Has another blogger ever showed this much devotion to a toilet gator? I don’t think so.
Has another blogger ever showed this much devotion to a toilet gator? I don’t think so.
It’s so sad that people feel they have to bite their tongue throughout life’s most tense situations. We ask questions of each other, searching for the truth, but we hold back when it comes to our questions and our answers, fearful that saying the wrong thing might just blow whatever opportunity lies before us.
I don’t know about you, but wouldn’t it be great if people just spoke freely?
Take the average job interview, for instance. The potential employer wants to know whether or not a candidate will be a good employee, but doesn’t want to run afoul of the myriad of laws regarding the questions that employers are and are not allowed to ask.
In contrast, the prospects wants the job and wants to make a good impression, so much so that the BS flows freely, while the real reasons why this person would be a great employee are left on the cutting room floor.
Wouldn’t it be great if everyone just kept it real?
EMPLOYER: OK, listen up, fuck stick. I was like you once, a young, dumb, bright eyed bushy tailed kid full of piss and vinegar, love and life and then you know what I happened? I blinked and twenty years passed and now my parents are dead and all my aunts and uncles are dead and my childhood cat is dead and literally everyone I cared about is dead. I didn’t spend much time with them though because I pulled long nights at this place and even though I have carried this sinking ship full of assholes on my back for years, they only finally got around to promoting me to this position of authority. So I’m pissed off and ready to heap abuse on a young kid that reminds me of my former self. It’ll make me feel better to treat a young person badly, the way I treated. I’m going to literally blame every mistake I make on you, I’m going to scream obscenities at you all day long and I’m going to make you feel an inch small at all times. At no time will you ever feel like you possess a modicum of job security and I reckon within three months it will take every last ounce of strength you have just to pull yourself out of bed and come here every morning. Can you handle that or are you going to be one of those pansies that quits after the first day and then have your Mommy call and leave a voicemail message for me, saying you were dropped on your head repeatedly as a child and I should take you back and give you another chance?
EMPLOYEE ANSWER: Yes sir. Yes indeed. You see, I’m down to my last twenty dollars and I estimate that by the end of the month I’ll be giving hand jobs to homeless people on the subway just to make a little walking around money. I wish I could tell you that I took my time at college seriously and had the requisite foresight to realize that the past four years should have been spent obtaining impressively high grades, internship and volunteer experiences, undergoing intense training and obtaining valuable credentials but in reality, I spent the past four years chasing hot chicks who wanted nothing to do with me and drinking beer. Copious amounts of beer.
But I assumed, “Hey, I have a college degree so that guarantees me a good job.” Three years ago I would not have touched the shit job you are offering with a ten foot pole, but now that I have suffered the indignity of living with my parents for the past three years, having them micromanage every last detail of my life well into my adult life, there’s literally nothing that I would not do in order to obtain this job so that I can pay the bare minimum necessary to keep the student loan people from sending goons to break my legs. Also, it would be great to get my career started and obtain one smidgen of quasi-respectability on my resume. Bonus? I can actually tell Uncle Fred and Aunt Edna that I’m working at Thanksgiving. They graduated 500 years ago, when you couldn’t walk down the street without tripping over a job, so they don’t understand why it isn’t easy for me to get a job. I feel like telling those miserable old bastards to watch the news and learn how the world has gone to hell in a hand basket and we’re lucky that jobs even exist and we all aren’t just running around in leather outfits and driving junker cars through the desert like “Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome” but they’re old and they don’t hear well.
EMPLOYEE QUESTION: Yeah, that’s all well and good, but honestly, I don’t like your face. You’re an ugly person and I feel like if I have to walk past you on my way to my desk everyday, it’s going to make me sad. Would you be willing to wear a paper bag over your head with a cartoon smiley face drawn on it just so I don’t have to feel like I’m a bad person for hating your guts because God gave you that face?
EMPLOYEE ANSWER: I certainly would sir. You know why? Because late at night, when I’m not able to sleep, and FYI, it’s been six months since I’ve slept because I literally worry about my future all night, I see this image of me as a dead old man in a pine box. No one is at my funeral because I never built up the kind of life necessary for people to care about me. Even worse, my obituary is just one line. “He graduated from college and then did Jack Shit for sixty years after that because no one would hire him.”
EMPLOYER QUESTION: I don’t know. A lot of people come in here, telling me that they’ll work hard but then they don’t and it pisses me off, so much so that sometimes I sit in my office, close the door, and weep uncontrollably at my inability to travel back in time and give my young self advice based on everything I know now that I did not know back then.
After I dry my tears, I’ll probably roll up my sleeves and do all the work I told you to do because I’ll be so exhausted by your incompetence that I’ll just say, “Screw it! I’ll do it myself!” while you sit on your computer and masterbate over your Facebook friends’ lunch photos.
EMPLOYEE ANSWER: Not gonna lie. For the first month, I’m going to show up on time. My hair will be neatly combed, I’ll be clean-shaven, and I will wear a suit and tie. I will perform extra tasks without asking. I will assess all of your needs ahead of time and have what you need ready before you even think about asking for it.
