This is a collection of prose I wrote between 1995 and 1997.

Having stopped writing music, I started writing humor instead.

 

By JIM STIENE

 

SELF HELP

            I’ve just finished a how-to book called “Alcoholism on a Shoestring Budget” or “How to Drink heavily on a Fixed Income.” Because I’ve seen too many people that drink beyond their means, and I thought it was time someone reached out to them and said “You’re not alone. I understand.” This book explores the possibilities of grain alcohol, bargain basement vodka, and domestic beer in my chapters “The beer ball is your friend”, “Meisterbrau - a cheap alternative to the conventional breakfast”, and “Waking up in a puddle of vomit.” It is an effort to help readers find a happy medium between financial security and drunken incoherence. Because in the days of rising beer costs and corporate layoffs, it’s important for informed adults to monitor their drinking habits in a cost effective, yet psychologically rewarding manner, in order to insure a maximum state of incoherence through economically sound alcohol purchases.

            But it doesn’t end there. I give you the best excuses to tell your boss when you’re

not feeling up to a full day’s work. Or what to tell your children after you’ve fallen down the stairs again. This book is a must read for anyone that cares enough about their family and job to practice inexpensive indulgence, without winding up broken and alone, begging for beer money on a street corner, and sleeping in their own filth.

Here’s what one reader had to say:

            “When I read it I cried. I didn’t think anyone understood. For years I would find myself at a loss for words when my family found me at the bottom of the stairs, or when coworkers and friends would ask about my shaking hands. But with Jim’s book, I know how to drink within my means, and have just the right thing to say in those awkward situations I find myself in. This book can change your life.”

 

PUBLIC ANOUNCEMENT

            There is a curse on the New Jersey highways that has gone unmentioned in the press. I’m talking about, of course, ‘Behind the Wheel Masturbation’. It is estimated that this alarming trend is responsible for hundreds of highway deaths every year. What are some signs that someone on the road is spanking the monkey? If you notice a car swerving from side to side, slowing and accelerating, or you observe a driver turning blue, chances are he’s wacking the big one. And guys aren’t the only ones responsible for this dangerous behavior, women can be seen practicing the one finger salute, while driving down the highway, too. If you suspect someone on the road is stroking the One-Eyed Monster, notify your local authorities. And if you have the sudden urge to choke the chicken while driving your car, for God’s sake, pull over. The life you save might not just be your own. This has been a public service announcement from a concerned citizen.

 

 

 

CUSTOMER SERVICE

“Hello, Franklin novelty...You got them as a present?....No, you’re not supposed to clang them together, or put them in your palms for relaxation...

I don’t know where they got the name “Ben Wah” from. I suppose it’s Japanese...You’re supposed to put them in places...Hello? Mrs. Walker? Yes, as I was saying. You’re supposed to..What? Yes they work real well...What? Mrs. Walker, I’m a married man! And besides, I’m working now. All right, then have someone deliver a pizza, but I have to go....

Franklin Novelty..Yes it’s a double. So two can enjoy it...You’re supposed to strap it around your waste, and the other underneath your legs till it catches on in the back. Yes it comes in ten, twelve, or fourteen inches. Ok, goodbye...

Franklin Novelty..Hang on. Maurice! Do we still have the `Sword of Pleasure’ anal probe?...Yes, it’s on back order Senator..What? I recognized your voice..Oh my. No, I’ve never slept with fishes..I assure you Senator, Franklin Novelty guarantees complete confidentiality..Yes you want a pair of edible panties.. .And one for your wife too...Yes, I’ve got that - “Secret Documents Enclosed. Press Secretary. The State House, Boston Massachusetts, 90120. We’ll have that in the mail tomorrow. Thank you...

Franklin Novelty...”

 

APPOINTMENTS

            I'm in a bad mood tonight. All those nagging lawsuits. People complaining because I'm not actually trained as a gynecologist. Ok, if you want to split hairs. But at least I was reasonably priced. You see, I used to work in a doctors office setting appointments, when some cheerleaders were supposed to come in for an exam. But I accidentally scheduled them while the doctor was on vacation. And I felt kind of bad. I mean, they were all ready for their exams in their little outfits and everything, and I didn't have the heart to turn them away. And I've seen those stirrups and things. I figured you just put on a smock, get a flashlight, and look around a bit. It's not like I hypnotized them or anything. I just had a look around and said everything looked fine. OK, I got a few phone numbers, but hey, I'm only human. But their parents found out and the doctor fired me. He said I exercised poor judgment, and violated some sacred oath or something. But it's like I told him - I never took any oath. You know, at five dollars an exam, what do they want from me? People are just sue happy these days, that's what I think.

            But the reason I got caught was because I accidentally said "Wow" while I was examining a patient. And she said "Are you SURE you're a doctor?" and I said "Well, technically...no. But I've heard a lot about this on t.v." Then she started screaming and throwing things at me But there were other things that gave me away. Like my nervous laughter. Or when she asked me if everything looked ok, and I said "You bet." I guess some people just don't share my sense of humor.

 

 

INFOMERCIAL

            How would you like to make forty, fifty thousand dollars in your spare time, from the privacy of your home? Well now you can, selling the amazing new `Ronco Vacusuck’! Yes, you too can enjoy hours of pleasure, without anyone knowing about it, at the office, or even in your car! In fact, I’m wearing one right now! No longer will you have to drive into the city and spend your hard earned money on overpriced suckjobs, when you can enjoy the `Ronco Vacusuck’ for just pennies a day! Plus, when you tell a friend, we’ll cut you in on half of the cost, filling your wallet, and draining your Johnson at the same time!

            `Blueballs Magazine’ calls this the fastest moving product in the history of novelty items. Don’t miss out on this exciting opportunity to make great money, and have a good time, as our daring new product, services your Peabody, and fattens your wallet. Haven’t you always dreamed of financial independence? Haven’t you always wanted the things money could buy, and you knew you deserved? Well, now you can, with the `Ronco Vacusuck’. Fancy cars, waterfront property. You won’t even need a girlfriend with the `Ronco Vacusuck’, but you won’t have trouble finding one, once the money starts pouring in! In these days of rising beer costs and space age technology, isn’t it time you took advantage of all the opportunities that are available to you? Well, now you can with the `Ronco Vacusuck’. Money back if disappointed.

