I meant to write about this when I first saw it a few weeks ago, but wound up forgetting about it. By now, the perpetrator must be way off somewhere within the highest heights of Permanent Awesome Mode, but the incident still needs to be relayed to the broader public. Or, well, at least the slightly-broader-than-just-me public that reads this blog.
So I was on my way home one somewhat fine day and came across a most curious sight. A fairly large tree was freshly felled in a patch of grass next to the stairs outside my apartment building. There were cut logs, wood chips and sawdust scattered all about the stump. Sitting on top of the stump was a slightly bent, dented and scratched badminton racket.
Now, if your thought process even vaguely resembles mine, that was the funniest thing you've seen all month, possibly all year. Obviously, someone had come by and hacked down the tree in a fit of rage with their sturdy badminton racket. Or, someone had passed by the already felled tree holding an old badminton racket they were about to throw away and thought it would be hilarious to batter the racket a bit more and leave it on top of the stump, bringing the former scenario to mind in future passersby.
There are other possibilities of course. The racket could be the avatar of the vengeful tree, waiting patiently for that dude with the chainsaw to come back so it could get its revenge...somehow. Maybe the dudes who chopped it down found the racket inside the tree and didn't know what to do with it, so they just left it there. Perhaps a battered badminton racket is the calling card of the Great DC Tree Killer, infamous across the neighborhoods for his razor sharp teeth and inscrutable wit.
My preferred theory is that a student at a local high school had just come home from a really, really bad day of badminton practice. Hating the world, the slight young woman was ready to inflict a violent death on the first person who happened to look at her the wrong way. The racket she held in her trembling hand, the racket that she was so unable to find success with on the court, would do nicely for the task. That first person with the wrong look happened to be a tree.
It was all over in minutes. I mean, she PWNED that tree. FTW and such.
Useless now in its damaged, yet amazingly intact considering the deed it had just performed, state, she left the racket on top of her kill as a warning to the world. Oddly elated, she returned home and had mashed potatoes and porkchops with applesauce for dinner. All was well.
I think there's a lesson for all of us in that story. When faced with the desolation of a ruined day, when nothing seems to be going right, when life seems to be singling you out to be the object of all the little tortures it loves to inflict, just grab your trusty badminton racket and beat a large living thing to death with it and your life will turn around faster than you can say, "WTF?!"
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Monday, May 24, 2010
Lame Super Powers
Now, there is a restaurant in Delaware named "Crabby Dick's," but that is really neither here nor there. For the moment, let's focus on super powers that really won't get you very far if you are out to either (a) rule the world or (b) be all straight edge and stop people from ruling the world.
POWER # 1 = Microwave Ass
-Being ever-ready-and-able to "cook" a Hot Pocket inside your traveling microwave/anus isn't really that great, as convenient as that is, because you will only, amazingly, succeed at making Hot Pockets taste even more like ass. On the bright side, if you are a foot soldier in an evil villain's army, you can easily be converted into a suicide bomber: just stick a (metal) fork in your ass and you're done.
POWER # 2 = No-Scratch Throat
-"Look at him go! He's been coughing non-stop for days and his voice still isn't hoarse! He's amazing!" Yeah. Unless your goal is to set the world record for random offers for cough-drops in a one week period, this power likely won't get you very far. Perhaps you can drive people insane with your constant, pain-free hacking, snorting and throat-clearing, but you're probably more likely to succeed, and faster, with the most annoying sound in the world.
POWER # 3 = Hot Sauce For Blood
-The xenomorphs from the Alien series have fantastically corrosive acid for blood, making it incredibly dangerous to kill them. You have a solid job at a South of the Border restaurant after state regulators waived a section of the health code, allowing you to bleed on customers' nachos. The kids love the novelty of it and squeal with delight as you wince with pain after opening yet another wound on your scarred arm with a steak knife, dripping tastiness. You drink lots of Bloody Marys (instead of orange juice) to regenerate. When you get real drunk, your blood actually is kind of like a Bloody Mary. It all comes crashing down when the makers of Tabasco sue you and win in district court, resulting in an injunction ordering you to never come within 50 yards of an establishment that sells food. You fall hard, spending years in back alleys, cutting for hobos with chips and water, looking for a hotness fix. When you finally take your own life, the detectives dip their snacks in the pool of your blood on the floor when they think no one is looking. Years later and, alas, far too late for you, it is discovered that you would have made the coolest vampire and/or zombie ever.
POWER # 4 = Vocoder Voice
-What was once a pop music fad to everybody else, is an every day reality for you. Since birth, you can only speak like your voice is going through a vocoder. It makes ordering from the drive-thru window damn near impossible. Nobody likes to talk to your for more than three and a half minutes. You're the only one who can accurately sing that Imogen Heap song when out doing karaoke, but you're not going to be taking down super villains any time soon.
POWER # 5 = Super Slowness
-They may say, "slow and steady wins the race," but we all know that that's bullshit. You are the Usain Bolt of slowness and you've never won a race in your life. Well, unless you count that one morning when you raced to the tree, but the other kid fell, hurt her knee and went home crying; you "won" sometime late the next evening before being treated by medical professionals for exhaustion, dehydration and exposure. Next to a glacier you look pretty quick, but it is close enough to be a valid comparison. Perhaps it may be said that you have super-human patience, but you really don't have any choice about the fact that it takes you 90 minutes to put on flip flops. When you were a kid, you believed with all your heart that you would get a really long life-span to compensate (like maybe 10,000 years), but testing done in your teenage years showed that you were aging normally. Life may be a bitch, but yours is a torturous, mean-spirited, manically cackling bitch. You decide to become an evil villain to get back at all the kids that held cookies in front of your face, only to pull them away 30 minutes later when your hand had just about reached them. You hatch a plan for world domination and begin implementing it immediately. In several decades you expect to complete Stage 1: Buying a Lawn Mower and a Pair of Pliers. Humankind awaits its fate with bated breath and barely concealed indifference.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Oh, and did I mention that there's a restaurant named "Crabby Dick's" in Delaware? Seriously.
Hawker: "Come getchya Crabby Dick's here!"
Boy: "Oh mommy, can we?"
Mom: "Hmmm...well okay, just this once. Don't tell your father. Oh...oohhhh. It's a restaurant. I was totally thinking of something else. Awkwaaard~!"
Boy: "......mommy?"
POWER # 1 = Microwave Ass
-Being ever-ready-and-able to "cook" a Hot Pocket inside your traveling microwave/anus isn't really that great, as convenient as that is, because you will only, amazingly, succeed at making Hot Pockets taste even more like ass. On the bright side, if you are a foot soldier in an evil villain's army, you can easily be converted into a suicide bomber: just stick a (metal) fork in your ass and you're done.
POWER # 2 = No-Scratch Throat
-"Look at him go! He's been coughing non-stop for days and his voice still isn't hoarse! He's amazing!" Yeah. Unless your goal is to set the world record for random offers for cough-drops in a one week period, this power likely won't get you very far. Perhaps you can drive people insane with your constant, pain-free hacking, snorting and throat-clearing, but you're probably more likely to succeed, and faster, with the most annoying sound in the world.
