Wednesday, September 28, 2011

Tutta Bella Is Gone

Did anyone else own Drakar? The cologne. Not that town in France.

Did anyone else believe that there was a town in France named Drakar? Because I made that up, but it totally sounds right. I could Google it, but I like not knowing for sure. It's a mystery. I love mysteries.

So, I heard they are taking the self checkouts out of grocery stores. Let me go on record – the Self Check Out is the best thing that has ever happened to mankind. Fuck the wheel, car, White Album – the Self Checkout let you – and listen carefully, because I'm whispering – buy things without having to deal with fucking people. Let me say it again – buy things without dealing with fucking people! I go out of my way to not deal with fucking people and every corporation in America gets in my way by putting people between me and my product. Then a genius…nay, SAINT comes up with a way to not fucking deal with people and they take it away. That's what's wrong with this world – the second someone gets rid of people for you they take it away and you're left with people. God. I'm dizzy now.

I've noticed that every time you start a new job you have no idea what you are doing and someone reassures you that you will figure it out and you do and you look back and you think "How did I learn how to do this?" It's just crazy. It just goes to show that anyone can do anything if you give them encouragement. But the flip side is that that means you could become President. You. Right there. Reading this. Think about it. You would really fuck up. I'm just going by the percentages. Six people clicked on this link yesterday. That means one person is crazy enough to be reading this and that person could be President if they got encouragement. Then the bombs start dropping and it's all over because someone encouraged this person. God. Encouragement is killing us.

I used to be a Democrat until I realized I like to smoke cigarettes, litter, and hate people.
It really blew me away, too. Cuz the whole time I'm getting mad at Exxon or Goldman Sachs I'm not recycling and buying Perrier to mix with my whiskey. I was ashamed of myself. But I'm lazy too, so instead of changing I just started voting Republican.

Republicans are a totally different breed of person. They will tell you one thing and when you prove without a shadow of a doubt they are wrong they will just answer "Well, that's just how I was raised" or "That's just how it is" or "Birth certificate". But on the other hand, you're the dumbass that started arguing with them in Kohl's for no reason because you were drunk and didn't like their shirt.

Have you ever thought about what you do for a living and realized that if you weren't doing it everything would stay the same? Like the job is just a front for spying on how long it will take you to realize it? Like kinda Matrix-y. But not really. They aren't robots. And they aren't performing an experiment if that's what you're thinking. No, they are just fucking with you. This one time I sprayed a guy on the street with a hose off a balcony and he goes "WHY THE FUCK DID YOU DO THAT?" or something and I just said "I'm just fucking with you." Like that made up for it. It'd be like that, but it'd be your whole life's work. Like you're an engineer at a Styrofoam company and you engineer Styrofoam, but you don't really need to be doing that. No one would be without Styrofoam without your advanced engineering skills. No, they are just fucking with you. Seeing what you do with your engineering money. See how you grow and learn. And then they just laugh at you. And it's so fucking mean, but damnit, that's life. It amazes me that people think conspiracy theories have to be about doing evil – they could just be jokes. Like "Hey, we'll assassinate this President and see how people will react when hold and investigation that says it was a lone shooter, even though a committee of law officials say it was a conspiracy of multiple people" and then they just laugh their asses off at how people accepted it. Like if I worked at a hamburger stand and gave everyone hotdogs when they ordered hamburgers. It'd be like that. I would think it was funny. I would not be trying to harm you. I would just be fucking with you. And what's wrong with that? Anyway, I think I was talking about work.

Remember when you were in high school and how every weekend you'd try to figure out how to get liquor and where you could go drink it? And then you grew up and you still do that – only now you can easily get it and find a safe place to drink it? That's why when someone says "Grow up" to me I take it as a nice thing, like "Have a good time". Then I give them a high five and they just seem pissed. It's stuff like that, just trying to make life better. That's me – just trying to make life better. Like if I get shorted at an ATM for 20 bucks – I think it's OK to be lazy and not call the bank because in 1987 I stole 20 bucks from my older sister for comic book money. It's stuff like that – making the world better for me. What's wrong with that? I also notice that I will have unbelievable optimism for being such a pessimist. Like I'll go to get mail and think maybe I will somehow get free money. For no reason. And sometimes it does happen. Like I got a dividend from my insurance company. I have no idea why. And I never asked. It was two years ago and I still don't know why. But if they overcharge me, boy howdy, I'll get to the bottom of it. But the main point is to make everything better for yourself. Trust me.