 

 

 

 

 

PROFESSOR STONE

            My name is Professor Stone, and I’ll be your instructor for the next few months. I think you’ll find this course, both, challenging and enjoyable if you’re willing to put in the time and effort. And I’m reminded of the words of a wise man, when he said “Do a little dance. Make a little love. Get down tonight.”

            What can we learn from this? Because, I think the question we have to ask ourselves is - If we do, in fact, do a little dance, and make a little love, then isn’t the suggestion that we get down tonight redundant? Let me rephrase that. If we do, in fact, do a little dance, and make a little love, then haven’t we already gotten down? I’d like you to think about that while I show you some slides of my nephew’s circumcision. You, in the first row. What do you make of all this?”

            “I’m not sure I understand the question.”

            “Is ‘Getting down’ really just a metaphor for dancing and making love?”

            “I think the phrase ‘Get down tonight’ is too vague and general to apply to dancing and getting laid. You’re grasping at straws.”

            “I’m not sure I follow you.”

            “Look, I’m an architecture student. I’m supposed to pay twelve hundred dollars so you can quote ‘Kool and the Gang’ songs? What the fuck?”

            “You’re venting. That’s ok. Do you want some time to yourself?”

            “No, I don’t want some time to myself, I want you to talk like a fucking earthling. What do you mean ‘Do a little dance?’ Are you fucking crazy? How much acid did you take in the sixties?”

            “It’s a valid question. Popular music poses relevant sociological questions.”

            “No, it doesn’t. You’re fucking retarded. I’m out of here.”

 

 

 

THE CENTER

            Welcome to the Writer’s Harvest. An event sponsored by the `Center for Teaching Excellence’, an organization which, I think, we’ll all agree, is an improvement over it’s preceding program `The Center For Teaching Adequately’. Of course, even `The Center for Teaching Adequately’ was once hailed a welcome successor to it’s undistinguished forerunner: `The Center for Scribbling Something on the Board, then Getting the Hell out of there’. Of course, the `CFSB’ was loosely based on the New York School System’s ill fated `Center for Putting in a Full Day’s Work and Getting Home Alive’, which I’m sure you’ll remember was headed by Terrence Randolph, who’s now known for his infamous classic `Survivalism for the Science Instructor’. In fact, Terrence was scheduled to speak here today, but was unable to attend due to his incarceration. But he sends his warmest regards, and stresses that he was only acting in self defense. In any event, welcome to the Writers Harvest, and enjoy the festivities.

 

AMERICAN IN DISTRESS

WHEN YOU NEED CASH IN A HURRY,

NOBODY RESPONDS LIKE AMERICAN DISTRESS

            “We were on vacation in the Bahamas when I lost my wallet with all my cash and credit cards. I called American Distress to see if they could help”

            “I got the call around closing time. A guy lost his wallet and was really worried. I called him a dumb fuck and told him to kiss my ass. I said `It’s people like you that give Americans a bad name, you fucking jerkoff. I hope you catch malaria and die!”

            “The guy was really rude. I couldn’t believe they talked to people that way. I told him I would take my business elsewhere, if this was the way they treated their customers.”

            “I said `Be my guest. I hope you have a fun time swimming home, asswipe.’ Then I told him to suck my dick, and hung up on him. The guys at the office still laugh about that. Fucking loser.”

AMERICAN DISTRESS - WHEN YOU NEED CASH IN A HURRY

 

THE FOOD CHAIN

            People ask me about my job packing groceries, so I tell them I only do it for the glamour. You're standing there with cashiers and housewives giving you the eye, and you KNOW they want you. Who wouldn't want a guy that packs bags for a living? But in today's competitive market, it's getting harder to find prestigious jobs. But that will all change once you order my new twelve step video. Yes, you too can become the envy of friends, and wet dreams of checkout girls, as you learn the fun and profitable world of grocery checkout. It covers packing bags, collecting shopping carts, and even how to accept all those compliments and obscene propositions you'll find yourself receiving once you order my new video and enter this exciting and lucrative field! Plus, if you order now, I'll even include a pack of Trojans and a six pack of Old Milwaukee for those late night excursions with coworkers and customers. In these days of job insecurity and diminishing wages, isn't it time you did something to keep ahead of the crowd? My new video shows you how for only four easy payments of  $19.95!

(Due to an increasing demand, this is a limited time offer. Visa and Mastercard accepted.)

Call now and make a difference by starting a new and exciting career. Yes, you too can enter the lucrative career Jim told you about by calling 1 800 BLOW ME.

                          (RESTRICTIONS MAY APPLY)

 

 

THE LEGEND OF LEONARD MELNICK

            Leonard Melnick was a womanizing gambler. He usually had a woman on each arm as he played Bingo in the geriatric ward of the Hazy Acres Retirement home. Not that he was the party animal he used to be. He had slowed down considerably after that triple bypass operation. Long gone were his drug crazed days of Phenyl Barbital and Preparation-H. He even cut down on drinking after the hospital staff ran low on Geritol. But to the people that knew him, he was a legend.

            He took first place in the walker races, and beat the hell out of an orderly, after he foolishly tried to turn off the TV during `The Price is Right’. You see, Leonard was an angry man. And the only thing he loved more than Bingo and Geritol was Diane Parkinson. Damn, she was fine, he thought as he played checkers with one of the elderly patients, while he was confined to his room for attacking that orderly with a cane. But people were scared of him after that. And not surprisingly. He had been the kingpin of a drug cartel before entering the retirement home. Smuggling Monoxidil into the country before it was approved by the FDA. You see, Leonard knew no laws. He made his own. And the people around him knew he was special. They wanted to reach out and touch him, in the hope that his powerful aura would rub off on them.

           But he couldn’t keep up his demented lifestyle forever. Eventually, he broke his hip and was confined to a wheelchair, where he wet himself daily, and suffered from syphilis, diarrhea, and painful and unsightly bedsores. Then, one cold winter night, he caught pneumonia and died. But I’d like to think there’s a little Leonard Melnick in all of us. Burning with passion when young, then slipping off into that silk Valhalla of eternity. We all get old and die. But we must remember to keep Leonard Melnick in our hearts and in our dreams. And remember the words of Dylan Thomas in his unforgettable poem. So rage on, Leonard Melnick. Rage on.

