June 23, 2010

Seven red card situations

1. You are ahead of me in line at the gelato shoppe. There is only one server working. You have questions regarding the difference between the espresso and the mocha. You sample both. You then decide that you're actually in the mood for something fruitier and taste-test the entire citrus section. You stare in the case, looking back again at the espresso. You do not get the opportunity to order however, because I present you with a red card.

2. You are my dentist. I arrive at your office before you do. I wait another fifteen minutes while you turn on the lights and send some e-mails. In the middle of the examination, the phone rings. You answer it and have a seven minute conversation with your mechanic. You ask me if I have insurance. I show you a red card.

3. Dinner at a mutual friend's birthday. You are seated across from me. This is the first time we are meeting. You tell me and the guy beside you about how Ferrari is no longer making manual transmission cars. You follow it up with a story about how you drove a Ferrari once and it was really awesome. I respond with a red card.

4. It is 5 am. I am asleep. You are the fire alarm. Despite the apparent lack of fire or smoke, you begin to emit a sharp beeping noise which wakes me up. I get up to turn you off, only for you to resume beeping a few seconds later. I decide that there must actually be a fire. I dress and descend from the top floor of my building down the fire escape. The doorman tells me that there is no fire. I return to my apartment and give you a red card.

5. You are standing with some of your friends in line to see "The A-Team." I am passing by wearing a pair of daring man-capri pants. You yell out the word "faggot." I keep walking. You laugh with your friends and enter the theatre. You take your seats. I am also in the theatre dressed in a stolen usher's uniform. I shine a light in your face and show you a red card.

6. You are the proprietor of an organic vegetable store near my apartment. I purchase a small box of raspberries. After a day in my fridge, the raspberries turn moldy. I return to your store the next day, close the door behind me and hang up the "Closed" sign. I jump over the counter and subdue your with a chloroform-soaked rag. When you regain consciousness, you are tied to a chair in the basement of your store. I am there with the moldy raspberries. I force feed them to you while a television shows live footage of your daughter playing at school. You beg for mercy. I give you a red card.

7. We have been dating for six months. I have met your parents and you have met mine. On the walk home from your cousin's birthday party, you tell me that you don't think that our relationship is moving in a positive direction. I tell you that it can move in any direction we want so long as we keep open lines of communication. You say that you don't think that will make a difference because people don't change. You also say that you've been seeing someone else. I fall over and start weeping and gagging. You tell me to stop. I tell you not to do this. You walk away. I reach into my pocket, throw the engagement ring into the street, and show you a red card.

June 21, 2010

A wedding poem

Love is not a destination. It is a journey.
It is a journey filled with highs and lows, laughter and tears.
Love is knowing that someone will always be there with you,
That your spirit will never be lonely.
Love is a beautiful ocean
Whose depth can only be known by diving deep into it.
That's what love is.

Love is a majestic snow-capped mountain,
Glistening like a jewel swaddled in rainbows.
Love is a fire that burns with a passion
Of lust and fear.
Love is a treehouse filled with hopes
And homosexual experimentation when you were ten years old.
That's what love is.

Love is everywhere.
But it's not in the trunk of my car, because that's where I keep every stick of deodorant I've ever used.
Love is a long, complicated riddle,
The answer to which is inside the prostitute's stomach.
Love is a puzzle
That reveals a picture of a cartoon ostrich vomiting on you.
That's what love is.

Love is that old pair of jeans you will never throw out
 Because you pulled them off a dead carny.
Love is a river flowing to a mystic land
Where they will never, ever find the body.
Love is a mirror for your soul
Which reflects your own blackness back at you, as if you had created a beam capable of projecting pure darkness where there was once light and drowning all things pure in a sickly pool of despair, cutting swaths of misery through a birthday sky.
That's what love is.

Love is a wolf
That howls at the moons of Mars in the year 2392 when we equip the Earth with a planetary rocket system to escape the Sun's gravitational pull and travel the universe looking for alien pussy.
Love is a carousel of wax horses made to look like dead presidents
That turn and bob to the sounds of Lisa Lisa and Cult Jam.
Love is the smile of a child
Who is not a child at all but a shaved autistic monkey.
That's what love is.

June 17, 2010

The Keeper

"Football is a game of freedom, vision and feelings. Football makes me happy." C├ęsar Luis Menotti- former coach of Argentine national team

I hate this. I hate this so much. I can't believe I can still feel this way after all these years. You would think I would get used to it. My father was an accountant. He told me he didn't like it very much but he did it and after a while he just got used to it. But when my father messed up someone's taxes he didn't have to hear the groan of 60,000 people and find his car pooped on in the parking lot. Because that's what's I'm going to have to deal with if I even let a single goal in. How did I get stuck playing for a team whose fans express themselves through pooping? They're animals! I hate it here.

