Got Enough Of My Own Problems

Delete, Delete, Delete!

2007-08-27T12:36:00.003-04:00

Morning has come. Huge pot of coffee. Turn on the computer. Open Outlook Express. Down comes the torrent of useless drivel.

Email one. If I'd like, my penis can be sixteen inches long. Not that it isn't now. However, were it not, it certainly could be. The man selling the "Vi-ah-graaa" says so. His email address has a lot of X's and numbers in it, something like:

"X34234XX@lilpenie.com"

I wonder why he's so anonymous? He's a spy perhaps? DELETE!

Email two. A friend of mine. Its a lecture of sorts; I was able to figure that out once I waded through all the bad grammar and incorrect punctuation. The email contains a lot of inquisitive phrases. "You should do this!" "Why don't you do that?" "I don't understand why you're not doing this, that or the other thing!" "Why did you do that?" My eyes glaze over. I'm a bit nauseous from all the coffee and no food. I gag and the puke ends up on the computer screen. It covers my friend's annoying avatar which he includes with every email; a picture of KISS with his head superimposed where Ace Frehley's should be. DELETE!

Email three. Its from an acquaintance I met at a friend's house. It takes forever to download because it has ten megabytes worth of files attached. These consist of a five minute video compilation of her child's birthday party along with fifty pictures of same in case I have trouble viewing the video. This way I won't miss out on the fun. Which I do because my computer is the same one that was used to write the Bible and I can't see the video OR the pics. Then I think to myself "Why the hell am I trying to look at this?" I hardly know this person. I certainly don't know the kid. Why was this sent to me? She asked for my email because she said she was throwing a party and would like to invite me. Did she mean this kid's party? And if so why wasn't I invited? She also "requests a read receipt." DELETE!

Email four. Finally something important. The "Minister Plenipotentiary Of Eastern Nigeria" fervently requests my help with a pressing financial matter of utmost importance. I plan to answer him right after I take a dump. On my keyboard. That ought to go well with the puke on the screen. DELETE!

Please stop emailing me.

The King Of Surplus Cups

2007-08-20T11:41:00.000-04:00

Thursday, August 16, 2007 marked the 30th anniversary of Elvis Presley's death. As a tribute to "The King" I purchased this at my local supermarket:

The Hershey company's packaging tells us to "Live Like The King." Apparently they believe the royal lifestyle will result from eating a candy facsimile of the sandwich that helped contribute to "The King's" death. They had wanted to put amphetamines in the original version but the FDA told them no.

I'm very glad that Hershey's has printed "Collector Edition" on the wrapper. I wasn't sure collecting them would be of value but now I know. Perhaps they will consider issuing a numbered certificate with each purchase so that once I've sat on these things (not literally) for a decade or so I can go list them on EBay and turn quite a profit on sales to overweight trailer folk.

Of course I'll have to store my "collection" in dry ice to prevent rotting, stinky peanut butter, banana and chocolate. All this being said I must admit these are damn tasty.

But alas I'm not going to collect the "King Cups." I already have a surplus of cups in my apartment and since I'm planning on moving in a couple of months I really don't wish to acquire any more inventory. What I really want is to get rid of most of them.

In fact I too am a "King" of sorts. I'm "The King Surplus Cups:"

I use "cups" as an all encompassing genre that includes "glasses," "mugs" and "bowls." As you can see there are a lot of them in the cabinet. How the hell a single man like me ended up with all these "cups" I'll never know. If you look at the mug directly to the right of the coffee pot you will see it is a "Hershey Mug," yet another example of the pervasive influence of that company in all our lives. I drank a beer from it as I ate my "King Cups."

Most single folks only need several "cups" to live comfortably. I hardly entertain and usually just use a coffee mug and one glass that I can keep rinsing out over and over again. Same goes for the bowls.

So what to do with the cups? And the bowls? And the mugs?

I'm not really sure. Some of you will tell me to "just throw them out." Others will tell me "donate them." After all there are many homeless shelters that can probably use some old glassware. Environmental types will be horrified if I don't turn them in for recycling.

These suggestions are all good but are entirely too logical for me. I need a suggestion on what to do with the "cups" that's comprised of a great deal of folderol and time wasting.

One solution I came up with is based on a dream I had about the following establishment, which doesn't actually exist YET:

I figure the first thing to do is phone someone in Kentucky and see if the town actually exists. If not I'll have to have it built; if it already exists that's even better. I'll also need to build "Route 29" and "Elmo's Bowl & Blow" BEFORE I build the actual museum. This way people will know how to find it. Then I build the museum, I donate my "cups" and PROBLEM SOLVED.

Now the question becomes how to raise the money. Corporate investors maybe? Wealthy private citizens? Its a great idea so I can't see any issue with raising the funds.

I need to sit down and flesh this out so I'm going to grab my "Hershey Mug," pour myself a beer and enjoy Hershey's latest product: "Reese's Mama Cass Ham & Cheese Sandwich Peanut Butter Cups."

Manny Shevitz Talent Management

2007-08-13T14:00:00.000-04:00

And now, a short play I've written about talent agents. May they all live and be well.

MANNY SHEVITZ TALENT MANAGEMENT

Its early afternoon in the office of Manny Shevitz Talent Management Limited. The owner, Manny Shevitz, is on the telephone. He is a middle-aged huckster who always tries to make everything seem great even when it stinks.

MANNY: Manny Shevitz Talent Management Limited, this is Manny… Yes Sid, I have the kid outside right now… We’re going to tell him about the part and then we’ll send him over to you later… O.K., babe, I’ll get with you soon and we’ll do the right thing… Goodbye, Sid.

Manny's wife Bernice Shevitz enters with Thomas Anthony, a young and aspiring actor like one of whom you might see on a sit-com about people who hang out. Bernice is a basically a female version of Manny.

BERNICE: Here he is, Manny, Thomas Anthony!

MANNY: Wonderful! Have a seat kid… I see you’ve met my lovely wife, Bernice.

Thomas sits down.

THOMAS: Yes, I have. Thank you very much for seeing me.

Bernice goes and sits next to Manny.

BERNICE: Are you kidding?! After we saw your headshot we knew we just had to call you in. We had a "feeling" about you.

MANNY: And we also got the showcase invitation for that musical review you did out at the "Trenton Armory," "The Best of Ed Sullivan."

BERNICE: I never even knew Ed Sullivan sang.

THOMAS: It was "The Best of Gilbert and Sullivan." I really hoped you enjoyed it.

MANNY : We didn’t go. But when I saw that the flyer was printed on high gloss, tri-color paper I knew that it must be a good show. That’s real class.

THOMAS: Thanks. I almost didn't send you anything because your office is in Newark and its… hard to find, but my acting coach told me to mail to everybody. When I saw your ad in "The Star" I just couldn't resist.

MANNY: Smooth move kid. You won’t be sorry, for as the old saying goes, "I know talent!"

BERNICE: That’s an old saying?

MANNY: Yeah, its about ten seconds old. I just made it up!

Bernice and Manny burst into uproarious laughter.

BERNICE: Oh, Manny, you slaughter me like a Christian in a Roman Coliseum!

Bernice and Manny suddenly become silent and stare intently at Thomas.

MANNY: Should we tell him?

BERNICE: I think so, Cookie.

MANNY: Kid, before you came in I was on the phone with Sid Bentel the famous producer of such musicals as "Tova Borgnine, My Life and Times…

BERNICE: Starring the great Brenda Vaccaro in the title role…

MANNY: That’s right, thank you very much Bernice; and speaking of Brenda he also produced a very popular children’s educational musical called "Fun With the Four Food Groups" in which she played a giant kielbasa!

BERNICE: Opened in the Catskills; absolutely killed!

MANNY: Very true, very true. Anyway, kid, we showed him your headshot and he said he hasn’t been this impressed in over two months. He wants you for his latest project, a musical called "Broads, Broads and More Broads," in which you would play the part of the Easter Rabbit.

Thomas is wary.

THOMAS: That sounds really great. Is it "Off Broadway?"

BERNICE: "Off-Off." Its in Guam.

MANNY: The United States Army has a theater in Guam and they need acts to keep the soldiers entertained. You’d only be getting sixty-five dollars a week but you’d be helping out Uncle Sam.

THOMAS: Sixty-five dollars a week?

BERNICE: Minor detail. You get all the buffet you can eat and a free bed. And it was written by none other than the great Irving Schwartz!

THOMAS: Who’s that?

BERNICE: He’s my cousin from Lodi. He plays the banjo.

MANNY: That’s right. Probably the only banjo player ever to write a musical. And do you know who’s going to be playing the part of President Harry Truman?

Thomas is starting to become sarcastic.

THOMAS: Gary Sinise?

MANNY: None other than the guy who played Mr. Howell on Gilligan’s Island. His name escapes me at at the moment. He also did the voice of "Mr. McGoop."

THOMAS: Jim Backus. He’s dead.

BERNICE: Well, his career is a little slow right now but this should put him back over the top.

MANNY: Anyway, kid, you just have to give us two thousand dollars for new headshots and we’re all set. I’ve got an Instamatic camera right here in the desk. Just go stand against that green wall and we’ll get started.

THOMAS: Listen, I really appreciate your time but Guam is just a little far for me. I need to be really close to Broadway at all times, you know, the stink of exhaust, the beauty of the gutters; and anyway, I like my headshots. Thanks a lot.

Realizing its a scam, Thomas hurriedly shakes the hands of Bernie and Manny and tries to leave. Bernice angrily corners him.

BERNICE: Oh, I see! You think you’re too good for us! Well screw you, you little prick! We were going to cast you in a documentary we’re producing called "Pittsburgh, Ho!" You were going to play the part of the "Narrator!" Do you hear me?! The "Narrator!"

MANNY: You’re finished, Thomas Anthony! You’re gonna end up just like your cousin, Anthony Michael Thomas, shoveling dung in the circus someplace!

Thomas breaks away and runs out of the room.

BERNICE: He seemed like a nice kid, but entirely too Jewish!

MANNY: You wanna go in the back room and play some two-handed pinochle?

BERNICE: What the hell.

Bernice and Manny exit arm in arm.

***END***

Ah Landlord! Part 2

2007-08-06T07:30:00.000-04:00

Ah, Landlord! It is good to have you back from Antigua! Regardless of what you may have heard to the contrary I don’t hold you personally responsible for not informing me that a construction crew was going to be spending an entire week rebuilding the deck of the tenant above me. To be honest I rather enjoyed it; what writer trying to concentrate wouldn’t? The cacophonous pounding of hammers and incessant buzzing of saws brought back many pleasant memories. It reminded me of that time I was in the Peace Corps overseas and the local constabulary built a gallows outside of my Quonset hut to curb a peasant uprising. How we fought to try and save the insurgents but in the end it was all for naught as the constabulary had vicious alligators and many loaded weapons with which to fight us! The alligators were almost as big as those rats I saw in the boiler room; I don’t mean to trouble you but have you phoned the exterminator yet? Discretion being the better part of valor prevents me from mentioning the name of that small third world country as they are still fighting to be free. I’m not sure if you have a working knowledge of geography past what you can see directly in front of your rather large proboscis so in the end I guess it really doesn’t matter!

Ah, Landlord! I stopped by your office the day after you returned from your trip to pay the "five-percent annoyance charge" which you levied on me for asking questions. You weren’t there but I had a nice conversation with your assistant (the hunchback who grunts a lot, not the one with bad teeth). I asked him (or is it her?) if perhaps you had brought back some sort of interesting native artifacts from your trip to Antigua. He (or her?) showed me the lovely snow globe, which you procured to use as a paperweight on your desk. It could only have been made by a very gifted West Indian artisan for the plastic base had very finely honed Art Deco style lines to it and the welcoming "Greetings From Albany" which graced the banner above Santa’s head gave me cause to stop and regard it more closely. That globe must have cost you a pretty penny and it made me feel as if I were in Antigua myself when I saw it. For this, dear Landlord, I thank you.