I remember I got put in a special education class as a kid. It was because my math teacher was teaching fractions and asked us a question and I raised my hand and answered "I wish I was a truck!" I have no idea why I did that, but it ruined my life. For then on I had to be in special education classes. And the older I got the more retarded I felt until when I dropped out of high school I could barely form the words to break the news to my parents. All because I wanted to be a truck. If you're crying right now, don't worry – I totally made that all up.


Well, too bad.

It'd be cool to have a really fast car and drive it really slow. Like on the freeway and all and get a ticket for going too slow. But in the end you're not funny, you're just crazy. That would be cool.

How many of you out there have a job? Aren't jobs weird? You wake up and go to this place for eight hours and then go home and then do the whole thing again. When you think about it, life is like that too. You get up and you live for 16 hours then you go back to bed. But you don't get paid. Oh, and you have herpes.

My favorite band is Nine Inch Nails. Which is an odd thing to say when you're a 35 year old fat guy. That angst and drugged out thing don't really work for ya. That's why I always lie and say Meatloaf. Even though I hate Meatloaf. I mean, I don't really hate him. I just don't like his music. Well, I liked him in Fight Club. But that wasn't about being a musician, that was about being an actor. Anyway, the point is I shouldn't really like Nine Inch Nails for my age and build.

Have you ever had a person talk to you and you really don't care about what they are saying and you just keep nodding like an idiot and you think to yourself "This person must think I'm an idiot for listening to him talk for so long." Then you think, if this is an idiot who thinks you're an idiot then you are REALLY an idiot. Then in the middle of thinking all that they ask you a question about what they were talking about and you just break into a full on run.

Another music I shouldn't like is electronica. Mainly, because I'm not on cocaine, but also because I don't own a Volvo. But I do like it. If you don't know what electronica is I'll tell you – it's music without all the words. So, you can listen to it and make up your own words. Like "La La La. Da Da Da. La La." Can you believe that I can actually drive a car?

What if we actually really cloned a dinosaur? I mean – Wow! That would really do it for everyone. Everyone would wake up and just be like HOLY CRAP WE CLONED A FUCKING DINOSAUR! No one would think about anything except that dinosaur. For one day there'd be total peace on Earth as everyone would just be thinking HOLY FUCKING MOTHER OF PEARL – WE CLONED A FUCKING DINOSAUR! You wouldn't even have to go to work. You would call your boss and say JESUS SAMMY DAVIS JUNIOR – WE FUCKING CLONED A DINOSAUR! I think about this, literally, all the time. My wife left me recently and that's how I made it through it all. I just kept pretending GOOD APE SHIT – WE CLONED A FUCKING DINOSAUR! Then anytime anything bad happened I would just think 80 ROSARIES FOR JUDAS – WE CLONED A FUCKING DINOSAUR! You should really try it.

Do you ever start to suspect that everyone has the same psychologist telling them that they need to think about "ME" (them) first? What kind of racket is that? You go in and someone in authority tells you that you are not thinking about yourself enough and that you are in the right 99% of the time? It just pisses me off. That's why I prefer to just stay at home and stay crazy. That way I'm not making my problem your problem. Well, except when I maul your dog. But at least I don't think I'm in the right. No, once my taste for dog flesh is vanquished I sit next to the body and think "Did I really need to do that?"

Has anyone ever said "I can't believe it's (some time) already?" to you and you answer them seriously and respond "Believe it" but you do it all solemn like you just told them someone died? I do that kind of thing all the time.

Stand Up

Have you ever got that feeling that you're being watched? Like you're walking down the street and someone's just staring at you – and they're really bored. Like maybe they're hoping you're going to do something funny or cool, but you aren't cause you're you.
I get that all the time.

Did your parents ever say to you "I'm gonna shake some sense into you" and then grab you and start shaking the crap out of you. Have you ever shook something into something? I think it's impossible. For instance, if I took a phone and pour salt on it and started shaking it – well, I guess some of the salt would shake into the keyboard…god, now I want to shake the crap out of kid.

The best thing about the internet is that you can talk to people from all over the world. I like that. It's like another reason I don't have to travel. I had a friend come back from Brazil the other day and he explained how great the people were and I was like "I know." And he asked me how and I told him that I had talked to people from Brazil over the internet. He said that wasn't the same, and I agreed since I could openly masturbate while I was doing it.

My favorite TV show is that Top Chef thing. I don't know why. It might be that I'm fat and I like to pretend that they are all trying to impress me.

