Where's the Wit?

Working on a play, that's where I am.

Fear not, more silliness and agressive digression will soon appear; I have several posts I'm in the middle of, and I'm procrastinating quite nicely about finishing them.

Besides, my wife's the director, so I have to stay focused and do a frigging great job. Which does not involve doing things as I did this evening, such as running, hard, into the side of a flat. That's gonna be a lovely bruise.

This was compensated for somewhat by a very interesting conversation with one of the other actors about quantum physics. No, really! Man, what a couple of nerds we are....

Back at ya soon....

Van Dammit, Part the Second

"Yeah!" said Lynn, "you could scheme to distribute all sorts of things through Mickey D's..."

Speck arched an eyebrow. He was good at that. "Even food?" he asked sarcastically.

Mel, unfortunately, was intrigued. "OK, say a pretty brunette comes into the drive-in. The guy in the window is prepared to give her anything she wants."
"Amazing, since he can't see or smell her through the speaker."
"There's a video camera hidden in the sign."
"There IS?" Lynn was astonished. "I'd better put my shirt on."

Mel did not relent. "Now, she asks for the seaweed hash browns, hold the sea & browns."
"Other than being a massively stupid way to phrase it, doesn't that take us back to the original problem?"
"That it does!" Mel replied. "Suppose, then, that the brunette asks for 'Nothing, just some coke.' How does the guy reply?"
"Uh, 'That'll be $298.33; please pull forward' and see how she reacts?"
Lynn cut in with "Shouldn't he ask her if she wants that in a bag, just to be sure?"
"Maybe" Speck shrugged. "The brunette would be savvy. A blonde might not even notice the outrageous price. Besides, she'd ask for diet coke, whatever that would be."
"Hey!"
"But, either way, if you're the guy in the window, you win."

Lynn's lower lip protruded in a pout that could only make a man think of a few things, most of which he didn't care about anyway. "C'mon, now, I can't help my stupid hair color. I had black hair briefly. It looked green in the sun."
Mel was still fixated and said "You know, it'd be much simpler just to use coffee."
"And why is that?" Speck queried.
"Because you frequently hand out these convenient little packages of white powder with coffee, anyway. So, if you wanted a dime bag of coke, you could order "coffee cut with sugar."
"Yeah! And heroin could be Sweet n' Low."
"But what would Equal be?" Lynn wanted to know. "I put that everywhere."
"Hmmm.... angel dust, I guess, though it's a bit out of fashion. And everyone knows about the coffee stirrers, so you're right in there up the nose with those."
"I don't get it," Lynn said, shaking her head with a lack of understanding, "couldn't you burn your nose really badly using it that way?"

Speck & Mel turned around to eye her; partly in disbelief over what she'd just said, and partly because she still hadn't put her shirt back on.

"I mean, they have that warning on the cup & everything..." She withered under their looks. "What if you wanted just plain, real sugar?"

"Then," deadpanned Speck "you are out of luck, babe."

Van Dammit, Part the First

Time. Time passes. Sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly. What that lazy geek Einstein failed to notice was that it passes most slowly when given something to juxtapose against.

Such a juxtaposition is frequently offered by what is poorly-named a "fast-food restaurant", and most especially its speedy drive-through. The time spent there is inversely proportional to the IQ of the attendant, or his/her/its age, whichever is higher, and seldom exceeding 20.6 in either case.

Once again, Einstein was too busy extrapolating the universe from a piece of prune Danish (which, had he just gone & eaten, would in itself have spend time up) to add this corollary to his precious little Theory. Some may contend that it was because he'd never actually been to a drive-through. And why is that? Because they weren't kosher? Life itself is not so kosher, yet nobody saw him avoiding life on that excuse. Now, Einstein may have actually liked drive-throughs, because anyone in the car is a captive to whatever spurious conversation you care to start. Or write. Whatever. In fact, much of his best work was done over a klatsch.

The search for profundity moves along, and settles for a moment on an aging conversion van trapped inside the ten-inch-high curbs at an eatery that we shall call McDougall's. Its human inhabitants are three: Mel, Speck and Lynn. How they got there is unimportant, although chances are excellent that they came in the van.

