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This is the city: Los Angeleez Califor-ni-a. The following story is true. The names were left the same because there were no innocent to protect. In a moment a description of the events. But first an ad from our sponsor Chesterfield Cigarettes:

More deceased doctors recommend Chesterfield Cigarettes for their cadavers who smoke cigarettes than any other brand. Why not try a Chesterfield today and experience the full rich tobacco flavor of toxic gases slowly nestling into your once pink lungs. And with Chesterfield there’s no morning hack. In fact, after smoking them for a while, there’s no morning at all. Just mourning.  

That’s how you could advertise cigarettes in 1954. And now back to our True Story:

 

 

A telephone conversation between frantic landlady Florence Katz Ross and her unimpressed friend Gladys Rabinowitz:

Florence: Yes operator. I’d like MElrose3-9421.

Operator: One moment please. OK. Go ahead.

Florence:  Hello Gladys? Gladys, you’re never gonna believe what just happened.

Gladys:     Well what is it honey? Do tell.

Florence:  Well I was just adjusting the rabbit ears on my new 8” Philco-Vision TV set to watch my stories, when Frank Sinatra and Joe DiMaggio break down my door with an axe, run over to me and demand to know where Marilyn is. I said   “Marilyn who?” And Joe says, “My wife Marilyn Monroe. She’s shacking up here with some bum and I’m gonna give it to him real good see. You capish lady? Now where is she?” Read the rest of this entry »

 

When Neil Armstrong returned from his first moonwalk, Buzz Aldrin, who was laboring under the hallucinogenic effects of an unnoticed nitrous oxide leak in the Eagle, had locked the door and refused him entry. The situation grew tense, but, as had occurred during their entire journey, good fortune soon smiled on them and the situation was resolved. Under the Freedom of Information Act I obtained a transcript of their conversation and post its contents verbatim: 

Neil:    Hey Buzz let me in. Hey Buzz, the door is locked. Let me in. (He knocks on the hatch and even though sound waves cannot travel in a vacuum, buzzed Buzz can hear them anyway)

Buzz:   Who is it?

Neil:    Who do you think Buzz? We’re on the god damn moon. C’mon, let me in.

Buzz:   Neil is that you?

Neil:    No. It’s Helen Keller. Read the rest of this entry »

Mmmm! Yummers. These are just some of my favorite astral plane Pepperidge Farm cookies. Are they on your list?

Toucan Sandies

Transgendered Gingerbread Something er Others

Roadside Clusters

Lemon Nothings

Heimlich Chokies

Whoopsie Daisy Flourishes

Buttered Goobledygooks

Powdered Snowglobes

Chess Guys

Multi-Striped, Triple-Dipped, Neo-Drizzled Fancher Snaps

Flightless Shortbread Spinsters

Origami Cannibal Chews

Double Stuff Oreogasms  (Women may have as many as they’d like. Men must wait at least 1 hour between cookies)

Esophageal Conundrums

Snicker Nipples

Nutted Doofuses

Silicon Wafers

Isaac Newtons

 

Pepperidge Farm does remember. My name is Orville Redenbacher and I approved this message.

• Calls event “Hecka Rad, Way Better than Gaming and Profoundly Filthy in a Good Way”
• Vows to repeat act to the exclusion of all else
• College likely to be a six year plan now
• Tells parents,”Mom, Dad – I’m all about bullet points now” 

Steubenville, OH

Hyperventilation marked the first sexual congress between Kyle Mahorn (age unimportant) and Sara Chambers (age also unimportant). This premeditated coitus went off as planned last Sunday morning when Kyle’s parents were praying at St. John the Baptist Church. “I’m just beside myself,” an excited Kyle gushed after gushing. “I’m like completely a convert to ‘strange’ now. I mean I’d heard all about it and I’d spent a lot of time practicing alone, but I never thought it’d be like this. All the time you hear about the fraying of society and the loss of community and all this disintegration stuff, but this…this is like interstellar superglue and will bind a society together faster than martial law or Costco coupons ever could. Boy Howdy, this thing looms large in my future and will naturally cause me to straighten up and fly right…well straighten up anyway. Man, I’ve got to tell everybody how good this is, although I’m probably just preaching to the choir.”

 

When asked why his passion with Ms. Chambers was so transformative, Kyle got that far away look in his groin and explained; “I’d always looked at sex as sort of a solo act because that’s the way I’d been doing it for the past (number of years unimportant), but when I was with sweet, sweet Sara, I found the more I thought about her, the more my universe compressed into an infinite singularity until va va voom – the Big Bang. I’ve since developed an intense affection for her and plan to repeat the experience to the exclusion of all else. In fact it’s not even a plan. It’s just something I’m going to do.”

