Bah-dah-dah-dah!
“Hey, do you want to come over for the Bears game?”
“Absolutely!”
“Starts at noon! Bring chips!”
“Will do!”
12:00. Sunday, September 8th. Chicago. Southport & Wellington. Some guy’s apartment.
“You give Cutler time and he’s great!”
“The Bengals suck anyway!”
Halftime.
“Yikes. At least they’re still in it!”
“Lot of time left!”
“Robbie Gould’s career long field goal, you guys!”
“No one cares about the kicking game!” Continue reading
You want to be Peter Venkman. Venkman was the only cool guy in the entire movie. It doesn’t get much better than Bill Murray doing his thing at the expense of whoever he shares the screen with. Everyone agrees on this – if you played that game with a group of your friends (“If this was Lost, I’m clearly Charlie!”) about Ghostbusters, everyone hopes their friends would go “Well, you’d be Venkman.” But no, you’re not, you poor delusional slob. None of us are. We’re Louis Tully.
“What?” you ask, outraged. “Louis?!” Yes. Louis. Egon was a goddamn genius. You might think you’re smart, and you might well be, but you’re not Egon. You’re not even Ray. He was the top man in his field almost without question. He didn’t have Egon’s overall brilliance, but he was still the driving force in all their paranormal dealings. You are not the top man in your field. Face it and accept it. And Winston? The paycheck Ghostbuster? No, you’re better than that. Come on! I mean, in the grand day-to-day soul crushing grind, maybe we all collectively identify best with Winston, but deep down, heart of hearts, in your soft squishy soul made of hopes and nougat, you’re Louis Tully, CPA. We’re all Louis Tully. And it’s high time we acknowledge it. Continue reading
(standing, from left – Clone #46 Delano, #20 Vitoadie, #48 Magnus, #23 Bobtail, #40 Junior, #14 Kevincible, seated from left #18 Georange, Stevie, #2 Jackwagon, floor #5 Dantopia)
Everyone thinks it must be so cool, having a bunch of clones. That’s what they always tell me. You’ve got this big pack of friends, you can play crazy tricks on girlfriends and neighbors, and you can test drive different hair lengths and styles without messing up your own head. Also (the way it was described to me early on) you’ve got a huge supply of spare organs, an enormous wardrobe, and multiple doppelgangers means high unlikelihood of assassination. It’s been a weird life.
The clinical story has been recounted by the press and biographers hundreds if not thousands of times, but here it is right from Patient X. I’m Stevie and I’ve got nineteen (remaining) clones. Continue reading
Filed under Death, humor, Life, Science, Technology
The author in his natural habitat
You don’t know how many times I’ve been sitting in Jimmy Buffett’s Margaritaville on the Navy Pier and heard tourists grousing “Oh man, they’ve only got a three man shotski!” or “Oh wait, they have a five man one too, but not two or four!” This is an epidemic of colossally drunk proportions that Jimmy Buffett is totally uninterested in remedying. So that’s where I jump in.
“Oy! You need a third on that shotski?” And next thing you know, I’ve got free booze and new friends! I usually travel with pals too, who also like that liquor, so if the tourists need a few assistants on their quest to get smashed, we’re good to go!
But this is just regular Saturday night behavior here. What I want to talk about is that sorrier instance – when it is required to bookend a tourist on a three-man shotski. Continue reading
What the shit?
Holy Jesus what am I looking at? What is this supposed to be? Are you kidding me? I don’t remember ordering this. I think I ordered French onion soup, didn’t I?
Wait a minute, wait a minute, are you telling me this is what you pass off as French onion soup? That’s crazy! Have you ever seen French onion soup? Look kid, I know you’re not back there making it yourself, but seriously, you know what French onion soup looks like. Does this strike you as a delicious mix of onions and cheese and that brown broth and those crouton-like bread pieces? It does?! What the hell alternate universe did I just wander into? Continue reading
Home sweet home
England, 1074 A.D. The Norman invasion, led by Duke William II of Normandy, was a success, dispatching King Harold II at the Battle of Stamford Bridge on 25 September, and occupying the country. Many combatants and dissidents were thrown into the dungeons in the months and years to follow. Dead center on the island, the castle at Shrewsbury housed numerous Britons, still loyal to the rightful lineage of kings, from Edward the Confessor onward, even if they didn’t know who lawfully came next.
*drip*
*drip*
*drip*
“Christ this dungeon is leaky!” Chained to the wall by hands and feet, alone, stood George. A rat continuously darted for his toes, and he kept kicking it away, more glad for the company than angry at possibly catching the plague. Thankfully, the Black Death was still some centuries away. Continue reading
Filed under History, humor, Relationships
So, you want to rake in that sweet YA coin, do you? Chronologically, it’s the last age group where you can guarantee some level of readership, so it makes sense. Once you leave this demo everyone is distracted by going to college, getting hammered, taking pregnancy tests, and gaining weight/losing hair at an alarming rate. Who has time to marvel at your fiction skills? No one, not even your mom!
Nope, it’s those 11- to 17-year olds that still might plunk down their allowance/babysitting/paper route cash and go nose-deep in your tales of fancy. But where do you start? How do you become the next Beverly Cleary, J.K. Rowling, Suzanne Collins, or Veronica Roth? There are five easy steps to set you on the path to unimaginable wealth and legions of screaming fans. Continue reading
Filed under humor
I’m just a pimp on the Goodyear Blimp,
And each of my whores adores me.
Airborne ecstasy, and the healthcare is free,
And their door in the floor is above me.
I burst up like a mole if a dude gets too rude,
Levy out a toll, then lighten the mood.