Ah, Landlord! You are the epitome of taste and high tone class! You are the well-tailored bon vivant of the nascent 21st century! Your nasal hairs glisten in the noon day sun and when you tie them to the hairs coming out of your ears and flip them to the top of your head it makes for quite the comb-over, the kind with which no toupee could ever compete! You, dear Landlord, are a shining example of the modern day real estate mogul! Now please, PLEASE, untie me!

Ah, Landlord!

2007-07-30T11:16:00.000-04:00

Ah, Landlord! You are most benevolent, a benevolence which has not been seen before and shall never be seen again. A man of high morals who some say has the scent of stale cheese, but to them I say that scent may be the odor of the dead mice which you refused to exterminate from the boiler room and they should hold their tongues what speak against you.

Ah, Landlord! Remember the time the pipe burst and everything flooded? And no one could even leave the parking lot nor would dare to for fear of drowning in the surging water? How humorous you were as you sailed away on your yacht, throwing pennies at us humble tenants and promising to send reinforcements as soon as you reached Bermuda with the security money. As I ate my soggy Twinkies for supper I chortled heartily at your optimistically sarcastic view, realizing all the while that I would not be able to get to the market for more food, even with the pennies for they would not float and even if they could would not hold my weight.

Mrs. Rafferty drowned in that flood and still you were kind enough to allow her family to keep the water damaged couch even though that insufferable old woman owed you five dollars for shorting the previous month’s rent! Damn her insolence! So self-involved was she, what with being ninety-five years old and in a wheelchair and on limited Social Security, that she never realized that your numerous vacations had nothing to do with the failure to maintain decent plumbing!

Ah, Landlord! Your leases are sheer art! Some have called them "Draconian," but I call them "literary." They say you are a philistine but I know different; it is the extremely mercenary which is your art and this unbridled creativity manifests itself on the many pages of your labyrinth contracts! Allow me, dear Landlord, to site "Codicil 20, Section A" from page 92: "Thou shalt carpet thine apartment at a rate of 80% which shall be strictly enforced, unless I don’t feel like leaving my desk to enforce it." You pointed this out to me when I, humble tenant, skulked down to your office to complain that either a herd of elephants or perhaps an Arthur Murray Dance School had taken up residence in the apartment above me. You made it clear that you hated to be interrupted in the midst of eating a pastrami sandwich and that I ought never to bother you again with such trifling matters. It was I, dear Landlord, not you, who should have realized the depths of my vanity in making such a request and for this I apologize and shall happily pay the "five-percent annoyance charge" which you assessed on my most recent payment of rent.

Ah, Landlord! Your seersucker suit and patent leather shoes glow in the sunshine as you pick the bugs from your moustache. Enjoy your trip to Antigua; we gladly await your return. Now please untie me.

Policemens' Poetry Slam

2007-07-23T12:37:00.000-04:00

Back in February of 2007 I had the privilege of publishing some poems by my good friend, the surrealist poet Avoir Dupois.

In May 2007 Dupois had some trouble with the law when he was arrested in the Bronx for selling "goat jerky" from a pushcart without a license. The police officer who arrested him,
Detective Bill Santeciero of the 14th Precinct, NYPD Bronx Bunko Squad-Narcotics Division, confiscated some of Dupois' poems and told him "I could write better shit than this!" Dupois spit at Santeciero and is currently serving a sentence in Attica. The reason for Dupois' incarceration, however, is attempted murder, not spitting or vending without a permit. It seems that Santeciero tried to eat some of the "goat jerky" and nearly died of ptomaine poisoning.

I became so intrigued by this tale of woe that when I heard through the poetry grapevine that Dectective Santeciero had made good on his threat to "write better shit than this," I decided I had to go listen to him read some of his poems. In mid-June, 2007 I took the subway out to Astoria, Queens to the lovely "Braised Salmon Lounge" of the Olympus Diner, where the 5th annual "Poets On Patrol Poetry Slam" was being held. Consisting entirely of members of New York's Finest reciting their attempts at poetry, the winner receives a trip to the Jersey Shore and gets to beat all the losers with his night stick without fear of reprisals. Hence the term "poetry slam."

Detective Santeciero told me that one reason he decided to enter the poetry slam was because "my wife is always breaking my fuckin' balls saying I'm not sensitive so I need to show her I have a soft side." He said he was a bit angry at having to miss the World Poker Tour on cable and was "throwing shit around the house because I was so pissed off at having to miss a cultural television show to go do this faggy-ass bullshit!"

The audience (many of them on furlough from Riker's Island) was so charmed by this intelligent and literary man that I decided to publish some of his poetry here (he also said he would figure out some reason to ticket me if I didn't):

DETECTIVE SHIRAKI AND ME
A poem by Detective Bill Santeciero
14th Precinct, NYPD
Bronx Bunko Squad-Narcotics Division

Detective Shiraki and me was on a stake out down in the two-five
When we spotted two alleged assailants driving a late model Buick Century
The reflection of the hood chrome glistening in the noon day sun

So hot you could fry an egg on it to go with your dark, black coffee, no sugar

It was at this point that we observed these two individuals exiting the vehicle on foot
And entering a small corner bodega
Where the children romp and play outside
And the old folks wander drunkenly up and down, down and up
In front of the door, swearing and throwing dominoes all about
Like so many small black bricks raining down from the sky
From the sky they are raining

Detective Shiraki and me had received a report
That both assailants had been seen accosting an elderly gentleman
In an apartment lobby in the Bronx, though we did not discuss it
For it pained our souls to think of it
And anyway, we were not at liberty to divulge any information at that time
So our mouths remained tightly shut along with our hearts

Me and Detective Shiraki, Detective Shiraki and me
We then heard what sounded like an altercation and gun shots being fired
So we exited our vehicle and made our way to the door
Only to realize that it was just a child playing with a cap pistol
And we laughed, and gave him a dollar for some candy
And laughed some more
And then went into the bodega and arrested both suspects just for the hell of it

And for detective Shiraki and me, our innocence was lost forever

REQUISITION FORM 198765, REQUISITION FOR SHOES
Yet another poem by Detective Bill Santeciero
14th Precinct, NYPD
Bronx Bunko Squad-Narcotics Division

Before I’m interviewed late night on the news
I fill out requisition form 198765, sub-section part a
Of the newly mandated ancillary uniform code
State of New York, requisition for shoes

It is a form that’s like no other
It reminds me of my mother

For we all must have shoes
Is what she once said
And if you get yours dirty
Pop will kick you until dead

I remember the first time when in the form room,
Of the ninety-eighth precinct it stuck out in the gloom
I was drawn to it instantly, although I must say
There were many other forms there on my first rookie day

There was form ninety-seven
For when you are sick
And form two-oh-eight
When a suspect you kick
And form twenty-three
Which they keep in the back
To authorize use of a two foot black jack

There’s form one-six-seven
Which gets you a badge
And form four-five-eight
Which you get from that good lookin’ dame in
Communications named Madge

But none of those other forms could cure my blues
Only requisition form 198765, sub-section part a
Of the newly mandated ancillary uniform code
State of New York, requisition for shoes

For us cops we need shoes every day of our lives
To run out for donuts and away from our wives

To wear with our dress blues and wear with our jeans
To hammer the head of some dealer in Queens

To kick off a car alarm when loudly it honks
To chase an alleged sniper up to Gun Hill in the Bronx

Whenever I'm on a stake out and I'm cold
And my bones hurt and I feel like I’m ninety years old
And some homeless guy keeps on breaking my balls
By asking for bus fare to Niagara Falls

And I need a nice thought that will help keep me warm
So I swallow a cruller and think of that form

Which I filled out before I went on the late news

Requisition form 198765, sub-section part a

of the newly mandated ancillary uniform code

State of New York, requisition for shoes

Although Santeciero didn't win the contest (that honor went to a poem called "Put Up Your Hands And Throw Down That Condom, Whore!" by Sgt. Thomas Merklinson) I firmly believe that we will hear more from this fine poet in the future. He plans to keep writing, though for write now he says that "I need to put in a lot of overtime to build up my pension so this literature bullshit is just gonna have to wait."

Let us all hope that it won't have to wait to long.

True Crime Story: The ISP-TOS Killer

2007-07-16T09:58:00.000-04:00

In the annals of crime Herman Snookerdorance is rarely remembered. For one thing his name was difficult to recall or even pronounce. For another, he was an unbearably obnoxious schmuck.

Anyone who has ever been the victim of crappy customer service from an ISP should learn about Snookerdorance. In 1947 he became the first person ever executed for "email murder" when he killed a customer by providing shitty, useless "solutions" to the customer's email problems. He did this by sending an asinine form email as a response to the man's desperate pleas for help, an email which seemed to indicate that he never even looked at the fucking question which he was sent.

Snookerdorance was a small time confidence man selling defective watermelons out of the back of his car on the shoulder of the Cross-Bronx Expressway when a friend offered him a job at "Hey Yo Daddy-O Software," one of the first service providers which opened "in the early days of the Internet right after World War II" (Al Gore, 'I Invented The Web' p.51). He had no actual computer skills and couldn't speak very well on the phone, yet he quickly rose through the customer service ranks because of his profound ability to grunt, say "umm-hmm" a lot and always make it seem as if the customer fucked up instead of the company. Very soon he was the head of customer service, specializing in problems with email.

Historians estimate that Snookerdorance probably killed about 55 people with his shitty customer service. Right before the state took his life he admitted to 23. He was very shrewd; he would delete any trace of his ridiculous answers the minute that he heard a customer had died as a result. He even developed a method to tap into the hard drive of the victim's machine in order to delete any evidence of his having tried to help them. The media of the day dubbed the unknown murderer the "ISP-TOS Killer," an abbreviation for "Internet Service Provider-Terms Of Service." They believed that whoever was committing these murders must be absolutely rigid in his/her belief that the service provider knows all, the customer is a moron and the company's terms of service should be followed to the letter in lieu of actually answering a customer question correctly or solving a problem satisfactorily.

Since detectives of the day were having an impossible time finding evidence it looked like the murders might never cease. But then a break came and it was Snookerdorance's own carelessness which led to his eventual undoing.

On July 13th, 1945, Snookerdorance received the following email from a Yonkers, New York plumber by the name of Arnaud Gastronitis:

Within seconds Mr. Gastronitis received the following response:

Upon opening this email Gastronitis, who was already prone to dyspepsia, became apoplectic and died of a combination of explosive gas, a massive coronary and multiple strokes. His wife read the email and, after vomiting up her dinner, phoned Yonkers detectives who promised to come investigate the minute they were finished eating.

Snookerdorance's mistake was that he got up to go the bathroom without first deleting all the evidence, which he had planned to do upon returning to his desk. He was wearing a ring that was loose which slipped off his finger and fell into the toilet; he then got his arm caught in the drain trying to fish it out. In the meantime the Yonkers detectives, hot dog mustard dripping from their mouths, arrived at the Gastronitis residence and were able to trace the email to Snookerdorance's computer. After stopping for more hot dogs they found Snookerdorance, his arm still stuck and dripping wet with toilet water. They pulled out his arm, and making sure to finish their hot dogs first, promptly arrested him.

The trial for Herman Snookerdorance began on September 15th, 1945, in the Bronx County Courthouse. It took six hours, five hours and fifty minutes of which were spent trying to make sense out of Snookerdorance's customer email responses. The jury reached its guilty verdict in five minutes; it seems that every member had somehow been screwed over by "Hey Yo Daddy-O Software." Lawyers for both sides would later say that it was impossible to find any jurors who weren't biased against the company or hadn't been screwed by them, so they simply went with the 12 men and women who seemed the least pissed off. When asked about the futility of defending Snookerdorance his lawyer commented "I would have had an easier time getting probation for Hitler." For the capital crime of "email murder," the judge sentenced Herman Snookerdorance to die in Sing Sing Prison's electric chair.

