Monthly Archives: May 2010

Get Your Damn Kids Off My Lawn

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The First Time I Met Tom Jones

In the early 1970s, major record companies began experimenting with a technique called songshaping, in which pop lyricists would study a particular singer and cater the words to his or her personality for a more authentic composition with strong human appeal.

During this time I was hired as an assistant to Paul Anka, who needed someone with a lot of free time to research singer Tom Jones. It was an odd assignment, but as a budding journalist I felt I could capture Jones’ essence and report it accurately back to Anka, who would pen a new hit, “She’s a Lady.”

Jones and I first met at an outdoor café in the summer. There were lots of pretty ladies strolling around in sparse clothing, and I swayed the conversation toward the fairer sex in an attempt to coax quotes from Jones.

“Tom, when you meet an amazing lady, a really special woman with smarts, looks, and a wild side… what do you do to impress her? What’s your ideal date?”
“Oh, man. That’s a tough one. Is she, like, my soulmate?”
“Yes. She means a lot to you.” “Hhhhhmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm…..” he pondered this until my hand cramped from writing m’s. “I’d take her to dinner!”

I waited for the next part.

Nothing.

“Dinner? At a restaurant?”
“Yeah!” said Tom, clearly excited. “That’s a great date!”
“I can’t argue with that… But isn’t it kind of, uh, generic?”
“Dinner! Dinner! Dinner!” he said, banging his fists on the table and smiling.
“Tom, she’s the woman you’ll probably want to marry and spend the rest of your life with… plus, we’re writing a pop song, so it has to be –”
“Dinner!” he started dancing. People stared. Nobody at the café knew who he was.
“OK, OK,” I wrote take to dinner in my notepad.

“Tom, keep the image of this woman in your mind and try to imagine true love. Have you ever been in love?”
“Oh sure, plenty of times.”
“OK, great. So imagine you’re in love again, only this time it’s insane, head-over-heels stuff. This woman is a blessing to you. You love everything about her and you can’t sleep at night when she’s not around.”
“Ah!”
“Yes. How would you treat this woman, in day-to-day life?”
“Well, I would have to treat her incredibly well, I guess. I wouldn’t want to lose her…”
“Yes…”
“I would treat her with more compassion and respect than I’ve ever treated any other woman…”
“Yes! Yes!”
“I guess what I’m trying to say is…”
“Yes! Go on!”
“… I never would abuse her.”

I paused for considerable time as Tom grinned at me affectionately through a strawberry milk mustache.

“Tom, are you saying that the most romantic thing you can do for a woman is to just not abuse her?”
“Don’t forget dinner!”

We waited in pleasant silence till the check came, which I picked up because Tom said he forgot his wallet, even though he had pulled it out earlier to show me photos of his cat.

I walked him to his car.

“Tom, how did you get so much of that on your face? You were drinking with a straw.”
“It’s just really messy, man.”

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In The New York Times

This: “In my readings of the New Testament, I find myself inspired by Jesus’ acts of compassion. His miracle of the loaves and fishes, his healing and his teaching are all motivated by the desire to relieve suffering.”

In The New York Times.

IN… The New York Times.

“And I’ve learned how the Talmud and the Bible repeat the theme of compassion, as in the passage in Leviticus that admonishes, ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.'”

Other things Leviticus says:
GAAHHHH!!! DUUUHHHH!! Periods are bad!!! Gays?!?! ARRGHH  Duuuhhhhh!! Kill stufff!!! BLLAARGGHH!!

Published in The New York Times.

Who wrote this piece? I sure hope it’s not someone famous and venerable.

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A Gent Demonstrates a Mechanical Hand

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“What a Nightclub is,” by T.F. Grundle, Professor

On a typical Friday night, men and women, all weary from a long week of laying railroad track and boiling parsnips, don their finest attire and head out for hours of ribald fun at a fancy nightclub.

But what the heck is a nightclub even? Don’t worry, I had never heard of them before, either (they’re not even mentioned in Borganschoff’s Encyclopædia Moderne!), but I’ve done some research, and this is what I learned about a growing trend in America:

– A nightclub is a place where a single woman goes to meet people she wouldn’t like during the day.
– It is a place where a woman in a relationship goes to figure out non-rude ways to tell someone that she already has a boyfriend.
– It is a place where a man in a relationship is very sad.
– A nightclub is a favorite hangout of apparent libertarians, who like to trade cash monies for alcohol and experiment with the idea of a “drink standard” for purchasing prostitutes.
– Do you ever get tired of talking, listening to good music, and being happy? Check out a nightclub.
– Do you like to pick fights, but abhor the middle and end parts of fights? You can pick as many fights as you want in a nightclub and they’ll be stopped before any actual fisticuffs commence. (Say “bro” a lot. It means “I like to punch people”)
– It is OK to rub your genitals against anyone/anything you want, so just go crazy. But if you’ve been doing a lot of genital-rubbing, and then you do not get invited over for a nightcap, call her/him/it a cocktease.
– Sometimes a urinal is for pooping in.

And that’s about everything you need to know about nightclubs! So throw on your threads (cummerbund), get smashed (drink an alcohol), then get laid! (masturbate onto the poop)

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More Outrage

My friend Gertrude got pregnant when she was a teenager.

She is the only person in the world who ever got pregnant as a teen, but for some reason people won’t give her thousands of dollars each time she talks about how it’s a bad idea to get pregnant as a teen.

What the hell, man?

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A Different Time I Got Locked in a Dungeon

I’m Trenton Melenki, and with me as always is Clyde Moore, the announcer says. Bradley “Embracin’” McPherson is squaring off with county champion “Lovin’” Lee Baxter in tonight’s main event of the “Try to Hug a Pig in the Predetermined Position” tournament.

I’ve never been to this city before, or to an event quite like this. It’s very strange.

I watch the challenger as he eyes the pig, pounces on it, and attempts to hug it in the predetermined position. He tries and tries, but he just cannot hug that pig in the officially agreed upon bodily arrangement.

There is something odd about this sport. I watch for a few more minutes as he struggles.

I just can’t take it anymore. I turn to the stranger sitting next to me, who is practically frothing at the mouth with excitement.

“Is that man wrestling a pig?” I ask.
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