 

 

POST SCRIPT

            Outside of God’s office the Grim Reaper was bleeding profusely as he walked with a limp toward God’s door. When he got there, God was shocked by the sight before his eyes. “My God, what happened to you? You look awful. It looks like you ran into a brick wall.”

            “I quit” said the Grim Reaper.

            “Well, come in. Sit down. What happened?”

            “Leonard Melnick” he said. “That ninety year old, Geritol-addicted freak.

Why does he get to come to heaven? That crippled old pervert.”

            “Well, it looks like he got the best of you” giggles God. “I’m sorry.  I wasn’t too sure about Leonard myself. But my hands were tied. You think I don’t have anyone to answer to?”

            “You mean your wife?” asked the Grim Reaper.

            “Exactly. She’s insistent. She says we can make an upstanding citizen of him yet. Personally, I think she’s kind of sweet on him. But what can you do? She’s an old woman, and you have to humor her. And don’t think this was Leonard’s first stop. We sent him to Purgatory, but they threw him out. If you think you look bad, you should see what he did to the Prince of Darkness. He’s a mess. That’s one guy that’s not going to be sleeping with women for thirty years. He can’t even sit down. And I’m beginning to like Leonard anyway. The most precious thing I ever gave him was his life. Maybe the only thing worth fighting for in the end. And Leonard understood this. He didn’t die in his sleep like a pacified lamb. He went out in a puddle of his own blood and urine, hacking up lungs and kicking like a mule. That’s why he was a hero to some. Most people would look at Leonard and see a pathetic old man, suffering from rheumatism and arthritis. But even Beelzebub knows better than that. Because nobody, and I mean NOBODY fucks with Leonard Melnick. And for that alone, I’m glad he’s here. So rage on Leonard Melnick. But stay away from my wife. Even I have limits.

 

 

 

TEA LEONI

            I've decided to kidnap Tea Leoni. At least I did, until a 'friend' straightened me out. He said "Why would she be interested in you? You're a loser."

            "Oh yea. I forgot."

            "And besides, she's a big TV star."

            "Well, I thought she would see through this dorky persona. To the person underneath. A..."

            "Pathological weirdo?"

            "No."

            "A demented pervert?"

            "I think you're missing the point."

            You see, I planned on kidnapping her and whisking her away to the Kamin Islands, where we'd make mad donkey love before flying off to the Bahamas for a small, but tasteful ceremony, surrounded by a few close friends and relatives. Maybe her press agent.

            But the awful truth is, I can't afford it. And I've never actually planned a kidnapping before. But I've been reading 'Dianetics', and I think I'm ready to realize my 'full potential'. To 'Seize the day'. Or Tea Leoni, in this case.

            But I still have my reservations. Not in the Bahamas, about kidnapping Tea Leoni. I have a feeling the producers of "The Naked Truth" would be pretty annoyed if their leading actress was kidnapped and taken to the Kamin Islands. That might mean a prison sentence, before I'm taken to a state hospital and put under observation.

            But I'm not crazy. It's Tea Leoni, for God's sakes. Who wouldn't want to run away with her? Ok, the part about kidnapping her is a little extreme. I guess most people wouldn't be willing to commit a federal offense for a woman they've never met. But that's because they just haven't reached their "Full potential". And I'm sorry if that sounds smug, but it's true.

             I think I'm really on the verge of something here.

 

 

 

 

JUGGLING

            Hi. My name's Jim Stiene, and I'm a juggler. I started juggling a few years ago as a way to meet women. Because I would always see mimes on street corners, surrounded by beautiful women. But when I started juggling, I soon found that women were just using me for my juggling, and that once the show stopped, they would move on to the next clown, or perhaps even a  mime. It was as if they liked the entertainment, but had no romantic interest in a man dressed in a clown outfit.

            So  I stopped juggling for the glamour, and did it for the art. But eventually, it became an obsession. I couldn't keep up with school work, or hold down a job. And it seemed like juggling was taking over my life. That’s when I realized I had a problem. That is, until I got help. You see, that's when I joined a support group and got a sponsor named Larry. He had been a clown on the rodeo circuit, before a tragic accident during one of his juggling routines. His doctors told him that if he didn't stop juggling, he would be dead in three weeks. So Larry knew what it was like to give up something he really loved. He said that juggling was in his blood. His father had been a juggler like his father's father before him. In fact, his uncle even worked for Ringling Brothers before he was trampled to death by an elephant.

            But Larry helped me get through the bad times. I could call him at any time of the day or night. Like when I passed by a fruit stand, or saw a television commercial for Ginsu knives, and had the sudden urge to juggle.

            I remember one time I made the tragic mistake of going bowling. I just thank God that Larry was around to take my call and bail me out of jail. But I'm better now, though I still go to meetings. Our motto is "Jugglers Anonymous - We've don't have any balls."  So now I have some new friends and a key chain I carry with me everywhere I go. But I'm telling it to you, so that you don't make the same mistakes I did. It's been three years since I've juggled, but I'm just taking it one day at a time.

 

 

LEO

            I’ve just read Leo Busgaglias’ autobiography “Confessions of a Panty Sniffer”. It’s a real page turner. Cause if you want to sell books, you have to write about things people can relate to. And I think that’s what he’s trying to do here. He talks about some of the women in his life. His high school teacher. His friends on the cheerleading squad. In fact, when he originally joined the Pep Squad, some of the athletes questioned his masculinity. But little did they know the real reason he wanted to put cheerleaders on his shoulders. Cause Leo Busgaglia’s a smart man. We could all learn from his wisdom. I especially liked his chapter on the “Fredericks of Hollywood” catalog. Or the one describing his arrest record. And not that many people know that before he was a Humanistic Psychologist, he worked in a Laundromat. In “Confessions of a Panty Sniffer”, he looks back on those days with the kind of sharp observations and fond recollections one can only get from hindsight. And only a cynical reader would fail to appreciate the humor of him dancing around the Laundromat with a college students panties over his face. Or cringe with fear and embarrassment as the young Busgaglia is arrested for petty theft, deviant behavior, and public exhibitionism. But “Confessions of a Panty Sniffer” is a book for our time. In fact, it’s a book for all times. Here Busgaglia has created an instant classic that will live on in the hearts and minds of those with creative erotic outlets. Thank you Leo Busgaglia. You’re an artist and a connoisseur.