“Bring out the whiskey!” I shout to the intern,
The whore leans to kiss me and continues to earn. Continue reading
Filed under humor, Sports, Transportation, Work
In vainglorious attempts to hide the past, I have deceived many about my adolescence and downright lied to all census takers. On resumes I’ve used words like “lacrosse,” “house party,” and “rap battle champion.” But the weight of these obfuscations is on me now like a millstone. I need to unburden my wretched soul! Now the truth can be told. I was a teenage hobbledehoy.
If Updike had authored the screenplay, this would essentially be Rabbit Redux
In truth! The only “house party” I was associated with starred Kid & Play. This is also where I learned about rap battles – from Kid & Play! That’ll tell you how I grew up. And lacrosse? Shit, I’m still not sure how that sport works. It’s like hockey, right? On grass? Isn’t that just field hockey? What the hell, lacrosse?! Continue reading
Tres shiny! *Note to self, look up “shiny”
In preparation for our long-delayed honeymoon, I took it upon myself to learn as much French as possible, so that I could read street signs and not offend waiters with my horrid attempts to order blocks of cheese. I had nine full months to do this, and living in the modern age, there are countless resources available to achieve this on the cheap and convenient. Three weeks from the trip, I felt pretty good. I know the days of the week and can name a bunch of different meats. Then yesterday I realized I hadn’t learned the word for “happy,” and now I feel the whole plan was a complete and utter failure.
(I know the words for “cow” and “milk,” so I wouldn’t say it was an “udder” failure. Puns! Zing!) Continue reading
“I don’t want to achieve immortality through my work, I want to achieve immortality through not dying.” – Woody Allen
Just ask Sue - Chicago is THE place for your old bones to spend eternity
It all began in one of those typical conversations with my lady, where we’re not exactly sure how this crazed topic came up, but we needed to follow it through to the conclusion anyway.
“What, you wouldn’t want to be buried in Chicago?” I asked.
“I figured if anybody you’d want to be buried in Scranton,” she told me, and that’s a reasonable assumption.
I can only assume this came up after spouting a saying I’ve kicked around for some time now, to measure something’s greatness:
“If I die today after (insert great thing here), just take me to the boneyard and put me in the ground. Tell my momma I love her, tell her I did my best.” Saying in essence, my life will be complete after whatever great thing we experience that day – seeing a concert, eating dangerous sushi, meeting Tommy Wiseau, etc. But it did raise the interesting idea of where my dusty old bones should repose for all eternity. I immediately thought Chicago, because honestly, as much as I like Scranton, there ain’t a whole hell of a lot to do there when you’re alive. The afterlife in NEPA must be boring as shit. Continue reading
Hey, thanks for coming in, please have a seat. Can I get you anything? Water? Coffee? Oh, you just came back from lunch? What’s in the cafeteria today, that spinach ravioli? I get mad heartburn every Monday from that, I swear.
So look, I don’t want to keep you in suspense, you may have heard some rumors around the office, and yes, we’re gonna be doing a little restructuring, playing with the layout of the cubicals and copiers and whatnot, and the bottom line is I’m afraid we’re going to have to let you go.
Are you sure you don’t want some juice or something? Continue reading
Friends, we here in Chicago are in a quandary. You see, it’s the middle of summer, and even though the NFL lockout is over, the populace largely hates Jay Cutler (sad but true) and thinks Lovie Smith may secretly be an assistant coach with the Green Bay Packers (it would explain A LOT). The Blackhawks are a year removed from winning the Stanley Cup, but it’s still hockey, every game of which is kinda like a racist, Canadian slasher movie.
The Bulls were great this year, true, but this is a franchise that won a half dozen titles in the not-so-distant past, so only coming close to the Finals is barely reason to celebrate. It’s a 10% off sale. It’s winning a free lottery ticket. Which leaves us with the national pastime. Continue reading
He thinks he's funny WHILE being a good driver
I’ve found there are two constants in the realm of human self assessment. 1) Everyone thinks they have a sense of humor, which is insane because there are so many dour, humorless clods out there on which the funny has no effect. And 2) everyone thinks they are a good driver. EVERYONE. Blame for all driving mishaps can be attributed to other drivers, road conditions, pedestrians, the car, the seatbelt, the radio, passengers, the armrest, anything. It’s never your fault behind the wheel. You’re blameless. You’re a great driver. So what’s the answer? Well, I’m here to tell you – you can blame me. I’m sort of a lousy driver.
Not my finest hour
Now, I’m not a particularly dangerous driver, don’t get me wrong. I’ve rarely hit anyone or anything. Sure, everyone backs into other cars and utility poles now and then (don’t they??), but beyond that I can count my major and minor accidents on one hand…yeah, just one. But, more and more evidence has come to light which leads me to the undoubtedly accurate conclusion that I can’t drive worth a good goddamn. Continue reading
Filed under Driving, humor, Transportation
You are privileged to herein grab a glimpse at my awesome skills on display, with my real time editing process. Everyone who writes has their own way of doing this, and usually they don’t wait years after the last draft to pick up and start hacking through again. However, I’ve been spending an inordinate amount of time pursuing insanely fruitless careers lately (movie extra, Presidential candidate, etc.) and am only now revisiting my completed but messy masterwork.
So let’s crack open the old Word doc and see how things stand, huh? I remember my first chapter being a real humding – what?! What the holy hell?! Seriously? This can’t be right. I don’t remember the first sentence being “Ye gawd Yardley, that crummy stumblebum?!” I wrote that?!? That doesn’t sound like my pitch perfect ear for dialogue at work. Can’t be. Continue reading
Filed under humor, Publishing, Writing
Knowingly Undersold 