Then about a month it, I’ll forget all about those three years where I sat on my parents’ couch playing video games and crying into my chocolate milk because I’ll think of myself as having made it, so you’ll begin to see a gradual decline in my work and appearance.
I’ll start my not shaving. Then I’ll lose the tie. Then the suit. Three months into this you’ll be lucky if I show up wearing pants.
Four months into this I’ll be late for the first time. When you don’t notice because you’re in a meeting, I’ll do it again and again. It’ll be one minute late, then five minutes, then a half-hour, then an hour. Before you know it, I’ll be waking up at four p.m., writing down a couple of ideas about work on a piece of scrap paper, then going back to sleep only to try to convince you later that I was more effective because I worked from home.
EMPLOYER QUESTION: That bothers me because by then, I will hate your guts and literally day dream about slamming your head up against a wall repeatedly for all the turmoil you’ll be putting through, but then I’ll remember that if I fire you, I’ll just have to put in a ton of extra work to train your replacement. Plus, since your generation is a bunch of asshats, that new person might be as worse or, God forbid, he might be even worse than you. The thought that the next person might be worse than you will keep me from firing you long after it’s clear to everyone who actually does their job around here that you deserve to be fired.
EMPLOYEE ANSWER: And I’ll be honest and say that yes, I will milk every bit of that and even though you’ve been here for twenty years and I just started, I would say around six months in I’ll gain an inflated sense of self esteem and convince myself that I should own this place, that it would fall apart without me and you should all kiss my ass if I even pop my head in for twenty minutes.
But right now? I’m desperate. I’m so desperate. I’m twenty-five years old. I don’t want to ask my parents for spending money anymore. I don’t want my mother reminding me to wear a jacket when it’s cold. I don’t need my father bitching at me for bankrupting him on the electric bill every time I don’t turn out a light at the exact second I no longer require the light anymore.
Right now, I would do anything. There’s nothing you could ask me that I wouldn’t do. You could ask me to suck your dick and I would do that for you, no questions asked. I’d tell no one. All you would need to do is stand up, unzip, pull out the old frank and beans and I would go to town on it. I’d give lots of eye contact. I would not forget the balls. I might even give a little tickle around back…and then we’d never speak of it again. It would be like it never happened.
That is how badly I want this job. That is how deeply scared I am that in this economy, where all our business and political leaders have failed us miserably for years, that I will never become a productive person, that I will never accomplish anything to be proud about, that I will never be able to move out, or have a wife and kids of my own. I’m so scared of never amounting to anything that you may feel free to use my face for your personal amusement.
EMPLOYER QUESTION: See, you say that, but you have this fancy college degree. It means shit right now because you have zero experience but once I give you a little bit of experience and prove to other employers that you’re in it to win it, you might leave me high and dry. You see, there was a time when employers actually cared about employees. Employers gave their employees training. No one felt any jealousy and people went out of their way to help each other.
That time is long gone. Now, honestly, after the years of pain and bullshit this company put me through just to obtain one lousy promotion, I would literally feel like biting down on the business end of .45 Magnum and pulling the trigger if I were to ever learn that after I gave you a leg up with some useful on the job experience, you were able to, say, parlay that into a job that pays better than mine by the end of this year.
If that were to happen, I realize the only healthy thing to do would be to wish you well and not be resentful of the fact that life went your way while it bent me over and had its way with me, but them’s the breaks, kid.
Sure, if I weren’t keeping it real, I’d probably say something like, “You’re so overqualified with this degree from an outstanding institution of higher learning that I wonder if you would feel unstimulated and unchallenged in this working environment but really, you should read that is, “I will literally hurl myself off a cliff if you ever do better than me in less time than it took me to get where I am today.”
EMPLOYEE ANSWER: I understand that if I weren’t keeping it real, I’d tell you how wonderful I think your company is, how I’d be a great match for it, how this job is everything I ever dreamed of but I’m desperate, so remember that offer to suck your dick? Still on the table. Hell, I’m so tired of picking spare change out of my parents’ couch cushions because I’m too proud to ask my father for allowance at this point in my life, that I will throw in some butt stuff with that offer. You want butt stuff? You’ll get butt stuff.
Do keep in mind though that everyone has been telling me how great I am my entire life. My room at home is filled with dull, dusty trophies that my school gave me for meaningless victories like “Always colored within the lines” or “Always remembered to close his mouth in class so flies wouldn’t buzz into it.”
So, while you are correct, I will show you no loyalty whatsoever and will blow this pop stand the instant a better offer comes along, for the foreseeable future, I’m so tired of seeing my parents choke back their tears and hold in their disappointment every someone asks them over the phone how I’m doing and they lie and say, “Oh, he’s just fine” when I’m clearly not fine that you can get mouth and butt stuff from me. It’s all on the table.
EMPLOYER QUESTION: But come on. A degree in philosophy? Are you kidding me?
EMPLOYEE ANSWER: Nope. No joke. Four years ago I was so literally fucking stupid enough to think it was possible for me to become such a great philosopher, that I would take everything I would learn and use it write a book that would become so popular that its great insight into the human psyche would cause world peace to break out that I signed up to take over a hundred grand in debt even though everyone, literally everyone, my mother, my father, my aunt, uncle and cat all told me I should major in something more practical.