Have you ever had a dream where you were flying? You like take off from the ground and you're up in the air and your thinking – hey man, I'm flying! But then you start thinking about all the planes up there with you and how if you're not lucky you could get sucked into an engine and then you wake up and you wet the bed.

I have an absolute awe of people who enjoy small talk. I know it's cool and all to say that you hate small talk and that it's something simple people do – but what if this: maybe people who like small talk are so relaxed that it's fun. Like when you take a tab of Ecstasy and you enjoy talking to people…like I'm doing now.

I wonder if anyone's had a hangover so bad they committed suicide.

Suicide is a victimless crime once you think it all the way through. This is a thinking joke.

Everyone has dogs now a days. Am I wrong? Doesn't it seem like there's way too many dogs now? Like everyone has one. Like I'm a minority for not having a dog. It didn't used to be that way. Only like five people in America owned dogs. They were like unicorns. Wait – no, I'm thinking of unicorns. OK, but there seems to be a lot of dogs around.

You ever wonder if people are just sick of seeing you? I go in to the same mini mart to buy smokes everyday and there's this woman who works Wednesday through Saturday and I just feel like she's sick of me. She's always super polite, but there's just this feeling she's going "That fat guys gonna buy another pack of smokes." Every time. Like I'm this really bad rerun of MASH. So now I try to mix it up and buy a pack of smokes and another pack of smokes. It totally through her off I think. I'm working on more material – like burritos and fireworks.

I don't like seafood. People will ask me "How can you not like seafood?" and I'll shrug – because I DON'T HAVE AN ANSWER. There's nothing I could possibly say that would satisfy that question. "Because I don't" never works, it's like they want more. So now I just say that I was raped once while eating fish sticks.

Technology keeps changing. It bugs me. Once I learn one thing, I have to learn another. Then another. Then another. It gets to the point that I'm constantly learning and then I'm like "Hey, I didn't pay for this course." You get it???

How many of you out there like pizza? How many of you out there like rock n roll? How many of you out there like 9-11. Gotcha on that. But think about it – what if they were listening to rock n roll and eating pizza on those planes? It doesn't make it OK, but somehow it's not as horrific. I don't know why.

Have you ever been tempted to put on a pair of gloves and just go full blown OCD? Like pick it up as a hobby? I think about things like that. It might be fun. Unless you couldn't turn it off and had to go to the hospital and you couldn't get out because your lame excuse is you were just pretending.


"I will now bend my body into the shape of a banana." Davis leaned forward. "This is a banana. Juliette, come eat me."

"Today we'll be doing something different." Davis pulled a knife from behind his back. "I want you all to tell me who put this here in my back?"
The students looked around at each other.
"The answer is Davis Todd when he thought any of you cared about Yoga."

"Girls, and you one guy – I want you to perform like your life depended on it. Therefore, I'm going point this gun at you – don't worry it's not loaded – or is it?" Davis examined the gun. "OK, yeah, it was loaded."

"Today, class, I have a cough. I'm hoping it's not something serious, and I'm serious about that. I had something serious once and it scared me. It was a monkey and his name was ALCOHOL."

"I'm tired of doing the same positions. We're gonna try something new. Alice, get on top of Mary. OK, Juliette, get on top of Alice. Yes, that's right. OK, now Tim, stand on that pile of women. Be proud, Tim, this is an advanced class."

"OK, I got a little note from the complaint department. It seems that one of you princesses didn't like my use of the word ugly bitch – that's fine. For now on we're all going to live in Nazi times and no one can say anything. Alice – what time is it?"
"Um, Alice, we're in Nazi times."

"This is the Crouching Internet. You see how my hand is down my pants and my eyes are staring straight ahead and I'm holding up my phone to my face to take a picture?"

"OK, girls and Tim, which one of you wants to stare me straight in the eyes for the full hour while the rest of you look on in awe?"

"Yoga is not a fad. Yoga is not a way to lose weight. Yoga is not a way for you to fart in public and think it's OK. Tim, you need to stop farting."

"This is a move that I learned from Bill Cosby. Yes, the Bill Cosby. I bet you didn't think he did yoga. Probably because you think black people don't do yoga, because you all hate black people. OK, let's just do the move and forget that you are all racists with Miatas."

"I want to talk to you today about accepting yourself. You see, the body is tied up with your mind. When your mind feels crummy, your body will feel crummy. Now if your body feels crummy you won't be able to practice yoga. And why does your mind feel crummy? It's because you can't accept yourself. Alice, what's bothering you the most right now?"
"Well, I just broke up with my boyfriend."
"Alice, you need to accept that and move on."
"Say it like you mean it!"
Davis then pulled out the gun "Like you mean it."