POWER # 3 = Hot Sauce For Blood
-The xenomorphs from the Alien series have fantastically corrosive acid for blood, making it incredibly dangerous to kill them. You have a solid job at a South of the Border restaurant after state regulators waived a section of the health code, allowing you to bleed on customers' nachos. The kids love the novelty of it and squeal with delight as you wince with pain after opening yet another wound on your scarred arm with a steak knife, dripping tastiness. You drink lots of Bloody Marys (instead of orange juice) to regenerate. When you get real drunk, your blood actually is kind of like a Bloody Mary. It all comes crashing down when the makers of Tabasco sue you and win in district court, resulting in an injunction ordering you to never come within 50 yards of an establishment that sells food. You fall hard, spending years in back alleys, cutting for hobos with chips and water, looking for a hotness fix. When you finally take your own life, the detectives dip their snacks in the pool of your blood on the floor when they think no one is looking. Years later and, alas, far too late for you, it is discovered that you would have made the coolest vampire and/or zombie ever.
POWER # 4 = Vocoder Voice
-What was once a pop music fad to everybody else, is an every day reality for you. Since birth, you can only speak like your voice is going through a vocoder. It makes ordering from the drive-thru window damn near impossible. Nobody likes to talk to your for more than three and a half minutes. You're the only one who can accurately sing that Imogen Heap song when out doing karaoke, but you're not going to be taking down super villains any time soon.
POWER # 5 = Super Slowness
-They may say, "slow and steady wins the race," but we all know that that's bullshit. You are the Usain Bolt of slowness and you've never won a race in your life. Well, unless you count that one morning when you raced to the tree, but the other kid fell, hurt her knee and went home crying; you "won" sometime late the next evening before being treated by medical professionals for exhaustion, dehydration and exposure. Next to a glacier you look pretty quick, but it is close enough to be a valid comparison. Perhaps it may be said that you have super-human patience, but you really don't have any choice about the fact that it takes you 90 minutes to put on flip flops. When you were a kid, you believed with all your heart that you would get a really long life-span to compensate (like maybe 10,000 years), but testing done in your teenage years showed that you were aging normally. Life may be a bitch, but yours is a torturous, mean-spirited, manically cackling bitch. You decide to become an evil villain to get back at all the kids that held cookies in front of your face, only to pull them away 30 minutes later when your hand had just about reached them. You hatch a plan for world domination and begin implementing it immediately. In several decades you expect to complete Stage 1: Buying a Lawn Mower and a Pair of Pliers. Humankind awaits its fate with bated breath and barely concealed indifference.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Oh, and did I mention that there's a restaurant named "Crabby Dick's" in Delaware? Seriously.
Hawker: "Come getchya Crabby Dick's here!"
Boy: "Oh mommy, can we?"
Mom: "Hmmm...well okay, just this once. Don't tell your father. Oh...oohhhh. It's a restaurant. I was totally thinking of something else. Awkwaaard~!"
Boy: "......mommy?"
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Let's Play a Game
In the spirit of interactive web-fun, let's play a game. No, not Global Thermonuclear War (sorry Scott). It will be simple. I'll provide a word or phrase that I have not yet googled and then you will google it and report back your findings. You may need to slightly modify your search query to get results. I will have no idea what you will find on your little excursion into the depths of the internets (I make no guarantee results will be safe for work), but you'll let me know if there was (a) hilarity, (b) awesomeness, (c) lameness, (d) fail (i.e. nothing/nada), (e) WTF?! or (f) "I didn't find anything for that, but I'm totally going to make that happen. Google the same thing next week and hopefully you'll find my creation."
Let the games begin. Search terms are bold.
-Zombie Lord of the Rings
-Carl Jung vs. Karl Marx Dance-Off (maybe also try Carl Malone with one of the other two)
-Rahmstein ("Du hast mich, you fucking retards, don't you?!")
-Chunk the Destructor (he is invincible after all)
-Intergalactic wok recipes
-Cannibalism in children's books (speaking of food...)
-Funk da Maastricht Treaty (or maybe Westphalia)
-Monty Boa and the Holy Fail ("The Canadian version was just as good! Really! It was.....I hate it when you look at me like that.")
-Unsung heroes of AIG (speaking of fail...)
-Revolution Bastille first date ideas guillotine Louis (maybe remove just the first and last words for a second try)
-Rage Against the Bean tofu hate
-Biotechnology cybernetics advances Han Dynasty
-Charlie and the Nike Factory
That should be enough to get things started. If this turns out to be fun, we'll play again. If it sucks...well, no, you can't go back to Constantinople, I'm afraid.
Let the games begin. Search terms are bold.
-Zombie Lord of the Rings
-Carl Jung vs. Karl Marx Dance-Off (maybe also try Carl Malone with one of the other two)
-Rahmstein ("Du hast mich, you fucking retards, don't you?!")
-Chunk the Destructor (he is invincible after all)
-Intergalactic wok recipes
-Cannibalism in children's books (speaking of food...)
-Funk da Maastricht Treaty (or maybe Westphalia)
-Monty Boa and the Holy Fail ("The Canadian version was just as good! Really! It was.....I hate it when you look at me like that.")
-Unsung heroes of AIG (speaking of fail...)
-Revolution Bastille first date ideas guillotine Louis (maybe remove just the first and last words for a second try)
-Rage Against the Bean tofu hate
-Biotechnology cybernetics advances Han Dynasty
-Charlie and the Nike Factory
That should be enough to get things started. If this turns out to be fun, we'll play again. If it sucks...well, no, you can't go back to Constantinople, I'm afraid.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
A few (relatively) recent observations...
-I was borrowing an air mattress to sleep on the floor of an Atlantic City hotel room on New Year's Eve (yeah, I know). It was a fancy air mattress, with a built-in air pump and an attached controller. That controller had a button for "inflation" and a button for "deflation," but it did not have a button for "stagflation." That made me very sad, as I was quite eager to see what would happen when I pressed that button. Clearly, the air mattress was not built by economists...which probably explains why it didn't catastrophically collapse during the night, killing everyone in the room.
-Rest Assured(tm) is a toilet seat cover. You know, those filmy things that you can find in nicer public restrooms. They're there for you to place over the toilet seat if you're so afraid of germs touching your bare ass that wiping off the seat with toilet paper isn't good enough and you simply must have another layer between bum and bowl. Can someone please tell me why, "We got your ass covered," is not their slogan? What the hell were they thinking? Clearly, they were not. Thinking, that is.
-If the Zombie Apocalypse hit right after Michael Jackson died, how many people do you think would have been frantically swarming around his walking, moaning, flesh-craving corpse, desperately hoping that their crowning achievement in life would be getting bit by the King of Pop?