 

                                                       VANITY

            People are so vain these days. It wouldn’t surprise me if, in a rush to discover a cure for baldness, someone produced a product with a really horrible side effect. I could just see a corporate meeting:

            “Jones, what have you got for us?”

            “Well sir, we seem to have come up with a cure for baldness.”

            “Excellent. We’ll be rich!”

            “Well, it may be a little early to start celebrating.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “The formula seems to have an unpleasant side effect.”

            “I’m listening. Go on.”

            “`Hair Again’ does make your hair grow back, but it’s not quite perfected.”

            “Don’t beat around the bush. What’s the problem Jones?”

            “It makes your dick fall off. Watson, you better show him.”

            “Good lord. This is disastrous!”

            “Yes, we seem to have had some unfavorable responses in the cities we test marketed it in. In fact we’ve gotten a number of death threats. You know, people unhappy with the product. A few major law suits.”

            “Yes, I could see how that might upset some of the choosier customers.”

            “One man said he didn’t want to live. Another threatened to blow up our headquarters.”

            “Well, can we do anything to fix it?”

            “Johnson’s working on it. But he seems to be having trouble getting anyone to try it out.”

            “Come on. Where’s your team spirit? Walker. You try the damn thing out.”

            “I was going to tell you sir. I’m turning in my resignation.”

            “Baker?”

            Fraid not, sir. I’d rather be dead.”

            “Boy, you just can’t get good help these days.”

 

JUAN VALDEZ

            Recently a woman wrote a letter to the paper that exposed an injustice so insidious I wasn’t even aware of it. I’m talking about Donkey Basketball. For many, this seemingly harmless sport has served to entertained children of all ages for many years. But it’s time adults wake up to the cruelty inherent in this unforgivable pastime. And I’m not just talking about making donkeys run up and down basketball courts at charity events. The real cruelty lies in giving them the false hope they can make a living at it. We all know how difficult it is even for talented adults to succeed in the NBA without having four legs to restrict their movements. Yet many believe that donkeys will never be able to make a lay-up or even hit a three point jump shot. Please help put an end to this horrible form of animal abuse and abomination of nature before it’s too late.

 

 

SHORTCUT TO HELL

            How long? How long, Lord, do I have to live with this STUPID haircut? I was trying to go for the new wave look, but wound up looking like David Schwimmer. So, how long do I have to suffer? I know it’s my fault. I take full responsibility. I HAVE to. I was the one who cut it. But when does the suffering end, and the living begin? Maybe I’ll go somewhere and hide out where no one will see me.

            Before my accident, women didn’t know I existed, but now they are visibly sickened. Please let them ignore me again. Let it be the way it was before that fateful night with the paper shears. Before this fashion tragedy. I feel like a carnival freak. Let me have my hair back. I’ll go to church. Help the starving people of India. I’ll send money to Sally Struthers or that lady that did the Tic Tac commercials. I think she’s in South America now. just let me look like a human being again. I’ve suffered enough. More than one man can bear. Just let me have my hair back, and I promise I’ll be good.

 

 

AN APPLE FOR THE TEACHER

            As you can probably guess, I used to get into a lot of trouble in school when I was younger. Cause I would be doing something like making farting noises with my armpits, and the teacher would say "Is that really necessary?" And I had to admit, it wasn't. I just thought I'd add a little levity to the situation. What, with her talking about pronouns and everything. Wasting the classes' valuable time.

            Because nobody wanted to hear about pronouns. They wanted to hear me make farting noises with my armpits. And how could the teacher compete with that? I think she was just jealous because I could do something she couldn't do.

            But I just got in more trouble when I tried to explain that to the Dean of Humanities. He said that college students should demonstrate a more mature attitude. What a dork? How does he expect anyone to take him seriously when he gives that kind of advise? But I guess that's what happens when you over medicate adults. They act like idiots.

            But when I tried to tell him he was making a fool of himself, I just got in more trouble. For the life of me, I'll never understand some people.

 

REVENGE

            I wonder if suicide is the ultimate act of passive aggression. I mean, if you’re looking for a way to get back at your parents, suicide is an effective method. Of course, it has it’s drawbacks. You can only do it once. And there are always other options to explore. Other courses of action to pursue. You can become an alcoholic, take up shoplifting, turn to prostitution or hard drugs, even shave your head and join a cult. Some people become Born Again Christians, support hopeless causes, or take jobs as night managers of Seven Elevens. Because there’s more than one way to skin a cat, and the possibilities for self defeating behavior are endless. You can get into sick, abusive relationships, run for mayor on the Carnival Freak ticket. But personally, I prefer to get really stupid haircuts. Because I’ve always believed that if you’re going to be self destructive, you might as well have lots of witnesses. Oh, sure, others might opt for writing pathetic, embarrassing commentaries about their life. But for me, a stupid haircut is the only way to go. It serves the dual purpose of breeding self contempt while offering numerous possibilities for public humiliation and ridicule. So, if you’re mad at your mate, or just thinking about getting back at your parents, stupid haircuts are an effective and useful tool.

 

 

 

 

 

                                                                  DO IT YOURSELF

            So you’re building that deck, and you have Time Life Books to help you along. You might want to fix yourself a Long Island Iced Tea to make your day go quicker. Plus, if you hit yourself with a hammer, you won’t feel it.

            I remember one time, I passed out with a circular saw still running and took off a few of my fingers. Luckily, my wife found me in a pool of my own blood and called the paramedics before I went into convolutions. Of course, I was so blitzed, I didn’t feel a thing. But they sewed those bad boys back on, and in a few months, they were as good as new. No worse for the wear.

            It reminds me of the time I was in prison for breaking and entry, and this guy, Lenny, wanted me to be his woman. Well, at first I thought ‘This is going to be real painful’, but after a while, I started to like it. I still get a card from him around Christmas time.

            But anyway, if you call  now, we’ll send you the first installment of Home Repair “Kitchens and Bathrooms” for a thirty-day trial period, and if you don’t like it, you can keep it as our gift.

            TIME LIFE BOOKS- when you want to get something done, but you need professional help.

 

THE DEAN OF HUMANITIES

            I think the Dean of humanities stole my cough drops. Because I'm pretty sure I had them when I went to see him. And because I seemed to catch him off guard when I asked him about it. In fact, he couldn't even answer a few simple questions like "Have you ever been convicted of a felony, or gone under an assumed name?" And that's a sure sign of guilt. When a guy can't even keep track of his own lies, his life is so shrouded in deceit.