"This is a snake. He's my pet. His name is Henry and he likes to bite people that don't pay their dues on time. I’m going to just let go of him and see what he does."

"Tim, your farting is out of control. You have to leave."
"But I didn't fart."
"Yet – I see that look in your eye."

Fist Chaser and Friends

"Fist Chaser! It is I, Nolan."
Fist Chaser raised himself from the mud coffin he had been hiding in. "Only you, Nolan could have seen through my disguise. How be thy?"
Nolan extended a hand from the costume of taped together trash bags and Fist Chaser shook it.
"I be well. I have just returned from the grocery merchant where I was able to release this package of potato chips from its steely imprisonment."
"They have been locking up the food now?" Fist Chaser asked incredulously.
"Yea. They are on to my plot. I shall share this bounty with you."
Nolan handed Fist Chaser the bag of chips. Fist Chaser made a movement to wipe his hands on his muddy costume, but then paused and realized his folly.
Nolan laughed. "Perhaps this bag of chips is meant for me only. Fist Chaser! Why so glum?"
"It has been years since I have had a real battle. Sure, freeing food and hard liquor from the corporate machine is top notch work for a super hero, but the lack of a real battle is making me fatigued – do you feel this way?"
"Fist Chaser, I do, too, feel this way. It has been six months since I found a worthy opponent to spar with." Nolan said as he dumped the rest of the chips into his mouth.
"Ah, yes. The Tommy Hilfiger'd boy from that club on Deleware."
"It was the most successful of encounters. He called me out."
"Yes, when lit that dollar bill on fire and dropped it in your lap."
"I met the challenge." Nolan raised his fist to emphasis.
Fist Chaser nodded "The look on that boys face when you hurled a piece of your own excrement at him must have made you feel glorious."
"Yea, but those days are done. It's too dangerous now. Those that would mock me now carry weapons I am not accustom to."
Fist Chaser nodded in agreement "Yes, my invisibility is no match for a gun."
"Hence the name."
"Right." Fist Chaser looked around awkwardly. "So, chips?"
"That is right."
"Where are you off to?"
"I am going to AA."
"The soul magicians?"
"Yes, I am conquering a new battle against the demons of the bottle."
"Those are strong demons, I too have fought them on many occasions. But they are small potatoes compared to the Crack Dragons."
Nolan put his arm over his eyes "Nay, do not speak of them!"
"I apologize. Are you well?"
"I could be do better. You wouldn't happen to have seen any dragons lately?"
"You need to be off to your magicians! You cannot let the dragons beat you!"
"Aye. I am off."
Fist Chaser lowered himself back into the mud. And Nolan trotted off.
It was another fine day in the park.