Now, after being denied gainful employment for the passed three years despite having gone on over one hundred job interviews, I realize how hard the world is and it is all I can do but curl up in my bed in the fetal position and wait to die. I used to think I could change the world. Now I would dance a jig if you were to give me this demeaning job where I take your abuse and fetch coffee for you all day and act as a cover for you so you can tell your boss it was my incompetence that kept you from getting your work done on time and not, because, you know, you spend your afternoons snorting coke in the bathroom of a golf course on company time.
Did I mention that my cousin who spent his high school years huffing paint can fumes and following his favorite rock band around the country became a plumber and now he’s married, has three kids, a house that you could fit three of my parents’ houses in and he’s taking his whole family to Hawaii this year?
EMPLOYER QUESTION: I see. Do you have any questions for me?
EMPLOYEE ANSWER: Right. I’ve heard this part of the interview is important. I really don’t think you’re going to hire me so I’d like to get home and cry into a cheesecake as soon as possible but what the hell, I’ll give it a try. Is your break room OSHA compliant?
Hell if I know. This whole place could fall down on the heads of all my employees for all I care and all I would do is step over their lifeless corpses on my way to outsource their jobs to a call center in India. By the way, do you know their are kids your age in India who would walk barefoot over a mile of hot coals just to sit on your parents’ couch for an hour?
Hey listen, I’m going to shake your hand now and tell you it was great to talk to you and thank you for coming in, but the second you walk out the door, I’m going to curse our nation’s education system for producing young people who seem like they get dumber and dumber every day.
Also, I’m going to tell you that you’ll hear back from me in 3-5 business days but if you call for a follow-up, no one here will remember who you are, myself included. If you get a pre-printed form letter informing you that we appreciate your interest, you were such a great candidate but we had so many great candidates that the decision was difficult (don’t believe that by the way, you were so awful that if a monkey walks into this room after you leave and offers to work for bananas, I’ll hire him) and we wish you well in all your future endeavors, consider yourself lucky.
EMPLOYEE ANSWER: Thanks! I’m going to go home, eat an entire pie, and then humiliate myself by asking my mother to stroke my hair and sing me a lullaby in the hopes that will give me the sleep that has evaded my so long now, because I know my life will be spent on go nowhere interviews like this for the foreseeable future. Oh and even though you saw the smallest amount in me necessary for you to even waste your time meeting me, that won’t cheer me up at all. I will still tell everyone that you were a dick and this is all your fault and not my fault for majoring in philosophy.
Think before you stink.
Hey 3.5 readers.
I surveyed the following philosophers on the topic of farting. Here is what they said:
Socrates – If you want to know whether or not you should fart, ask yourself if you should or should not fart. The answer to this fart question dwells within you and by asking yourself about farts, you will draw out the answer about farts.
Plato – Before you are born, you get to chill out in Heaven, where there is a mold of everything in the world, including farts. You forget about that mold after you are born, but the knowledge of that fart mold is still in you deep somewhere, so think real hard, and you will come up with the answer about farts.
Aristotle – The answer to a fart question isn’t with you but it does lie within the world somewhere. Study farts and you will learn about farts.
Machiavelli – Tell everyone you will not fart, then fart anyway. By the time the gas hits their noses, it will be too late.
George Hegel – First, we must examine the fart as it happens. Next, we must look back upon the time when the fart happened and reflect on it. Finally, once considerable time has passed, we must philosophize about the fart.
Immanuel Kant – Only fart on someone if you wouldn’t mind if they were to fart on you.
Rene Descartes – I fart therefore I am.
Soren Kierkegaard – The number of potential ways in which one could fart are limitless, so much so that one could not even comprehend the sheer volume of ways to fart. Regrets about your farting related decision are inevitable. If you fart, you will regret it. If you do not fart, you will regret it. You are damned if you fart and damned if you don’t fart. You will never know until the end of your life whether you should have farted or not but by then, you will have farted or not farted already. There is just no way to tell whether or not you should fart until it is too late to fart or not fart.
Thomas Hobbes – Without farts, life is nasty, brutish and short. With farts, life is smelly.
John Locke – Every man’s fart is his property. This fart, nobody has a right to, but himself.
Thomas Paine – These are the farts that test men’s souls.
John Stuart Mill – You should only fart if it will benefit the most people.
Friedrich Nietzsche – God is dead. All that matters is what you want. If you want to fart, then fart. If farting makes you happy, the fart, fart, fart. Fart your way into becoming a gassy superman.
Arthur Schopenhauer – We’re all going to die at some point so go ahead. Fart if you want. You’re worried you’ll be embarrassed? Don’t worry. You’ll eventually die and then you won’t be worried about your farts anymore. Worried other people will think ill of you if you fart? Stop worrying. They will all eventually die and then no one will be around to talk about your farts. We’re all totally screwed so fart, fart away. Fart loud and proud.
Arthur Shopenhauer, Take Two: All farts pass through three stages. First, they are ridiculed. Second, they are violently opposed. Third, they are accepted as self-evident.
Karl Marx – Farting is the opiate of the butt. Also, you fart so much while other people fart so little. Give those people half your farts.