While sitting on death row Snookerdorance became his own lawyer, as he had been unhappy with his legal counsel. Executions in New York in the 1940's usually happened within six months of sentencing but Snookerdorance was able to keep the grim reaper away for almost two years by writing his own appeals. Historians have said the reason for this was the fact that the appeals were written in a confusing, hard to understand fashion, even for judges, so that it took much longer to get through them or to make sense of them. One appeal Snookerdorance filed didn't even have anything to do with his own case and addressed an entirely different issue; it concerned a guard suing the state for a uniform dry cleaning reimbursement, a case which Snookerdorance wasn't even a litigant in and which could do absolutely nothing to help save his life.

By the end of July, 1947, all his appeals were exhausted and so were the jurists who had to suffer through them. On Thursday, August 21st, 1947, at 11:02pm, the big oak door of the Sing Sing death chamber swung open and Snookerdorance entered defiantly, flanked by two guards and with the prison chaplain standing in front of him reading from a copy of "Death House Psalms For Dummies" which had been given to him as a gift by Snookerdorance. The condemned man faltered a bit when he first saw the chair but managed to regain his composure, walked quickly over to it, and sat down. Within a minute the guards had strapped him in and the executioner stepped over to attach the electrode to his head and drop the mask over his face.

It was then that Snookerdorance uttered his famous last words, so apropos for a man about to pay the ultimate penalty for "email murder." Not being able to see what was going on due to the mask over his face Snookerdorance assumed that the momentary pause while the executioner walked over to his controls was an indication that perhaps something was wrong with the machinery. The pause was made even longer than normal when the warden walked over to tell the executioner something. The room was absolutely silent. Snookerdorance, probably thinking that as a last hurrah he could offer some customer service assistance, shouted out "Did you remember to plug it in?" Upon hearing this the executioner promptly threw the switch and at 11:10pm Herman Snookerdorance, the "ISP-TOS Killer," was pronounced dead.

His death did nothing to improve ISP customer service but hell, it sure is satisfying to read about it.

An Ozarkian Rant

2007-07-09T09:02:00.000-04:00

I saw the machine pictured to your left when exiting my local Shop Rite the other day. This product is sure to improve the already tenuous relationship which we New Yorkers have with the fine folks from Appalachia and the Ozarks. I'm fully expecting that the next time some tourist family from one of those regions stops by the store to buy some possum or raccoon for "vittles" (an adorable colloquialism for "eats") they will spy this machine upon leaving and go "deliverance" on one of the stock clerks with a rusty-stringed banjo and some K-Y. The situation will be exacerbated by the fact that these foodstuffs are not normally found in New York eateries or groceries (something the Clampetts will no doubt interpret as discrimination) and the family will therefore be forced to cancel their plans "to hunt for 'eye-talians' (I just see'd one over yonder Pa!)" and drag their two-headed, three-toed albino children (who are cousins as well as siblings) out to the expressway or to some of our more well traversed back roads to rustle up some chow.

A profound question for you, my dear readers. DOES ANYBODY ACTUALLY BUY THESE FUCKING THINGS?!! And why the fuck would the genius who came up with this particular novelty tooth machine place it right next to the BUBBLE GUM machines!! If anything is going to turn parents off from buying gum for their annoying, relentlessly shrieking children its to see a machine full of fake, rotting hillbilly novelty teeth. "You see, junior, that's what happens when you fuck your sister, oh yes, and when you chew that crap! We're not buying any!! Now go over there and hug that cute little Appalachian girl and tell her you're sorry you laughed at her cyclopsian eye!"

What the fuck happened to the machine with the novelty vampire teeth that they had when I was a kid?! At least vampires aren't real (or so we hope) so you really can't offend them and kids at least know what they are. What kid knows about hillbillies? And, the novelty vampire teeth help to ENHANCE rather than DETRACT from the sale of gum because they are pearly white and have very sharp incisors, something that every parent wants for their silly kids.

The next time I visit the Ozarks or Appalachia (which will probably be sometime after I visit either Newark or the 7th Ring Of Hell) I fully expect I will see this machine in one of their supermarkets:

Have a nice week folks and be sure to brush twice a day.

Best Of The Ashton Post Police Blotter

2007-07-02T12:13:00.000-04:00

The "Ashton Post Weekly Retractions" have proved so popular with our readers that this week we give you the "Best Of The Ashton Post Police Blotter", regarded by many criminologists to be the most exciting documentation of law enforcement ever compiled.

1. Incident Date: June 21, 2007
Time: 15:05 hrs.
Division: Farm Response
Title: Chicken Vandals
Location: 89 Velcamere Road, RR2, Ashton
Summary: Chicken and Lima bean farmer Joseph D. Pendragon phoned in a complaint that an individual(s) of indeterminate description was/were attempting to cut the barbed wire that protects his chicken coop. Officer Bob McGittrick responded and immediately arrested Pendragon when he caught him soliciting one of his goats. Pendragon indicated that the vandal(s) could be "my piece of s--t neighbor Harry Orson who's still upset about last July 4." Officer McGittrick tasered Pendragon when he found absolutely no damage to the chicken coop. The goat was turned over to Social Services.

2. Incident Date: June 23, 2007
Time: 20:15 hrs.
Division: Family Broohas
Title: Banana Threat
Location: 34 Eagle Drive, Ashton
Summary: Mrs. Arlene Johnson called in a complaint that her husband, Bill Johnson, was threatening her with "his banana." Officer Mabel Burnoose responded and discovered the "banana" in question was actually a large "pepperoni." Officer Burnoose sent out for a large pizza and ate it with the complainant, using the pepperoni on the alleged pizza. The alleged assailant left the residence in a huff and was later arrested for soliciting one of farmer Joseph D. Pendragon's horses. The horse was remanded into the custody of Social Services.

3. Incident Date: June 24, 2007
Time: 17:20 hrs.
Division: Fireworks
Title: Ass Cracker
Location: The Arnold Stang Community Center Baseball Field, Ashton
Summary: Officer Chuck Dipopolous responded to a report of a man with an M-80 firecracker stuck in his rectum / sphincter region. The man, who had a migraine headache and was slightly inebriated, assumed that the device was a suppository. Officer Dipopolous noticed that the fuse was protruding from the rectum /sphincter region and he ignited said fuse using his taser in order to expunge it from the victim. This caused the victim's head to land in the neighboring village of Reston where it was recovered by paramedics and attached at Reston General Hospital. The victim's name is being withheld pending further investigation (it was actually the Mayor). Officer Dipopolous issued one citation, pursuant to ancillary subsection 105-A Part C of the Ashton Penal Code, which prohibits "the possession, mistaken use as a pharmaceutical and drunken use of class C fireworks for same purpose while causing fecal matter to be sprayed in the face of a responding law enforcement officer or other official." Officer Dipopolous then returned to the station house and announced he was going to take early retirement. The party will be at The Arnold Stang Community Center on Tuesday July 10, 2007, thought NOT on the baseball field.

4. Incident Date: June 29, 2007
Time: 21:37 hrs.
Division: Adolescent BS Unit
Title: Don't Look At Me
Location: 105A, Route 92 (Main Street), Ashton
Summary: Sergeant James Hickerson responded to a complaint from Omar Kai-Am, proprietor of "Omar's Dogs And Gum" in the Main Street Strip Mall, alleging teenagers fighting in the parking lot. Upon further investigation it was determined the teenagers were having an intellectual discourse regarding which is the better recording, 50 Cent's "Get Rich Or Die Tryin'" or Mitch Miller's "Holiday Sing Along With Mitch." According to an eyewitness fisticuffs ensued when one teen looked askance at one of the other teens. Sergeant Hickerson diffused the situation by muttering something about going back to law school and then tasering all the teens. Mr. Kai-Am then exited his store and tasered Sergeant Hickerson. For his heroism (and since he offered the town a small gratuity) Mr. Kai-Am will be given the variance he needs to put up a new gas station.

Happy 4th Of July loyal readers.

For The Man Who Cares About Beauty

2007-06-25T09:07:00.000-04:00

I know a woman who is constantly being interviewed by beauty blogs and beauty sites because, as you may have guessed, she possesses great beauty. I am quite certain that at some point she will get paid to endorse beauty products. This is a fine way to make a lot of lucre quickly and is "nice work if you can get it." And as they say you can get it if you try.

For this reason I've created a beauty product for men which I will not only manufacture (probably in my apartment) market and sell, but ALSO be the highly paid spokesmodel who's face appears on the bottle and in men's fashion magazines such as "Car and Driver" and "Field and Stream." There are already "male beauty products" on the market, but these are almost always created by women or gay men, have a sort of a "chick aura" to them and if you're not a vegetarian usually don't work (and when I say vegetarian I don't mean the normal type but rather of one those types that can only eat broccoli grown in a Kibbutz under a full moon on alternate Tuesdays).

"Oil Of Old Lays" is something completely new and different. Derived from an ancient Egyptian formula which I purchased on Ebay (and which was created by the third assistant to the second assistant of the Pharaoh Tutankhamen before he was beheaded for consorting with lepers), "Oil Of Old Lays" caters to a man's latent need for beauty products that avoid words in their descriptions such as "emollient" and "energize" (most men think the latter has something to do with batteries). Its success will rely heavily on age old concepts of male beauty such as "fat," "beer" and "salt."

Hunters will be able to rub "Oil Of Old Lays" on their faces and not only achieve a ruddy and grizzled skin tone but will be able to stand in the woods without moving and attract deer. Men attending sporting events can rub it on their groins and avoid chafing when they get up to do "the wave." Guys making a late night "booty call" can put it on just in case the woman doesn't keep any junk food in her house, as it soaks into the pores of the skin and satisfies that ever-present male need without actually having to eat, either before OR after sex.

When I was done creating the prototype jar I brought it to a dermatologist who asked not to be named due to ethical considerations. At first he called me a moron and then called security. Thinking quickly I opened the jar and he immediately swooned from the scent. He then performed various tests on the product, some of which involved sucking it through a straw and then drinking a tequila shot as a chaser. After concluding his tests the good doctor had this to say:

"Oil Of Old Lays is by far the best male beauty product...BELCH...URP...ever invented. It's not only...HIC... tasty but any man who uses it on his....FART... face will look exactly as a man is supposed to look; as if he's just slept under a bus after binging on crack!"

I certainly plan to use this ringing endorsement in the advertising campaign.

Gentleman, I am taking orders presently so please contact me. Ladies, get some for your men.

Ashton Post Weekly Retractions

2007-06-18T10:05:00.000-04:00

We here at the "Ashton Post" always admit when we're wrong. After all our title says as much:

This being said we'd like to print a retraction. Or perhaps several.

In last week's edition we referred to local alderman Bart Ochs as "Bert." This is because he looks like the puppet from "Sesame Street." We're sorry he looks like the puppet and regret any inconvenience our insensitive typo may have caused the alderman.

Whilst reviewing last week's "Ladies Auxiliary Fashion Parade" at the legion hall we referred to one of the models, Ms. Gwendolyn Barnes, as having a "big patoot." We had meant to say "huge ass" and apologize for any umbrage taken at this slight by Ms. Barnes.

In last week's "Golf Roundup" we indicated that plumber Joe Bigswallow shot 65 in the weekly "Win A Flat Screen" league. What actually happened is that he shot teammate Bob Fenster 65 times for laughing at his shanked putt on the fifteenth hole. Arraignment will take place Tuesday. We apologize for this unfortunate oversight.