Tuesday, September 27, 2011



Golfed out on Lake Michigan. Beautiful. Except this one dude. We chat a bit with him before and he mentions that none of his friends should up to golf with him so he needed to golf with others. Well, after the game we find out why he has no friends. My aunt is nice enough to ask how he did golfing and he tells us that our golf cart was parked too near the green when we were golfing. And that that's bad ettiquette. So, then he has his golf cart parked in front of our so we can't return ours. So I wait for this a hole to get all his crap out of his cart and move it (he even starts talking on his phone). Finally he gets out of the cart and leaves and I go "Aren't you going to move your cart?" and he goes "I left the keys in the building" so I go "That's bad ettiquette."
That Playboy show that's on now: our friend upstairs does set dressing for it (it's filmed in Chicago) and his name is on a placad on the show. Also, this woman we saw at Second City is in it (bit part).
Plays: my aunt's best friend's son has a play he wrote that was playing downtown (Women are Crazy Because Men are A$$holes) and Second City (the place where Saturday Night Live farms for new talent). Women are Crazy was pretty good, but during the show there were all these Eastern Europeans in the audience (no idea why) and these two women were talking throughout the show and texting. So, the producer comes down and tells them to hush or leave. Well, Brad (my aunt's friend's son) is also in the play and he had to break character to tell them to shut up in the middle of the play. Second City was probably the funnier one I've seen.
Food: Thin crusted the pizza the whole time: Pat's was the best, but Bonjoro's, and this Italian restaurant in the Italian district were also really good. Got an awesome ham sandwich at a "New York" deli. My aunt saw a cop eating there and she told me that that's always the best way to figure out what's a good restaurant. I hotdoged the hell out of the trip too. My uncle took me to this hole in the wall place where it was grilled onions, Vienna, mustard, and cheese. Interesting. Tasted like a hotdog with onion rings on it. Then I got a "Chicago" hotdog at this Irish pub: Vienna beef, pickle, tomato, onion, mustard, celery salt, and hot peppers. Delicious. It was even delicious totally hung over. The last day my aunt got one with everything: mustard, LETTUCE, cucumber, pickle, tomato, onion, and celery salt. Had Mexican at this one place, but ruined it by gettting the hottest sauce on it (way too hot).
Drinking: as per usual Tequila was the drink of choice over there. Tuesday I got totally obliterated with my uncle on the boat and paid for it the next couple days with almost puking (had a bucket in the car on the way to pick up my sister) and hard core heart burn. Was so wasted I sprayed some poor dude with a house from my aunt's balcony. Friggin stupid.
Police: I have never seen a bigger police presence in my life in Wrigleyville. A friend (Kleiver) came down from the North and partied on the boat and we went to Wrigleyville. It was like a police state. Patrol cars, vans, paddy wagons. Really weird. My uncle seemed to think the reason is all the murders in Chicago lately (some woman was raped down the street at the DePaul campus while I was there) and terrorist attacks. I explained that there was no game that night, but my uncle still seemed to think police see it as a potential terrorist target as it is a large group of people (imagine Pioneer Square with ten times the people). Rahm is trying to clean up the city also.
Casino: really nice. Strange that you couldn't smoke in it. They had this creepy smokers lounge (if you've ever seen the old airport ones it looks like that). Won 60 bucks from this game where a buffalo huffs money at you - exotic.
Those are pretty much the highlights. I'm sure other stuff happened, but I was pretty wasted the whole time.
Also, I picked up my sister's cold that she got from my nephew and brought to Chicago.

Friday, September 9, 2011

The Dispatcher


"I can't stress this enough – do not bring a loaded weapon."
"Got it. Don't load gun." Victor smiled at James.
"Not a joke. For one, you can say that you had no intention of killing anyone. For two, you won't kill anyone. Because that's what we want, right? Nice little bank job, nobody dies, you run out of there with money, so forth, so on."
"Got it. Don't kill. Run out with money." Victor slapped James on the knee.
"You're a funny guy."
"I am a funny guy."
Victor and James were inside James' shop in the back of his house. The shop was a hobby room for James who planned capers and sold drugs. James was a hobbyist.
"Now look, go for the drawers and leave. You don't need the safe, the deposit boxes or any of that shit. You just want the few grand lying around. You're gonna make your money on frequency, not quality of the job."
"I get it. But that just means I add up the risk ratio."
"Not really. In and out robbers always leave the bank. You will always leave a bank. You just have to worry about the aftermath. But since there isn't going to be an aftermath, you've got nothing to worry about." James knew little to nothing about what he was talking about. But if Victor was able to score the small amount of money James had in mind, James would be able to pay down some of his credit card debt, and that made sense to James who had no risk whatsoever involved in the current project he was discussing.
"I guess that makes sense." Victor was an idiot.
To be fair, Victor was a junky. And a junky will do anything for a fix.
"So, tomorrow around one, you enter the bank. Then what?"
"I pull out the gun and yell 'No one fucking move, this is a robbery!'"
"Just like in Pulp Fiction."
"Just like in Pulp Fiction. How much money exactly are we talking about?"
"Few thousand. You keep three, I keep two."
"Yeah, but you're not really doing anything." James winced to himself. He was fairly certain Victor was dumb enough to go along, but there were these little breaks in his personality that expelled some thought processes that James wasn't initially aware of.
"Victor – would you be doing this if it wasn't for me?"
"And was this my idea?"
"Alright then."
The two said goodbye and Victor walked through the yard and through the house.
James' wife was inside cooking.
"Something smells good."
"That's pot roast. We're having it for dinner – would you like to stay?"
"Can't. I have to get up early and rob a bank." Victor then walked out of the house and into his car and drove home.