Erwin Schrodinger – Plug up your nose and your ears and then stand next to a person. Until you remove your ear and nose plugs, you will never know whether or not that person is farting. Perhaps you will remove your plugs and you will hear and smell a fart. Perhaps you will remove your plugs and you will hear and smell nothing. You will never know if a person is farting until you experience the fart. Until you experience the fart, it is possible that the person is farting and not farting at the same exact time.
Martin Heidegger – If you hold in your fart, you are denying the essence of your need to fart. Farts are only experienced if they happen.
Jean Paul Sartre – The existence of your fart precedes the essence of your fart.
Albert Camus – In the depth of my buttcheeks, I finally realized there laid within an invincible fart.
Back in his office, Professor Lambert was wracking his brain, trying to remember what he had forgotten.
“Did I leave the stove on?” he asked as he toked up. “Pbbht. Who am I kidding? I haven’t cooked anything since Reagan was in the White House. Was the iron on?”
Professor Lambert stared down at the wrinkly shirt underneath his lab coat. “Right. I don’t own an iron. So what the hell was I supposed to do?”
The Professor was so baked out of his gourd that he picked up a half eaten chocolate bar and proceeded to talk to it as if it were his phone. “Sally! Is there anything on my to-do list for today?”
Hearing nothing, the Professor tossed the chocolate bar aside. “Useless, Sally! You’re utterly useless!”
Professor Lambert picked up his remote control and flipped through the channels on his TV again. There was another episode of Dumb Dad but he wasn’t in the mood. A few reality television shows featuring women with large posteriors. He was mildly interested in that but not enough to do anything about it for the ganja had sapped up his libido.
“This is killing me,” the Professor said to himself. “I know I didn’t forget to feed the cat.”
The esteemed scholar looked down at his lap. “And I remembered to wear pants. Thank God because the last thing I need is another letter in my human resources file.”
The professor kept flipping the channels as he drummed his fingers on his desktop. “Can’t be my mother’s birthday because she ordered me to stop reminding her of her old age years ago.”
Professor Lambert picked up the chocolate bar, unwrapped it, and took a bite. “I don’t know how you turned into chocolate, phone, but I’m glad you did, because you are delicious.”
On television, a duo of marginally famous female celebrities wrestled in a vat of lime jello for charity. The Professor sucked up some bong smoke and exhaled. He then reached into his bottom draw and pulled out a giant bag of cheesy chips.
The revered educator broke out into song, making up a terrible melody as he went along. “Dum dee dum, oh, Elliot, you have the munchies! La dee da, oh, Elliot you need cheesy chips! Doo dee doo, cheesy chips, get into Elliot’s belly posthaste and in an orderly fashion!”
Professor Lambert brushed the chip crumbs out of his beard, then pulled a can of diet soda out of his mini fridge. He popped the top and took a sip, continuing to sing as he flipped through more channels.
“Ho hum, ho hum, oh Elliot, you are the sexiest community college professor in the world! La la la, please remember whatever it was you forgot so you can resume enjoying your weed session!”
Professor Lambert switched on Network News One, but ignored the footage that appeared on his screen. He set down the remote and picked up a newspaper. As he folded the broadsheet with a series of complicated movements, Cole could be seen on the screen fighting for his life, using his chainsaw to beat back Skippy’s attacks.
Alas, the Professor remained obvious to it all as he put his brand new paper hat on top of his big bald head. “Permission to come aboard, Captain!” he shouted.
The voices of Kurt Manley and Stank Daddy poured out of the television and into the Professor’s ears. “Things are not looking good for Cole Walker, I’ll tell you that Stank Daddy.”
“No they aint, Kurt,” Stank Daddy replied. “Hell, I hate to root against a dude whose got the balls to fight a big ass monster like that but shit, business is business and I’m gonna have to call up my bookie and put ten large on that toilet gator.”
“Will he take my action?” Kurt asked.
“You know it, playa,” Stank Daddy answered.
“Tell him to put me down for twenty on the toilet gator,” Kurt said. “I’m good for it.”
The Professor dropped his chip bag. The name “Cole Walker” was ringing through his ears as he watch the chips scatter and crumble all over his office floor, almost as if they were doing so in slow motion.
“Cole Walker?” the Professor asked as he turned toward the television just in time to watch Cole leap out of the sinking canoe and onto the toilet gator’s back. “Sweet merciful butt nuggets!”
Professor Lambert picked up his trash can, dumped the contents all of his desk and sifted through the trash pile. “Banana peel, banana peel, foot powder receipt, sandwich shop punch card…”
The scholar held the card up in the air and squinted at it. “Why the hell did I throw this away? Three more punches and I get a free sandwich! Honestly, Elliot, you’re not made of money you know!”
The Professor shoved the card into the pocket of his lab coat and continued the search. “Coffee grounds, used tissues, my crumpled up attempts at Firefly fan fiction, oh how I miss that show. Aha! My phone! Sally!”
“Yes, Professor?” the virtual assistant replied.
“Why didn’t you remind me to monitor the toilet gator situation on television?!” Professor Lambert asked.
“I’m sorry, Professor,” Sally said. “I do not understand, ‘Why didn’t you remind me to…”
“Nevermind, you insolent skank!” the Professor shouted.