            Of course, I inspected his Masters Degree pretty thoroughly, but it all seemed in order, although those things can be faked. I wonder if the school knows about him. What else is he hiding? He must really think I'm an idiot. But I've been around. I mean, it's no big deal. I'll just get another pack. But my throats been a little scratchy lately from doing too many bong hits. And I'd like to think I can trust the people that work here.

            But you never can tell about some people. I was even tempted to report him to the school board, but I just let it go. Cause I should probably give him the benefit of the doubt. And he's probably feeling pretty remorseful right now. I just feel betrayed, that's all. I'll get over it.

            But even when I told him there were people that could help, he looked shocked. I guess he was a little embarrassed. What, with him stealing my cough drops, and me reaching out to help. I felt like that bishop in Les Miserable that let a thief keep a pair of candlesticks. "Look, I don't really need those . You probably need those more than I do. But if you ever feel the need to talk about anything, let me know." And I left it at that. So, even though I was a little disappointed in him, I felt pretty good about myself.

I guess real wisdom comes from knowing when to let go. To put things in perspective and say "Okay, I don't have a job, a car, or a life, but at least I don't steal people’s cough drops." Of course, I might have just left them somewhere.

 

CONFUSION

            Sorry if I seem a little confused, but I’m just wondering what inquisitiveness means. Maybe I’m a skeptic. Probably not, but you never know. I just wish I could have certainty. I certainly don’t have any faith in cynicism. Or Atheism, for that matter. I used to be an Atheist, but now I’m an Agnostic. I wonder if the only difference between Christians and Atheists is that Christians have more imagination than Atheists. I believe in life after death. I think life is just the postponement of death. Some say medicine is the retardation of death, but that’s retarded. Then they say that Schizophrenia is just a distortion of reality, but that’s crazy. I knew someone with a multiple personality complex. She asked what field to go into, so I suggested acting. But when I saw her performance, I thought it was inconsistent. But I keep changing my mind about consistency. And I keep changing the subject. Sometimes I can’t even form a complete sentence. I have a cousin that’s serving four consecutive life sentences for murder. But luckily, he’s got a lawyer that’s trying to knock it down to three. My cousin was a real loner. He had to teach himself solitaire, because their wasn’t anyone around to teach him. At least he had a good memory. He said he had a photogenic memory. I said “You mean a `Photographic memory?” He said “Oh, yeah. I forgot.” And what is a photogenic memory, anyway? One that looks good in snapshots? I could be wrong, but I don’t believe in Murphy’s Law. At least I didn’t believe in Murphy’s Law, until I bought a used car. I use my car to deliver pizza. But I can’t seem to make enough as a driver, to keep my car on the road. It’s a vicious cycle. It’s like bondage gear in a washing machine.

 

 

 

 

THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD

            I think people should stop taking a dump in their pants. I don't know why they do it. Maybe they think it's funny, but it's not.

            Little kids are always doing things like that. They're just sitting there smiling and then you smell something really bad and go "Hey, knock that off. What, were you raised in a barn?"

            When I was a lot younger, this kid in the neighborhood just pulled down his pants and took a dump right in the middle of the road. But even then I knew it was tacky, not to mention really rude. Because I was what you would call `gifted' or something. I said "Hey! Don't take a dump in the road. What's wrong with you?" But by that time he was just about done with his business. I guess some people will never learn good manners. I'm Andy Rooney, and this has been Sixty Minutes.

 

LIVING THE GOOD LIFE

            When I go to spoken word events, a lot of aspiring poets come up to me and ask "How can I, a sensitive, self-possessed artist, become a dysfunctional loser like yourself?" Now, my first instinct is to say "You can't. You have to be born that way." But the fact is, with a little work, and a concerted effort, anyone can master the art of becoming a total personal failure in just a few weeks.

            The first step, is to destroy your career by cleverly establishing a reputation as a profoundly retarded sociopath that no one in their right mind would hire. But how does one go about it? Drinking at work? Smoking crack on your lunch hour? No. The fact is, most employers establish close personal ties with their employees, and chances are, they'll only ask if everything's all right at home, and if they can help. They might even offer to get you into a twelve step program. And in many states, it's actually illegal to fire someone who enters a treatment program for drug or alcohol abuse, so you'll have to be more creative than that.

            How about stealing things from work? Let's face it, most employers don't even care what you do with company property, because it's not really theirs, and besides, it's insured. Chances are, they'll be willing to give you another chance, if they've developed a fondness for you, and it's only your first offence.

            How about sleeping with your boss’s wife? Now that's a little more like it! Nobody likes a home wrecker. And if your boss is STILL willing to give you another chance, you can tell him how his wife performed in bed. Or ask what he's doing wrong that she laughs at him behind his back.

            Of course, if you're a woman, hitting on your bosses wife could easily backfire, even assuming you can get past the taboos against lesbianism. No, even if your boss’s wife was interested, he might welcome the turn of events, suggesting you get  together for a threesome, and take an extended vacation in Bermuda.

            But don't give up. You could always start a few ugly rumors about your boss, questioning his masculinity, and casually referring to his cross-dressing to your co-workers when your boss is within earshot. I know that approach has always worked for me, when I've grown tired of a work environment. So with a little imagination, and a LOT of gall, it won't be long before you're escorted from the building by security. Once they've called security on you, you can be rest assured, you'll never work in THAT town again.

             At this point, you might want to jeopardize your driving privilege, by hanging out in bars and racing your drunken friend’s home. Here is where drugs and alcohol  can really make a difference. Swerving down the road with one eye closed is a sure way to attract the proper authorities. And once the police are on to you, the State of New Jersey will be close behind, following up with fines, surcharges, revocation and, finally, jail. With a little effort, and a LOT of drinking, becoming a pathological loser is just around the bend.

            So now it's time to start thinking about destroying your close, personal relationships with loved ones and relatives. If you're a guy, you might try drinking heavily and coming on to your mother-in-law, commenting on her breasts, or threatening to kick her husband's ass if he doesn't stop passing wind at the dinner table. I've always found that most women are disgusted by such disturbing displays of Oedipal conflict, and revolted at the thought of someone physically threatening their immediate family.