"Why did Victor say he was going to rob a bank?" Joyce was in the shop with a carrot in one hand and a piece of celery pointed at James.
"He's just joking."
"Victor's too stupid to make jokes."
"He made a few just now."
"What kind of jokes?"
"What do you mean what kind of jokes?"
"I mean, WHAT kind of jokes?"
"Like, just like…he was joking."
"Are you robbing a bank?"
James winced. "No, no. Victor is robbing the bank."
"And you have nothing to do with it, besides knowing about it, which makes you an accomplice."
"Yes. I know about it. But the guy's gonna do what he's gonna do. He's a junky. Junky's do dumb things – am I responsible for him buying junk, just because I know he's going to buy junk?"
"Don't play dumb."
"I'm playing smart. By juxtaposing his junk buying with his bank robbering, I'm proving a point that I'm innocent of being an accomplice. That's playing smart."
"Then you're a dumb shit."
"I was smart enough not to rob the bank."
"And I'm smart enough not to try to call someone with this carrot. That don't make me smart."
"Not like in the biblical sense."
"That doesn't make sense."
"Yeah it does."
"No it doesn't."
James grabbed Joyce by the waist and pulled her to him. "Look, let's just go inside, have some sex and –"
"This ain't a movie!" Joyce slapped James across the face with the carrot. "You are going to" she continued to slap him with the carrot "call the police and tell them" the carrot flew out of her hand and then she started in with the celery "that your dumb shit friend, Victor, is going to rob a bank and you want no part of it!"
James was on the floor now, shielding his face from the celery. "OK. OK. I'm just – quit hitting me with the celery!"
"Fuck you, call the police."
"K, just stop it."

James called 911 as Joyce continued yelling at him.

POLICE: Hello, 911.
JAMES: I'd like to report
JOYCE: He'd like to report a fucking idiot
JAMES: Cool it, baby. I'd like to report a robbery.
POLICE: Are you at the scene of the robbery?
JAMES: No. It hasn't happened yet.
JOYCE: Why don’t you just tell him not to do it.
JAMES: Because you told me to call the police!
JOYCE: Well, you shoulda called Victor first, you dumb shit!
JAMES: What the – what do you –
POLICE: Sir, where is the robbery going to take place.
JAMES: Bank of America. Gilman. Issaquah. One tomorrow.
POLICE: Do you know the person who is robbing the bank?
JAMES: I don’t know now. Can I change my mind? Do you tape these calls? Do you track me?
JOYCE: You stupid fuck! Here I'm making
POLICE: Yes, sir. We are taping this conversation and we have you at 56th Street in Renton.
JAMES: Fuck.
JOYCE: You dumb fuck! Fucking making a roast for a dumb fuck!
POLICE: What is the full name of the person robbing the bank, sir?
JAMES: Look, if I tell you, I'm not going to be in any trouble am I?
POLICE: Sir, I can't answer that, I'm only a 911 dispatcher.
JAMES: You aren't the police?
JAMES: Can I talk to like a detective or something.
DISPATCHER: Sure, sir.
JAMES: Thank you.
DISPATCHER: Before I transfer you, I'd like know if I provided useful information and help during your time of emergency?
JAMES: Well, that's nice. You did a great job.
JOYCE: What the fuck are you talking about?
DISPATCHER: Thank you, sir. It's my job to help. I'm transferring you over to the Issaquah police station.
JAMES: Thanks.
JAMES: You really just…I mean, "Hello, police" – that's nice.
POLICE: Can I help you, sir?
JAMES: Sure, I've never really talked to a police officer on the phone before.
POLICE: What's your problem, sir?
JAMES: Well, I have this friend.
POLICE: Legal.
JAMES: And he's a junky.
POLICE: Illegal.
JAMES: And he's going to rob a bank.
POLICE: Really illegal.
JAMES: Are you really the police?
POLICE: What did I say when I answered the phone, silly?
JAMES: You don't sound like the police?
POLICE: What? Am I supposed to be all gruff and like Hello, this is the police, we have guns.?
JAMES: No, you just sound…
JAMES: Well, you're putting words in my mouth now.
POLICE: I am gay. You have a problem with that?
JAMES: Police can be gay?
POLICE: Yea - us!
JAMES: But I thought there was that don't ask and snitch.
POLICE: Don’t ask, don't tell?
JAMES: Yes. I thought there was…that.
POLICE: That's the army, dummy.
JOYCE: Are you talking to a fag policeman?
JAMES: Cool it, Joyce.
POLICE: You better check that bitch.
JAMES: What?
POLICE: You heard me.
JAMES: You can't talk to me like that!
POLICE: Hello? I'm the police and I'm gay, I can do anything I want.
JAMES: What? What the fuck?
JOYCE: Tell that fag to fuck off!
POLICE: If you don’t tell your wife to cool out –
JAMES: Honey, cool off. Now look, is there someone else I can talk to?
POLICE: Nope, the buck stops at gay.
JAMES: OK, so this guy's gonna – this isn't a joke right? You are the police?

