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After chipping a tooth on my fiancée Muriel’s prosthetic clitoris, I knew life would never be easy. Muriel didn’t snore when she slept. Instead she did something more disturbing. Whenever she entered Deep REM sleep she’d emit a Dial Tone. A Dial Tone, like from Bell Labs. Very unnerving, although after about a month I figured out a way to call China, where prosthetic clitorises are made. So I ordered 2. One for her and one for me. I explained to Muriel, “This clitoris is great. Now I no longer have to go to sleep right after we make love.” To which she responded, “Oh is that what we were making?”

Did I mention she had no native intelligence? Instead she had Artificial Intelligence. From Hasbro. It might manifest itself like this: She’d put on scuba gear and go kayaking upside down in the lake. As Muriel maneuvered the kayak around the lake I’d see her capsized hull moving through the water while the occasional oar penetrated the surface from underneath.

If forewarned is forearmed, I should’ve heeded the birthmark located on her back: Best By MAY 2014. Muriel was so advanced and yet we met offline. Way offline. It was at a Pre-stressed Concrete Convention where concrete with mother issues went for counseling before their feelings hardened into an ossified mess. Muriel and I both worked there as counselors. Muriel would often sit before a couple of yards of pre-stressed concrete annealing in its rebar and advise, “If you think about it, not only are all politics local, but so is everything else.” That paradigm-busting advice usually did it and the concrete was no longer stressed. This relief worked for most concrete, but sometimes years later it cracked up in some form of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

That’s when I told Muriel about the health benefits of local honey. She agreed and said she’d be my local honey. She’s so sweet. Early on Muriel would bring a lunch to church. I thought it was a bad idea saying, “You shouldn’t pray where you eat.” She cackled like a hen, because although she was my local honey she wasn’t immune to my humor.

Then she got me back. By now we were married and living in a 2 bedroom hive in a fashionable section of Compton. We went into the funeral business called Caskets with Friends. It did not go well. Between the ill-fated Frequent Diers Program and the sign advertising “Walk-ins Welcome” business was moribund. Well more or less moribund. Business also stunk, but that was more due to our poor embalming technique than anything else.

When I mentioned how we needed to refinish the coffee table she remarked, “David, as far as refinishing furniture goes we’ve only scratched the surface.” I couldn’t hold back any more and kissed her passionately. She got very excited and began emitting a Dial Tone. Then she suggested I try kissing her mouth next time.

Her brother Giovanni was one of those rare guys. Not only did he own a very expensive Ferrari, he also had a really big “Testarossa” if you know what I mean. How did I know? Well he lifted the hood one day and showed me. Muriel’s sister Gwen was a very fetching young lady and when I casually remarked to Muriel, “You’re sister Gwen is a beaut,” Muriel said, “How did you know she was a Butte? How did you even know she was from Montana?”

As the years passed we both agreed that time had gone by and although Muriel was well past her expiration date, so was I. We were 2 peas in a pod or bees in a honeycomb. Because she is my honey I’ll always love her sweetness.

Thunder-pumping piano man Jerry Lee Lewis was probably the least celebrated member of Sun Records’ Million Dollar Quartet whose other members were none other than Elvis Presley, Johnny Cash and Carl Perkins. You might even say he was the “quiet” Millionaire. Although taking into account his marriages (7), arrest records (almost as numerous as his musical records) and his addiction to moonshine, he was a very noisy Millionaire. Killer (as fast became his nickname) was not a paragon of virtue. In fact he wasn’t even a nice man. But in 1958 he was a high-flying Cajun, till it all came crashing to the ground in what was supposed to be a triumphant tour of jolly old England.

On the strength of Great Balls of Fire and Whole Lotta Shakin’ Going On, Jerry Lee Lewis was “the next thing” and in great demand . At 22 this hillbilly high school dropout probably felt a little invincible. Feeling a little invincible is like being a little bit pregnant. You either are or you aren’t and it’s important to know the difference. Sam Phillips, fabled owner of Sun Records and architect of the Million Dollar Quartet, had arranged an English tour to take advantage of “Killer’s” popularity and Mr. Lewis decided to bring his new bride, Myra Gale Brown. So far so good. Read the rest of this entry »

1. Arrive refreshed and unconscious

Route supposedly taken by stowaway.

