Archive for October, 2010


the long-awaited sequel to santa claus: the movie

Dear God,

Hi, it’s me again. I realize it’s been too long since I last spoke with You, and for that, I apologize. How have You been? Good, I hope. Despite the fact that You are invisible, I’m sure You’re looking great up there on Your throne and whatnot. At any rate, I’m in a bit of a jam right now, and I pray for Your guidance in this matter. During this very stressful time in my life, I humbly beseech You to please help me to calm my heart, which is pounding so hard I can barely think. And Lord, I ask that I would take slow, shallow breaths during this test of my will. Help me also to be really still, as the slightest noise I make in the next half-hour or so could alert the gangsters I ripped off who are rummaging through my stuff right now to the fact that I am here under the bed, trying not to blink too loud.

Looking back, Heavenly Father, I am suddenly deeply aware of the fact that I should have given You more of the glory when things were going well. From the time I awoke each morning after a night of restful sleep on the very feather mattress I am hiding under, two personal valets were standing there, one to keep me supplied with warm chocolate chip cookies on demand, and the other to hand me a clean, dry Kangol hat at the top of every hour. I had a bevy of international models not only willing, but practically begging to do the weird stuff I need to get off, and I deeply regret that You heard me taking Your name in vain as You watched our orgies from Your Heavenly vantage point. Things were really great, and I should have stopped to thank You from time to time for the material comforts You blessed me with. As You no doubt recall, I feted my new business partners with lavish celebrations where I handed out decadent party favors, including coke spoons which were carved from the molars of those that had crossed me. The mansion I moved into even had a well-stocked survival bunker I could escape to in case of emergency, but in Your infinite wisdom, You allowed the security breach to occur while I was showering in the north wing, and therefore unable to grab a towel, much less make it into the wine cellar where the secret hatch to the bunker is hidden before the whole place was crawling with Hoo Fong’s henchmen, smashing everything in sight in search of their boss’ rightful property. You truly move in mysterious ways, O Lord!

This experience has opened my eyes to see that I have let my comfortable lifestyle get in the way of what is truly important, and so I come to you a penitent man. If it be Your will, Almighty God, I will return to the life I led before I found the briefcase that changed my life. Fortunately, I made sure to stay on good terms with my landlord in that dingy efficiency apartment illuminated by a single light bulb, where I lay my head down each night on a bed of newspapers and fell asleep to the clinking sound of rats rooting around the empty bottles of Thunderbird. If You deliver me from this predicament, I promise to lay my treasures down at Your feet, although I do meekly ask that You somehow provide a way for me to keep that cookie guy on the payroll. Jesus H. Christ, those are some good cookies.


i’ll smile when i’m dead

Let me tell you a story about a guy I used to know. He always played by the rules. He was precisely as nasty as he wanted to be; no more, no less. He was always careful to make sure he truly didn’t care before he would throw his hands into the air and wave them. When he exercised, side bends and sit-ups were carefully monitored so as not to lose that butt. My point is, this guy had a lot going for him, but for one notable exception: he didn’t have a hot tub in his car. Though it seems unlikely that such a deficiency would have so many adverse effects for a guy whose firm grip on life could be illustrated by his signature fragrance of Drakkar Noir combined with a dab of Seagram’s 7 behind each ear, he soon found himself in situations both social and professional in which the lack of an available hot tub left him looking woefully unprepared.

I don’t need to tell you that the guy was me, which is why I’m up here giving this sales seminar, and you are in the audience, wondering why you’ve been celibate so long that your most realistic sex dreams now involve a drilled-out canteloupe as the object of your affection. But hey, don’t repeat my mistakes; learn from them. I stand before you today as the picture of success, as evidenced by this midrange-priced wireless microphone, and the fact that this seminar is taking place at a hotel chain no longer known for its mentions in local police scanners, but for its continental breakfast, the better features of which will have been picked through by the time you get to it. You can share in that success, friends. You may have missed out on that croissant, but a hot tub in your car is the french toast of today’s savvy professional, and with it comes wealth as the syrup and status as the powdered sugar.