-My office window looks out over the Russian embassy on 16th Street. The whole time we were laboring under the 2 ft of snow that Snowmaggedon II: Snow Harder brought to DC (correction: I was laboring every day that week while the rest of you were "working from home" [i.e. eating Oreos and catching up on "Lost"]), I often wondered what the Muscovites next door were thinking. My thoughts were along the lines of, "Ha! Look at these pitiful Washingtonians, paralyzed by 2 ft of snow! Back in Moscow, we break out the shorts and sandals when there is only 2 ft of snow left on the ground." But then I came across this article. Apparently, Moscow just got hit with a record snowfall this past Monday and Tuesday...and it was only about 25 inches. My first thought: lame! That isn't that much! My second thought: hooooly shit, how much does it suck to be the guy that just got transferred back home after dealing with DC's near-record snowfall, just to face almost the exact same thing as soon as he lands in Moscow. My third thought: there's a "In Soviet Russia, ____ [verb]s you!" joke in there somewhere, but then figured that's been way overplayed. Have at it in the comments, if you like.
-I'm currently reading a book that weighs more than my laptop. It kind of makes me feel like a rebel. Like the very act of pulling the enormous approx. 1300 page tome out of my bag, setting it on my lap, flipping to my spot and settling down to read is an enormous "FUCK YOU!" to the yuppie with the Kindle sitting across from me. Is there such a thing as an anachronistic rebel? Well, maybe the rebel feeling also stems from the fact that the book is a circa-1950 hardcover copy of Max Eastman's translation of Leon Trotsky's "The History of the Russian Revolution" that I got from a local bookstore. It is a kind of visual joke, in and of itself. Feel free to get a pool going over how long it takes someone to ask me, with an ironic smile, "Doing a little light reading?"
-Of the many, many words and phrases I've invented over the course of my life, possibly the one I'm most proud of is the verb "to squirk" (squirking, squirked, etc.), as it has entered my normal lexicon over the past three years since I came up with it. I feel quite natural using it in regular conversation. Definition? When you are trying to pee, but you can't; the frustrating time between when you try to take a leak and when it actually begins flowing. This seems to be a more common phenomenon (and one that lasts longer) among males than females, owing to differences in anatomy. When you are suffering from "stage fright," you are squirking. Sometimes, you will be squirking for quite a while until you let out a fart, at which point the flood gates mysteriously open up. I squirked for like 30 seconds earlier today and it was pretty annoying.
-Morrie Scheisse is a venerable old man. His name also doubles as a superlative swear word, sometimes shortened to just, "Morrie!"
-Rest Assured(tm) is a toilet seat cover. You know, those filmy things that you can find in nicer public restrooms. They're there for you to place over the toilet seat if you're so afraid of germs touching your bare ass that wiping off the seat with toilet paper isn't good enough and you simply must have another layer between bum and bowl. Can someone please tell me why, "We got your ass covered," is not their slogan? What the hell were they thinking? Clearly, they were not. Thinking, that is.
-If the Zombie Apocalypse hit right after Michael Jackson died, how many people do you think would have been frantically swarming around his walking, moaning, flesh-craving corpse, desperately hoping that their crowning achievement in life would be getting bit by the King of Pop?
-My office window looks out over the Russian embassy on 16th Street. The whole time we were laboring under the 2 ft of snow that Snowmaggedon II: Snow Harder brought to DC (correction: I was laboring every day that week while the rest of you were "working from home" [i.e. eating Oreos and catching up on "Lost"]), I often wondered what the Muscovites next door were thinking. My thoughts were along the lines of, "Ha! Look at these pitiful Washingtonians, paralyzed by 2 ft of snow! Back in Moscow, we break out the shorts and sandals when there is only 2 ft of snow left on the ground." But then I came across this article. Apparently, Moscow just got hit with a record snowfall this past Monday and Tuesday...and it was only about 25 inches. My first thought: lame! That isn't that much! My second thought: hooooly shit, how much does it suck to be the guy that just got transferred back home after dealing with DC's near-record snowfall, just to face almost the exact same thing as soon as he lands in Moscow. My third thought: there's a "In Soviet Russia, ____ [verb]s you!" joke in there somewhere, but then figured that's been way overplayed. Have at it in the comments, if you like.
-I'm currently reading a book that weighs more than my laptop. It kind of makes me feel like a rebel. Like the very act of pulling the enormous approx. 1300 page tome out of my bag, setting it on my lap, flipping to my spot and settling down to read is an enormous "FUCK YOU!" to the yuppie with the Kindle sitting across from me. Is there such a thing as an anachronistic rebel? Well, maybe the rebel feeling also stems from the fact that the book is a circa-1950 hardcover copy of Max Eastman's translation of Leon Trotsky's "The History of the Russian Revolution" that I got from a local bookstore. It is a kind of visual joke, in and of itself. Feel free to get a pool going over how long it takes someone to ask me, with an ironic smile, "Doing a little light reading?"
-Of the many, many words and phrases I've invented over the course of my life, possibly the one I'm most proud of is the verb "to squirk" (squirking, squirked, etc.), as it has entered my normal lexicon over the past three years since I came up with it. I feel quite natural using it in regular conversation. Definition? When you are trying to pee, but you can't; the frustrating time between when you try to take a leak and when it actually begins flowing. This seems to be a more common phenomenon (and one that lasts longer) among males than females, owing to differences in anatomy. When you are suffering from "stage fright," you are squirking. Sometimes, you will be squirking for quite a while until you let out a fart, at which point the flood gates mysteriously open up. I squirked for like 30 seconds earlier today and it was pretty annoying.
-Morrie Scheisse is a venerable old man. His name also doubles as a superlative swear word, sometimes shortened to just, "Morrie!"
Saturday, October 10, 2009
A Quickie with Ernie McDougall, Second Worst Ladies Man of All Time
Ernie is out on the town, looking for some lovin' on the way to the post office. While standing at a corner, waiting for the walk signal, he appraises the fine piece of lady that has stopped next to him. He looks her up and down and finds her appropriate for his needs.
"Hey fine thing," he opens with his classic sexily sly smile.
The woman turns to him, half amused and half annoyed. "Are you talking to me?"
"Oh yeah sugar. You see that building over there?" He indicates the direction with a nod of his head.
"What, Planned Parenthood?" she asks, now genuinely confused.
"Mmmhmm. That's where you'll be headed by the time I'm finished with you. Oh yeah." He makes sure to give her 'The Look' to seal the deal.
Confusion turns to disgust on her face and she offers him a good, "Fuck off, creep," before walking forward as the light changes.
Ernie hangs back to admire her ass as she crosses the street. Aloud, he reassures himself, "That's just one 'no' closer to 'yes.' Oh yeah."
"Hey fine thing," he opens with his classic sexily sly smile.
The woman turns to him, half amused and half annoyed. "Are you talking to me?"
"Oh yeah sugar. You see that building over there?" He indicates the direction with a nod of his head.
"What, Planned Parenthood?" she asks, now genuinely confused.
"Mmmhmm. That's where you'll be headed by the time I'm finished with you. Oh yeah." He makes sure to give her 'The Look' to seal the deal.
Confusion turns to disgust on her face and she offers him a good, "Fuck off, creep," before walking forward as the light changes.
