A Load of Hooey Page 3

  This is my Manifesto, the Rosetta Stone that will give meaning to my actions and sacrifice—so read it carefully. All CAPITALIZED words are meant to have greater significance than the other words that gather at their feet. Please read the CAPITALIZED words in a slightly louder voice inside your head to get the full effect.

  I will now enumerate the ways in which I, and others, have been APPALLED, ANNOYED, and ASSAULTED by the WORLD in its current state of FESTERING ROT. Firstly, TECHNOLOGY has misled us, our INFRASTRUCTURE is crumbling due to neglect and malfeasance, CHEMISTRY is in a state of chaos and disequilibrium, and SOCIAL GRACES are practically nonexistent. These are just my bullet points—I have a lot to say, so wish me well, here are the SPECIFICS…

  1. TECHNOLOGY must be DESTROYED or at least LOOKED UPON WITH SKEPTICISM. The TURNING POINT was the manufacture of the MOST RECENT iPHONE. Everything up until then was PERFECT, and perfectly in line with Nature and God’s wishes, but these new iPhones are just…well, I don’t have the latest one yet, but…it seems TOO good, if you ask me. God is not blind, and he’s VERY sensitive, and his wrath is manifest in many ways, not the least of which is THE WEATHER, which has been far TOO HOT lately—does that tell you anything? Think about it.

  2 (or 1B). The INFRASTRUCTURE of our modern society is completely compromised due to overbuilding and LACK OF RESOURCES. The entire grid is compromised and cracking, its weakness showing everywhichawhere. There is a solid three-foot-in-diameter brick of pavement at the end of my street which is being pushed UPWARD, teetering, literally TEETERING on the PEPPER TREE ROOT that is growing violently upward underneath it. This is scraping the BOTTOMS of cars. Including MINE. Somebody FIX IT!

  2B. CHEMISTRY has also failed and bewildered us as a people, and continues to baffle and bum me OUT. What is it? At what point have you broken things down enough and now you’re just playing with increasingly SMALL PARTICLES that no one can see or even remember the name of? Everything smaller than “a teaspoon” is really not necessary and only serves to ANGER me and fuel my PLAN, which I will get to in a second.

  3. Point three has been CUT. You WILL NEVER KNOW what point three was. I have NO PITY for you and am perfectly happy to confuse the masses who seem to like terrible TV SHOWS as much as they like GOOD ONES. TV has gone down the craphole…and NO, that was NOT the third point.

  4. MY BELT is too long. I had to add a hole to it and it looks homemade and crappy and the excess belt just hangs out there, FLAPPING ABOUT.

  CONCLUSION: THE POLITICAL SYSTEM in America is the best in the world. Our Forefathers had FOREsight and we owe it all to them. But the ELECTORAL COLLEGE is the most outstanding aspect of this system. It keeps the IGNORANT masses from voting into office the latest YAMMERING IDIOT whose razzle-dazzle they fall for. PLEASE KEEP THE ELECTORAL COLLEGE. If the electoral college is STILL IN PLACE when I die, then you will know I completed at least one part of my PLAN as PLANNED.

  MY PLAN

  My plan is that I WILL participate in our unfair, unjust, technologically deficient, chemistry-burdened, politically superb society AS IT STANDS, without making WAVES. I will deviously and cleverly CARVE out a life of quiet acquiescence to the grave INJUSTICES that I have enumerated as this social order BENEFITS ME GREATLY as a WHITE AMERICAN MALE. How and ever, all the while I am living, I will WRITE DOWN MY IDEAS and keep them hidden from the world UNTIL MY shocking and preplanned DEATH from OLD AGE. This plan will call for steadfast patience and some degree of QUIET DESPERATION, but I am up for it! You have been WARNED!

  I am sorry it had to end this way, but I needed to teach the world a lesson. I hope you enjoyed reading this interpretation of my travails and hero’s journey, and that it has filled your memory of me with significance and purpose, and that you liked the capitalizations.

  * UPON MY DEATH, at my wake, if you’re going to have a small coffee-service area, somebody put a bowl of BRUSSELS SPROUTS out AS A SNACK…that’ll show everyone.

  I THINK I JUST MET GOD

  It was down on the railroad trestle, over the river. I was minding my own business, taking a leisurely Monday-afternoon stroll.

  This was, like, half an hour ago. Maybe forty-five minutes. It’s about a twenty-minute walk, but I was waylaid.

  Do you doubt me? I understand, but believe me when I tell you: I say it happened.

  I was throwing rocks at other rocks in the water below, hoping to hear that magical “clunk” sound that rocks can sometimes make when they smack together. It was a contemplative, and at the same time violent, time waster.