 

“It’s funny how perspectives can change. Until now I’ve always been vitally interested in playing World of Warcraft, but since I’ve made love to sweet, sweet Sara, somehow whether the the Druids of Le Grange can storm the armory and retake ancestral Beulah Land just doesn’t seem so important now. No, this act, and it’s no act, is a real game changer. Sara possesses telekinetic powers. She just looks at my pants and they begin to move. In the middle of our lovemaking it struck me how much unnecessary complaining people do when they should be down on their hands and knees doing exactly what I was doing. This is a free gift to mankind. You can even pay for it if you want to. The point is this should be the headline everyday, everywhere:  Sex allows transcendence of space-time. Confirms Einstein’s Theory of Special Relativity.”

“And Sara, sweet, sweet Sara. Like I say, I’m attached to her in ways I can’t explain. I want to have her children, buy her a house, protect her from evil and if marriage charts are any indication, divorce her in 12 years and repeat the process with someone else. It’s that good!”

Kyle continued, “Anyway this is my calling. It’s all I want to do and although I may not be God’s gift to women, they sure are to me.”

Sociologist estimate this freakish hallucination occurs in American males somewhere around 5000 times a day, more so on weekends.

Foremost among Jim Katcavage’s many attributes is the ability to set your watch to his haircut. The Atomic Clock at the Bureau of Weights and Measures in Washington DC is less accurate than his crew cut. I actually owned this football card and found it to be the least inspiring card ever produced. This card spoke to me with the same passion as a man hole cover. I’m thinking it wasn’t Photo-shopped and was probably cropped by the Indiana Home for the Criminally Insane. The background color was selected by Zsa Zsa Gabor. And of course hair and make up was provided courtesy of General Motors. Suffice to say this card possesses the artistry of a blast furnace.

This “Big Ugly” grunted in the NFL trenches from 1956-68 — when men were stereotypes and “Mad Men” women were strictly scenery. I’d go back to the New Frontier, but I probably couldn’t see through the haze of Chesterfield cigarette smoke. I predict a mania is about to occur for this phosphorescently florid football card. Katcavage’s blockheaded still life will soon grow to iconic status much like Marvelous Marv Throneberry or Warhol’s soup cans did. Some will call this mania Kat Cavage Fever. Others will refer to him as The Fab One. The larger point is; Rosie Grier, Andy Robustelli, Dick Modzelewski and Jim Katcavage once formed a forbidding defensive line for the NY football Giants and their bravura performances and fierce camaraderie paved the way for what today we call luxury boxes.

Mr. Katcavage, who died in 1992, had his last haircut on October 28th, 1962. And although it grayed as he aged, it never dared to grow out in defiance of its owner’s wishes. He was the master of his hair follicles. When all the world was in tumult one merely had to look to his unerring crew cut and revel in the surety that there was indeed order in the cosmos. Time and tide stop for no man, but once upon a time, long ago, it did at least slow down for Big Jim Katcavage.

Inside the bathyscaphe there’s an eerie background din of whirring fans and humming battery packs pinging off the smooth white enamel paint. An other worldly reality pervades the spherical submersible as Colonel Jack Wisdom and Major Fillmore Artery meticulously unwrap that evening’s dinner rations and slowly begin chewing on their extruded sustenance. The now stuporous crew is obviously suffering from either too much or too little oxygen. They eyeball each other like a psychiatrist stares at his diploma; not knowing what to say, but knowing that if anyone does say something, it will be very significant.

Colonel Wisdom (his left foot resting on a ledge that warns in red stenciled letters: No Step): Y’know Major, I’ve known you for what, five years now. And in that time I’ve heard you talk a lot about how much you like pizza. <10 second pause, strokes his chin> But y’know something Major – In all that time I’ve never seen you actually eat pizza.

Major Artery: Hmmm. Wow. <10 second pause, strokes his chin> I guess that’s true – kinda like with you and bobble heads.

Colonel Wisdom: <10 second pause, strokes his chin>

Major Artery: <gazing wistfully out the porthole, strokes his chin> It looks so cool out there. When are we going to go outside for a walk on the lunar surface?

Colonel Wisdom: That sounds great Major. If we we’re on the moon you jack ass. <10 second pause, strokes his penis by mistake>

With that statement Col. Wisdom unthinkingly steps up on the ledge he’d been resting his foot on, which of course breaks off, causing him to rocket down the smooth enameled walls of the spherical bathyscaphe where, after a few pendulous swings up and down the interior surface, he comes to rest at the bottom sprawled out like an overturned turtle. Meanwhile Major Artery prepares for his space walk by donning scuba gear and stating, “I’m just gonna step out and get some fresh air.”