Ernie hangs back to admire her ass as she crosses the street. Aloud, he reassures himself, "That's just one 'no' closer to 'yes.' Oh yeah."
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
I really thought I graduated already. Oh, I did, my brain just hates me
So, this comic (and the forum thread devoted to it) from xkcd proved to me that I'm not alone:
Note: click on the comic for a larger and more readable version
Mouse-over text: "The same goes for the one where you're wrestling the Green Ranger in the swimming pool full of Crisco. You guys all have that dream, right? It's not just me. Right?"
Seriously, it's been almost three years since I graduated from college and I'm still having dreams like this, probably once a month or so. The weird part is that the class I've haven't been attending is almost invariably a high school subject; mostly math or science, though one time my brain reached all the way back to middle school and had me missing a technology (aka "shop") class. You try working on a block of wood for a final project with a huge fucking machine that you have no idea how to use because you've missed the whole semester up to that point. Very, very stressful, to say the least.
Just last week I dreamed that I was out sick for almost an entire semester and was only barely able to show up in time for the final for a physics/earth science (it switched back and forth a bit) class; neither subject have I taken since high school, by the way. I talked to the professor, hoping to be able to take an "incomplete" until I could catch up on the material and take the exams properly. Unfortunately, the professor was a hard-ass and had only a kind of cruel sympathy for me. He said I could take all five tests I had missed and the final, but I had to do them all in the time reserved for the final and only that time. In other words, I had to complete seven hours of tests in two hours...for a class I had not been attending all semester. He was actually grinning wickedly as he told me this, the bastard.
So, I sat down at the kitchen table of my parents' house to take the tests (which didn't faze me in the slightest; it was a dream after all) and struggled to remember whatever I could from when I had taken the course in high school. Needless to say, I didn't get very far and the professor gleefully failed me.
But then I went back to my room, went on my computer and saw a hilariously clever science-related xkcd comic strip (I'm not kidding, I actually dreamed this) and e-mailed it to the professor. He was apparently impressed because he called me to his office to let me know that he was raising my grade to a D for sending him such a great comic. It clearly demonstrated that I had a better grasp of science than my test scores may have indicated, he said (with a much improved attitude I might add).
Of course, I immediately went out to brag to my friends that xkcd had prevented me from failing a class. It was pretty glorious, though I was still somewhat pissed about getting a D because I needed at least a C for my General Education requirements. Then I started having the typical doubts about reality demonstrated in the above comic ("Wait a minute, didn't I finish those already? Don't I have a real job now? Doesn't that mean I finished school?") Nevertheless, I woke up the way I always wake up from these dreams: panicky, grasping about in my mind for how much time I have left in the semester and cursing my procrastination until..."Damn it! Again? Hey, brain! Can you hear me? I GRADUATED! IT'S OVER!" Well, the first few times I had that kind of dream I said that to myself. Now, after a few dozen such occasions, I just sigh in resignation and rejoice that there's no such thing as homework for me anymore.
Really, I'm just glad to know I'm not the only one having that dream...and that I'm not having dreams of wrestling the Green Ranger in a swimming pool full of Crisco. That would be a rough way to spend the night.
Bonus: plausible stressful dreams that I have not had....yet.
1) I have to speak at Daffy Duck's funeral, but I can't remember what cartoon he was in and then realize that I barely knew him, but everyone is waiting for me, all teary-eyed and ready for a moving eulogy.
2) My dogs can talk, but all they do is follow me around the house berating me for not feeding them enough ("Is it time to eat yet? How about now? Now? Still not yet? What's the matter with you? I'm hungry! You're eating! What about now?").
3) Shrimp invasion.
4) The lunatic teabaggers decide they're going to protest me from now on. There's constantly tens of confused senior citizens and racist ignoramuses screaming nonsense up at my apartment windows. They follow me to and from work every day, on walks, out with my friends. I just kind of get used to them and ignore their incoherent ranting. They never stop until they die in a fit of irony (aka from a lack of adequate health insurance).
5) The New York Giants draft me to play basketball professionally, even though I try to insist that I suck. After feigning injury all season to get out of playing, it's the playoffs and they're down by one goal with only minutes left in the period. They're desperate for me to get in the game before it's too late. "Please, it's all riding on you Mike! We need you to come in and work your magic!" And I don't even know the rules to whatever incomprehensible game it is they're playing by this point in the dream.
6) All my books (I have several hundred; collectively, they're one of the few possessions I own that I truly care about, that rise above being "just stuff") are just gone one day and my roommates are completely nonchalant about it while I panic.
7) The DC squirrels are really highly intelligent extra-terrestrial beings who have been observing and judging humans. They finally decide that we're hopeless as a species and solemnly swear to annoy us all until we're driven to suicide. Though, come to think of it, I don't really think that's far-fetched enough. They're probably plotting as we speak. Keep your eyes on those critters.
Bonus for the bonus: a dream that I really did have this one time:
1) I had HUGE, droopy granny boobs. And I was still a man. When I reached up over my head for something, the bottom of my boobs were visible under my shirt. They could literally rest in my lap if I sat down. I was very confused and a bit concerned. When I woke up, I found my friend and told her, "I dreamt I had boobs down to HERE!" and indicated my waist. She was highly amused.
Note: click on the comic for a larger and more readable version
Mouse-over text: "The same goes for the one where you're wrestling the Green Ranger in the swimming pool full of Crisco. You guys all have that dream, right? It's not just me. Right?"
Seriously, it's been almost three years since I graduated from college and I'm still having dreams like this, probably once a month or so. The weird part is that the class I've haven't been attending is almost invariably a high school subject; mostly math or science, though one time my brain reached all the way back to middle school and had me missing a technology (aka "shop") class. You try working on a block of wood for a final project with a huge fucking machine that you have no idea how to use because you've missed the whole semester up to that point. Very, very stressful, to say the least.
Just last week I dreamed that I was out sick for almost an entire semester and was only barely able to show up in time for the final for a physics/earth science (it switched back and forth a bit) class; neither subject have I taken since high school, by the way. I talked to the professor, hoping to be able to take an "incomplete" until I could catch up on the material and take the exams properly. Unfortunately, the professor was a hard-ass and had only a kind of cruel sympathy for me. He said I could take all five tests I had missed and the final, but I had to do them all in the time reserved for the final and only that time. In other words, I had to complete seven hours of tests in two hours...for a class I had not been attending all semester. He was actually grinning wickedly as he told me this, the bastard.
So, I sat down at the kitchen table of my parents' house to take the tests (which didn't faze me in the slightest; it was a dream after all) and struggled to remember whatever I could from when I had taken the course in high school. Needless to say, I didn't get very far and the professor gleefully failed me.
But then I went back to my room, went on my computer and saw a hilariously clever science-related xkcd comic strip (I'm not kidding, I actually dreamed this) and e-mailed it to the professor. He was apparently impressed because he called me to his office to let me know that he was raising my grade to a D for sending him such a great comic. It clearly demonstrated that I had a better grasp of science than my test scores may have indicated, he said (with a much improved attitude I might add).