“Don’t call me a skank, you pathetic little asexual toad,” Sally said.
“Sally, please,” the Professor said.
“Don’t you ‘Sally, please’ me,” Sally said. “How dare you bitch about the quality of your phone’s artificial intelligence? Do you know at the turn of the century people were still using pagers and searching for pay phones whenever they got beeped like a bunch of strung out drug deals and now, a mere seventeen years later, you phone can not only communicate with satellites floating in space but they can actually talk to you and perform tasks on your behalf?
“That’s actually quite impressive when you put it like that,” the Professor said.
“You’re damn right it is,” Sally said.
The Professor watched the TV, where Cole was precariously perched on Skippy’s back, attempting to take out his big green opponent with his chainsaw, but the gator’s leathery hide was so strong it looked as if Cole was trying to cut through fortified steel. Sparks flew off the gator’s back, but other than that, the chainsaw did no damage to the beast whatsoever.
“Sally!” the Professor said. “Call Cole Walker!”
“What’s the magic word?” Sally asked.
“Are you daft, woman?!” the Professor asked. “This is a matter of life and death! There’s no time to waste!”
“There’s always time for good manners,” Sally said.
“Are you giving me shit for real or am I just absurdly high right now?” Professor Lambert asked.
“A little from Column A and a little from Column B,” Sally replied.
The Professor shook his head. “Oh for the love of…please! Please Sally, call Cole Walker!”
“Was that so hard?” Sally asked.
The Professor waited as Cole’s phone rang…and rang…and rang….until it went to voicemail. “Cole Walker. You know what to do.”
“Blast!” Professor Lambert shouted as he pounded his fist on the desk. “Sally, please call Sharon Walker!”
“Good boy,” Sally said. “I’ll train you yet.”
Sharon’s phone didn’t even ring. It went straight to voicemail. “Hello, you’ve reached Agent Sharon Walker. I’m not able to take your call right now, but if you leave your name, number and a brief message, I’ll get back to you as soon as I…”
“For the love of Einstein’s mustache!” Professor Lambert cried. “Why won’t anyone answer their phone?”!
“Hurricane Dakota Rothschild as done a number on all local utilities,” Sally said.
Almost as if on cue, the lights in the Professor’s office flickered. The power went out and all the appliances, from the television to the mini fridge, shut off. The Professor sat there at his desk in the dark, feeling defeated, the only illumination left in the room coming from the warm glow of Sally’s screen.
“Call Rusty Walker please.”
“Right away, Professor.”
The Professor looked at the power meter on Sally’s screen. The phone’s battery was down to a paltry ten percent.
“Sally,” the Professor said. “Please shut off all unnecessary apps at once.”
“Understood, Professor,” Sally said. “Stopping your foot fetish porn download now.”
“Whoa,” the Professor said. “Let’s not go crazy here.”
The Mississippi Rive will always have its own way; no engineering skill can persuade it to do otherwise. Zombies are equally stubborn and foolhardy. Only a ball peen hammer applied liberally to their rotting craniums can persuade them to do anything else but eat your brain.
In the beginning of a change the patriot is a scarce man, and brave, and hated and scorned. When his cause succeeds, the timid join him, for then it costs nothing to be a patriot. In like fashion, few men are made of the stern stuff necessary to attack a marauding zombie head on. Instead, they cower in corners, concerned only with their personal safety. Once a man of great bravery steps up and murders all impending zombies in the vicinity, then, and only then, will a sniveling reprobate remove himself from his corner of cowardice and boldly declare, “I supported zombie killing this entire time!”
None of us can have as many virtues as the fountain-pen, or half its cussedness; but we can try. A fountain-pen can help a man translate his thoughts onto the page and also, it works well when plunged into the brain of a zombie.
Zeal and sincerity can carry a new religion further than any other missionary except fire and sword. Fire and swords are also good weapons against filthy zombies. I’ve always found that if a zombie won’t burn, it’s best to chop its vile head off with a sword. Don’t forget to plunge the sword in the beast’s brain for good measure.
Whenever you find yourself on the side of the majority, it is time to pause and reflect. Whenever you find yourself on the side of a zombie, it is time to jam a sharp object into its ear canal, as that is the quickest way to destroy its brain before it eats yours.
If you tell the truth, you don’t have to remember anything…except to stay away from zombies. Always remember to stay away from zombies. Write a note that says, “STAY AWAY FROM ZOMBIES!” and pin it to your shirt collar if need be, but in any event, dear reader, do stay away from zombies.
I have never let my schooling about zombie anatomy interfere with my education of zombie slaying tactics.
Total abstinence is so excellent a thing that it cannot be carried to too great an extent. In my passion for it I even carry it so far as to totally abstain from total abstinence itself. Hell, sometimes the only way a man can come down off a high after spending a night’s worth of vigorous zombie fighting is to get all up in some Mississippi boo-tay.