 2. Avoid the “busy hands” of frisky TSA agents

3. Finally understand the adage: That which does not freeze me, only makes me colder.

4. Can congregate in front of landing strut without being told to return to seat

5. Great way to earn Frequent Dier Miles

6. Get to board plane before those snooty Platinum Club members

7. Can’t beat the cushy oversized rubbery seat

8. Don’t have to listen to know-it-all guy next to you go on and on about how, ”On a BTU for BTU basis, propane gas is your best value.”

9. 5 hour trip seems like 10 minutes because you were unconscious for 4 hours and 50 minutes

10. Because there is no oxygen, you never have to worry about placing margarine cup over mouth and “breathing normally.”

11. Private compartment kept at a constant temperature of -48

12. Without the prying eyes of passengers, can join the mile high club when you’re ready

13. Freedom to get up and move about the wheel well whenever you want

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Author’s note: In Edmund Morris’s authorized biography of Ronald Reagan, Mr. Morris employed a fictional character as a literary device to report on and catalogue the many events of Mr. Reagan’s long life. I employ a similar literary device in my unauthorized thumbnail sketch of Jesus Christ’s life, although at no time do I refer to Jesus Christ as “Dutch.”  

 

Sure I remember the Christ boy. He was the son of Joe & Mary Christ. They lived down the street from my cousins the Goldstein’s of Nazareth. If we knew then what we know now, we would’ve been a lot nicer to him. It’s not everyday God incarnate appears in your midst. He had it all, but that wasn’t enough for him. He wanted everyone else to have it all too. You might say that was his mission in life. Some people didn’t want it all. They wanted things returned the way they were BC, and therein lied the rub. 

His life and his death have inspired billions, and spawned a fierce and bewildering competition for his legacy in yet another example of why earth would be better if it was run by Microsoft. If only Jesus’s estate had the foresight to copyright his images and words, perhaps then we would’ve preserved the kernels of wisdom in his loving message. Instead, careless clerics have germinated them into an inconsequential tuft of weeds. The Garden of Eden is in serious need of landscaping. People are more stymied than facilitated by their religions. It just seems his whole message has gone to seed. Read the rest of this entry »

The Hubble Space Telescope, floating so serenely above the Earth’s muddy atmosphere, is uniquely qualified to penetrate into the farthest reaches of our uncharted universe. It methodically scans the celestial sphere searching for Star Clusters, Spiral Galaxies and Gas-Filled Quasars. While gazing into deep space recently, the Hubble Telescope glimpsed the most distant object in the universe. And no, I’m not referring to my father. These miraculous photographs are believed to be the first images ever taken from before the Big Bang, which occurred over 14 billion years ago (6,000 years ago for my Creationist friends). These remarkable pictures depict the sketchy outlines of a concerned father figure hovering over a child who appears to be experimenting with an unfathomably dense and infinitesimally small sphere called a singularity. While manipulating the singularity, the boy assures his father, “Don’t worry dad. I know what I’m doing. There’s no way it’s going to explo….”

Further studies of the singularity suggest it maintained its equilibrium by freely giving energy from areas of high concentration to areas of low concentration: From each area according to its ability, to each area according to its need. Astrophysicists have labeled this perfect redistribution of power, “Communism. Pure and simple.”  Read the rest of this entry »

~ In the decade of the 1840’s a series of catalytic technological leaps conspired (in a good way) to turbocharge the era and toggle society from primitivism to modernity. ~

 

The pervasive wizardry of the Digital Age has palsied our ability to appreciate its origins. It seems the ubiquity of ever-advancing gadgetry has quietly rendered us both a slave to its expediency and a marveller at its everyday sorcery. Whether it’s asking Siri to; “Find me the nearest Weinershnitzel” or waving our sudsy hands beneath a motion-detecting faucet, we’re unthinkingly demanding of the technological feats which, until recently, were nothing more than crack pot ideas found in the back of decade’s old Popular Mechanics magazines.