            Of course, more often than not, even THAT'S not enough to completely destroy your marriage and poison your home life. This is where infidelity can really work for you. And the great part is, you don't even have to cheat on your spouse. You just have to make them BELIEVE you have. Of course, assuming your husband or wife isn't heavily armed, this is probably a good time head for an exit. But don't be discouraged. With no job, no car, and no money, you're just minutes away from complete homelessness, and with a little imagination, even institutionalization!

            So you see, it's really that simple! Why spend your life providing for others, when you can have others take care of you? The food in mental institutions isn't the best, but just think about all the free time you'll have, to talk to the other inmates or flirt with the nurses. Yes, it's as easy as that! With just a few stupid and irresponsible acts, you too will be on the road to becoming a complete personal failure.

            So call now! Our operators are waiting.

 

JENNY

            Jenny McCarthy won’t return my phone calls. I don’t know what’s up HER ass. Just because she’s a big celebrity now, she won’t talk to someone like me? Not that I knew her before she was famous, but you’d think she would answer her God damn phone. But I guess she thinks “I’m a big celebrity now. I don’t have time to talk to every pathological loser from New Jersey.” And it gets on my nerves. But if she doesn’t return my calls soon, I’m going to take down those candles I lit under her picture. I’m no fool. There’s no point in building a shrine to someone that barely know your alive. It’s HER loss. Just because I violated that restraining order, she thinks I’m dangerous or something. I  TOLD her I would never harm her, but she won’t listen to reason. I even sent her five dollars so she could mail me a pair of her underwear, but she just kept it. That’s not exactly good public relations. If somebody sends you money, you’re supposed to give them something in return. Am I right? Is that too much to ask? Maybe I should have sent her ten dollars. She probably HAS a lot of money, so five dollars doesn’t seem like that much to her. But she didn’t have to have me arrested. I mean, I have feelings too. She could have just said “Thank you for the lovely gift, but I don’t have any extra underwear to spare” and I would have understood. But I don’t even get THAT much. Not even an acknowledgment of my letter. Just a warning from her lawyer, and a visit from the police. Boy, I tell you, SOMEBODY’s really let show business go to her head!

 

 

SURVIVORS

            Americans have become real weenies. In the old days, people didn't run off to their therapist every time they had a problem: "Me and Bob have been seeing a counselor. We haven't been communicating lately." I guess that's why you hit him over the head with a desk lamp.

            But I get even more tired of people saying they're `real survivors'. Who isn't? What, are there people slumped over their office furniture or clogging up elevators with their dead bodies?

            A survivor is someone that lives through a Nazi death camp, not someone who just broke up with her boyfriend: "She'll be ok. Chrissy's a real survivor." And what are the rest of us, worm food?

            A survivor is someone that falls out of an airplane and lives to tell about it, not someone that just lost his job at the Piggly Wiggly. "Roy will be ok. He's a real survivor. He just needs to work on his fries. People don't like them too greasy. You've got to drain them or something. Maybe use some paper towels."

 

CHAINED HEAT

            I'll never understand why women get raped in prison. What's the deal with these guards, anyway? I mean, if you can't get laid in a women's prison, you must be doing something wrong. It's probably time to change your approach. What were these guys using as opening lines: "Do you want to see my infection?" or "What are your feelings on anal sex?". And I thought I was socially inept. But if you can't get laid in a women's prison, you must have been hit with an ugly stick, at some point in your life.

            They say that Cambodia's Pol Pot used to chain men and women together to get the birth rate up. Now, I've never been in prison, but, I think, if you're going to be incarcerated, that's the way to go. I mean, I don't get it. Is that supposed to be PUNISHMENT? Talk about bondage and discipline! I wonder if I could talk Sandra Bullock into spending a weekend in Cambodia?

 

POLITE SOCIETY

             I get tired of all the social niceties we're expected to follow. Like "How's your mother?" What do people expect you to say:

            "She's got syphilis."

            "Oh. I'm sorry to hear that."

            "Well, she's been hanging around with the wrong characters. Getting knocked up by barflies."

            "Don't you hate when that happens?"

            "It's a bitch."

            "Tell me about it."

            "I'm just getting tired of bailing her out of jail."

            "Has she stopped drinking?"

            "Only long enough to pass out."

            "Well tell her I said `Hi'."

            "Will do".

            "So how's your father? Is he still on crack?"

            "No, he switched to heroin a few months ago."

            "That's too bad."

            "Yeah, he lost his job at the Division of Motor Vehicles."

            "That's a shame."

 

THE UGLY AMERICAN

(THE WORLD IS MY CLASSROOM)

           Now that I’m taking Philosophy and studying the great works of Socrates, Plato and Nietzsche, I have to ask myself, what, if anything, can we learn from `titty bars’? With their blue collar clientele thinking “Why can’t I, an alcoholic carpenter, get the type of woman that will dance for me like that? Doesn’t she know I’ve almost finished making payments on my truck?” No. She’s off in the corner talking to the bouncer, Anthony Verelli, with his fourteen carat chain. He’s already made all the payments on his Camaro. And Samantha ( that’s her stage name) is taking classes in accounting, so she can become an MBA, before she winds up selling real estate, and sleeping with potential buyers. Samantha, who was groped by her father at thirteen. Samantha, who should have killed him, but was saving up for a breast job, and couldn’t afford a hit man. This is a sad, sad world, my friend. Just look at that businessman who wanders in around lunch time. Isn’t he getting it at home? Or is he afraid that his wife will find out about his impending impotence? Oh, it’s sad. So sad. His wife, who wonders why he hasn’t been in the mood for two years, is now eyeing the electrician who’s working on her stove, and contemplating a lesbian relationship with her neighbor, Judy, who’s husband is also scared of dying, and is, at this moment, inserting dollar bills between the silicone implants of a dancer named Susan. It’s a sad world, my friend. But some days it’s hard to tell who’s the most pathetic of them all. We could have a contest. What, if anything, can we learn from `titty bars’?