An article written by restaurant reviewer Bill Anderson for last Friday's "Ashton Weekend Highlights" stated that "Paris Hilton Smelt." He had meant to say that "The Paris Smelt at the Ashton Hilton was under par, sort of like Joe Bigswallow's golf game." We apologize to Ms. Hilton and also to Joe Bigswallow for disparaging his recent golf outing. As punishment we will allow Mr. Bigswallow to ferociously beat, with impunity, Bill Anderson with his five iron. We certainly did not mean to further compound Ms. Hilton's prison woes and are, though we cannot at present ascertain this, fairly sure that she has little perfumed soaps in her cell while incarcerated and most likely smells of azaleas.

An oversight in Tuesday's "Chess Move Of The Day" column stated that the Ashton High Boys' Chess Team acted like "insufferable pussies" in a recent match against North Castleton High. This was a regretful statement however close to the truth it may or may not be. Instead we shall apologize and say they were "insufferable weenies."

The weekly "Johnson's Supermarket Circular" for Monday June 4-Sunday June 10 had listed "Large Italian Sausage" as being "two for a dollar." It should have read "Cover your large Italian Sausage with Trojans, two for a dollar." We're sorry about your Sunday dinner and even more sorry if you got pregnant. This retraction, however, absolves our organization from any future responsibility or lawsuits. The store is still offering the sale this week so get down there and don't blame us if you don't!

Our "Television Weekly" supplement for Monday June 11-Sunday June 17 listed a rerun of "The Beverly Hillbillies" airing on channel 10 at 6pm on Tuesday, June 12 as being "Granny Gets A Suitor." What actually aired was the episode "Jethro Gets Laid." Some parents were very offended so of course we apologize for listing the incorrect episode without a warning. Let's face it though; your kids probably know more about sex than you do. But, hey, we're still sorry for any inconvenience. Still, we're right and you know it. But we apologize and it won't happen again. Stop calling the switchboard and head over to Johnson's for some of those "Trojan Two-fers".

OK. We're done retracting for this week.

My Life As A Playing Card

2007-06-11T10:08:00.000-04:00

Why the hell did I ever take this damned job? Huh? Tell me, please! Sure, I'm smiling in the picture but deep down I'm hurting!

First of all the recruiter lied. He told me I was going to be the Jack Of Diamonds but that went to some guy named Sid. Nice guy, no problems with him or anything, but come on! Look at me! I'm diamond material all the way! Do I look like a club to you with that smile? Come on, tell me, don't be afraid. Clubs never get the women. I asked the Queen Of Hearts for a date during a game of five card draw the other night and she told me "I wasn't her type." At first I thought it was because she was part of an ace-high flush and didn't have time to deal with it but then later I saw her with, yeah, you guessed it. The Jack Of Diamonds! Fuck it, you know? I don't need this aggravation.

Here's the other thing. When they hired me I told them "absolutely no magic tricks." So what happens the other day? I get sent to a kid's sixth birthday party with some asshole named "Hokum The Clown" who makes balloon animals and does shitty card tricks. They couldn't at least send me out with Criss Angel? At least he's good! Geez. On top of which he hid me in his ass crack once he made me "disappear." And these dopey kids fell for it. Ridiculous. I want a raise.

Speaking of stinky asses the Two Of Spades keeps farting. This guy has so much gas that if he turned himself over to the US government as an alternative fuel source the price of a gallon would go down to a buck. I've asked him nicely to lay off the pepperoni when we play Blackjack with those Italian guys from Pelham Parkway but he just doesn't listen. That card box is really cramped and it smells so rancid. I swear I'm going to throw up if he does it again. Does anyone notice this besides me? No one ever says anything. I thought the Eight Of Hearts was going to speak up the other night but he kept going on and on about being excluded from the Pinochle deck and how that's discrimination. You want to play Pinochle pal? Go right ahead! I can't stand it when I have to so I'll give you my hat and scepter and you can take my place. Please do! In fact, if you'll talk to the Two about his gas I'll do anything for you! He likes you and he'll probably listen. I'm getting a migraine now. I'm too old for this. I knew I should have kept my job as a tiddly-wink! Look, I wanted a career change, OK. Is that so wrong? I thought this would be exciting.

I know, I'm being negative. There are lot of people out of work. But some benefits might be nice, you know? Enough of this "independent contractor" bullshit! Don't the King Of Spades and the Ace Of Clubs get benefits? Yeah, they do! Because they have "tenure." Screw that! The other night some asshole dropped a huge casino chip on my head and I got a concussion! You couldn't just ante into the middle of the table like everyone else pal? And I had to pay for the doctor myself. What crap. I can't even sue because I can't afford a lawyer and that schmuck the Five Of Clubs, who has a law degree, won't even help me because he says its a "conflict of interests" since we're "friends." What? Friends? I hardly know you, Mister "Hokum The Clown Turned Me Into The Queen Of Hearts Who Wouldn't Date My 'Friend' With The Concussion And All The Kids Clapped And I'm So Great And Arrogant!" Fuck it, I'll pay for the damn doctor myself. Oh yes, and is it asking too much to have you guys pay when I give you the receipt for my dry cleaning? Those robes are a bitch and its REALLY expensive. But no, I guess I have to pay for that TOO.

OK. Deep breaths. Think positive. You're nobility (albeit without tenure); try to act dignfied. At least you're not that whore the Queen Of Hearts. Control the anger, Jack; you're just not her type. Ask out the Six Of Spades; I think she likes you. OK. Let it out, one big exhale. Another deep breath. OK. Good. Time to get back in the box and go to...to...another deep breath...to a "Slapjack" tournament at a middle school in Lodi...It can't be "Slap-eights" or "Slap-tens?" This sucks!

I knew should have taken that job with the Chess set.

Ask Uncle Cooclah No. 6

2007-06-04T11:41:00.000-04:00

Dear Uncle Cooclah,

I was distressed to learn that the 1960s sitcom actor Bertram McGint passed away after a sudden illness. Can you give me a bit of background on this fine thespian? How did he die?

Just sign me,

Trailer Trollop From Tralee

Dear Strumpet,

Bertram "One Line" McGint was born Hyman Murgatroyd Bertram Lipschitz on New York's Lower East Side on April 14th, 1924. In 1942, at the young age of 18, McGint received his first starring role on radio's Blue Network as "Johnnie The Paper Boy" in the daily soap opera "The Many Illicit Loves Of Madame Borcane And Her Calico Ocelot" starring Shirley Booth. Before this McGint had been working in the studio commissary where he was considered an awful cook; then the war took a lot of radio actors overseas and since he had flat feet and couldn't be drafted he was bounced "upstairs into the studio" to fill the void and so that no one else would get ptomaine poisoning. When the Booth serial ended in 1945 McGint was cast as "Indian Chuck" in the heartwarmingly authentic western "Those Dang Apaches Of The Jersey Pinelands!" which starred a young Wally Cox as "Marshal Bob."

With the decline of radio and the birth of television in the early 1950s it was only natural that McGint follow the trend and move to the new medium. He was first seen on TV in 1952 as the guy who says "look up in the sky" during the title sequence of "The Adventures Of Superman". When he did not get the pay raise he expected (due to the studios need to buy George Reeves a new pair of Superman boots) he had his agent start looking for other work.

Offers came pouring in before McGint finally decided on the role of "Mordecai The Leftist" in the ground breaking sitcom "The Goldbergs." He was blacklisted for a time during the McCarthy era for playing this role; that's what caused him to change his name to Bertram McGint from Bertram Lipschitz which he felt made him sound "commie like" (McGint was the last name of a kindly truant officer the actor had dealt with during his troubled youth). The name change did the trick; since McCarthy was inebriated most of the time he thought Bertram Lipschitz and Bertram McGint were two different actors and was convinced that McGint was also an Irish alderman from Wisconsin who had contributed money to the Senator's cause.

When "The Goldbergs" ended in 1956 McGint played various parts until he finally landed the recurring role that would earn him the nickname "One Line."

From the show's inception in 1961 until its final episode in 1966 McGint played the role of "Phil The Milkman" on the sitcom "Mister Ed," an incredibly realistic and socially relevant comedy about the adventures of an insipid talking horse and his phlegmatic owner, a low rent Frank Lloyd Wright named Wilbur Post played by the comedian Alan Young. Most of the plots for this highly intellectual program centered around Post (who was the only person Ed would speak to) trying to convince others the horse could talk while at the same time trying to meet the outrageous demands of his snooty California clients who constantly ran him ragged designing their guest houses and cabanas.

As a general rule McGint's character didn't say anything and rarely had lines in the script. Usually the directions called for him to enter, drop off a couple of bottles of milk at the back door and occasionally utter "Here are those two bottles of milk you ordered Mrs. Post" to the character played by the actress Connie Hines.

In the episode "Mr. Ed Wins The Pennant," however, the directions called for him to enter the stable where Wilbur Post kept his office and drop off the bottles there although it would only be McGint and the horse in the scene (the reasons for this remain unclear to this day). There were no lines in the script for either Mr. Ed or "Phil The Milkman;" McGint was simply to put the bottles on Post's desk and leave.

Allan "Rocky" Lane, the former "B-Western" cowboy actor who provided Mr. Ed's voice from an area off camera, had arrived to work drunk that day and said the line "Haven't ya ever seen a horse wearing a catcher's mitt?" to McGint's character when in actuality it was supposed to have been said to Wilbur Post in a later scene. McGint, always looking to get an extra line into his rather thin script, did a double take at the camera and ad-libbed the now immortal sitcom utterance "Must have been that Chinese food I ate last night!" This broke up the cast and crew; Lane, however, was not amused as he hated to be upstaged even when loaded and playing a horse. Never known for his polite demeanor with other actors he reared up from his seat and threw a horseshoe at McGint, giving him a concussion and forcing the actor to miss several days of work.

Tales of the incident and McGint's hysterically funny ad lib spread around Hollywood like wildfire and this brilliant actor quickly found himself and his talents in demand; producers would hire him to play various characters who can't believe what they've just seen and think they may be hallucinating due to ingesting exotic cuisine. Each time he was hired McGint would be allowed to ad lib the line with a different twist for which he also received a writing credit. He played "Bob The Terrified Insurance Agent" in an episode of "The Addams Family" where upon seeing Gomez shoot fire out of his nose says "I never should have ordered that Peking Duck last night!" In an episode of "The Munsters" where he played the "Man From The Phone Company" he encounters Herman and runs from the house shrieking "Next time I'll listen to my wife when she tells me to lay off the Egg Foo Young!"

Realizing that his talents might also be suited to animated comedies Hanna-Barbera enlisted McGint's services to play the role of "Tweetstone The Bird Who's A Record Player" in several episodes of the animated classic
"The Flintstones. His lines "OOOHHHH, my achin' beak!" and "Hey Flintstone, how about layin' off those Artie Shaw records and puttin' on some Mantovani?" are now considered animation classics. For a time he also played "Chirprock The Can Opening Toucan" creating such ad libs as "Boy do I hate tuna fish!" and "I sure wish she'd stop serving chili!"

By the early 1970s McGint found that his services were no longer in demand; the country was looking to more serious sitcoms and dramas that didn't feature dialogue attacking the foods of foreign nations as this practice was starting to be considered "politically incorrect." A faux pas during a 1969 episode of I Dream Of Jeannie in which an ad lib from McGint was deemed insulting to both Italians and alcoholics did nothing but harm his already flagging career; as "Tom The Dishwasher Repairman" McGint sees Jeannie turn Major Healy into a donkey and yells out "I need to lay off the sauce and I don't mean Marinara!"