Of course, I immediately went out to brag to my friends that xkcd had prevented me from failing a class. It was pretty glorious, though I was still somewhat pissed about getting a D because I needed at least a C for my General Education requirements. Then I started having the typical doubts about reality demonstrated in the above comic ("Wait a minute, didn't I finish those already? Don't I have a real job now? Doesn't that mean I finished school?") Nevertheless, I woke up the way I always wake up from these dreams: panicky, grasping about in my mind for how much time I have left in the semester and cursing my procrastination until..."Damn it! Again? Hey, brain! Can you hear me? I GRADUATED! IT'S OVER!" Well, the first few times I had that kind of dream I said that to myself. Now, after a few dozen such occasions, I just sigh in resignation and rejoice that there's no such thing as homework for me anymore.
Really, I'm just glad to know I'm not the only one having that dream...and that I'm not having dreams of wrestling the Green Ranger in a swimming pool full of Crisco. That would be a rough way to spend the night.
Bonus: plausible stressful dreams that I have not had....yet.
1) I have to speak at Daffy Duck's funeral, but I can't remember what cartoon he was in and then realize that I barely knew him, but everyone is waiting for me, all teary-eyed and ready for a moving eulogy.
2) My dogs can talk, but all they do is follow me around the house berating me for not feeding them enough ("Is it time to eat yet? How about now? Now? Still not yet? What's the matter with you? I'm hungry! You're eating! What about now?").
3) Shrimp invasion.
4) The lunatic teabaggers decide they're going to protest me from now on. There's constantly tens of confused senior citizens and racist ignoramuses screaming nonsense up at my apartment windows. They follow me to and from work every day, on walks, out with my friends. I just kind of get used to them and ignore their incoherent ranting. They never stop until they die in a fit of irony (aka from a lack of adequate health insurance).
5) The New York Giants draft me to play basketball professionally, even though I try to insist that I suck. After feigning injury all season to get out of playing, it's the playoffs and they're down by one goal with only minutes left in the period. They're desperate for me to get in the game before it's too late. "Please, it's all riding on you Mike! We need you to come in and work your magic!" And I don't even know the rules to whatever incomprehensible game it is they're playing by this point in the dream.
6) All my books (I have several hundred; collectively, they're one of the few possessions I own that I truly care about, that rise above being "just stuff") are just gone one day and my roommates are completely nonchalant about it while I panic.
7) The DC squirrels are really highly intelligent extra-terrestrial beings who have been observing and judging humans. They finally decide that we're hopeless as a species and solemnly swear to annoy us all until we're driven to suicide. Though, come to think of it, I don't really think that's far-fetched enough. They're probably plotting as we speak. Keep your eyes on those critters.
Bonus for the bonus: a dream that I really did have this one time:
1) I had HUGE, droopy granny boobs. And I was still a man. When I reached up over my head for something, the bottom of my boobs were visible under my shirt. They could literally rest in my lap if I sat down. I was very confused and a bit concerned. When I woke up, I found my friend and told her, "I dreamt I had boobs down to HERE!" and indicated my waist. She was highly amused.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Birthday Thoughts
Note: I wrote this a little over three years ago and never did anything with it. In fact, I don't think I ever showed it to anyone, but I really like it. It is a very short story. Or maybe it is the beginning of a much larger story that will come one day. Either way, it is a small glimpse of a world (or time) that is outwardly very different from ours, though inwardly remains the same. Hope you enjoy it.
The worst part about breaking up is when you have to say hello to the next person you see. That is what he learned in the 11,200 years he had been alive. It was a birthday realization. You could always say good-bye, but the next conversation….the one with the next person…that was the one that decided how everything really went. You may have held yourself together completely, admirably composed, saying all that needed to be said…but then, as soon as your dialogue with the next person began, all of the feelings could come rushing out. They may be contained in only the smallest, the slightest gesture, or sigh, or hesitation. Or they may be signaled by a complete breakdown, as you take your leave of this intruder upon your thoughts to sulk in some dank corner of your mind. It is never predictable how you will react to the end of a relationship, but it is always summed up in your reaction to the next person.
That was what he learned on his 11,200th birthday. This year was the end of his most recent relationship…a 247-year partnership with a wonderful young woman (she was only 2,596 when they started seeing each other and it was a bit of a scandal at first) that now was ended in a flood of tears, grief, remorse and relief. She pleaded that she could never love another. He swore that she would get over him. She screamed that he was callous. He roared that he was merely old. She sobbed that he was her life. He maintained that her life was her own. She flung herself at him in the hope of winning him back. He accepted her with the hope of being rid of her. It was a sad affair and he believed himself to be above all of this, having been through similar scenes a number of times before.
However, when he returned to his flat and tried to engage his roommate in casual conversation he found himself utterly unable to carry on. He was paralyzed by some inexplicable emotion…one that cut to the very quick of his soul. 247 years was a mere pittance in comparison with the great span that he had already seen. When held up against the many years he planned on living…it seemed a barely recognizable wink in time. The cold feeling in his chest told him otherwise, however. It told him that, no matter how long a life may be, none of it might be lived with impunity. No part of a life may be considered a mere trifle and none of it can be considered disposable. It all has meaning that cannot be erased by a willful mind, or cheapened by a hardened heart. With love comes loss, sooner or later. That is unavoidable.
Needless to say, it was a melancholic 11,200th birthday.
The worst part about breaking up is when you have to say hello to the next person you see. That is what he learned in the 11,200 years he had been alive. It was a birthday realization. You could always say good-bye, but the next conversation….the one with the next person…that was the one that decided how everything really went. You may have held yourself together completely, admirably composed, saying all that needed to be said…but then, as soon as your dialogue with the next person began, all of the feelings could come rushing out. They may be contained in only the smallest, the slightest gesture, or sigh, or hesitation. Or they may be signaled by a complete breakdown, as you take your leave of this intruder upon your thoughts to sulk in some dank corner of your mind. It is never predictable how you will react to the end of a relationship, but it is always summed up in your reaction to the next person.
That was what he learned on his 11,200th birthday. This year was the end of his most recent relationship…a 247-year partnership with a wonderful young woman (she was only 2,596 when they started seeing each other and it was a bit of a scandal at first) that now was ended in a flood of tears, grief, remorse and relief. She pleaded that she could never love another. He swore that she would get over him. She screamed that he was callous. He roared that he was merely old. She sobbed that he was her life. He maintained that her life was her own. She flung herself at him in the hope of winning him back. He accepted her with the hope of being rid of her. It was a sad affair and he believed himself to be above all of this, having been through similar scenes a number of times before.
However, when he returned to his flat and tried to engage his roommate in casual conversation he found himself utterly unable to carry on. He was paralyzed by some inexplicable emotion…one that cut to the very quick of his soul. 247 years was a mere pittance in comparison with the great span that he had already seen. When held up against the many years he planned on living…it seemed a barely recognizable wink in time. The cold feeling in his chest told him otherwise, however. It told him that, no matter how long a life may be, none of it might be lived with impunity. No part of a life may be considered a mere trifle and none of it can be considered disposable. It all has meaning that cannot be erased by a willful mind, or cheapened by a hardened heart. With love comes loss, sooner or later. That is unavoidable.