 

 

DOUG

            So this guy comes into the garage the other day with a sweater around his neck and tortoise shell glasses, complaining about his squeaky breaks. I said “I’ll get to it, when I get to it, ya fuckin homo!” You see, I work on cars. I don’t always like it, but it’s my job. It’s what I do. I know a guy that used to work here called Raymond. Got arrested for fucking a dead cow. I told him to watch where he put his Johnson. You can’t just be sticking it anywhere. It will fall off. But he never listened. He wasn’t to bright. They said I was a little  slow when I went to school, but I didn’t care. They even asked if I ever considered trade school. I guess I wasn’t set out for college life, but I don’t care. College is for fags, everybody knows that. All those professors talking about poetry and stuff. They just need a good smack in the head. That will straighten them out. Teach them to act like men for God’s sakes. Reading all those books. Some of them don’t even have pictures. I don’t know what’s wrong with people like that. I think MOST people that read just need a good swift kick in the ass. Those fucking fruits. The name’s Doug. Don’t wear it out. I work on cars. But I guess I you already know that.

 

SAMANTHA

            I've been watching Melrose Place for secret messages. I think there is a lot to learn from that show. About life, love, relationships. How to cheat on your spouse without getting caught. Or scheming your way to the top of the corporate ladder. It's a quality show dedicated to the celebration of human dignity. Aaron Spelling is a god. If you look at all the brilliant television he's created, I think you'll agree, his contribution to American culture is unmatched. And the way he puts his daughter, Tori Spelling, in sexy bathing suits in Beverly Hills 90210. Now that's class. What a classy guy. You just can't have enough shallow materialistic California youth on television. It never gets old. I think his strong point is dialogue. There's a lot of really deep thinking going on in the witty conversations of Melrose, and shows like it. That's why I'm watching it for secret messages. It's a classy show for classy people. Thank you, Aaron Spelling. For all the thought provoking, insightful television you've given the world. Thank you.

 

 

COURAGE

            Notice how in war movies the characters are all full of courage and self sacrifice? Like if one has to go on a suicidal mission, they all volunteer: “Let me go, captain, I can do it.”

            “No, me. You’re too young.” If I were in that situation my response would be different: “Well, someone has to do it, and I say it’s me. What do you think, Jim?”

            “I’m ok with that. I mean, I would go, obviously. But who am I to take away from the heroism of others? It’s not my place to stand in the way of someone else’s martyrdom. Jones, here, has a wife and kids to support, so his sacrifice would be legendary. And Baker has a hundred men depending on him. People would never forget his bravery. Whereas I’m just a worthless lay about, who has nothing to gain from this generous and courageous act. No, I say let someone else go.”

            “I’ve never heard it put so nobly. Maybe YOU should go.”

            “No, really, I can’t. I’m not worthy of the honor. Please. Let Jones go. His orphaned children will never forget him.”

            “You’re a good man, Jim Stiene.”

            “I do what I can.”

 

ONE

            I don’t know if you like Broadway musicals, but I’ll tell you ONE thing that’s not a singular sensation. My fucking hemorrhoids. Cause they’re acting up like a problem child trying to kick a Ritalin habit, if you know what I’m saying. My ass hurts like the towel boy for a gay basketball team. No, I’m just kidding. I’ve never had hemorrhoids. But I don’t understand why anyone would let someone stick something up THERE. Cause my ass is so tight, I whistle when I fart. Actually, that sounds like something from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. Now THAT was a kinky movie. And what were those little bastards doing while she was a sleep? Some kind of twisted circle jerk? Deviants. They don’t fool me for a second. Miners, my ass. Living out there in the woods all alone. No wonder Doc was Grumpy. But then the Wicked Witch puts a spell on Snow White, till some handsome prince comes along and gropes her till she wakes up. I tell you, Hollywood isn’t what it used to be.

 

 

NAZARETH

            I think it’s fair to say that Joseph, the Virgin Mary’s husband, was a tolerant man. I mean, how would YOU feel if your fiancée told you she was pregnant, but was still a virgin? “I don’t know, Mary. I’d LIKE to believe you, really. But I’ve never heard of this Immaculate Conception thing. I’ve got to think about this for a while.” It’s a good thing he didn’t invoke the law of Moses: “If a man taketh a wife, and after lying with her...no proof of her virginity be found...the men of the town shall stone her to death.” And people say divorce court is rough. Kind of puts it all in perspective.

            And not everyone knows that Jesus had a brother. That’s got to be a tough act to follow. Talk about sibling rivalries. How do you compete with THAT? “Why can’t you be more like your brother? Here, he cures the blind, and you won’t even clean up your room.” I wonder if the women of the village were jealous of Mary. They’re bragging about their son, the lawyer, and people are saying “Big deal. Mary’s boy is the SON OF GOD. Now, when your son can walk on water and turn water into wine, THEN you can talk.”

 

DR QUINN

            I just saw an episode of “Dr, Quinn Medicine Woman”. I wouldn’t mind having Jane Seymour as a doctor. But I’d probably go for an exam more than I had to:

            “Mr. Stiene, you just have a runny nose. There’s no need to take your clothes off.”

            “Well, I thought you could check for a hernia while I’m here.”

            “You don’t have a hernia. You’ve been coming in twice a month for a hernia examination. There’s nothing wrong with you.”

            “Well I thought you could check, just to make sure. You know, better safe than sorry.”

            “Look, Mr. Stiene, I have patients that a really sick and need help. I don’t have the time for this.”

            I need help.”

            “But I’m not that kind of doctor.”

            “No, I guess not.”

            “Goodbye, Mr. Stiene.”

            “Ok, goodbye Dr. Quinn.”

 

 