Bertram "One Line" McGint faded into relative obscurity for most of the 1970s and early 1980s; he actually had a job in the private sector as an appliance salesman due to his many roles as various appliance repairmen. In 1987 he was brought out of retirement to make an appearance as "Henry The Insurance Adjuster" on the sitcom "What's Happening Now," but his ad lib of "I need to lay off the fat back and chitlins!" upon seeing Shirley Hemphill in a thong put the cap on any chance of a resuscitated career.

Broke and despondent McGint spent the next twenty years wandering the streets of Hollywood muttering one liners about Indian food before being run over by a dairy truck while crossing Rodeo Drive on May 25, 2007. A fitting end for the 83 year old actor who was best known for playing a milkman. Bamboo Harvester, the horse who played "Mr. Ed," said of his co-star "He was a genius but at the same time a schmuck. Let's just say he was a schmucky genius. But mainly a schmuck."

Hope this answers your question, Trollop. By the way, what do you charge?

Fran Cooclahlee (affectionately known as "Uncle Cooclah") is a well known syndicated advice columnist and physicist who also played "Little Tommy Tookas" on the 1965 sitcom "My Mother The Goat." Please feel free to post your questions to him here. While he can't get to everyone he promises not to come to the homes of those he can get to.

Beaudinkus Realty Realtor Bio

2007-05-28T12:18:00.000-04:00

Hi. My name is John J. Jackomon. I'm a Realtor® and a darn fine one. I think my business card indicates that, but my broker told me every darn fine Realtor® ought to give a little background and their Realty® philosophy on the company website so that's why I'm here. My broker is Arnold "Beau" Beaudinkus of Beaudinkus Realty® (formerly Arnold Beaudinkus Realtors Of Distinction®) and he's a darn fine broker. Its a darn fine organization and I'll be darned if I'm not darn proud to be associated with it.

What is there to say, really? I'm a Realtor® who loves Realty® and all my friends say I'm a Renaissance man. You know the Renaissance, right, when they did all of that painting and sculpting and stuff like that? I personally don't feel the architecture they had back then was so darn great; the houses that I sell today are much better! Hopefully you may consider buying one, but hey, no pressure. We're friends right? I'm a darn friendly guy; let me call ya up one night while you're having dinner and I'll prove it! A darn friendly guy and a Renaissance man. And a darn fine Realtor®. So there's never any pressure when you deal with John J. Jackomon. Free and easy, that's me. In fact, my friends call me "Free And Easy Jackomon," or when they've had a few, "Johnny Easy." Oh yes, and "Renaissance Realtor®"

What else about me? Well, I love Realty® and Realtors®, that's for darn sure. Great folks all of 'em. There are so many these days and they're all great. I love those guys and gals, just a darn fine group of Realtors®, every last one. How can you not love a group that contains so many fine people, especially when they're all Realtors®? Great people, some of whom just quit their regular jobs yesterday in search of the big bucks and excitement that only comes from being a Realtor®!

Take this gal who just joined the office last week, Mary something or other, can't remember for sure but a darn fine gal. She used to be a musician, plays an ocarina which is some sorta flute which looks like an oddly formed potato. And she used to write poetry too. Has a PHD in literature or music or some such thing. Gave all that artsy stuff up to become a Realtor®. You know why? Well, I'll tell ya. Because that artsy stuff, ocarina playing and poetry writing, that's all the sort of stuff they did during the Renaissance and look how darned unsuccessful at selling homes they were! Couldn't build a house worth a darn that anyone would want to buy because they were too busy concerning themselves with playing ocarinas and writing sappy poems! And if I do say so myself they smelled awful because they didn't bathe regularly; how the heck can you expect to sell houses if your body odor offends potential clients? I may be a Renaissance® man but I'm sure as shootin' glad that I wasn't around back then. I think my friends call me that because if I had been, the Renaissance would have been a financially successful period in which the price of homes would have skyrocketed, there'd have been hefty percentages for all and every Realtor® would have had many listings and sold a lot more homes because John J. Jackomon would have been around to ride herd on 'em!

You folks probably want to know what my middle initial stands for. The answer is "Josiah." He was a famous Jewish fella who invented The Bible, or the Old Testament or some such thing. Not sure if he was a Realtor® or not; I'll have to look into it. I'm not even sure why my parents gave me that middle name since we're Episcopalian not Jewish (I was actually thinking of having my middle name legally changed to "MLS"; now there's a great middle name for a Realtor®)! This Josiah was probably a nice fella but you have my guarantee he would have been a much more successful Realtor® if he hadn't spent so much time working on The Bible, though I hear the sales commissions for that are OK. Not as much commission as nice four bedroom, two and a half bath colonial on a cul-de-sac with EIK and easy access to shopping, I'll tell ya that much!

I do have a family, just in case you think I've forgotten them. A wife and two great kids. Their names are escaping me at the moment; guess its because I haven't had my first cup of coffee yet today! But what the heck, they know I love 'em and they're all darn fine Realtors®!

Folks, I want to thank all of you for reading my "web page," and I hope you'll consider Beaudinkus Realty® (formerly Arnold Beaudinkus Realtors Of Distinction®) and me, "Renaissance® Realtor®" John J. Jackomon for all your Realty® and Realtor® needs. But wait; I haven't shown you any of my listings! And after all, the most important thing for Realty® and Realtors® is to get and show listings and since the web was created for shameless self promotion let's go to it!

So here it is, my listing of the week. If you're interested I hope you'll give me a call:

1. Pleasant airy surroundings. Architecture makes use of the natural landscape ala Frank Lloyd Wright.

2. So well camouflaged that the Marshal and ⁄ or the Commanches will never find you!

3. Natural "standing water" pool doubles as both a commode AND a bathtub!

4. Convenient to shopping and schools.

What's That Show?

2007-05-21T14:27:00.000-04:00

If you've ever tried watching today's television programs with people who started watching television during
"yesteryear," you know how trying this can be. Its even more trying when the people in question are old Italian New Yorkers. Being a middle-aged Italian New Yorker, I feel qualified to expound on this.

And now, for your perpetual amusement, a verbatim transcript of my relatives watching TV:

UNCLE TONY: I hate this show. Its stupid. All they ever do is have sex. And drink coffee.

AUNT MARIA: Its tea, Tony, not coffee. Forty years we’ve been married and you’re still confusing tea with coffee.

UNCLE TONY: Leave me alone, Maria. You like this show, Joe?

UNCLE JOE: It stinks. They all have hair down to the ass. Why the hell can’t they write a show with characters like Eisenhower or DiMaggio? Now there were some real men. Pass me the popcorn, Rose.

AUNT ROSE: What the hell am I, your personal slave? Get the Goddamn popcorn yourself. Gunsmoke, now there was a show! I see that a lot on the cable.

AUNT MARIA: Yeah, I love that Matt Dillard. He's got a son who's an actor, you know, he was in that movie "Car Crash." I think there's another son named Marshal who's also an actor. He was on that show "Mission Improbable."

UNCLE TONY: Hey, Joe, remember the show with that guy?

UNCLE JOE: Oh, yeah. They were out west or something and they had that woman on there who ran the local saloon.

AUNT ROSE: Will you please, Joe! You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!

UNCLE JOE: Leave me alone, Rose, for Crissakes! You know, Tony, I think that show had Michael Landon in it.

UNCLE TONY: Yeah, I think you’re right. He was on there and then when it went off the air he was on that there "Little House in the Big City." Then he dropped dead of a heart attack.

AUNT MARIA: It was cancer, Tony.

AUNT ROSE: I heard it was an ulcer.

UNCLE JOE: Who the hell dies of an ulcer, Rose?

AUNT ROSE: If you shout in my ear one more time, I’ll divorce you.

UNCLE JOE: Good. If I remember correctly, there was a talking pig on that program.

UNCLE TONY: I think you’re right. What’s that show?!

AUNT MARIA: Would you three look at the TV? They’re still with the coffee on this damn show. Always with the coffee and the talking. I’d give my right arm to see a woman like Donna Reed get a series again.

UNCLE TONY: You'd have to dig her up first.

AUNT ROSE: I agree, Maria. I'd love to see a series like that too. With some nice canned laughter. I always found that soothing. These studio audiences today whoop and holler at the slightest thing. Its so annoying.

UNCLE JOE: The proper terminology is "laugh track."

AUNT ROSE: Leave me alone.

UNCLE TONY: The guy had a big hat. And the show took place out west, but I think some of the scenes were on a deserted island.

AUNT MARIA: I remember that. And there was that girl on there who in real life ended up in jail for holding up a liquor store.

AUNT ROSE: Oh, yeah, right. Her brother was played by the little black kid who was on that other show with Desi Arnaz where he was always saying "The plane, boss, the plane!"

UNCLE JOE: That was Tito Puente, Rose. Not Desi Arnaz. Desi Arnaz was on the show with the talking horse.

AUNT MARIA: You’re both wrong. It was Xavier Cugat.

UNCLE TONY: That’s it! The show I’m thinking of had Xavier Cugat, Michael Landon, the little black kid, the girl who held up the liquor store, and the guy who used to do the Alpo commercials. They all ran a chinchilla ranch together. What’s that show?...

(After several moments there is a revelation...)

EVERYONE: "Peyton Place!!"

Now you know why I have to see a shrink and why I always watch television alone...

Beer Totem

2007-05-14T10:42:00.000-04:00

To the left you will see my contribution to the world of sculpture, which I call the "Beer Totem."

Here's how you can make one:

1. Drink several 24 ounce beers over a 2 week period.

2. Rinse out the empty cans then DRY them
(its important to DRY them because instruction #3 doesn't work unless you DRY them).

3. Glue them together with some extra strength epoxy.

4. Look proudly at them.

5. Invite over some friends to share in your artistic pride.

6. Offer your friends some 24 ounce beers and have them drink the beers so you will have more cans to add to your sculpture. Or, if you're frugal like me, politely ask your friends to bring their own 24 ounce beers. MAKE SURE TO HAVE A NEW MOP FOR THE UNAVOIDABLE CLEAN-UP OF PUKE.

You may be asking yourself "Where does such artistic genius and inspiration come from?" The answer is quite simple, actually.

I was in the grocery store one night several weeks ago and noticed that Anheuser-Busch was selling a 24 ounce promotional Bud Light can with the logo of The New York Mets. I am a die hard New York Yankee fan but saw no brew related to my team. So of course this peeved me.

Writing a complaint letter was a possibility but proved unnecessary when two days later I went to the same store and saw the Yankee's can which contained REGULAR BUD, not the crappy and tasteless light version contained in the Met's can (Yes, I am aware the Mets currently have a better record. Notice I said CURRENTLY).

As joy coursed through my middle-aged but not yet hardened veins I knew I had to do something in tribute to the newly discovered "Yankee Bud." Hence the sculpture.

My super was the first person to see it when he entered my apartment to install a new thermostat (the heat wasn't shutting off and my hovel felt like a Nicaraguan rain forest). He's a big supporter of the "arts" so of course the first thing he said was "What the fuck is that?" I explained it to him and he made a face which indicated either pensive artistic introspection or constipation (which would have been reassuring because the toilet never functions correctly either). I didn't ask him what he was thinking because the appreciation of fine art needs to remain unfettered by too much analysis and also because he was wielding a large hammer. When he was finished installing the new thermostat I thanked him profusely, mainly because by doing so he prevented the sculpture from melting and soiling my linoleum with white hot aluminum.

Some art connoisseurs may be disturbed by the fact that although I've said this is a tribute to the Yankees the sculpture employs other beer cans, namely Fosters and Heineken, which have no Yankee logo. True purists may say that I'm being "artistically hypocritical." For these purists I have only two words: "Fuck you." I would have said "stick it up your ass," but that's five words and I don't want art connoisseurs to think of me as a liar since they already seem to think I'm a hypocrite.