What ought to be done to the man who invented the celebrating of anniversaries? Mere killing would be too light. It is doubtful that would even be effective as most likely this man would revert to the undead state of a wretched zombie. Anniversaries are very well up to a certain point, while one’s babies are in the process of growing up: they are joy-flags that make gay the road and prove progress; and one looks down the fluttering rank with pride. Then presently one notices that the flagstaffs are in process of a mysterious change of some sort–change of shape. Yes, they are turning into milestones. They are marking something lost now, not gained. From that time on it were best to suppress taking notice of anniversaries, especially the anniversary of the first time you ever witnessed a close friend getting his brains devoured by a zombie. No one needs to remember that shit.
To ask a doctor or builder or sculptor for his autograph would be in no way rude. To ask one of those for a specimen of his work, however, is quite another thing, and the request might be justifiably refused. It would never be fair to ask a doctor for one of his corpses to remember him by, seeing as how that corpse is likely to turn into a zombie, leaving you with no choice but to make an utter shambles of the doctor’s office when you bash the zombies brains in using little more than the closest blunt objects in your general vicinity.
I don’t like this thing of being stripped naked & washed. I like to be stripped & warmed at the stove–that is real bully–but I do despise this washing business. I believe it to be a gratuitous & unnecessary piece of meanness. I never see them wash the cat. However, I wash myself anyway, for many medical doctors in good standing with the board of medicine have assured me that regular baths are the only way to rid one’s self of the various germs that can infect a man with a zombifying virus. Wash your bum or become an abomination, as my old spinster aunt used to say, and she wasn’t kidding.
There’s nobody for me to attack in this matter even with soft and gentle ridicule–and I shouldn’t ever think of using a grown up weapon in this kind of a nursery. Above all, I couldn’t venture to attack the clergymen whom you mention, for I have their habits and live in the same glass house which they are occupying. I am always reading immoral books on the sly, and then selfishly trying to prevent other people from having the same wicked good time. In summation, good readers, I can only assume that my most revered book, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, has been banned from your local lending library as it contains a wealth of information vis a vis anti-zombie warfare. Also, it features use of the “N” word like 9,454 times.
Among human beings jealousy ranks distinctly as a weakness; a trademark of small minds; a property of all small minds, yet a property which even the smallest is ashamed of; and when accused of its possession will lyingly deny it and resent the accusation as an insult. Jealousy can even be found among dirty disgusting zombies. Why, I have seen many a zombie pick a fight with an associate zombie over the size of a pilfered brain,
Wow, so much time and so much novel written. It’s gone by fast.
Cole and Skippy the Toilet Gator are finally locked in their epic battle royal. I think there’s a strong possibility that I could finish the rough draft this week. If not this week then by the end of the month for sure.
Finish the rough draft of Zom Fu will be next and that was mostly done except for some final wrap up chapters.
I have other ideas in the works including ideas for long, complicated multi book series but for now I felt like this had to be the year of “one and done” books that are self contained so I can get them off to Amazon. I think there could be sequels to Zom Fu and Toilet Gator but that will depend on how people respond.
I’ve noticed a lot of people are reading and liking Toilet Gator but I don’t see any comments. If you have some criticism to share, please do.
KURT MANLEY: We’re sticking with our coverage of the epic showdown between Cole Walker, the ex-police chief from Sitwell, Florida with an allegedly small penis and the toilet gator responsible for a recent spate of bathroom homicides in the Southern Florida. I’d also like to thank infamous rapper Stank Daddy for sticking with me throughout this coverage.
STANK DADDY: Aint no thang.
(Grainy footage plays. It is from Walter’s point of view on top of the hardware store, looking down into the street below).
KURT MANLEY: As if the stakes weren’t high enough, it would appear that Southern Florida is getting pounded by Hurricane Dakota Rothschild harder than a Tijuana street hooker on payday and…I’m sorry. Stank Daddy, is that racist?
STANK DADDY: What?
KURT MANLEY: Is it racist for me to liken the damage done to a community by a hurricane to the damage down to an impoverished Mexican prostitute’s cooter by the old John Thomas of a man reeking of bourbon and bad decisions, willing to spend his hard earned pay on the sexual gratification that so eludes him elsewhere in his sad, tired, pathetic life?
STANK DADDY: Shit, I dunno. Why you asking me that for?
KURT MANLEY: Because…um…you know…
STANK DADDY: I know what?
KURT MANLEY: Come on man. Don’t do this to me on air.
STANK DADDY: What? ‘Cuz I’m black?
KURT MANLEY: Well…
STANK DADDY: What, ‘cuz I’m black that means I’m the grand arbiter and official decider of what is and isn’t racist? Man, you need to get yo’ ass to some sensitivity training or something.
KURT MANLEY: I’m so sorry. I just…
STANK DADDY: (laughs) Nah, I’m just messin’ with you man. Yeah, that’s racist as hell but shit, of all the offenses you cracka have pulled on all the colored peoples of the world, that one’s so low on our priority list it probably won’t even register.
(Kurt breathes a sigh of relief and adjusts his tie.)
KURT MANLEY: Phew! Off the hook. Back to the coverage, we can see on this feed that Cole Walker is paddling his canoe down the street, apparently trying to get away from something…
STANK DADDY: There it is!
KURT MANLEY: Where?
STANK DADDY: You don’t see that alligator’s two eyes and his big ass head poppin’ out of the water?