Speck was drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. The world is full of frustrated percussionists.
"Did you read that article?" Mel asked, of no one in particular. Not being very particular himself, Mel asked back "And which article might that be?"
"The one about the guy selling marijuana in a McDonald's drive-through?"
"Really?" came a slightly muffled voice from the rear of the van.
"Yeah. He knew which customers were his when they asked for 'hash browns without the browns'."
Speck grimaced. "Pray tell, couldn't he have been a bit more creative?"
A blonde head popped out from the back, with a whole girl attached. Lynn was curious: "Why? What would you have said?"
"Have you been listening to our conversation?" Mel asked with some testiness.
"Yep."
"Voyeur."
Mel furrowed his brow and inquired "Well, what would you have said?"
"How about 'GIMME SOME [OBSCENE GERUND] MARIJUANA, YOU RANK BASTARD!!'?"
"What??"
"What's an 'obscene gerund'?" Lynn wanted to know.
"I'll explain later. The point is, no one would think you were serious."
"How true that is...." mused Mel.
"See, then the guy could say 'Do you want fries with that?' like nothing had happened."
"Ingenious."
"And you could come right out and say 'Hell, yes, 'cause I'm about to have the munchies real bad!'."
"Obviously."
"So, then he asks you if you want a medium or large bag...."
"Wait" said Mel, "what ever happened to small?"
"I want mine super-sized!" chimed in Lynn.
"I already told you- later! So, you ask for a large bag, saying 'Otherwise I'll have to come back in an hour, man. There's three of us in this frigging van. Not to mention the goat'."
"Best kind."
"Of what?"
"Van. This is very workable; your average McDonald's manager isn't keen enough to follow all this."
"Yeah, but the above-average manager demands a piece of the action. Plus a date with the goat."

Mel and Speck looked at each other thoughtfully.

"Maybe" speculated Speck "we're in the wrong business."

(That seems about as logical a stopping place as this story is going to supply....)

About the Next Story.... It's Like This:

I don't actually remember when I started writing this story. My bad.

I know how it got started; I was trolling for stories for the news-based Mediacrity contest at Humor Me Online. We take an odd, bizarre or sick yet real news item, and the players send in whatever kind of comeback hits their brains. Out of these, I pick a list of the funniest entries, select some winners, and we move onto the next story. It's fun, do drop in some time.

This particular news item was about a guy who got busted for selling pot while working in a McDonald's drive-through. Enterprising, at the very least. I didn't wind up using the story, but apparently, I started jotting this thing down, after which it completely skipped my mind. Strange, because it's thirteen hand-written pages, and isn't even finished. Sue me, I got on a sesame-seed roll....

What's really pointless is that here I am, introducing the story, and the introduction will appear below the story and a lot of people will never read it.

Well, no plan is flawless.

The Eye Wit's Prophecies for 2007

What can you say about 2006.... you know, that doesn't include a lot of profanity?

You'd expect that 2007 will just have to be better.

Well, not necessarily. We said the same about 2006, remember.

Here, then, are the most definitive prophecies that any will come out with for this year.

By the way, ANYONE can make "predictions"; no, I shall vent forth these visions of the future as prophecies, for I am that sure. I ask one favor in return: That when each of these events comes to pass, that you dip your head slightly, and in a quavering voice say "As foretold by prophecy." It's not such a big favor for you to do for me, and I guarantee that you'll confound, befusticate and annoy all the people around you. Therefore, there's something in it for you, too. Trust me, I've been annoying people for years & know whereof I speak.

Doubt me all you want. The truth is the truth, so you can't have an opinion about it.

The United Nations will hardly be heard from. The main reason is the same as always: They don't actually do that much. Now they have the additional handicap of a new Secretary-General who doesn't have a funny name.

Generals Grant & Lee will rise from the dead to finally get it into the Administration's head that there IS a civil war going on in Iraq. Thousands of re-enactors will be overcome with emotion and will enlist. Rumsfeld will be posthumously raked over the coals for never having thought of that.

Reality TV Shows will get so pervasive and out-of-hand, that even Jerry Springer's show will start mocking them. In April, all of them will be knocked off the air for two months due to strikes by their writers & actors.... or did you think any of them were REALLY real?