 

Author’s note: Do we continue the story?

 

 

 

After a moment of reflection I remembered something my father told me many years ago; “Ask not for whom the bridge tolls, for it tolls for thee.”

Sector Q Counterinsurgency Task Force – Alpha Group 

Dateline Yemen:

Corpsman: The combatants have dug in at the oasis just beyond the mirage.

Captain: Good work soldier. We need to know their numbers. How many enemy Yemeni are there?

Corpsman: Iraq my brain and I still don’t know how many enemy Yemeni.

Captain: This is really what I’m asking you.

Corpsman: What Israeli?

Captain: Oh, please be Syrias. We’ll need our face masks for the firefight. Where are they?

Corpsman: I am being serious. Damascus on the table. They were very expensive.  

Captain: Yeah the masks were expensive; Egypt us.

Corpsman: Who jipped us?

Captain: No. Who, is the guy on first base.

Corpsman: What about that Jew on second?

Captain: Lowenstein is not a Jew. That Israeli true. Ikanstan this anymore. I’m too old and my knees hurt. And no matter how much they hurt – you can’t Sudanese.

Corpsman: Oman. That is really true.You can’t sue the knees but you can Suez.

Captain: That Israeli true. Tell me about it. In fact Tel Aviv.

Corpsman: OK. Hey Aviv. Do you know how many enemy Yemeni are at the oasis?

Aviv: No, the whole thing’s a mirage. Fallujah, didn’t I?

The Pompous Ass

Executive Chef – Benito Agita                                        ~ MENU ~                                                       Sous Chef – Sue Scheff

12^th of Never, 2044

Starters

Young Radishes, Baby Lettuces, Aborted Turnips

Large Small Mouth Bass, Jumbo Shrimp, Elongated Short Ribs 

Fanny Crack Bread served with Irma’s sun-dried tap water

Botox Compote: Crow’s Feet, Hopkins’ Farm Goiter, Skywalker Ranch Gooseflesh

Non sequitir Farrago: Bandaged cheddar, Pictures of Jeff Goldblum’s Root Cellar, Extremist Homosexual Pine Nuts, Saline Infused Brine, Sea Salt, Blue Salt, Green Salt – a tremendous amount of salt all served on an Embarrassment of Doilies

Zuppa del Giorno

What is Zuppa del Giorno? Why it’s the soup of the day.

1. Cornstarch Chowder      2. Cream of Salt      3. Broccoli and Cheddar: Featuring KRAFT Imitation Broccoli Flecks

We also serve our signature Diluted Split Pea Soup – what it lacks in Pea-ness it makes up for in flavor

First Plate

Locovore’s Dilemma: Norwegian Salmon, Chilean Sea Bass, Martian Halibut

Good ole Paula Dean’s Down Home Southern Coronary with Pork Rinds and Nancy’s Defibrillators 

Gherkins Galore – Jerked Gherkins, Lammykins Gherkins, Next of Kin Gherkins, Greg Kinnear’s Gherkins and Kurt Jurgens Gherkins

Secondi 

My Angry Stepmother’s Turkey. Served with Damaged Potatoes and “You Stupid Bitch You Ruined My Life” Gravy

“I’ll have what she’s having” Oysters on the Rocks (if you prefer it sans rocks, a server will assist you in getting your rocks off)

Silverfish Risotto: Classic New York Public Library Philosophy Stack Silverfish, India Ink, Condoleeza Rice, gherkins  

Dessert

Livermore Labs locally enriched, sustainable plutonium, Wilma’s Candied Graphite, Centrifuged Raspberries. With a leaden codpiece.

Real Expensive Cheese, Obscenely Priced Toast Points, Gouged Patron, gherkins

Crayola Fondue: 8 Colorful Melted Crayons served with Lead Paint Dippin’ Chips, Bendy Celery and Musty Attic Lint

I’ve Always Resented My Mother Blueberry Pancakes, Lotta Rage Maple Syrup, and Confectioner’s Buckshot

Dining Notes: A 400% Gratuity is assessed any table that mispronounces a menu item. All menu items are dynamically priced. There is no corkage fee, however if you bring a blanket, there’s a cover charge. Despite our haughty cuisine this is a tough place – the hat check girl’s name is Bruno.  Allergy Alert: All food prepared on equipment used in the manufacture of Crystal Meth. Please be advised the entrance to the Pompous Ass is through the rear.

Tonight Featuring the Music of Barbara Mandrell and the Nashville Showstoppers

 

 

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