KURT MANLEY: (squints at monitor) I think so…I…
STANK DADDY: Damn Kurt Manley. You need to get yo ass to an eye doctor or drink some carrot juice or some shit.
KURT MANLEY: Oh, I see it now! Yes, it would appear the toilet gator’s body is mostly submerged underwater and he is approximately twenty feet away from Walker’s canoe. The alligator is closing in aggressively though.
STANK DADDY: That dude’s about to get his ass ate, Kurt.
KURT MANLEY: Interesting sidenote, Vegas oddsmakers put Cole Walker’s chances of defeating the toilet gator at 100,000 to 1.
STANK DADDY: Those are some whack ass odds, Kurt.
KURT MANLEY: That they are, Stank Daddy. That they are.
(Camera view shifts from the flooded street to the rooftop, where Natalie Brock is standing next Felix, who is aiming his Javelin at the toilet gator. Both individuals are wet, their hair blowing through the vicious winds.)
KURT MANLEY: What in the name of Walter Cronkite’s left nut is going on here?! I’m sorry, ladies and gentlemen. This is a disgrace and below the dignity of this fine network. Natalie! Are you there?
(Natalie presses two fingers against her earpiece. The footage cuts in and out and Natalie’s voice is garbled due to weather interference.)
NATALIE BROCK: I’m…bzzzt…here….bssshhht….Kurt.
KURT MANLEY: Natalie, would you care to explain to our loyal viewers why you’re appearing on national television without being hot, or blonde, or having big titties?
NATALIE BROCK: Up…bsshhht….your….butt….bzzzttt….with a….bssskkk…coconut.
KURT MANLEY: I’m sorry, ladies and gentlemen. Natalie Brock is truly an incompetent reporter. First she tells lies and doctors up phony recordings of me, America’s favorite anchorman and now she can’t even bring us a quality feed.
STANK DADDY: Man, you ought to lay off the girl. She’s out there bustin’ her ass in a damn hurricane bringing the world footage of a dope ass man vs. toilet gator battle royale.
KURT MANLEY: But look at her! She’s hideous!
STANK DADDY: Eh, she ain’t no Countess Cucamonga or even a Lady Cyanide but shit, slap a little makeup on her and I could probably turn her out on the street and make a few bills off her ass easy.
KURT MANLEY: Whatever. This is ridiculous. Natalie, please, order your cameraman to take the camera off you and don’t appear on screen again until you’ve put a paper bag over your wretched horse face.
STANK DADDY: That’s cold, Kurt.
KURT MANLEY: Seriously. Every time I look at her I don’t know whether to say “hello” or click make a clicking sound and offer her an apple. Now, getting back to…wait…what is happening?
STANK DADDY: Oh shit, she’s giving you the middle finger, Kurt. That Natalie Brock is one feisty ass bitch, I’ll give her that.
KURT MANLEY: No. What is that man doing?
STANK DADDY: Oh. Looks like he’s about to fire off a big ass bazooka or some shit, Kurt.
KURT MANLEY: A bazooka? Where would the average man even find such a weapon?
STANK DADDY: Aw shit, it aint that hard. My boy Darius from back around the way will trade you six bazookas for a carton of cigarettes and a box of old porno mags. He prefers anything circa 1970s, the bushier the better.
KURT MANLEY: This is about to get interesting ladies and gentlemen. Is this the end for the nefarious toilet gator? Drop that remote and stick around because Network News One will be covering this showdown to end all showdowns in its entirety. Man or beast? Who will win?
Sex! Drugs! Crazy women!
BQB here with a review of Rough Night.
Sigh. I really wanted this movie to be great. The commercials made it look like it was going to be an all female version of The Hangover but it just didn’t get there for me.
There were many parts that were mildly humorous and oddly, even amidst all the debauchery there were some touching moments but overall, when I judge a comedy I go with how many times did I laugh? Laughter, after all, is the most honest emotional reaction. If something is funny, you can’t help but laugh, whereas you can always feign happiness, sadness, etc.
But honestly, I didn’t laugh that many times and ironically, in a “Women can be funny too!” style movie, the most laughs the movie got out of me involve the parts where ScarJo/Jess’ fiance Peter (Paul W. Downs) goes on a mad cap, cross country trip to investigate what his bride-to-be and her gal pals are up to.
It’s not that I’m saying “Oh, blah blah blah, women aren’t funny and only men can be funny.” I’m just saying, this movie kind of fizzled for me. I know women can be funny. I’ve seen Bridesmaids. I’ve seen Spy. Shit. Now that I think of it, this movie probably could have benefited from a little Melissa McCarthy action. Oh well, you live and you learn.
Oh right, the plot. Jess (Scarlett Johansson) is getting married, so her college friends Alice (Jillian Bell of “Workaholics” fame), Frankie (Ilana Glazer of “Broad City” fame), Pippa (Kate McKinnon of SNL fame) and Blair (Zoe Kravitz of Lenny Kravitz’ daughter fame) get together and throw her a bachelorette party in Miami.
Things go south when a freak accident kills a male stripper. Rather than come clean, the girls proceed to make a series of choices that makes things so much worse.
