Archive for October, 2011


dual dollar charles

Hey, listen for a minute, Morales. Don’t look up; just keep bagging that evidence and try not to attract the other officers’ attention, because I’m about to give you your first advanced lesson in detective work. This is no ordinary home invasion, kid, and I’m not just talking about the anthropomorphic bears, either. Look around: no signs of forced entry, and nothing missing? Plus, remember those three bowls of porridge in the breakfast nook? Sure, it makes sense that the papa bear’s bowl was piping hot, but look at these other two. I mean, the mother bear’s bowl being cold while the baby bear’s bowl was just right? Look at the difference in the two bowls’ size and think about it: how would the mother bear’s porridge, which was considerably larger than the baby’s bowl, have cooled off faster? Unless… she served herself first! Now tell me something, Morales, what kind of a mother feeds herself before she feeds her child? I’m telling you, between this and the parents sleeping in separate beds, there’s something this bitch isn’t telling us.

To make it as a police detective, you’ve gotta have a few things. Most important is a luxury condo with a great view. Women are attracted to intense, mysterious, brooding men, and you wanna have a nice environment to bone your many beautiful sexual conquests in; it’s common courtesy. Now, that part you got down. And I gotta say, that seaside view you got with your place is so great. Tons of girls are gonna want it doggystyle so you can both enjoy the sunrise as you make sweet, tender love. Who’d you use, by the way- Sheila? What’d I tell you, Morales, best interior decorator in town, huh?

But also vital to a good sleuth are natural curiosity and a keen observational eye. Me, I was meant to be a detective. Let me squint into the distance for a minute and I’ll tell you why. When I was a child, my mother had a strict rule that I, her only child, was not allowed to touch her collection of porcelain figurines from the Franklin Mint. A new one arrived in the mail every month, and as the collection grew, the amount of space in my home I was confined to diminished to the point where I had just a small path to take me through the display tables that lined the hallways from my bedroom to the bathroom to the kitchen. That’s the kind of upbringing that good snoops come from. Plus, I picked up some great fingerprint-dusting techniques by watching her verify that I was following her edict not to touch the figurines, and if a perp ever comes at me with a belt, let’s just say I know some great defense positions that will minimize the number of really good stingy hits he can deliver before backup arrives.

But I digress. Anyway, this case is fishy, and we’re gonna get to the bottom of it. Who knows; there might be a connection to that missing-girl case. Just a hunch. I don’t wanna play into any stereotypes about bears here, just playing the percentages. Oh Christ, Morales, don’t give me that look, you know perfectly well what I’m talking about.


highly motivated

Ladies and gentlemen of the press, although our organization represents a wide spectrum of varying, disparate, and often competing interests, the Brotherhood of Brewer Avenue Pimps is proud to have repeatedly demonstrated an ability to work together when the need arises, as recent events have forced us to do. The exacting organizational standards that have allowed our profession to flourish over the last forty years require us to take corrective action when one of our own acts in a way that falls short of those standards. So it is with great disappointment that after months of careful deliberation, we find ourselves in the unenviable position of having to condemn the actions of our respected colleague, Oatmeal Cookie Gladiator, for his continued harsh treatment of the hoes in his stable.

While Oatmeal Cookie Gladiator’s many laudable contributions to our craft are evident to even the most casual observer, his recent irresponsible, unethical behavior, if allowed to continue unabated, could set the pimp game back decades, erasing all the gains we’ve made and damaging the partnerships with the community we have come to value so much. We stand united on this issue with local chapters of both the Hustlas Guild and the Playas Auxiliary, and while we are not ordinarily known for partnering with these organizations, our willingness to set aside our differences and ally ourselves with such trick-ass marks serves as a bellwether of the worsening severity of the situation.

While reasonable disciplinary action in dealing with hoes is an integral function of the pimp’s role and is indeed part of the sacred responsibility to the bitches entrusted to our care, such measures must be a solemn undertaking to be treated with appropriate gravity and distributed fairly, judiciously, and only when absolutely necessary. Many of these young concubines come from troubled backgrounds and depend on us for direction, and a pimp’s guiding hand can provide the structure necessary for a healthy, productive work environment, as well as  protection from overzealous customers and a deterrent from vice. Our primary concern is their safety, and not, as some cynics would say, retaining a dwindling market share caused by Oatmeal Cookie Gladiator’s terrified hookers suddenly taking all our business in order to meet his draconian and ever-increasing weekly quotas.

His own actions have narrowed our options, but it is our hope that this non-binding resolution shall prove sufficient to disincentivize Oatmeal Cookie Gladiator from his current course of action so that he may return to our fold as a member in good standing. His leadership in the past helped us get through the counterfeit North Korean cigarette scandal of 2007, and we look forward to many more years of friendly cooperation once this matter is resolved. In the meantime, is anyone here looking for a party?


mommy, some silly guy threw his shoes on that telephone wire

Our dog thinks she’s a person, we sometimes say. But who are we kidding? Our dog is about as sharp as an orange, but even she has probably noticed that she’s the only one who doesn’t use silverware, or that she makes different mouth noises that our home’s two-legged denizens do, and that nobody but her seems to take the Squirrel Threat seriously (mother fucker is always running around like nicolas cage trying to warn us about the squirrels’ secret plot, but dammit, we just won’t listen. it’s lonely being the only one who knows). Point is, she knows she’s a dog, but having only one species for comparison, it was probably pretty easy for her to arrive at that conclusion. Think of the poor wild animals who are surrounded by tremendous biological diversity. For them it must be at least a little confusing. When does a deer become aware he’s a deer? Does a golden eagle ever stop and say, “oh, I’ve been an eagle this whole time. Lucky me!” as he’s dropping a goat off a cliff?