  I smelled something burning and I looked up and saw a bush with puffs of smoke arising over it. Not puffs, but a soft cloud. I thought the bush was on fire, but in a moment I heard a rustling, then a bright light pierced the sky above and a soft wind fluttered as though the universe had whiffled a fart right in my face—a gentle poot, pleasant of smell, a waffle of heaven’s intestinal deliverance. Anyway, suddenly there appeared a being, alight with…well, light, afloating above the grabbled ground, for that area has a lot of rocks lying about, as well as some old tin cans once used as bait cans by unknown fishermen. Make of that metaphor what you will. “Fishermen.”

  He, and it was certainly a he—unless women grow beards these days, and that may be the case but I won’t speak to it here—He (and I will capitalize that word when referring to this celestial Presance—and I will also capitalize Presence AND misspell it from here on out, out of respect and cantankerousness) beamed his bright beams at me so I could barely see, but in time I made out a wizened face aglow with warmth and welcome, yet the crinkles around his eyes foretold of a skeptical, slightly damning air. The warm yet scolding gaze was what one would expect from the true deity.

  Astounded, I stammered, “Who are you? What…are you…the pope?”

  He laughed aloud, right in my face, at the notion. Here I was, having been farted upon and laughed at all in the space of a few seconds. I felt smaller than a raisin—a small raisin.

  “Are you, then, something greater than the pope?”

  To this He gave no answer but just shook his head in dismay, as if to say, “Shut up about the pope, okay? Just don’t bring it up again. Thanks.”

  Now, our encounter lasted but a few seconds, and yet they seemed like an eternity. Not a long eternity—not like He bored me. More like a short eternity that was impressive and awe-filled—the good qualities of an eternity.

  In the course of our afternoon together, He had many things to share with me. I don’t expect it would be easy for you to believe me, but I offer as proof a stone tablet that He wrote for me, right there, using his blazing finger. On it He wrote a simple truth that I took to mean all other truths were enwrapped within it. He wrote: “Thou shalt proceed with grace and beneficence upon the earth from here onwards, and thy people shall follow thee until the golden gates of tomorrow’s tomorrow.” At reading this, He could see my consternation, so He erased it! You heard me, He WROTE something into STONE, then He erased it from the stone. Like it was nothing. Like it was paper. But this was stone! MUCH harder to write on, and almost impossible to erase. Then He rewrote his command: “Get it together and we can do amazing things.” This I understood, and I happily accepted the stone to bring as proof of my bona fides.

  Small sidetrack: the stone never made it back. Halfway home I realized I was tired and my elbow was throbbing so I buried it. I cannot tell you where, because I did not mark it in case some thieves came along looking for stones that were written on that they could get and sell. But it’s there. I don’t mind if you look for it. You can look for as long as you want. That could be a good thing for you to do, actually, just keep looking. I’d appreciate it.

  unplugged, unhappy

  But be not saddened, for there was another proof forthcoming. A gold parchment upon which was written a directive to us. I held it in my hands and rubbed it with my fingers and sniffed it with my nose and I tell you it felt like parchment paper and smelled like parchment paper—kind of a machinelike smell, but very �
��parchmenty,” if you know what I mean. Upon it was written, in bold serifed lettering: “Be Kind Unto Each Other.” Now, I’m sure we’ll be parsing that command for millennia to come, but to me it means to have a thought for your fellow man, and not just friends or others who do you a solid. I believe He implied (by NOT being particular) that we should strive to be kind to ALL “others,” including enemies and jerks. In fact, one could argue at great length and in a series of what I will call “epistles” that this statement can be shown to contain multitudes and it will demand multitudinous study and endless parsing. At least I hope so.

  Where is this golden parchment? I forgot it where I was. My arms were full at the time, with the stone tablets and the golden plates.

  Did I mention the golden plates? He gave me two of them as incontrovertible proof of his realness. Two the size of a ruler in length and half a ruler in width (twelve by six inches or so). Beautiful, shining, made of pure gold. On these were written nothing. He didn’t want to deface them. However, when I asked if there was anything He would have written on them if He weren’t so delicate of sensibility, He responded (not with words, but with telepathy): “Yes, I should like to fill them with rules of behavior and the proper dressing of food, as well as a laundry list of manners, and, finally, a few how-tos on killing one’s enemies and burying the bodies in a crouching position. The list is long, really, and would surely fill both sides of these beautiful gold tablets, cluttering them, destroying their aesthetic impact entirely.”

  Where are the gold tablets, you ask? Unfortunately, they are lost to time. Yes, I know I’ve only been walking for forty-five minutes, but hey…time swallowed them up. I’m not sure where I was when I lost them to time, but it was somewhere between minutes thirty-two and forty-three, by my guesstimate. Please, do look for them. Look and look and look, but don’t stop believing or you will surely NEVER find them! As they say, “You can’t win if you don’t play!”

  So there you have it. I met God down by the trestle and now I am here to share the good news. I’m not saying everyone should follow me, or give me something called a “tithing” with which to do as I please, but it wouldn’t hurt and I think it’s what He would have wanted.