"He hung up on me." James scratched his head.
Joyce was trying to fit the pot roast in the microwave after several attempts at giving a fuck about it.
"Gay policeman. What's this world coming to?"
"Fuck that. What do I do now? I'm an accomplice. I reported the crime…but they don’t have my name. Do I call back?"
"You ain't calling that gay policeman back. Uh uh. No way. That's just bad luck right there."
"Gay police are bad luck?"
Joyce closed the door on the microwave, then used her shoulder to latch it. "You hear of a gay policeman before?"
"Then something's fishy. Someone's fucking with you. Call nine eleven again."
"Nine eleven. Never forget."
Both of them became silent and bowed their heads.
In unison: "Never forget."

DISPATCHER: 911, what's your emergency?
JAMES: Hi. I called back about ten minutes ago and I was reporting a robbery.
DISPATCHER: Yeah, I remember you.
JAMES: Oh, you're the same guy?
DISPATCHER: No, but we all listen to the calls when we're bored.
DISPATCHER: Yeah. So what seems to be your problem now? Didn't Issaquah help you out?
JAMES: Um…are you gay?
JAMES: OK. Well, this gay guy answered at the police station and I think maybe you guys transferred to the wrong number or something, because I know there's no gay policemen.
DISPATCHER: There are plenty of gay policemen – haven't you seen the Village People?
JAMES: Is that a TV show?
JAMES: Hmmm…doesn't ring a bell.
DISPATCHER: They were a group of gay men that dressed as laborers. One was an Indian.
JAMES: Don't they call them Native Americans now?
DISPATCHER: Are you black?
JAMES: What the fuck?
DISPATCHER: No. I'm just saying, do you call yourselves African Americans?
JAMES: Only in front of white people.
DISPATCHER: OK, well, I'm 1/18th Indian and we don't call ourselves Native Americans.
JAMES: 1/18th? You're barely Indian. I have more Indian in my…what's that one corn starch that –
JAMES: I have more Indian in my Argo.
JAMES: I don’t even remember what we were talking about. Wait- so, that gay guy hung up on me.
DISPATCHER: Wonder why.
JAMES: Look, this isn't a joke. I want to report a crime, get put down as not an accomplice, and –
DISPATCHER: Are you making demands?
JAMES: No. I'm just…trying to call nine eleven.
DISPATCHER: Never forget.
JAMES: Never forget.
DISPATCHER: Well, I can put you through again, but I would imagine the same police officer will answer the phone.
JAMES: That's fine.
DISPATCHER: Maybe be nicer this time?
JAMES: K. Fine.

POLICE: Hello, police again.
JAMES: Fuck.
POLICE: It's me, cutey!
JAMES: Look, lets start over. I want to report a robbery that hasn't taken place yet.
POLICE: You're just all kinds of psycho.
JAMES: I'm not psycho. I'm just trying to report a robbery, so that I don’t get listed as an accomplice.
POLICE: Oh, you can still get in trouble.
JAMES: Really?
POLICE: Sure, if you plotted with the robber.
JAMES: What if I stop him?
POLICE: We'll still investigate.
JAMES: K. If I stop him from robbing the bank, is there anyway I can get into trouble?
POLICE: Are you black?
JAMES: The fuck?
POLICE: Just joking. No. If you stop him, then we can't prove that you ever really intended to rob the bank. Or something. I'm new here.
JAMES: Can someone just tell me what to do?
POLICE: Calm down, sir. Just stop your friend from robbing the bank.
JAMES: OK. OK. Thank you.
POLICE: Stay sweet.
JAMES: Sure.