Now, I don’t want you to think that things are gonna happen for you overnight once you get a hot tub in your car. Respect the process, however, and it will pay dividends. A hot tub in your car won’t get you to that crucial situation where you need a hot tub but don’t have the time to go looking for one. But once that scenario does unfold, word’s gonna spread that you handled it like an ace. You may not think people talk about these things, but they do, whether it’s ladies under the dryers in a hair salon, high-ranking corporate executives discussing who to offer the next promotion to, or the membership review board of the country club. Don’t you think it’s time your mom finally stopped murmuring something about a barren womb every time one of her bridge club peers mentions their progeny’s passing the bar exam? And just think: once this bounty of material blessings rains down upon you, you’ll already have a place to celebrate.


we probably should have built this city on something besides rock and roll

I’d like to have a word with you, son. Yeah, I know, champ; but the sooner we talk about this, the sooner we can get back to your birthday party. Listen. You’re growing up faster than you realize. Pretty soon you’ll be a grown man and we won’t be able to have these talks. Jeez, look at me getting all emotional. Back to the business at hand. Look, how old are you today? That’s right, five. And you know what that means, right? Yes, you’ll be starting school next year. Well, it’s a big milestone in your life and I want to make sure you’re ready when the day comes.

What I’m trying to tell you is that you’re becoming a man, and as such, it’s time to start leaving some parts of your childhood behind. For example, you know that Nickelodeon program you like, the Fresh Beat Band? Well, it’s time you learned that they don’t actually play their own instruments. Hey, chin up, buddy; I’ve been there. When I was in high school, it wasn’t easy for me to hear the truth that “Parents Just Don’t Understand” wasn’t actually what was going on on the streets, but I’m eternally grateful for the time both of the black kids at my school stuffed me into a trash can to prepare me for the harsh realities life has to offer. So next weekend when we go back to the movies to see Saw 3D again; I don’t wanna see you cowering under your seat like you did last time.   

Nothing in this world is free, and you’re gonna have to understand that. What do you think these balloons festooning the halls are made from? Latex? Fucking Mylar? Get real, kid, I got clients to impress at this little shindig. These balloons are nothing but the finest: 100% penguin bladder. What’s that? Gee, I dunno, professor, you think you could live without your bladder? No. Of course they’re dead. My point is, don’t ever get too comfortable, because the world can be an unforgiving place. One minute you’re playing golf, enjoying all sorts of newfound free time thanks to that well-built guy you hired to take care of your household chores, and the next minute, you’re counting the days till your kid goes off to school and you’ll have the house to yourself so you can start auditioning new mommies.


i love it when you melt into an indistinguishable collection of pixels, baby

Hey, I couldn’t help noticing that we ordered the same sandwich. BLT with avocado, right? Yeah, it’s a good one. Mind if I sit with you? Yeah, I know there are a ton of tables open, but don’t you think it’s a shame how society has programmed us to think it’s less weird to isolate ourselves from the world rather than acknowledging your neighbor? I mean, we walk by the same people every day, content to pass by without ever reaching out to them. Seems a waste if the only thing we share with others is the same dour look on our way to the next mundane task.

Oh, you got the sweet potato fries; those are so great. Man, I am so jealous. I’ll bet you have such an awesome metabolism. You look like you could eat a garbage bag full of hamburgers and be no worse for wear. Not me, though, I got the fruit cup, which is pretty great in its own right. Sometimes I like to pretend I’m a Viking, and the fruit cup is an unsuspecting little hamlet I’ve some to ransack. I’ll take my fork and stab a piece of canteloupe right in front of his children as they tremble in fear, or cut a grape’s eyes out so that the last thing it ever sees is its hut being burned and his wife screaming as she’s dragged off by my tribesmen to the longboat, where she’ll serve as the evening’s “entertainment”. And then, my face splattered with viscera and gore, the primal satisfaction engendered by a day of nonstop killing resulting in sexual arousal barely concealed by my animal pelt kirtle, I’ll leave a few survivors, not out of mercy, but to run and spread the tale of my ruthlessness throughout the land. Pretty crazy, huh, Mark? What do you mean, how do I know your name? Same way I know your address, 705 East Landover Avenue, apartment 338. Well, if I didn’t know that stuff, I would be much of a new best friend, would I?

October 2010