Any other position. ANY other position and I would be happier. Look at Gary on defense over there. He's dribbling the ball, passing it around with the other guys. They all look so happy. Fuck them. When I try to join in with the team practice, coach screams at me to get back to my net and practice my dives. Practice my dives! Throwing-yourself-on-the-
ground practice is more like it.

And I know the rest of the team hates me. It's because I yell at them and they resent it. Of course I yell at them. Look at the size of this net. It's like the side of barn. If the other guys don't cover the offense it's a shooting gallery. But really I yell at them because I hate them too. I hate them so much. Each of our forwards has their own brand of vodka. One of our midfielders had a street named after him last year. I can't get a table at Denny's on a Friday night without a reservation. Oh God I hate them.

I should quit. I should quit right now. That would show them. Then where would they be? They'd put the other guy in and I'm pretty sure he's blind in one eye. I've seen him take a left turn out of the stadium parking lot and hit a woman on a scooter and just drive off. You don't want that in net. Look at him. He's having a great time on the bench. Yeah sure, you need the hot 23 year old physiotherapist to stretch you out so you don't pull something while you scratch your ass. Yeah, give me the thumbs up. Your support means everything to me.

Now the referee wants to talk to me. This isn't a boxing match. I don't care how you're going to run the game. You're a recess monitor paid to keep these idiots in line. It's not complicated. Why is he showing me the red and yellow cards? It's like he's showing me pictures of his kids. No, I do not want to inspect the ball. I'll have plenty of time to get acquainted with it when it's being kicked at my head. I can't believe you're wasting my time with this. Just get up there and let's get this nightmare over with.

I should have gone to law school. My brother Keith is a lawyer. He constantly tells me how jealous he is of me. Really Keith? I was kicked in the balls seventeen times last season. How do keep track? Because the team has a urologist on the payroll just to deal with me and he tells me that one more kick could send my right testicle into my abdomen. I don't need that, Keith. You complain about your kids? I'm pretty sure I'm sterile.

Okay, here we go. Focus now. Oh crap, listen to the crowd. You know one of those cretins can't wait to leave a hot turd on your car. This is my life: working to avoid being shit on. Here they come. Oh God, it's Whatshisname! He has one of those one word names. You'd think I'd remember it. He's dating that Italian model-actress chick. The one with the everything. I would give up my kidneys just to smell her hair. I tried to talk to her at that benefit thing last year but she thought I was a waiter and asked me to get her a drink. Then other people started giving me their drink orders. I spent the night running around with a tray of cocktails. Is his name Fanta? No, that's insane.

What the hell is Gary doing? Fanta is getting around him. Gary, you're killing me! Okay, he's going to shoot. Pick a side. This is what all that throwing-yourself-on-the-ground practice was for. Aaaaaaaannnnnd he made me look like an idiot. Perfect. Yes, please run to the corner of the field and do your dance. This is what they all came for anyway. That and to shit on my car. I hate this so much.

June 12, 2010

FAQs: Bed bugs

1. What is a bed bug?

A bed bug is a small nocturnal insect which feeds on the blood of humans and other warm-blooded hosts. They are a reddish-brown colour and their shape is flat and oval. Their fangs induce numbness in the area they're feeding on, so you might not be able to detect them until it's too late.

2. What do you mean "until it's too late"?

This happens pretty rarely and it's barely worth mentioning, but you should probably still know that there have been some reported cases -- again not that many -- of urethral burrowing in some hosts.

3. What the hell is that?

It's exactly what it sounds like.

4. It sounds like a bed bug is going to burrow into my penis hole. Is that what you mean?

No that's not what I mean.

5. Oh thank God.

They travel in packs, so it won't be a single one. Probably five or six.

6. Jesus Christ! What am I supposed to do?

Just calm down. I knew I shouldn't have told you. Like I said, this barely ever happens. The only people who get "dick divers" are those who get them from used Banlon pants.

7. "Dick divers"?! Is that supposed to be cute?!

I also call them "Charles Bronsons."

8. I just bought a pair of Banlon pants last week! What happens if they get in there?

Okay, you have to promise not to freak out, but your penis is going to grow three to four inches.

9. Awesome!

Then explode.