A proper accounting of how we got here demands a deliberative look at where we came from. Being fortunate enough to have missed the Dark Ages (unless you count the Disco Era), I have a mighty appreciation for the technological marvels which have allowed us to avoid the drudgery of the past. For example, there was a time when Wheel of Fortune hostess Vanna White had to actually turn the letters by hand. Such drudgery! Now she just touches a screen and the letters magically appear. This kind of enabling touch-screen technology will add years to Vanna’s letter-revealing hostess duties. Read the rest of this entry »

I’ll spare you the indignity of bad puns and obvious analogies…in my next story. Meanwhile, prepared to be slimed!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

To be read slowly. 

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Here at davidhardiman.com we value our readers and we understand that many readers self-medicate with these essays.  Again, if this is an emergency or you are hyperventilating, stop reading and dial 9-1-1. Otherwise continue reading and a pain-relieving essay will be with you as soon as one becomes available. We apologize for the delay in bringing you relief, but we are currently fresh out of ideas. You are the 5^th reader in the queue so don’t stop reading or you’ll lose your place in line. Your wait time for a meaningful essay is approximately 8 sentences. We are sorry that due to higher than normal reader volume, we are unable to provide our usual level of wit. Additionally, geopolitical events have stifled our creative process. Our outsourced Idea Department was mostly staffed by Ukrainians who have since fled Crimea and are now refugees. We are working hard to keep you interested and while we’re not exactly sure where the problem lies, we are sure President Obama is to blame. Meanwhile please bear with us as we fumble to say something meaningful or at least pertinent. Read the rest of this entry »

This supremely ironic New York Times headline from February 10^th reads like a ripe premise for a comedic bit. And in a sense it is a bit. It’s one of 3000 sad little bits that fell into my hands as a result of the explosion. They’re called smithereens, and like a dutiful sleuth I’ll attempt to piece this accident back together smithereen by smithereen to discover just how something so awful could go so right. In Iraq suicide bombers have become obscene background noise like rap music is in this country. What drives these suicide bombers? Where the Beach Boys once promised “♫Two girls for every boy♫,” the Taliban promise 77 virgins for every boy in the afterlife. With this sheer volume of women, one assumes there are also towelettes. 

What We Know so Far

We know the noble gas Xenon (Xe) is No. 54 on the Periodic Table of Elements. We also know Xenon is considered a “noble gas” due to its philanthropic work with underprivileged elements like Bismuth and Tin. Xenon is an odorless, colorless gas similar to Senator Harry Reid. But that bears little impact on today’s story and probably shouldn’t have even been included in this reconstruction. Read the rest of this entry »

Upon authoring a major book, it is always appropriate to thank the people instrumental in its publication. This is more commonly referred to as the Acknowledgement section of a book and is invariably appended to its end, just prior to the Index. The acknowledgement is where the author usually thanks his saintly mother for the use of her loins in birthing him and possibly his graduate research assistant for something very similar. Now I’ve yet to write my Magnum Opus or even my Mini Opus, but to stay ahead of the game I’ve decided to prepare my Acknowledgement section in advance so that when it comes time to write the book I won’t procrastinate with the excuse; “Well I’ve got this great idea all laid out, but I just can’t bring myself to write the stupid Acknowledgement.” Therefore it is with the utmost gratitude and humility I present:

 

Acknowledgements

I would be remiss if I didn’t express my profound gratitude to myself for my unique connection to the All-Being through whose grace I’ve been privy to things civilians could never access. Through the intercession of our Lord I’ve been able to produce such a magnificent work. I thank Him for recognizing my brilliance. Being a chosen one was not my idea. Really, I had no choice in the matter. But since its incumbent upon me to appear grateful and to give the reader a sense of the book’s gravity by referring to a vast network of unseen assistants supporting the effort, I should probably pretend to give credit where credit isn’t due. Read the rest of this entry »