"He's not answering his phone." James was trying to eat the rubber roast his wife had just served him.
"Go over there." Joyce was trying to eat the roast too, but was trying harder as she had to act like it was delicious.
"This is good roast."
"Thank you, sweetheart." Joyce wondered if James had gone insane.
"OK. I'll go over there. Do you mind if I save the rest of this for tomorrow? I should probably get over there now."
Joyce lifted a brow. "You don't like the roast, do you?"
"I love the roast, I just need to stop Victor from robbing the bank, like the gay cop said."
"Don't they prefer homosexual?"
"I don't know. I'll be back soon." James got up from the table and grabbed his coat.
"I'll leave the roast in the oven for you."
"The real oven?"
"No, the microwave."
"You cooked this in the microwave?"
"Is there a problem with that?"
"No – yes, that's why it tastes so bad!"
"So, you didn't like it? Is that it? You talk to a gay dude on the phone and you decide that you are cultured now? Throwing on airs!?"
"What are you talking about? And why do you keep bringing up the gay – homosexual cop?"
"I didn't. You did." Joyce raised an eyebrow that would lead to all sorts of bad, like the fabled butterfly.
"Why'd you raise your eyebrow?"
"You think I'm gay?"
"I'm just saying you didn't like the pot roast."
"That makes me gay?"
"No, that makes you a dumb shit! This pot roast is breathtaking." Joyce managed to swallow another wad of rubber.
"I didn't say I didn't like it. I just said…you cooked it in the microwave. It would have been a lot better if you cooked it in the oven."
"Then why aren't you finishing it?"
"Cuz I got to go stop Victor."
"Finish first."
"Fine!" James threw the coat on the floor, sat down and forked a large piece of meat into his mouth and began chewing. The meat was like silly putty.
And then in the total silence that followed came the eyebrow again. "So, you gonna call your little cop friend back?"
James rose from his chair, pointed a finger at Joyce and

DISPATCHER: This is 911, what's your emergency?
JOYCE: My husband is choking!
DISPATCHER: Is this the African American man who called earlier about the homosexual policeman?
JOYCE: How'd you know all – he's turning blue!
DISPATCHER: OK, calm down – you need to Heimlich him.
JOYCE: Is that a gay thing?
DISPATCHER: No. You need to wrap your arms around him from behind –
JOYCE: That's a gay thing! You all is gay!
DISPATCHER: Mrs.! You need to wrap your arms around him, and then exert pressure on his sternum.
JOYCE: I ain't doing that!
DISPATCHER: Please, Mrs., this is not a gay thing.
JOYCE: Tell me again? Wait, he's not breathing. He's not breathing!
DISPATCHER: An ambulance is on the way.
JOYCE: Oh, God. He's not breathing!
DISPATCHER: Wrap your arms –
JOYCE: No more gay shit! This is for real!

And with that, James died.

Tuesday, September 6, 2011

The Cruise

"This will be our last night on the cruise, I'd like to make it special for my wife."

"OK. Ice cream special or anal sex special?"

"What? Excuse me?"

"Look, I only work one day on the cruise. They pick me up in Anchorage and then I leave at Seattle."

"I'd like to speak to your manager."

"See, here's the thing – every year there's a new manager. No one remembers me. So, just answer the question."

"K. Look. My wife and I don't do that –"


"Yes. In the butt."

"No, I meant you're going to continue with a reason that you might entertain the idea."

"No. I – well, what does the anal sex special include?"

"You get some KY and a buttplug."

"We're English – do you have any of the American adaptors for the wall socket?"

"For what?"

"The plug."

"It doesn't plug in to the socket. It plugs into your wife."


"Whoever, look, I'm not trying to sell it and I have other folks to harass tonight."

"OK, let's go with the buttplug."

"K. Do you have color preference?"


"We don't have blue."

"Oh, I thought you were asking me what my favorite color is."

"Why would I do that?"

"Simple curiosity?"

"I'm not the one being curious here."

"What colors are there?"

"White, black, and green."

"Do some men have green penises?"

"Gardeners maybe."

"Let's go with green."

"OK. Would you like the deluxe special package?"

"What does that entail?"

"I come up and punch you in the face and have sex with your wife."

"Do I get a color preference?"


"Can I think on that?"

"Sure. Anytime during the evening while you're having anal sex, call me and I'll be more than happy to come upstairs and fuck your wife and punch you in the face."

"You Americans sure do things differently."

"I'm sure everyone hires people to beat them up and fuck their wife – I don't think it's regional."

"Well, good day!"

"Sure, dickface."

"Who was that?"

"That was the concierge."

"Oh, are you doing something special?"

"Only if you call buttplugs special!"

"But where will we plug it in?"

"That's the novelty of it – it plugs into you!"

"Those Americans with their anal sex and weird outlets…"

"You know, they once fought a civil war – that's where they fight themselves."

"Like schizophrenics?"


"Oh, I am so glad we are leaving here tomorrow. This Wild West atmosphere it too much!"

"There's someone at the door!"

"It could be the buttplug!"

"Greetings – here's your sundae!"


"What is it, dear?"

"Thank you."

"It seems we got the ice cream special."

"Can that go in my bum?"

"No. You eat it."

"Well, this has turned out to be a let down."

"Let's just go to bed."

"We could try to put the ice cream in your bum."