I'll explain my artistic reasoning although true art requires no explanation. The sculpture used to feature FOUR "Yankee Bud" cans but the top one got whacked off by the blades of my whirring ceiling fan when I picked up the sculpture to show a friend who couldn't understand "how those freakin' cans stand up straight without falling over". I was upset over losing the can, which was crushed, but found his comment to have artistic merit. "Hmmm...," I exclaimed aloud, "it might be a good idea to add some wider cans to the bottom of the totem to give structural soundness to it." His response was "Huh?" at which point he passed out from drink. He had polished off the two large Fosters and the "Heiny" you see in the sculpture which I promptly confiscated and rinsed out.

On yet another artistic level the dark blue Fosters can compliments the predominantly red and white "Yankee Bud" can which lends a patriotic feel to the sculpture, while the dark green of the "Heiny-Can" helps the viewer visualize the green baseball diamond on game day. The entire sculpture evokes visions of purchasing watered down beers at Yankee Stadium for ten bucks a pop. By including the Fosters can and the "Heiny-Can" we are also reaching out to our Australian and Dutch neighbors and helping to promote inebriation at baseball games as an "international sport".

Yes, I certainly am proud of my profound artistic accomplishment. And of my profoundly growing beer belly.

BackPage Volume One

2007-05-07T09:34:00.000-04:00

VOL. 1, ISSUE 1, MAY 7TH 2007
"ALL THE AUDITIONS THAT ARE SO CRAPPY, WE HAD TO PUT THEM IN THE BACK!"

“THE STEINMENS OF FORT WAYNE,” POCONOS DINNER THEATER

The Dwight D. Eisenhower Memorial Dinner Theater and Water Park in Bucks County PA is accepting pictures and resumes for their upcoming production of "The Steinmens of Fort Wayne," written by Jack Thomas and directed by Billy Sebastian. The play is the story of The Steinmens, Fort Wayne Indiana’s first Jewish family and founders of its famous linoleum factories during the late 1800’s.

Available roles are:

Sid Steinmen: 55-60, patriarch of the family, loves linoleum and everything associated with it, a very loving man in a hateful sort of way. Must be a 7 ¾" hat size.

Moishe Steinman: 45-50, Sid’s younger brother, the black sheep of the family, doesn’t have a right arm due to a civil war mishap. If you are the right double-limbed actor, we will take care of this for you.

Marta Steinmen: 50-55, Sid’s wife, the family matriarch, strong-willed yet at the same time domineering with the charm to carry it off. Director sees her as a cross between Yoko Ono and Bella Abzug.

Irving Steinmen: 25 years old, Marta and Sid’s son, is at odds with his father over entering the linoleum business, as he would prefer to be a cantor. Must sing in Yiddish to a high G.

Molly Steinmen: 20-23 years old, Marta and Sids’ daughter. Marta is in love with the Steinmens’ next door neighbor Augustus Van Johnson, and wants to elope with him to Crete. This is a cause of much tension.

Augustus "Van" Johnson: 80-85 (must be able to convincingly portray 110) The local mailman, who is the Steinmens’ annoying next door neighbor. He has fallen in love with Molly, yet incontinence keeps coming between them. Sid does not want Molly to elope with Augustus, as he is suspicious of Augustus being a government operative. Another continuing theme of the play is the constant bickering between Sid and Augustus over whether or not Sid’s hat is blocked correctly. Must be able to yell gruffly and swear in German.

President Woodrow "Woody" Wilson: 35-40, gives Sid a "Civic Duty" award. Alec Baldwin type who's voice we hear on an answering machine.

Sophie Steinmen: 40-45, Moishe’s wife, a joyful woman who loves life. She dies five minutes into act one. Actress must be 300 lbs. +

Play runs from June 25th through Labor Day 2007. Fifty dollars per week, housing and food not provided. Actors must be able to drive a stick shift, to operate the water park courtesy bus during off time. Send pics and resumes to: POCONO DT, PO BOX 347, PHILADELPHIA, PA, 10075, ATTN: BILLY OR LANCE. Please include a business size SASE with $7 of postage. Thank you.

SAG ACTORS WITH GOATS

Sylvester Fane is currently accepting resumes from SAG members who own goats for a new film, "Westward Jersey!," starring Robin Williams and Johnny Knoxville. Also need actors with authentic Tibetan Sherpa garb. Do not call this office if you have already registered. Sylvester Fane, Broadway, NYC 10024.

NYU STUDENT FILM, "MORBID TENDENCIES"

An NYU Student Film, "Morbid Tendencies," is currently accepting resumes. This is a romantic comedy involving an Amish farmer and a magical butcher knife.

Needed:

Ebeneezer Krath: 24-30, an Amish turnip farmer with a sadistic edge, must speak fluent Portuguese and be able to fly a plane.

Luwanda: an African-American temptress, age 18-40, (can be a man in drag), who wants Ebeneezer to give up the excitement of farm life for a career in civil service, must own scuba gear.

Jeremy: 4-10, the precocious child who brings them together, should have an extremely strident pitch in his voice.

Film starts shooting on Thursdays from November 2007-June of 2010. Must be able to commit. Filming in Toronto and Iowa. Tape, transportation & food for principals only. Send materials to: "Morbid Tendencies," c/o of NYU, 14th Street, NYC 10011. ATTN: Otto "Squiggy" Jones.

HARRY TRUMAN LOOKALIKES FOR EASTER

"The Mall of Humanity," in Boca Raton, Florida is currently accepting resumes for their main promenade musical review, "Harry Truman’s on Parade." This is an Easter themed show which runs from June 2007 until November 2007 at which time it will be replaced by the "Memorial Day Revue". Actors and Actresses must resemble Harry Truman and be able to wear a revealing Easter Bunny costume. Also needed is a 5’ 3" transvestite to portray Winston Churchill. Sid Warstein, director of such famous musicals as "Robert Goulet’s Lunch Date," and "Three Nuns and a Yak" will direct. Mr. Warstein encourages diversity as well as bribes when casting shows. Auditions on Sat. May 12th, 2007 from 10am-10:30am at Musical Theater Center, Lafayette Street, NYC. Non-union only, bring one up-tempo, one ballad, and be prepared to dance AND to quote extemporaneously from the "Truman Doctrine." Contract includes part-time work at the GAP in the mall. No pay.

ART THEATER OF PARAMUS, "LIFE AS FRUIT"

Art Theater of Paramus, Inc., a non-equity theater located in the Acapulco Lounge in Paramus Lanes is auditioning for an actor to play a giant banana in their salute to the four food groups, "Potassium, Lecithin and You." Must be willing to commit to a two year production and pay your own tolls. The musical is part of "The Life As Fruit" series in which the actors will dance around in giant latex fruit costumes with the idea of representing man’s inhumanity to man. Entire musical is in D-flat so prepare your sheet music accordingly. Auditions will be held on Saturday February 17th from 9am-5pm at the Paramus Lanes, Route 46, Paramus, New Jersey. Take the Garden State Parkway to exit 46W. There are five tolls. Age range is 25-30, must be no more than 5’10" and 103 pounds. Non-equity stipend provided. Must be willing to bartend and hand out bowling shoes during intermissions.

GUN HILL ROAD PLAYERS, "SPEED RACER"

The Gun Hill Road Players, a community theater group that performs under the No. 4 Train on Gun Hill Road in the Bronx, will be presenting Vinny Salvatore’s original play "Speed Racer" for three weekends in July of 2007 It is based on the famous cartoon series, yet it is presented in a vague and enigmatic way. The following roles need to be cast:

Speed Racer: a small Jewish man, aged 40-55, who can deliver dialogue with a "dubbed Karate movie" accent, so that the words are not in sync with the motions of his mouth. Must tap dance.

Pops: Speed’s father, to be played by a young woman aged 20-25 with blond hair and two front teeth missing. This is being done for artistic purposes and so that she can also play Speed’s girlfriend.

Spritle: Speed’s younger brother, aged 10-12. We will accept a young boy in the role but would much prefer a cross-dressing midget, as rehearsals will be long and arduous. Midgets should reside in the Bronx and be of Peruvian descent, ESPECIALLY the southern part of Peru.

Chim-Chim: Speed’s faithful chimpanzee, aged 1-3 (7-21 in chimp years). We have a chimp on loan from the Bronx Zoo. What we need is someone to dub his voice off-stage, preferably someone who smokes no-filter "Lucky Strikes." If you own a microphone and a microphone stand, all the better.

Racer "X": This part is already cast with Frank Gorshin’s brother, Phil.

"The Mach 5": Speed’s race car. We will accept a re-done 1967 Chevy Impala. Unfortunately, we must smash the car into a brick wall, however, we will wax it for you. Your name will also be placed in the "Benefactors" section of the program. This program is distributed in many Bronx delis and in some located in Lower Westchester.

Auditions will be held on Saturday and Sunday, May 12th and 13th 2007, 9am-5pm, under the No. 4 Train, Gun Hill Road, Bronx, New York. Take the #4 train to the Gun Hill Road stop. Put on battle gear and make sure you have a machete. Be prepared to read from the script and have a two minute classical monologue ready. Oh yes, and wear tap shoes so tat you can come tapping down the station stairs. This will be the dance part of your audition. No pay.

An Artificial Tree Grows In Westchester

2007-04-30T13:35:00.000-04:00

The phone company came to my neighborhood and put up a tremendous tower so that we can get better mobile reception. They tried to make it look like a tree so that it blends in with the scenery. Notice how natural it looks:

It does resemble a tree. Sort of a giant, metallic sequoia with male pattern baldness. Or if you prefer, a vibrator for Godzilla's wife as she gets lonely when he's out on the road fighting Mothra and destroying cities.

Never one to not give credit where credit is due I must say that cell phone reception has gotten much better around here with the installation of the huge "metal tree pole." Whenever I spoke on my cell phone before it sounded like that kids' toy; the two tin cans attached together with a piece of twine. Now it sounds like a transit worker making the PA system announcements in a New York City Subway Station while throwing up.

Notice also the "Watergate Motor Hotel" in the foreground of the photo. I'm not sure whether this place was named before or after the actual bugging incident at the real "Watergate Hotel" in Washington, D.C., but hey, keep the name anyway. I'm sure its great for business; whenever I take a hooker to a $15 dollar a night roach-infested dump the bathrooms of which tired truck drivers use to lance ass boils derived from hours of prolonged sitting, I like my accommodations to be named for the sites of America's most embarrassing political nightmares. Perhaps management will consider a name change to the "The Flamingo." This way people will think that maybe Wayne Newton is performing there and business will improve past its current level of "non-existent".

Are you old enough to remember those gum machines that the Kiwanis Club would always put in dry cleaning stores to try and raise money for some worthy cause such as "canine rickets" or "feline bulimia"? I never really got the concept. Who the fuck ever went to the dry cleaner's with the slightest notion of purchasing a rock hard, chiclet style piece of gum? The reason the gum was like granite is that it had been sitting in the machine ever since the Eisenhower administration. Maybe they were figuring it would be like an impulse purchase; "You know, now that the tomato stain is no longer on my trousers I think I might like to chew on something sweet; hey, there's a gumball machine!" Still, no one ever bought any. Except for me. In fact, the Kiwanis Club raised over a million dollars for various causes as the direct result of me breaking my father's balls for a dime while he argued with the dry cleaner about whether or not the coffee stain had actually been removed from his sport coat.

Rosie O'Donnell announced last Wednesday that she will be leaving "The View." I'd give a "shit" except for the fact that I don't give a "fuck" and since "fuck" looms larger on the hierarchical plane of apathy than "shit" it is therefore negated and so frankly, Scarlett, I don't give a "damn." Donald Trump gives a "crap" apparently, which caused him to foam at the mouth on every major talk show once he heard this most earth shattering news.