10. FUCK!

You promised you wouldn't freak out.

11. Oh, I'm sorry if I don't retain my composure as I find out my dick is going to blow up! What can I do to stop this?

Alright, this worked for a friend of mine, but no guarantees. Bed bugs are easily irritated by certain chemicals. What you want to do is take a condom and fill the reservoir tip with dry chili pepper seeds and put it on. I call it the "Charles Bronson."

12. I thought the bed begs were called Charles Bronsons?

Yeah, but that's Charles Bronson from The Great Escape. This is Charles Bronson from Once Upon a Time in the West.

13. When does Charles Bronson put on chili-filled condom in Once Upon a Time in the West?

He doesn't do it in the movie. He put one on before every take. That's how he got into character. It's like Marlon Brando with the cotton balls in The Godfather.

14. That's the most retarded thing I've ever heard...but will it keep my dick from exploding?


15. Fine. When is this recital supposed to be over?

I don't know. Maybe another twenty minutes.

16. Which one's your daughter?

The one at the end of the line without a tutu. We forgot it this morning at home. She almost refused to go on.

17. Kids. What are you going to do, right?

Yeah, but these are the moments we'll really cherish.

June 8, 2010

Seven alternative security measures for the G20 conference

1. Free daily screenings of Sex and the City II

2. Liberal distribution of "time-outs"

3. Zombies

4. Free full-relief street masseuses

5. Deployment of student loan officers

6. General Tao Chicken cannon

7. Employment

June 3, 2010

Finding Curtis

June 1- Landed in Kampala at 4 am. I was so excited that I didn't notice that the oppressive heat has mixed with my airport bathroom version of Tom Ford's Tuscan Leather to create a wet, crotch stank. No matter; the only stank I'd be smelling for the next six weeks is sweet gorilla stank. Wait, will that sound weird when I read it back later?

June 4- After procuring the necessary permits and sherpas (is that right?), we took a bush plane into the national park where we left Curtis ten years ago. He would be twelve years old now, if poachers haven't killed him for his hands to sell as souvenirs. It's so cruel. It would break my heart to think that the baby gorilla I bought on eBay would come all this way just to be killed. I dearly hope we find him.

June 6- We've set up camp which the guides (I was told that "sherpas" is definitely the wrong term) have dubbed "The Cracker Barrel" which I found surprisingly witty for a group of illiterate ex-mercenary jungle guides. Last night, we watched "White Man's Burden" starring John Travolta and Harry Belafonte. They said it was their favourite movie. Mine is still "Mr. Bean's Vacation."

June 8- Mixed day today. Good news: we found Curtis! We were trekking in the jungle for just over two hours when suddenly a big silverback jumped into our path and began beating the ground. We all did what the guides told us to do when confronted by a gorilla which is to pretend to talk on your cellphone. As I had an imaginary conversation with my credit card company, my eyes caught the gorilla's. There was instant recognition. It was Curtis.

The bad news: Turns out Curtis is kind of a dick. When we recognized each other, he knuckled over and extended his hand for a shake, which he quickly withdrew and ran through his hair when I reached out for it. He certainly did not learn that from me. He then drew himself up on his hind legs and began to do some sort of impression of me, holding his hands up to his eyes like glasses and making surprisingly accurate weeping noises. The guides were very happy and joined in.

This pleased Curtis, who then grabbed a banana from one of the guides and began fellating it and pointing at me, still making the weeping noises. Gorilla laughter used to be one of my favourite sounds, but Curtis' had a mocking tone that I did not like. Hurt, I returned to the Cracker Barrel without the guides who told me they preferred to hang out with Curtis.

June 9- Woke up this morning to the sound of screaming laughter. I looked out of my tent to see that the guides had made a makeshift stage in the middle of camp and were re-enacting scenes from "White Man's Burden." And there was Curtis. Although he didn't stick to the script, it looked like he was doing a fair job of abusing the John Travolta character, played by a leaf-stuffed dummy wearing my clothes. Predictably, the scene progressed with the standard slate of mocking impressions and concluded with Curtis making angry love to the dummy's face. The guides applauded wildly. I returned to my tent where I remained for the rest of the day.

June 10- Woke up this morning with Curtis in my tent. He was going through my bags and laughing at my shirts. He was enjoying this immensely until he came upon the stuffed bear that he had played with as a baby. He touched it gingerly and sniffed it. He began to make cooing sounds. I turned on the camera just in time to catch him place it on the ground and shit on it. He then tried to make love to my face. I left that morning.