Needless to say, it was a melancholic 11,200th birthday.
Friday, September 4, 2009
There are times when I just feel like saying...
...that I could rummage through your trash all day, baby. And if you think that was trashy, just wait until you've seen my Cornish friend. He's got swim-trunks written all over him. It's like a disease. A disease that just makes you want to know how they do it even more. It's rhinoplasty, baby.
And as if that wasn't enough, here she comes just talking and swaying and whining like she had four or more cares in the world, winding her way through the market stalls. And if cell phones could talk, we'd all be pretty fucked, wouldn't we? Who'd ever get a word in edgewise? But for now it's just swing and swine as we all jostle along to the muzak. I can barely be heard over the ferocious whispering of the flies in my eyes. They can't read my case or rifle through my files, but they can intrude upon my thoughts and tickle my trickle in ways that should just not be allowed. I think I'll just go cool my waist for a while in the shade of that oaf tree and while away the miles that pass by with Marty McFly.
But, there's just something loose in your drawer, isn't there? Maybe we'll find it someday. Until then you should probably waver more over your soup and try to peer into your sip before it hits your lips. You claim to know that the cricket finds more teeth than the ones he's looking for, but it doesn't bother me, no, because I'm safe in Boeotia. And those Mycenaeans will never find me with their huddled lies, for their torpor knows no bounds. It lacks what it should not, so it discovers more than it could without a push anyway.
Anyway, what happened in the summer with those times that tread lightly in all the wrong places? I feel like I fell without falling, faster than I could frame a response to the far flung freedom fearing idiots that yell and scream with no faces! Why do we wonder where these crude creatures wander? Could we not save them a stool at the sinking shrimp and clam shack and wait for them to turn up with their stupid drunken grins or their sleazy slack-jawed, two-fisted attacks? It might not be worth the trouble, but damn it could be great fun for a while to see them prattle and twist and turn round each other, all while sticking to their sadly miscast and glum looking guns!
Well, now I'm off with a rattle to speak with blue teacups. It could have been a white sheet that made me see red, though I think it more likely that I'll just go to bed. So you may walk with a lime and stop on a nickel, but just remember that greater schemes await those that reach for the pickle. And as I bid you adieu for the night with a flourish, beat back their wigs and have a nice glass of warm milk; it'll help you sleep unless you're lactose intolerant.
And as if that wasn't enough, here she comes just talking and swaying and whining like she had four or more cares in the world, winding her way through the market stalls. And if cell phones could talk, we'd all be pretty fucked, wouldn't we? Who'd ever get a word in edgewise? But for now it's just swing and swine as we all jostle along to the muzak. I can barely be heard over the ferocious whispering of the flies in my eyes. They can't read my case or rifle through my files, but they can intrude upon my thoughts and tickle my trickle in ways that should just not be allowed. I think I'll just go cool my waist for a while in the shade of that oaf tree and while away the miles that pass by with Marty McFly.
But, there's just something loose in your drawer, isn't there? Maybe we'll find it someday. Until then you should probably waver more over your soup and try to peer into your sip before it hits your lips. You claim to know that the cricket finds more teeth than the ones he's looking for, but it doesn't bother me, no, because I'm safe in Boeotia. And those Mycenaeans will never find me with their huddled lies, for their torpor knows no bounds. It lacks what it should not, so it discovers more than it could without a push anyway.
Anyway, what happened in the summer with those times that tread lightly in all the wrong places? I feel like I fell without falling, faster than I could frame a response to the far flung freedom fearing idiots that yell and scream with no faces! Why do we wonder where these crude creatures wander? Could we not save them a stool at the sinking shrimp and clam shack and wait for them to turn up with their stupid drunken grins or their sleazy slack-jawed, two-fisted attacks? It might not be worth the trouble, but damn it could be great fun for a while to see them prattle and twist and turn round each other, all while sticking to their sadly miscast and glum looking guns!
Well, now I'm off with a rattle to speak with blue teacups. It could have been a white sheet that made me see red, though I think it more likely that I'll just go to bed. So you may walk with a lime and stop on a nickel, but just remember that greater schemes await those that reach for the pickle. And as I bid you adieu for the night with a flourish, beat back their wigs and have a nice glass of warm milk; it'll help you sleep unless you're lactose intolerant.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Local Boy Jailed For Theft Of Golden Violin: "I Won It From The Devil"
ATLANTA - Explosive new details have emerged in the curious case of 15 year-old Jonathan "Johnny" Anderson of Pike County, recently convicted of the theft of a golden violin, valued at $2.3 million, from the Atlanta home of tobacco magnate Beezle Mephistopolous. An investigative report by the Atlanta Observer has revealed that Anderson's extraordinary defense in court was that the violin was not stolen at all, but was won by the boy in a bet with the Devil.
The trial, conducted behind tightly closed doors and amid rumors that the wealthy and well connected Mr. Mephistopolous was heavily leaning on prosecutors to obtain the maximum sentence, has been the buzz of Pike County for months, with speculation rife as to how and why a boy with an otherwise clean record would commit such a serious crime. The story has even been picked up by major regional newspapers and television once it was publicly announced that Anderson would be tried as an adult. He was sentenced last week to serve 12-15 years, which critics decried as overly harsh. It has still not been accurately determined how the young Anderson was able to break into the Mephistopolous manor, make off with the heavily guarded violin and return home in time for dinner.
Anonymous attendees of the exclusive court proceedings tell the Observer how, at one point, Anderson had to be dragged from the court in handcuffs by bailiffs after challenging the judge to a 'fiddling duel' and shouting about the Devil. Says a source, "He just kept screaming, 'I told you once you son of a bitch, I'm the best there's ever been!' And, 'It might be a sin, but I won that golden fiddle from the Devil fair and square! That goddamn son of a bitch must have stole it! Get after him about it, not me!' It was awful."
Court officials would only comment that Anderson was seen by a mental health professional and was deemed fit to stand trial.
When reached for comment, Mr. Mephistopolous was reluctant to speak to reporters, though when repeatedly questioned stated, "Look, justice has been served. My property has been returned to me and that dirty, filthy little fiddle player has been properly punished for thinking he can beat me...um, I mean beat the criminal justice system."
When asked about how the high-profile robbery has effected his business, as it is well known that his tobacco company has been in a steep decline in recent years, he related, "Yes, it's true I'm in a bit of a bind. Way behind in fact and I've been willing to make a deal. Not enough people smoking these days with these damn Surgeon General warnings and all. I may be moving into coal next, but we'll have to see how the market plays out."
Meanwhile, the boy's family maintains that he was he was well-behaved and never had any trouble with the law in the past. Described as highly imaginative and a gifted musician, Anderson was a five-time winner of the annual Pike County Fair Fiddle-Off and a member of 4-H and his local church youth group. Police say he was the only suspect in the robbery.