THE LIFE AND TIMES OF ELMER SCHLUNT

            He was born in Masapequa, Long Island. He suffered from a speech impediment after being hit in the head with an air conditioner, and stuttered as a result. He had to brave the taunts of school children who used to call him a snod. Elmer would naturally, deny being a snod, but children can be ruthless. But those are just a few of the events that turned him into an emotional cripple as an adult. In high school, he experimented with nuclear fusion, and mind altering drugs, but not necessarily in that order. He was known as a geek by students and a weirdo by his teachers. Except of course, his science teacher, who realized the boy was gifted, if not a little dangerous, and his art teacher, Mrs. Hendry, who kept trying to sleep with him, unbeknownst to Elmer. He had a younger brother named Remedial, and three older sisters named Consuela, Lasagna, and September Morning. Elmer, as you might have guessed, was not the only one in the Schlunt household to experiment with mind altering drugs. His parents were known as the local drug fiends in their younger days. In fact, two of his sisters were named after a bad acid trip, and a spaghetti dinner, respectively. But on this particular day he was abducted by aliens. At least he thought he was. But after seven hits of acid, who can tell the difference? Locked in a sleep paralysis, he was transported by a beam of light into a circular chamber where, to his horror, he was surrounded by strange beings bearing a frightening resemblance to Frank Purdue. They placed him on a table where they prodded him with needles and said “Don’t worry. This will feel real good” at which point he started hallucinating again, like a trip within a trip, on a trip to the stars, or at least Rhode Island. When he woke up, he was back in his room. No worse for the wear. But remembering something in the back of his mind, he searched his pockets, and found a piece of paper with a mathematical formula written on it, and the words “Hang in their dude. You’ve just about got it.” And instantly he recognized it as the solution to a problem he was working on. Polarizing the ends of his fusion resistor, he flicked a switch and the room was covered in brilliant light. “That’s it” he said “I’ve done it.” And he called up the local newspaper to report his findings. But strangely enough, the handwriting on the paper was his own, and he wondered if he was really taken aboard a space craft, or was just tripping his balls off. Either way, Elmer Schlunt had built the first successful fusion reactor in history. Now people could get energy from plain tap water, making use of the simple atomic structure of their hydrogen molecules. “It works” he said, as he watched his machine perform marvelously, as the water he put in one end slowly vaporized, leaving a strange white liquid in it’s place. Thinking fast, he inhaled the mysterious substance, and was surrounded by a warm feeling of mystery and excitement. “Now that’s what I call a buzz!” he shouted, as he put a recording of “Echoes” on his stereo. When a reporter from the newspaper got there, Elmer greeted him at the door and encouraged the journalist to test his experiment. “Here, sniff this” he said, as the reporter took a deep whiff of the mysterious vapors. Suddenly a smile came across his face. “Hey, that’s great. But I thought you were trying to tap a new energy source?”

            “Oh that. Yeah, it does that too. But I just wanted someone to try that liquid to make sure I wasn’t losing my mind.”

            “No, you’re not. But I thought you scientific types were more interested in practical benefits like energy.”

            “Yeah, that’s good too” said Elmer “But we also like to explore our MINDS. You know, the final frontier.”

            “What do you call this anyway?”

            “Elmer’s Glue.”

            “No, I mean the machine.”

            “I haven’t really thought of a name” answered Elmer, as he took another hit off the thick white substance.

            But strangely enough, Elmer never developed his alternative energy source, and some suspected he had been pressured to abandon it by the nuclear power industry. But he did market that amazing white substance, and became a millionaire overnight. You see, Elmer wasn’t interested in technology, or even money, for that matter, as much as expanding his mind, and bettering himself in the process. Eventually he wound up in a mental institution trying to inhale air conditioning fluid and Mr. Clean. But there are those that remember. And those who still dream. Because as long as there’s a will, and a desire to learn, mankind will always find a way of achieving the maximum state of incoherence. And it kind of makes you proud to be an American.

 

 

PAMELA ANDERSON

            So I’m taking classes in Philosophy, Logic, and Screenwriting. But I probably shouldn’t have come down so hard on television writing in my Screenwriting class. Because most of the students want to BE television writers. So now I’m about as popular as an airplane pilot with a drinking problem. But I don’t see how anyone could watch an episode of `Baywatch’ and decide to become a television writer. Unless they just want to be near a bunch of stupid, inflatable actresses like Pamela Anderson. Because she’s about as dumb as a dildo salesman at a revival meeting, if you know what I’m saying. And I doubt she sleeps with the shows writers anyway. Because actresses usually date rock stars, movie moguls, or real estate developers. Writers don’t get that much action. And I should know. Women hear MY writing and they just think I’m creepy. And who can blame them? But that’s the price you pay for trying to be funny:

            “So, you’re a writer. What do you write about?”

            “You know, bestiality, drug addiction, joblessness.”

            “Oh. Nice talking to you.”

            “Yeah, have a nice life.”

            But aspiring actresses must have it tough, with all those weirdoes hanging around LA. pretending top be big producers. But there are probably a few things to look out for. If a guy asks you how you feel about “a little tasteful nudity”, chances are, he’s not interested in method acting. Another phrase to look out for is “Live Animal Sex Acts.” I know a girl that tried out for a movie called “Tough Love”, but it turned out to be about bondage and disciple. But what can you do? Hollywood’s a sleazy town. I’ve got to remember to get out there again.

THE SHOPPING MALL

            I don’t like when women ask you to hold their pocketbooks. Cause you feel like an idiot standing around like some tragically stupid crossdresser at J.C. Pennys, waiting for her to come out of the ladies room, and having a duped expression on your face, shrugging your shoulders as shoppers pass you by. Husbands searching for tools, or dragged along on a shopping spree, crack a smile or glance at you emphatically, with you mumbling “This isn’t mine. Really. I’m just holding it for my girlfriend. I like sports. Football, boxing. You like boxing?” But they just glare at you as they pass you by, like some carnival attraction. And you’re saying “She’s coming back in a minute. Wait, here she is.” And then your girlfriend comes back, smiling all coquettish, and asking you “Did you have fun?”

            “Are you kidding? Two guys already hit on me. I’m going to dinner Friday night.”

            “I’m not even going to talk to you, if you’re going to be difficult.”

            “Difficult? Do you think I like standing around, holding your purse, like some idiot, while people are looking at me like my pants are around my ankles?”

            “I don’t want to talk about it. You’re being childish.”

 

JEOPARDY

             There are events from time to time that can change a persons’ life. This is the case with my uncle, who’s been a bitter man, ever since he lost on Jeopardy. And I know what you’re saying - Alex Trebec understands. He’s sensitive to peoples’ needs. But he’s only one man. How much can he do? And it’s not just a trip to the Bahamas, or a set of Lucite luggage. Winning on Jeopardy can change a mans’ life. But ever since he missed that question on Turkey, he hasn’t been the same. He could no longer perform as a man, and his wife left him. And though he tried to hide it, the people at work secretly laughed behind his back. Until one day he just quit his job, ran out into the street, and threw himself in front of a Good Humor truck. And Alex Trebec doesn’t care. With his twelve dollar perm and his brown leisure suit. He just stands there with that look on his face and says “I’m sorry. The correct answer is `What is the Ottoman Empire’. And I just hope to god he never finds himself out of work,