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Inside: Cultural Sausage. ~ Ludic Lists. ~ Skullbucket. Outside: Hey, everyone! Come see me at the
215 Festival in Philadelphia this coming weekend. I'll be reading
a pair of short humor pieces sure to cause you yucks. Take a look
at the 215's website for
details.
"mustache homoerotic" "where are the footnotes to the novel?" "teeth plaque conspiracy Metallica" "Bret Easton Ellis vs. Harold Bloom" "plate mail bra" "super crime girls in trouble press release how to" "monologues for 23-year-old women" "scrambled heroin" |
10.05.2004
You're at home playing with your train set when your dad bursts in with a big smile on his face. "Say, sport!", he says, lifting you up in his firm, rugged arms, "How'd you like to take in a movie with me and your mother tonight? The Mask of Zorro is playing down at the Rialto. What do you say?" You turn in over in your eight-year-old mind. Usually, you're the first to line up for an exciting night at the cinema, but there are dark clouds gathering in the Gotham sky tonight, and you've got a bad feeling you can't quite put your finger on. Choose! Do you: - Tell your dad that if it's all the same to him, you'd rather stay home and play with your trains instead of going to see some creaky old movie that was made fifty years before you were born? - Ask your dad if maybe you could watch a movie at home instead of going to some inner-city theatre in the rain, seeing as he's a billionaire and all? - Go see the damn movie anyway so the old man doesn't spend the rest of the weekend pouting? *** As it turns out, the movie wasn't half bad, even though it was in black and white and that guy Fairbanks is clearly a fruit. It had some awesome swordfighting sequences, and it's pretty cool to see someone carve a big 'Z' on a dude's chest. And it looks like you're even going to avoid the rain! But just when it's shaping up to be a wonderful evening, some scumbag lurches out of an alleyway and tells your mom to hand over her pearls. Your heart beats a mile a minute as your father stands with steely resolve against this beady-eyed thug. Choose! Do you: - Tell your dad to just give the guy what he wants, because after all, he's the richest man in the city and it's not worth getting his head blown off by some greasy shithead for thirty bucks and a string of musty pearls? - Run like hell and leave your dad to deal with this situation himself since it was his bright idea to come way the hell to the ghetto to see this movie in the first place? - Close your eyes and hope your dad, who spends all day behind a desk, can punch out a psychotic mugger without getting himself and your mom killed? *** Well, that's great. You're not even ten and both your parents had their faces splattered all over the sidewalk. Thanks a lot, pops. A lifetime of therapy awaits after you spend the next ten years being raised by the goddamn butler, for Christ's sake. This is terrific. I mean, the movie was okay, but it wasn't worth losing your whole family over. Most kids your age are worried about whether or not they're going to get to go to summer camp, and you have to spend the rest of your life replaying the brutal murder of your family in your head. Choose! Do you: - Not really worry about it that much, because sure, you're an orphan, but on the upside, you just inhereted a big fat fucking fortune, and with that pushover Alfred doing the job of raising you, it's nothin' but good times from here on out? - Go see a therapist, like a normal person? - Spend the rest of your youth in Europe obsessing over every second of the crime while training yourself to the peak of physical perfection for reasons you can't quite put a name to, generally coming across as a sociopath in the making? It's finally time to return home from your long sojourn in Europe. You've honed your body into a living weapon, you've trained your mind to a razor's edge, and you've devoted a large portion of your vast personal fortune to creating a bunch of technological geegaws toward some dark purpose that has yet to coalesce in your mind. Just as you're sitting in your study trying to figure out what to to do next, a gigantic bat crashes through the window and flaps around like a spastic pigeon. Choose! Do you: - Call that lazy Limey bastard Alfred out on the carpet and fire his sorry ass for letting the place go to hell, I mean, seriously, a fucking bat flies through the window, for God's sake, what is that all about? - Check into a mental institution because you're clearly going completely insane? - Decide that this is some kind of a sign from God that you should dress up in a crazy bat costume and whale on criminals in the middle of the night? |
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| TODAY'S DRIFTWOOD: "First say to yourself what you would be; and then do what you have to do." (Epictetus) |