The reason I ask is because my dad worked in at the plant that was the third-largest employer in our town. And the two main spheres that my parents drew their social contacts from were his co-workers and our church, greatly preferring those young families who fell into the overlap between these two spheres. And it just so happened that most of these families’ patriarchs were not in facilities maintenance like my dad, but engineers. Which meant that during my formative years, my impressionable young mind was molded in large part by guys who carried pocket calculators at all times, even while they were barbecuing hamburgers in the backyard. While my parents weren’t nerds themselves, my mom knew where to send me when, inevitably, I approached her with nerd-related questions (“honey, you  know you you should ask about that? Ken Dwyer. Mrs. Dwyer tells me he’s recorded nearly every star trek episode from the reruns on channel 27; maybe he could loan you one of his tapes”) I never asked my dad about stuff like that. Maybe on some subconscious level I knew he wasn’t all that excited that I was developing those kinds of interests.

Years later I was trying to figure out why I was a 24 year-old virgin, and ultimately I traced it to two defining personality characteristics. One, the ability to develop unbridled, unironic enthusiasm for weird shit, I consider a real gift. Any free western society needs to have a guy who has well thought-out opinions about the strengths and weaknesses of Danish metal producer Flemming Rasmussen, and while it is my honor to provide this frequently overlooked civic service, it’s not a great way to meet people. The second is a tendency to misread obvious social signals and a basic unawareness of a lot of generally agreed-upon conventions. Whew- well, that about covers it. I feel so much better getting that out into the open, you know? Thanks for listening. Oh, and for answering my question a couple hours back about the copy machine; your prompt, cheerful service will earn you high marks on the customer satisfaction survey that I assume will follow our conversation. Oh, don’t be so humble- I’m serious, you’re one of the best. The Konica company should take the recording of this call that was made for quality assurance and play it at their new employee orientation.


hello, i’m johnny casual

Okay, Jenny, I know the first semester of sixth grade has been pretty tough with you being the new girl in town, and that neither I nor the other popular girls in school have made it any easier with our cruel hazing practices. Well, as the things we are about to tell you will make clear, we had to test you because we needed to make sure you could handle being friends with us. So no, inviting you to this slumber party was not the latest in an escalating series of ruthless pranks (although that would have been a great idea), but rather a legitimate gesture indicating that we want you to formally join our group, Le Clique Elite.

Now, the first few hours of a slumber party in which we are initiating a new member are usually bogged down with us menacingly walking in a circle around the blindfolded nominee, repeatedly asking whether she can keep a secret, until she cries. But tonight we are gonna forgo all that, because you earned some credibility by not squealing on us when we stole your sandwich out of your lunchbox and replaced it with your beloved dead hamster that we dug out of the garbage, with a note pinned to him that said “you.” So since we already know you’re tough, we’ll get straight to sharing the secrets of Le Clique Elite. The first and most important one is called the Secret Game.

The Secret Game has been played by girls in our town for generations. Even my grandma played it, and she told me that it’s really important that we keep the traditions, or else the Secret Game won’t work. But if you play it right, you can do all sorts of cool stuff, like talk to spirits, levitate, or pick up pencils with your mind. Plus the longer you do it, the better you get at it. My sister’s a freshman, and she says that if she didn’t do her reading assignment the night before, she can cast like, a spell or something on the teacher to get her to not give a pop quiz. Also, there was this one girl, like in the 90s, whose boyfriend dumped her, so she snuck into his house and slipped a Ouija board between his mattress and box spring, and his next girlfriend mysteriously disappeared. It’s totally true.

Imagine being able to freeze time, then stroll undetected into the varsity boy’s basketball team locker room. Ugh, now that I mention it, that actually sounds pretty gross, but you get the idea. I’m serious. If we stick with it, playing the Secret Game can give us advantages beyond Edwin Meese Junior High or even Bob Packwood High. I’m hoping I can use it to get me into Harvard. And from there, I could either become a high powered attorney like my mom, or keep advancing in the Secret Game until I become an interdimensional traveler, battling demons for sport in arenas full of howling bloodthirsty plebians, reveling in their cheers as I drink blood from the hollowed-out skulls of my vanquished enem- Oh hi, Mrs. Beasley, we were just talking about boys we have crushes on. Thanks for the pizza rolls! Okay, we’ll call you if we need anything! Bye! Goddammit, you were supposed to be standing watch, Stacey. All right girls, let’s show Jenny how Le Clique Elite deals with mistakes. I’ll get the hammer.

October 2011