The Chicago Cubs will not win the World Series. A complete "gimme", you say? Well, it's not so much that they won't make it as it is how they won't make it. The key event will be a pajama party at Mark DeRosa's house, which will end in disaster. The entire pitching staff will get into a jealous snit and stop speaking to one another after arguing about who "throws more balls to guys when holding their bats"; all three catchers will catch mono from Felix "Eat Me" Pie; and two utility infielders will die from blood poisoning brought on by having their ears pierced with a rusty spork.

Historians will languish in the recent, shocking discovery that in comparison with George Bush, Gerald Ford was a brilliant president, compelling leader, and one sexy hipster.

House Republicans will try to come up with some sort of mocking moniker to pin onto the new Speaker, but fail utterly because nothing rhymes with "Pelosi" except "Lugosi", and nobody will mess with the critical "creature feature" demographic.

The Pope will be in even hotter water than he was with the Muslims when it becomes generally known what the title of his previous job ("Prefect of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith") used to be: The Grand Inquisitor.

No, I'm not making that up, though I knew, KNEW that you'd question me over it, you foul apostates!

Prince Charles will be arrested for serial bestiality. In consolation, he'll get that eye surgery he so desperately needs. Too late, Chuckles, you already married it. Still, Camilla seems like Oprah when compared to that uptight bitch, the Queen.

Speaking of which, have you noticed the stark resemblance between Camilla and Martha Stewart?

Senator Barack Obama will continue to play the "come here, come here, oh get away, get away" game about running for president, but will run. He'll make his formal announcement on the May 6th broadcast of "Iron Chef". Wok-a-wok-a-wok-a!

I am SO sorry about that last comment....

Gay marriage will become legal (via interpretation of their constitutions) in two more states. However, the movement will suffer from a plague of self-doubt when new studies will show that gay couples can't possibly keep up with the levels of divorce & failed marriages among heterosexuals. Heterosexuals will be angered to find out that gay people are actually much better at being married than they are.

Tony Blair will be getting a new desk at 10 Downing Street. He's worn the old one out from bending over it so many times.

Al Qaeda will become hopelessly confused when they try to figure out why New York City is apparently more concerned about trans fats than they are about Al Qaeda. They'll be in such a dither that they just won't get anything done.... well, except to keep up the training bases in Iraq that weren't there before we invaded.

The Episcopal Church will splinter even further, this time over a seemingly irreconcilable argument over what constitutes "beige" and what is really "ecru".

A Rolling Stones Tour will be cut short when, while playing before an audience in Cleveland, Mick Jagger takes a trip, slips, flips, busts his lips and breaks his hip. Even Mick draws the line at going out on stage with a walker.

Neo-Pharisee Pat Robertson will go one step too far, and offend huge numbers of people dedicated to the worship of a different God: Football. It'll be the spearhead (how ironic) of his latest crusade against gay people. "Every time something goes good, they start slapping each others' fannies. We cannot tolerate them indoctrinating our children with the idea that whenever something goes well, you head straight for a guy's ass."

In the world of movie sequels, Rocky Balboa will die at the box office. Literally. The movie is so bad, Stallone will be the only one buying tickets, and he'll die from choking on stale popcorn that was, ironically, popped in the same year that the original Rocky came out. Following the success of Snakes on a Plane, there will be innumerable knock-offs, including Walking Catfish on a Plane. Sure, it doesn't sound scary.... until they get their fins on the secret shipment of nuclear-powered Segways in the cargo hold! Elks on a Plane will sound more adventurous, until the public discovers that they don't care if a lodge-full of old accountants and insurance agents bite it.

Canada will continue to be a pretty quiet place (unless you live in Quebec) and its government will do nothing of note in 2007. Therefore, millions of Americans will emigrate there.

The Dixie Chicks will overcome their previous public relations problem; remember, when they said they were ashamed to be from the state that gave us George Bush. Their single "We Told You He's an Ass, Don't Come Crying to Us Now" will hit number one on all the charts.

Steve Guttenberg's career, if you can call it that, will hit a new low. The only job he'll be able to get will be as Joan Rivers' underpaid gigolo, proving that he really will do absolutely anything for a dollar. 'Cause nobody else is "going there".