The trial, conducted behind tightly closed doors and amid rumors that the wealthy and well connected Mr. Mephistopolous was heavily leaning on prosecutors to obtain the maximum sentence, has been the buzz of Pike County for months, with speculation rife as to how and why a boy with an otherwise clean record would commit such a serious crime. The story has even been picked up by major regional newspapers and television once it was publicly announced that Anderson would be tried as an adult. He was sentenced last week to serve 12-15 years, which critics decried as overly harsh. It has still not been accurately determined how the young Anderson was able to break into the Mephistopolous manor, make off with the heavily guarded violin and return home in time for dinner.
Anonymous attendees of the exclusive court proceedings tell the Observer how, at one point, Anderson had to be dragged from the court in handcuffs by bailiffs after challenging the judge to a 'fiddling duel' and shouting about the Devil. Says a source, "He just kept screaming, 'I told you once you son of a bitch, I'm the best there's ever been!' And, 'It might be a sin, but I won that golden fiddle from the Devil fair and square! That goddamn son of a bitch must have stole it! Get after him about it, not me!' It was awful."
Court officials would only comment that Anderson was seen by a mental health professional and was deemed fit to stand trial.
When reached for comment, Mr. Mephistopolous was reluctant to speak to reporters, though when repeatedly questioned stated, "Look, justice has been served. My property has been returned to me and that dirty, filthy little fiddle player has been properly punished for thinking he can beat me...um, I mean beat the criminal justice system."
When asked about how the high-profile robbery has effected his business, as it is well known that his tobacco company has been in a steep decline in recent years, he related, "Yes, it's true I'm in a bit of a bind. Way behind in fact and I've been willing to make a deal. Not enough people smoking these days with these damn Surgeon General warnings and all. I may be moving into coal next, but we'll have to see how the market plays out."
Meanwhile, the boy's family maintains that he was he was well-behaved and never had any trouble with the law in the past. Described as highly imaginative and a gifted musician, Anderson was a five-time winner of the annual Pike County Fair Fiddle-Off and a member of 4-H and his local church youth group. Police say he was the only suspect in the robbery.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Ado about Adu
We join a crowd of good show-goers, eagerly awaiting the next act of the night. The entertainment in the old vaudeville style theater, complete with balconies and thick deep red curtains currently closed across the stage, has been outstanding and our friendly crowd is in a spectacularly good mood. The juice jug juggling Johnson Brothers were quite the hit, but they were easily outdone by the Dapper Dawdling Dachshund Dandies! And the Fancy Fiddling Florentine Flamingo dancers were almost too much!
By the time we come in, our dear audience is breathlessly awaiting the secret finale act of the evening. The MASTER OF CEREMONIES has retaken the stage amid excited murmuring. His familiar, pompous voice washes over the theater.
MASTER OF CEREMONIES: Yes, yes ladies and gentlemen, one more round of applause please for the Great Gregorius and his garrulous group of gawking ganders! [polite, but sincere applause] You have been such a wonderful crowd this evening that I, and all our performers I'm sure, will be just brokenhearted to see you go. But, before you take your leave, we have for you, as promised, our final mystery finale! Now, I know this is the moment you have all been waiting for, so without further ado, I give you Adu!
[silence]
MAN IN CROWD #1: I thought you said there wasn't going to be any more ado?
WOMAN IN CROWD #1: Yeah, we want the final act!
MASTER OF CEREMONIES: No, no! The final act is Adu!
MAN IN CROWD #2: Hey, I didn't come here to see a bunch of ado! We have enough of that at home!
[murmuring, including a few "Quite right!"s]
MASTER OF CEREMONIES: [slightly non-plussed] I'm very sorry about your troubles at home, but Adu is the final act. That's the secret! I'm sure you'll love the show! [he starts clapping but very few people join in]
MAN IN CROWD #1: But we don't want ado. We thought there was going to be a real show.
MASTER OF CEREMONIES: I assure you that Adu is most certainly...
MAN IN CROWD #3: [interrupting] Hey, you aren't going to put on that stupid play Much Ado About Nothing, are you? I hate Greek comedies!
WOMAN IN CROWD #2: That isn't a Greek play, you dunderhead! It's English! Everyone knows that was one of Lord Byron's best.
MASTER OF CEREMONIES: [his frustration increasing] Look...first of all, Shakespeare wrote that one and second, we are not putting on a play! As I've already told you, we're closing with Adu!
MAN IN CROWD #2: Well, I can tell you this ado isn't very impressive. I'm not feeling very entertained.
MASTER OF CEREMONIES: What? [rearing himself up, trying to get his mojo working again] You haven't even seen Adu yet! I'm telling you, what you've seen so far is nothing compared to the great Adu you will see here in mere moments!
WOMAN IN CROWD #1: Oh c'mon, we've had enough of your ado! Have you got anything else?
MASTER OF CEREMONIES: [spluttering]
MAN IN CROWD #4: This is thievery, this is. We didn't pay good money to see you go, "Ado, ado, ado, ado..."
MAN IN CROWD #5: Ah, what do you bloody Irish know about a good show anyway? I'm having a right good time watching you blokes blabber on!
[shouting, cursing and general tumult]
MAN IN CROWD #4: Who was that? Why don't you say it to my face like a man, you dog!
[tumult continues to grow, with popcorn flying around the room and pairs of individuals almost coming to blows]
MAN IN CROWD #3: Shakespeare was Irish and a fat lot of good it did him!
MASTER OF CEREMONIES: [desperately trying to regain control of the situation] Please people, please! Everyone just calm down. I'm sure no one means anyone else any harm. [things start to subside a little, but the theater is still buzzing] We're really so happy to have you here, but I absolutely must insist that everyone settle down for our final act.
WOMAN IN CROWD #2: Is this it?
MASTER OF CEREMONIES: [somewhat back in form again] Why, my dear lady, our Adu hasn't even begun! Now, if you'll please...
MAN IN CROWD #1: Not even begun! I was almost starting to enjoy your ado, actually.
MAN IN CROWD #2: Oh come off it, this is rubbish!
WOMAN IN CROWD #1: I'm in full agreement with that. The Colonel and I are a hair's breadth from leaving the theater right now!
MASTER OF CEREMONIES: [desperate, once again] Please, you haven't even given Adu a chance!
WOMAN IN CROWD #2: I think we've had quite enough of your ado! [many "Yeah!"s]
MASTER OF CEREMONIES: Really! What could you people possibly have against Adu?
MAN IN CROWD #2: Enjoy the ado everyone, I'm off. [sneeringly, as he gets up to leave] Cheers!
MASTER OF CEREMONIES: Everyone please remain seated, and the show will resume! Adu will begin shortly.
[A number of other people get up from their seats and begin filing from the theater. There is a general din as people discuss whether to leave or not. The MASTER OF CEREMONIES ducks behind the curtain to speak with ADU.]
ADU: [whispering] What's the big to do?
MASTER OF CEREMONIES: [whispering as well] I don't know! They really seem to not want to hear anything about you. Did you play a real flop of a show here a couple of years ago or what?