Since yours truly can't get enough of these two methinks the powers that be in Hollywood ought to do a feature length movie version of "Gilligan's Island" for release in theaters and cast Rosie as the "Skipper" and "The Donald" as "Thurston Howell The Tenth." Once shipwrecked, there could be a scene where they beat each other to death with coconuts. Then, for the denouement, some of those goofy cannibalism loving natives (the ones who were always played by tanned Italian actors wearing greasepaint) would swoop down from the palm trees and eat the two of them with one of Mary Ann's banana cream pies for desert. Mary Ann would be played by Scarlett Johansson, one of the most gorgeous women on earth and the only thing that could induce me to go see this piece of shit (even if they hired ME to write it).

They could shoot the film in my neighborhood using the "giant tree pole" and the man made lake (which resembles a lagoon) that's near it as scenery.

I'm available to play "Gilligan" by the way BUT I refuse to sleep under "The Skipper's" hammock (in case she farts) or to comb "Mr. Howell's" toupee in ANY scenes...

Like A Thousand

2007-04-23T11:45:00.000-04:00

I have a friend who is nicknamed "L.A.T." and its not because he has well formed back muscles. Formerly Bob, he got this name when he one day went to play golf in a foursome with another friend of mine, an avid and excellent golfer, whereas Bob is not. When the day was over I phoned the good golfer and asked "What did Bob shoot today?" His response: "Like A Thousand." Hence the abbreviation of same became Bob's nickname.

Another person I was friends with a long time ago received the unfortunate nickname of "toothpaste." This was because he came to our bowling league one evening with dabs of shaving cream in back of his earlobes, apparently having forgotten to wipe them off before arriving. A neanderthal who was in the league with us saw this and of course had to point it out, much to the embarrassment of the soon to be christened "toothpaste." "That's shaving cream!" the angry "toothpaste" yelled. "Yeah," says 'neanderthal', "but 'toothpaste' is funnier! Who the fuck brushes behind their ears? You got some cavities back there asshole?"

I never cared much for "neanderthal" but wouldn't tell him to his face as he was the approximate size of one of the larger model Buicks. I had also thought of some nicknames for him besides "neanderthal (which he was only called in the minds of the frightened)" but since "schmuck," "lobotomy" and "dickwad" lack subtlety I discarded them. Twenty years later I've heard rumors that his current nicknames are "death row" and "soon to be euthanized" but I can't ascertain whether this is true or not. "Toothpaste" attended "Colgate" and became a "dentist" who patients rechristened as "Shaving Cream" because one day he showed up at work with a dab of toothpaste on his chin.

Then there's the story of my friend "Doc" who is not an actual doctor but rather an optician. His brother is an optometrist which is a doctor though not in the medical sense of the word. His father was an optician. His mom was a nurse and his sister still is. "Doc" morphed into "Doc" from the former "J.O.S.R.T.A.J (James Or Sometimes Referred To As Jim") because about 20 years ago he, I and a bunch of high school chums had a show on public access television in which we had him host a phony advice segment originally titled "Ask James." We decided that this title was too short and didn't flow so it was renamed "Ask Doctor James" because of his familial ties to the medical profession.

There is a secondary reason for the birth of "Doc" that I don't often mention. Whenever we needed a pair of glasses for a sketch we'd ask "Doc" to see what he could dig out of his office's "retired for being unfashionable bin." In one sketch someone had to portray Ben Franklin and "Doc" brought in a pair of "granny glasses." When he put them on to show us how they looked I commented that were he fifty years older he'd resemble "Doc" from the television series "Gunsmoke," a character portrayed by the avuncular actor Milburn Stone. In fact, most people can resemble this character if they put on "granny glasses," slouch, act curmudgeonly, use laudanum to kill pain and pull decayed teeth by tying one end of a string to a horse's tail and the other to the tooth in question and then have the horse go galloping up the street (make sure to tie the patient down first).

Which reminds me of the story of my friend "Horse Poop"...

Book Review: "Great Rest Stops Of Canada"

2007-04-17T15:33:00.000-04:00

The author John Steinbeck said in 1950 while traveling through the "Great White North," "I have never seen anything so wondrous as the ESSO station in Hamilton, Ontario, Route 61." He was of course referring to the famous men's room, known far and wide to the weary traveler. Hemingway was known to frequent it and more recently Garrison Keillor who usually only gives credit to things "Minnesotan." "I must admit it compares favorably to anything I've experienced in Minneapolis." Keillor understated. "Never have I seen a mini-mart with such a wide selection of poly-styrene mugs and hyacinth car-fresheners."

It is with this in mind that the noted travelogue author J. Arthur Tiggles brings us his latest tome, "Great Rest Stops Of Canada" (Batnum Press, 550 pgs. with photos and forward by Ernest Borgnine). Starting as a travel columnist with the "Peoria Weekly Farm Report" in 1961, Tiggles has traveled extensively throughout the world and his writing is quite salient and knowledgeable while still retaining a pithy obsequiousness. His travels led him to pen the 1979 best seller "Where To Dine In Trenton" and in 1985 the even more successful "Delaware: Gateway To Orgasm," both books available from "Nunzio's House Of Publishing, LTD." "Great Rest Stops Of Canada" marks his first literary work about traveling in a country other than the United States. "I've wanted to write about other places in the world, but while visiting those places always had dysentery and couldn't concentrate." he once remarked to his close friend, the late author Truman Capote.

Tiggles brings us to all the great Canadian Rest Stops and does so in a very picturesque way. While traveling through Toronto, home of baseball's dreaded "Blue Jays" and the "Toronto Elk Steak," he stops off at the famous "Joe's Gas And Leave, Eh?" known for its wide variety of Good Humor Ice Cream and powerful 99 octane unleaded. There he meets "Ike", the old toothless codger who opened the place 60 years ago in 1947 and is still going strong at the age of 102. "Why it's called Joe's has always been a mystery, yet the establishment retains a unique, unexplainable charm.", says Tiggles, "My life has somehow been enriched by having urinated here, seeing Ike interact with customers in a curt yet strangely unfriendly manner." In Winnipeg Tiggles stops for an oil change at the world renowned "Great Moose Lube." "There has never been oil so lucid nor a bathroom so glaringly white as this." the author writes.

"Great Rest Stops Of Canada" features over five thousand reviews and is available in bookstores now. It is well worth your time, unless of course you have to go bowling.

An Interview With "Assbang123"

2007-04-09T19:03:00.000-04:00

I had the high honor (both of us were high actually) recently of interviewing the film auteur known as "Assbang123" whose monumental work "Whiskers Takes A Dump On Grandma's Head" has been thrilling audiences on "YouTube" for the past week.

"Assbang," as he's known to close friends, started his film career making scatological shorts by hiding a camera in the ladies room of the bowling alley in which he used to be a porter (he is no longer employed there, for obvious reasons). Then, by using what he refers to as "strategic blackmail," he was able to raise the money to make the two minute short which fans of "YouTube" are calling "the greatest thing since the film of that dog humping a fire hydrant."

In the film, which was shot on a disposable 1.2 mega pixel camera that takes MPEGs, an elderly woman referred to simply as "Grandma" by an off camera voice is sitting watching TV and complaining ad nauseam that everything on TV is crap. Towards the end of the short a cat suddenly jumps up on the back of the chair and defecates all over "Grandma's" head. She screams, bolts from her seat and goes flying head first into the TV screen and is knocked unconscious. We then hear the off camera voice say while chuckling "Whiskers, you cad, you!" Fade to black.

Since "Assbang123" has become agoraphobic due to recent death threats and never leaves the basement of his mother's house, I had to consent to interview him via "instant messaging."

Here now is that interview:

GEOMOP: How are you this evening, "Assbang123."

ASSBANG123: Yo. Just call me "Ass."

GEOMOP: That actually brings up an interesting point, "Ass." Why "Assbang123?"

ASSBANG123: Because "Assbang" was already taken as a user name.

GEOMOP: I find this film brilliant on so many levels. For one thing we never find out if "Grandma" is actually your real grandmother or just an actress you hired.

ASSBANG123: I'll never tell.

GEOMOP: I get the feeling from watching the film that you want "Grandma" to have an "everyman" type of quality, or, shall we say, "every-grandma" and for that reason you don't want to reveal her true identity or whether she's your grandmother or even a real grandmother for that matter.

ASSBANG123: What? Nah...its because she threatened to throw sulfuric acid in my eyes after she saw the first cut of the film.

GEOMOP: Interesting. I think another brilliant subtext of this script is the whole idea of "Whiskers." The off camera voice refers to "Whiskers," and of course the title of the movie is "Whiskers Takes A Dump On Grandma's Head," but I think the true question is: "does the name "Whiskers" actually refer to the cat?" Or could it be that "Whiskers" is the nickname of the off camera voice who is putting the cat up to the "dirty deed?" It has been surmised by the critics that "Whiskers" could in fact be "Grandma's" husband, and is so named because he has the facial hair of a kindly old grandfather, but since we never actually see him and since the voice is rather androgynous, is it even a man and can we tell if this potentially hermaphroditic being even has "Whiskers?" Or perhaps "Whiskers" is an allegory for the treatment by society of the elderly, that many times they are shat upon? Then again, "Whiskers" could actually be the cat. Fascinating.

ASSBANG123: Yo, dude, you got any pot? I'm sittin' here drinkin' a 24 ounce bottle of malt liquor and that would be real cool if you did.

GEOMOP: No, and I don't think I'd be able to "I-M" it to you even if I did have some.

ASSBANG123: I have software I can email you and you'll be able to. What OS are you running?

GEOMOP: Windows 98. First Edition.

ASSBANG123: Dude! This won't work with 98! Windows is already out with "Vista" and you don't even have "XP" yet? That came out in like two- thousand- and fuckin'- one, bro! That's fucked up man. Get with the times! I need you to "I-M" me some pot!

GEOMOP: Sorry. As I mentioned I don't have any pot. Back to your film for a moment. I understand you won a "YUCKIE" (YouTube's Ultimate, Cool, Kick-Ass, Independent Endorsement), which is given to independent filmmakers whose work exemplifies the highest standards of the "do it yourself video" genre. What was the category for which you won?

ASSBANG123: I think it was "Best Use Of a 75 Watt Light Bulb To Light A Scene In An Exceedingly Dark Living Room." It was either that or "Funniest Use Of Poop In A Two Minute Short." I can't really remember. I was sort of high at the awards ceremony.

GEOMOP: Where was that held?

ASSBANG123: In Conference Room B of the Teaneck Motor Inn.

GEOMOP: Of course we know that people who have won "YUCKIES" in the past have gone on to to receive great opportunities which in the past have only gone to those with actual talent. Have you noticed your phone ringing more lately?

ASSBANG123: I guess. My parole officer called the other day to see if I'm keeping up with my methadone treatments... Dude; I just realized! He absolutely cannot find out that I asked you for pot or I'll have to go back in!

GEOMOP: Yes, well, perhaps...

ASSBANG123: Dude, I've got to end this interview NOW!!

GEOMOP: Well, in closing I'd like to say that your film has thrilled us all and will surely enter into the pantheon known as the "American Film Classic" alongside such works as Welles' "Citizen Kane" with its austere cinematography and detailed character arc and Bergman's "The Seventh Seal" with its existential imagery. "Whiskers Takes A Dump On Grandma's Head" is all that and more, at least for the next two weeks or so.

ASSBANG123: Do they beat seals in that film? Maybe for my next film I'll beat something.

GEOMOP: Sounds titillating.

ASSBANG123: Tits? Yeah, some tits'd be good too. Thanks man.

GEOMOP: Yes.

ASSBANG123: Yo, dude, you got any pot?

Customer Service...Hello, Yes?...Part 2

2007-04-02T12:55:00.000-04:00

CUSTOMER SERVICE: Customer Service, hello...