Hummus will continue to be popular with many for its health benefits, but since it's Arabic in origin, the Congressional cafeteria will re-name it "Freedom Monkey-poo".

Saddam Hussein will get some good news: He's been granted a new trial. He'll have to "re-flower" all the virgins & give them back first, though.

And in the waning moments of 2007, with 2008 fast approaching, we'll all have the distinct feeling of just having had some sort of sexual encounter. Not that we'll all be "getting lucky" that evening; it's just that we'll realize that as far as 2007 went, we all got royally screwed. Again.

Yeah, Yeah, Happy New Whatever

So 2007 just began, mere minutes ago as I write. Big, fat hairy deal.

Look, it's not like it takes any effort for one year to change into the next. Stand on one foot, hold your breath until you pass out, fall over, hit your head on the corner of that possessed coffee table, wake up.... and the clock and calendar will still have ticked over.

Thing is, it's all fake. The clock and the calendar, while linked to astronomical phenomena, are artificial conventions invented by humans. It isn't as if the Earth didn't know when to cross the same spot in its orbit each year before the "year" was "invented". However, for some reason, people like to have an excuse to all get roaring drunk and set off explosives all at the same time. I don't particularly care to do either; my daughter & her friends are currently taking care of the latter. I'm sure someone out there has got me covered on drinks.

So, where's the clever "2007" piece? Well, I'm working on it, but it isn't quite right (as in "funny enough") yet, so maybe later this year. Like tomorrow. Still, I don't feel any different than I did 18 minutes ago, and I don't think there's anything wrong with me. In that respect, anyway. Quite frankly, the whole New Year's thing got old. Being glad that 2006 is over? Sure, I can see that.... however, I told myself one time too many that "This year's just got to be better than the last stinker." I wasn't lying to myself, I was genuinely optimistic. Unfortunately, the evidence has failed to support the hypothesis, and if I hear me say that one more time, I swear, I'm gonna punch my lights out.

As I mentioned, my daughter is having this big party/sleepover soiree. Thankfully, not at my house. Close enough, however; it's at my father-in-law's house diagonally across the street. There will be absolutely no alcohol or drugs. There are a bunch of minors there, after all (though my daughter herself is 22); it's also "house rules". Disbelieve me if you like, but this is such a swell bunch that it's no problem. I observe this, and think back to the sorts of parties I went to when in my teens and in college, and I can't help but wonder: What the hell happened to this generation??

And then I have to re-think a bit.... because if all those years in between ticking over really had nothing that was any better than the last, then how did they turn out so well? I'd love to take credit for it, but I know better than that. Maybe we did learn some things of value over the years & passed them down. Maybe they're the ones teaching us.

Well, if that's the case.... then 2007 has some hope in it after all.

**************************************************************************
PPD (Post-post Digression) The first part of the festivities was a movie, and they decided to all go see Dreamgirls. I couldn't help myself, and posted the following feedback about the movie on the E-vite:

Warning: Sorry, Dreamgirls has no mud wrestling, but there IS: Lots of senseless violence, mostly involving Basque separatists & undead Quakers; language foul enough to shock a longshoreman; graphic descriptions of the smell of old bowling shoes; & pavonine misuse of frozen waffles. Have a sensitive stomach? Don't eat anything with mayonnaise in it before seeing the film.

No, there's no particular reason why it came out that way.... however, it did make my spouse and I both curious about the undead Quakers. "Isn't that contradictory?" she asked. To make a long story short, just to prove that I can actually do it, I decided to find out. What better way to find out than approach it from both sides? So, I just wrote a friend of mine who's a Quaker. I asked whether a person who was a Quaker, upon becoming a vampire, could still actually be a Quaker, since on the surface they would appear to be mutually exclusive conditions? (I'd better not get an answer back saying "I don't believe in vampires"....). to be perfectly fair, I sent the same question to a friend of mine who's a vampire. No, he really IS a vampire. Why should it surprise you that I have a vampire among my circle of friends?

Anyway, when I find out, I'll let you know. Since I doubt that anyone has ever researched this question before, I can rightfully claim that this is the definitive study, right here, by the Eye Wit.