ADU: No, I've never even been to this town before.
MASTER OF CEREMONIES: [looking back through the curtain] Argh! Half the theater has walked out already! Sorry, it looks like you won't be able to go on tonight.
ADU: [looks] Some of them look happy, though! It appears that the ado about Adu became the show after all, didn't it? Somewhere, the ghost of John Cage is laughing his head off.
MASTER OF CEREMONIES: [muttering] Well, we aren't giving out refunds, I'll tell you that. Wait, what? Jim who?
ADU: Never mind.
[They are about to walk backstage when MAN IN CROWD #3, who had wandered on to the stage, flies through the curtains.]
MAN IN CROWD #3: I heard you talking about Johnny Cage! He was my favorite Street Fighter 2 character ever! Do you know him?
ADU: [blinks for a moment] Mind if I knock this man out?
MASTER OF CEREMONIES: Be my guest.
[ADU pushes MAN IN CROWD #3 back through the curtains and deals him such a blow to the side of the head that it sends him wheeling back into the seats, out cold. The MASTER OF CEREMONIES bursts through the curtains as well.]
MASTER OF CEREMONIES: [waves his arms at the triumphal ADU] Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Adu!
The remaining people stare at the frozen scene for a moment before shaking their confused heads and leaving.
By the time we come in, our dear audience is breathlessly awaiting the secret finale act of the evening. The MASTER OF CEREMONIES has retaken the stage amid excited murmuring. His familiar, pompous voice washes over the theater.
MASTER OF CEREMONIES: Yes, yes ladies and gentlemen, one more round of applause please for the Great Gregorius and his garrulous group of gawking ganders! [polite, but sincere applause] You have been such a wonderful crowd this evening that I, and all our performers I'm sure, will be just brokenhearted to see you go. But, before you take your leave, we have for you, as promised, our final mystery finale! Now, I know this is the moment you have all been waiting for, so without further ado, I give you Adu!
[silence]
MAN IN CROWD #1: I thought you said there wasn't going to be any more ado?
WOMAN IN CROWD #1: Yeah, we want the final act!
MASTER OF CEREMONIES: No, no! The final act is Adu!
MAN IN CROWD #2: Hey, I didn't come here to see a bunch of ado! We have enough of that at home!
[murmuring, including a few "Quite right!"s]
MASTER OF CEREMONIES: [slightly non-plussed] I'm very sorry about your troubles at home, but Adu is the final act. That's the secret! I'm sure you'll love the show! [he starts clapping but very few people join in]
MAN IN CROWD #1: But we don't want ado. We thought there was going to be a real show.
MASTER OF CEREMONIES: I assure you that Adu is most certainly...
MAN IN CROWD #3: [interrupting] Hey, you aren't going to put on that stupid play Much Ado About Nothing, are you? I hate Greek comedies!
WOMAN IN CROWD #2: That isn't a Greek play, you dunderhead! It's English! Everyone knows that was one of Lord Byron's best.
MASTER OF CEREMONIES: [his frustration increasing] Look...first of all, Shakespeare wrote that one and second, we are not putting on a play! As I've already told you, we're closing with Adu!
MAN IN CROWD #2: Well, I can tell you this ado isn't very impressive. I'm not feeling very entertained.
MASTER OF CEREMONIES: What? [rearing himself up, trying to get his mojo working again] You haven't even seen Adu yet! I'm telling you, what you've seen so far is nothing compared to the great Adu you will see here in mere moments!
WOMAN IN CROWD #1: Oh c'mon, we've had enough of your ado! Have you got anything else?
MASTER OF CEREMONIES: [spluttering]
MAN IN CROWD #4: This is thievery, this is. We didn't pay good money to see you go, "Ado, ado, ado, ado..."
MAN IN CROWD #5: Ah, what do you bloody Irish know about a good show anyway? I'm having a right good time watching you blokes blabber on!
[shouting, cursing and general tumult]
MAN IN CROWD #4: Who was that? Why don't you say it to my face like a man, you dog!
[tumult continues to grow, with popcorn flying around the room and pairs of individuals almost coming to blows]
MAN IN CROWD #3: Shakespeare was Irish and a fat lot of good it did him!
MASTER OF CEREMONIES: [desperately trying to regain control of the situation] Please people, please! Everyone just calm down. I'm sure no one means anyone else any harm. [things start to subside a little, but the theater is still buzzing] We're really so happy to have you here, but I absolutely must insist that everyone settle down for our final act.
WOMAN IN CROWD #2: Is this it?
MASTER OF CEREMONIES: [somewhat back in form again] Why, my dear lady, our Adu hasn't even begun! Now, if you'll please...
MAN IN CROWD #1: Not even begun! I was almost starting to enjoy your ado, actually.
MAN IN CROWD #2: Oh come off it, this is rubbish!
WOMAN IN CROWD #1: I'm in full agreement with that. The Colonel and I are a hair's breadth from leaving the theater right now!
MASTER OF CEREMONIES: [desperate, once again] Please, you haven't even given Adu a chance!
WOMAN IN CROWD #2: I think we've had quite enough of your ado! [many "Yeah!"s]
MASTER OF CEREMONIES: Really! What could you people possibly have against Adu?
MAN IN CROWD #2: Enjoy the ado everyone, I'm off. [sneeringly, as he gets up to leave] Cheers!
MASTER OF CEREMONIES: Everyone please remain seated, and the show will resume! Adu will begin shortly.
[A number of other people get up from their seats and begin filing from the theater. There is a general din as people discuss whether to leave or not. The MASTER OF CEREMONIES ducks behind the curtain to speak with ADU.]
ADU: [whispering] What's the big to do?
MASTER OF CEREMONIES: [whispering as well] I don't know! They really seem to not want to hear anything about you. Did you play a real flop of a show here a couple of years ago or what?
ADU: No, I've never even been to this town before.
MASTER OF CEREMONIES: [looking back through the curtain] Argh! Half the theater has walked out already! Sorry, it looks like you won't be able to go on tonight.
ADU: [looks] Some of them look happy, though! It appears that the ado about Adu became the show after all, didn't it? Somewhere, the ghost of John Cage is laughing his head off.
MASTER OF CEREMONIES: [muttering] Well, we aren't giving out refunds, I'll tell you that. Wait, what? Jim who?
ADU: Never mind.
[They are about to walk backstage when MAN IN CROWD #3, who had wandered on to the stage, flies through the curtains.]
MAN IN CROWD #3: I heard you talking about Johnny Cage! He was my favorite Street Fighter 2 character ever! Do you know him?
ADU: [blinks for a moment] Mind if I knock this man out?
MASTER OF CEREMONIES: Be my guest.
[ADU pushes MAN IN CROWD #3 back through the curtains and deals him such a blow to the side of the head that it sends him wheeling back into the seats, out cold. The MASTER OF CEREMONIES bursts through the curtains as well.]
MASTER OF CEREMONIES: [waves his arms at the triumphal ADU] Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Adu!
The remaining people stare at the frozen scene for a moment before shaking their confused heads and leaving.
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