturbate with tanning lotion. This was a man who would work for America, when America can't work for itself.
Eventually, the man came out of my bathroom and said "Is done!" I smiled and walked up to him and shook his hand. He flinched, but I grabbed his arm and made him shake hands with me. In this way, he proved that he wouldn't take my friendship naively, no he knew that he had to work for it.
He showed me the toilet and the new whatsajiggy that he installed. He flushed the toilet and we both watched the water in the tank rise to greet what was a new day.
"Thank you, Kenny." I said.
He smiled and told me his name was Sam. I told him it didn't matter, I would still vote for him no matter what his name was.
He didn't really believe me, or maybe he was just shaking his head at the olive branch I had pointed at him.
Either way, Sam is my choice for 2008.