ME: Hello, I need...

CUSTOMER SERVICE: Hello, yes?...

ME: I need to know why the funds...

CUSTOMER SERVICE: Customer Service, Gada speaking, hell..

ME: Did you say "go to hell"?

CUSTOMER SERVICE: No. Gada, hello?

ME: Listen, I'm trying to transfer funds and I need to know why...

CUSTOMER SERVICE: I need your account number sir.

ME: I just punched that in before I was connected to you.

CUSTOMER SERVICE: Yes, but I need it again.

ME: That's ridiculous. Why have me punch it in if you're just going to need it again?

CUSTOMER SERVICE: Because the customer punching the account number in before connecting to us is what we refer to as a "PVP".

ME: Huh?

CUSTOMER SERVICE: "Preliminary Verificational Punch-In." We need to verify who you are via computer before we verify who you are via human contact.

ME: That's really dumb.

CUSTOMER SERVICE: No, its not.

ME: OK. My account number is 12234-87654X-00009-XJGSDJF-YK-1965-2007-HARRY. I still don't understand the "PVP" thing. Who would know that number but me?

CUSTOMER SERVICE: Its for your protection sir. Just in case someone who's not you gets a hold of your number.

ME: Yes, but even if they did get a hold of it who'd really be inclined to stand there for the hour it took me to punch it in and get connected, listening to some bad Musak that sounds like a cross between Shostakovich and Megadeth?

CUSTOMER SERVICE: Its a Zydeco band performing the greatest hits of Lawrence Welk.

ME: It kind of sucks.

CUSTOMER SERVICE: We think its good. Many of our customers like it.

ME: About my funds...

CUSTOMER SERVICE: I just need to ask you a few more questions to verify your identity.

ME: Jesus...

CUSTOMER SERVICE: I don't see that here as being listed as your name. What is your name?

ME: Bill Smith.

CUSTOMER SERVICE: That sounds fake.

ME: Well its my name. I really don't know what...

CUSTOMER SERVICE: Who was the eleventh President Of The United States?

ME: What?

CUSTOMER SERVICE: You heard me.

ME: I don't know...Polk?

CUSTOMER SERVICE: Was Polk a man or a woman?

ME: Well, in so far as we've never had a woman president, I guess...

CUSTOMER SERVICE: Just answer the God Damn question, Jesus. I mean Mr. Smith. Provided that's really you.

ME: Errrr...a man?

CUSTOMER SERVICE: Correct. I need to know the first name.

ME: You already have my first name.

CUSTOMER SERVICE: Polk's first name.

ME: Christ...Phil?

CUSTOMER SERVICE: That's wrong Mr. Christ. Try again.

ME: Bob?

CUSTOMER SERVICE: Nope. Throw out a few. I'll stop you when you get it.

ME: Bill? John? Joe? Richie? Art? Sid? Chip? Biff? Happy? James?

CUSTOMER SERVICE: James. James Knox Polk. You didn't get the middle name, but that's good enough. Your identity has been verified.

ME: You didn't ask me for his midd...

CUSTOMER SERVICE: OK, Mr. Christ-Smith, how can we here at the "Amalgamated Bank of Northern America Five Miles South Of The Canadian Border" help you today?

ME: I've been trying for the last three days to transfer fifty lousy dollars between my checking and savings accounts using your "Friendly Automated System" and it won't allow me to do...

CUSTOMER SERVICE: You can't do that. Your money is being held in "escarole."

ME: WHAT? Why? And by who?!! By the way, I believe you mean escrow.

CUSTOMER SERVICE: Yes, escarole. That's what I said. And I don't know why. Some questions are best left unanswered.

ME: Yes, but my money...

CUSTOMER SERVICE: Sir, I've given you all the help I can. All the information I can provide. I've poured my heart and soul into this "F.A.R.T." and there's really nothing more I can do. As I have a quota to meet, I shall need to bid you adieu soon.

ME: "F.A.R.T.?"

CUSTOMER SERVICE: Yes. Its stands for "Friendly Attempt to Resolve Tension." Its our way of saying "Let's make every customer happy!"

ME: Yes, but I'm not happy.

CUSTOMER SERVICE: It doesn't always work, Mr. Christ-Smith.

ME: My name isn't Chri...

CUSTOMER SERVICE: Is there anything else I can do to help you today?

ME: Yes. Please go fuck yourself.

CUSTOMER SERVICE: Would you be willing to take a short survey in the form of an email to let my supervisor know how wonderful I am?

ME: No, Gada. Quite frankly, I would not.

CUSTOMER: Well, if we can make our next "F.A.R.T." with you more pleasant please be sure to email us.

ME: Pick a less obscure president next time I call.

CUSTOMER SERVICE: Will do. Goodbye, Mr. Smith-Christ.

ME: Whatever. (CLICK)

Alas The Time Is Anon

2007-03-31T20:27:00.000-04:00

I was on some websites this morning, hoping to find paid writing work (sort of an oxymoron actually).

One ad I came across was posted by a playwright who wanted people to contribute their personal and heart wrenching stories to her cause of writing a cathartic (and probably boring as hell) one person diatribe to be staged in the subway or some other dark, dank dungeon reminiscent of a medieval torture chamber. In this way she'll hopefully be able to educate the world (or at least the people in Alphabet City) about "issues" while at the same time attracting casting agents to come see her so that she can book the part of the Mom in a "Huggies" commercial, which is cathartic provided you like poop.

Here's some of the ad. Please pay careful attention to the bolded part:

This is a subject close to my heart so I promise to treat it with the utmost respect. If you would like to remain anonymouse, I will do so. If not, you will be given credit when the play is published/performed.

I must say, I love to remain "anonymouse" whenever I can. In New York this comes in especially handy as "we is loaded up with mouses." I wonder if writer Garrison Keillor, the famed Minnesotan, likes to remain "anonymoose" if he takes a writing job in Minneapolis. One thing I'm fairly sure of even though I don't know the man personally: He probably uses SPELL CHECK before he posts an ad.

I'm very tired and will now leave you. Good day.

How Smart Are You, Smartie Pants?

2007-03-28T20:17:00.001-04:00

Smarties®, the innocuous yet tart little candies that resemble the placebos a doctor might administer to a hypochondriac, actually have a website. There are regular Smarties® and Tropical Smarties®, which apparently doctors administer to Bahamian hypochondriacs. There is also a "nutritional information" page. Its very "informative." Check out this "info" below:

I was glad to see that Smarties® still contain "Red 40 Lake," "Yellow 5 Lake," "Blue 2 Lake," "Yellow 6 Lake" as those are quite tasty. They also used to contain "Lake Michigan" and "Lake Erie" but the Food and Drug Administration put a stop to that. The entire "nutritional information" page ought to be replaced with the following, in big block letters:

I actually wrote my college thesis on Smarties®. It was entitled "Smarties® And Their Effect On The Economic Upheaval Of The Industrial Revolution." I admit that this was a strange choice given the fact my major was Communications/Broadcasting . A more appropriate thesis might have been "Proper Etiquette For Standing In The Unemployment Line Upon Graduation." My professor referred to my paper as "inane and drug-addled yet with a certain panache." Extra points were given for my use of, in his words, "high quality bond paper," and I ended up with a C+. I intentionally spilled a martini on the paper before I turned it in to make it appear more urbane and sophisticated.

At one point the Smarties® people were saying on their website that the various multi-colored candies had "flavors," and gave a list of same. For example, did you know that the white one was pineapple? I didn't. I thought it was chalk. They've removed the flavor list from the site, apparently because they don't want the placebo administering physicians chasing them around with a big net.

Smarties® have a listing on Wikipedia which lets you know that the "The candies bear a strong resemblance to tablet-style pills, in shape and texture." I believe I already pointed this out, Wikipedia, albeit in a more off hand and pithy fashion. Wikipedia goes on to mention that:

"One individual candy is in the shape of a cylinder with a diameter of roughly 1 centimetre and a height of roughly .4 centimetres; larger ones do exist, dwarfing their european namesake impostors, with a diameter 2.5 centimeters and about .6cm tall... both sizes are double concave."

This relevant point I was not aware of. I firmly believe that if Wikipedia were a town it would be located in Pennsylvania and the motto on its entry sign would say "The Birthplace Of Useless Fucking Minutiae." And who are these "European Namesake Impostors," by the way? Are there operatives in other countries who spy on the Smarties® factory to gain trade secrets?

Part of my thesis was an analysis of the Smarties® flavors, so of course, I was quite intrigued to find the now defunct flavor list years later. You see, in my college days there was no "Internet (© 1995 by Al Gore, All Rights Reserved)," but rather, "Intuition." So, I drank a case of beer and along with that ate a one pound bag of Smarties® to try and ascertain their flavors. Here's the chart I came up with for my thesis (NOTE: there was also no "PowerPoint" back then. I painted this chart with various nutritional dyes I extracted from the Smarties® using a four dollar chemistry set and a blow torch):

Of course after all the beer I drank they seemed to all taste exactly alike. Maybe it wasn't the beer that made me think that.

Hey, at least they're "nutritional."

Customer Service... Hello, Yes?

2007-03-26T20:03:00.000-04:00

CUSTOMER SERVICE: Customer service, how may I help you?

ME: Hello...

CUSTOMER SERVICE: Yes?

ME: Hello, my toaster...

CUSTOMER SERVICE: Yes, how are you today?

ME: My toaster, the "Digital Toast-A-Riffic 435" is not toasting with the correct amperage, and I'm not sure but the lasers don't seem to be working.

CUSTOMER SERVICE: Yes?

ME: Hello?

CUSTOMER SERVICE: Customer service, hello?

ME: Yes, my toaster, the...

CUSTOMER SERVICE: Hello?

ME: Yes, its me again.

CUSTOMER SERVICE: Hello, yes?

ME: There seems to be a connection prob...

CUSTOMER SERVICE: Yes, the connection. Sometimes they break in the main linkage. I can email you a PDF manual, 500 pages in length, where on page 542a subsection B, you can find full instructions for solder...

ME: No, no, I meant the phone connection.

CUSTOMER SERVICE: Oh, I'm sorry. The phone... Weeelllll, if you have the "Toast-A-Riffic 435" you don't have the phone, that only comes built into the "Toast-A-Riffic 437BX." You might consider upgrading for a nominal charge of only fifty dollars.

ME: I meant your phone...

CUSTOMER SERVICE: Oh no, sir, I don't eat toast. My phone is the old fashioned kind.

ME: Listen, I don't want to upgrade to a "phone-toaster." I just want you to repair my current toaster.

CUSTOMER SERVICE: We don't make "phone toasters" anymore sir. The melting plastic and third degree burns resulting from our previous models led to entirely too much litigation. Would you like to upgrade your phone service?

ME: What in the name of...

CUSTOMER SERVICE: I am privileged to inform you that we are a recently acquired sub- division of Markham Tri-Continental Phone Communications And Digital providing phone service to the lower Munsonville area since 1959 and poised to become the next leader in digital communications. I can offer you great deal on a combination of long distance, modem, cable and weekly laundry pick-up for the all time low low price of only fifty dollars a month though in some areas not designated as "service areas" by the FCC the rate may be as much as four-hundred dollars or as little as twenty-five cents plus applic...lick....appp...lic...lickin...apple..AAAHHHPPPP...

ME: Applicable.

CUSTOMER SERVICE: Thank you. Ahhhh...pplicable sales tax and state licensing and usage fees.

ME: My toaster?

CUSTOMER SERVICE: Were you toasting Wonder Bread?

ME: Yes. Why?

CUSTOMER SERVICE: That violates the warranty. You'll have to get a new unit or send it to us for repair.

ME: Fuck off.

CUSTOMER SERVICE: My ass crack or yours?