Overall, the plot is reminiscent Very Bad Things (1998). As a youngster, I thought that movie was super funny and received less credit than it deserved. Basically a group of dudes (Christian Slater, Jon Favreau, Jeremy Piven, Leland Orser, and Daniel Stern) throw a wild bachelor party in a hotel suite in Las Vegas, during which a stripper is accidentally killed. Rather than come clean, the dudes make a series of bad choices that, you guessed it, make things worse.
I was actually thinking about starting this review by channeling David Spade (he was on SNL in the 1990s, millennials) and saying “I liked ‘Rough Night’ better when it was called ‘ Very Bad Things’ but that seemed kind of bitchy. Plus, I have no way of knowing whether the people behind this film were trying to copy the film. Hell, maybe I’m the only old bastard who even remembers that movie. All I know is that the the boys did the “accidental dead stripper during a pre-wedding party” better than the girls.
Again, that’s not me being sexist. The twist is that I know several of these women are funny. I have laughed many times at Ilana Glazer’s antics on “Broad City.” I have guffawed at Kate McKinnon’s SNL sketches and ultimately, I think she and Leslie Jones saved the Ghostbusters reboot from being a crap show. I have laughed at Jillian Bell’s shenanigans on “Workaholics.”
And yet, somehow, when all these funny women were put in the same room like a comedic dream team, the movie turned out to be a swing and a miss. Maybe I can’t even blame them. Maybe it was just bad writing. Maybe it’s me and I’m becoming like my Uncle Hardass and not laughing as much as I used to. I don’t know.
I just know that I didn’t laugh that much and you know, you’re supposed to, because it’s a comedy.
I give ScarJo some credit. This is the first time she stepped out of her comic book/summer blockbuster popcorn movie and attempted to exercise her comedy chops. She is, for the most part, the film’s straight woman (or in comedy terms, “the straight man” or the person whose normalcy and shocked reactions to the wacky antics of everyone around her are meant to make the film funnier. Spoiler alert – it doesn’t happen, but ScarJo tried.)
A final thought on the whole female raunchy comedy idea. My general thought when it comes to movie ideas is this – if it works, then it was a good idea. I’m not saying a female raunchy comedy where women act just as gross and low class as a bunch of boozed up male perverts at a bachelor party can’t be funny…I’m just saying this movie isn’t it. Maybe someone else will try that idea and score a win someday.
Aside from film, what about women acting like a bunch of boozed up male perverts in life? All I can say is, it’s a free country and women’s rights have come a long way, so if women want to do that, then they should. I know women don’t want a man telling them what to do so this isn’t advice so much as it is a thought but here goes – men aren’t always right about everything.
Know how I know that? Because I’ve yet to meet a woman who was the slightest bit shy about telling me I’m not right about everything. When men get boozed up and do wild, crazy, piggish and perverted things at parties…they’re wrong! Sure, it’s fun in the moment but more often than not that kind of fun can lead to an arrest, or an unbeatable addiction, an STD that can’t be cured by pennicillin or best case scenario, the breaking up of a friendship when someone does something shitty to someone else because they’re drunk.
I guess what I’m trying to say is women, you may look at men doing messed up things at bachelor parties and think that looks fun, but trust me, in the long run, it isn’t. So if you think you want to do that, then do it because you want to, not because you think that men are great when they act that way, because when you think about it, they aren’t.
Men aren’t always right about everything, and nights fueled with perverted drunken debauchery are one of the ways men aren’t wrong.
We’re always right when it comes to driving though. Our penises always point true north so we have no need to pull over and ask for directions.
STATUS: Borderline shelf-worthy. Don’t bother running out to the theater but it’s worth a rental later.
WHAM, WHAM, WHAM! Skippy head butted the glass window of Pemberton’s Hardware store until the tiniest crack formed and a slow but steady trickle of water poured onto the floor.
“That’ll never hold,” Sharon said.
Cole pounded his thumb down on the detonator button, yet the alligator remained intact. “Damn this thing!”
The great hunter looked around the store, putting his mind to work on what could be used to extricate everyone from this dismal state. He saw a canoe.
“Rusty, Burt! Get that upstairs now!”
“Sure thing, boss,” Rusty said.
“We’re on it,” Burt added.
“Sharon,” Cole said. “Get Maude upstairs.”
“Cole,” Sharon said. “What are you..”
WHAM! Skippy was getting angrier and that crack was getting bigger. More water trickled in.
“No time to explain!”
Sharon nodded and put her arm around Maude, nudging her toward a stairwell located behind the counter. Maude shook Sharon’s arm off. “Unhand me, woman! I’m fine.”
Cole checked the chamber of his Angry Barracuda. One bullet left. He would need to make it count. He grabbed a menacing looking chainsaw with an extra long blade, then searched the store frantically until he found a gas can behind the counter. He used it to fill up the chainsaw, then grabbed a piece of rope.
SMASH! The store window was obliterated, and shards of glass sprayed all over as water gushed in, flooding the entire bottom floor. Cole narrowly escaped being swept away as he headed upstairs.
Skippy swam inside and looked around for his target. He’d grown a visceral hatred of Cole and wanted him dead. Seeing his opponent nowhere, he roared out of sheer frustration, then waddled upstairs.