  Famous Quotations—Unabridged

  “If you tell the truth, you don’t have to remember anything. You can just be a big dummy who doesn’t remember anything, ever, but who everybody trusts a lot. A big, stupid, dummy.” —Mark Twain

  POLITICIAN’S PROMISE

  Hello, and let me begin by thanking the citizenry of this great state for electing me as your representative to the United States Senate. I’ve never been to Washington, so I haven’t been tainted by its atmosphere or culture. Washington and its ways are a complete mystery to me, I assure you, so when I get there it won’t be politics as usual. In fact, it won’t be politics at all! Thank you for that standing ovation. Please, let me continue.

  Since I know nothing at all about Washington, the first thing I’m going to do when I get there is buy a map. I want to get a sense of how the city is laid out. Are there any screwy roads that change their name and then back again, like you often find in big cities? I don’t want to waste any time wandering around lost when I could be doing the people’s work.

  As a new senator I will need one big question answered right away: where do you eat? I want to taste everything Washington has to offer, from lobster j’toi to Chinese chop suey to hamburger à la greasy! And I won’t skip dessert. From cakes to frozen yogurts, I want to try it all.

  Next up, the sights and sounds. I want to feel the pulse of Washington. I’ll see the bigger monuments and I’ll search for the hidden treasures. I’ll check out blogs and ask people on the street for recommendations. How about a weekend at the zoo? Do they have a zoo? I’ll find out. Maybe that will be on that map I’m planning on getting!

  Once I have a working knowledge of Washington and the greater Washington area, it will be time to get to work. But first, how does Government work? What are these three branches I’ve heard so much about? What color house does the leader of our country live in? Where do the senators go, and what do they do when they’re not working?

  Before my first term is up, I promise to take a guided tour of the Senate. I’ll meet real live senators and get to shake their hands. How cool would that be? Imagine me, a senator, gaining entrée into real senators’ offices!

  But before I “go Washington” on you all, I want you to know I will take day trips. Historic Virginia, I’m right on your doorstep! New York and the delights of Broadway are just a train trip away. Why stop there? Arizona is a short hop, skip, and a flight to see some of what I’ve heard are the most colorful rocks ever invented! By the time my term is over I may have to get a new map…or two…or three.

  I hope you’re happy you elected me to Government. I know I am.

  [A train whistle blows.]

  There’s my train… I’m taking the scenic route—b-bye!!

  HITLER DINNER PARTY

  A PLAY

  Do you have an amateur theatrical group? Get one! They’re a big pain in the ass and not very rewarding, but you cannot perform the following playlet all by your lonesome.

  At the core of dramatic mise-en-scène (spelling? meaning?) is the notion that there must be a crisis of some sort. I just made that up, but you can use it.

  Presented here is a dinner scene, easily produced, that features bombs and flashes of fire offstage—also easy to bring to life and supercool. More important, we have two curious couples doing a dance of sensibility and manners, quite modern in its way. Also, it’s got Hitler.

  SCENE ONE

  SPOTLIGHT onstage opens on our guest couple, Fritz and Annette Schnitzelkrank. A Society Couple dressed for a night on the town, circa 1945, Germany. The couple speak to the audience, setting the scene.

  FRITZ AND ANNETTE: Hello/Hi/Guten Abend/Good evening/We are the Schnitzelkranks.

  FRITZ: In the year 1942, my wife Annette and I were invited for a dinner party with Adolf Hitler.

  ANNETTE: Over the years, we had many dinners with Herr Hitler and his beautiful Eva.

  FRITZ: You see, I had the good fortune of rooming with Herr Hitler at art college. I had liked his work very much and I never hesitated to tell him so.

  ANNETTE: When Adolf came to power, my dear Fritz was made top art professor at Berlin University!

  FRITZ: Throughout the war we met the Hitlers at many social events. We never refused an invitation from der Führer! But as the war dragged on, our final dinner plans were postponed again and again until March of 1945. With the city surrounded and our brave troops running out of supplies and food, bombs dropping all around us—well, we found ourselves greeting darling Eva once more.

  ANNETTE: Oh, she looked terrible! Before Hitler could enter the room she whispered one solemn request, which we, being two very excellent dinner guests, were determined to deliver on.

  EVA BRAUN [sotto voce]: Oh, if you could do me a kindness—

  FRITZ AND ANNETTE: Yes, of course! Whatever is asked, dear Eva!

  EVA BRAUN: Whatever you do—

  Hitler enters! Eva finishes her request sotto voce.

  EVA BRAUN: —don’t mention the war!

  Fritz and Annette have no time to react as Hitler paces over to them. He is somber and deeply distracted. Fritz and Annette muster smiles. Fritz begins a halfhearted Nazi salute, but Eva shakes her head “no!” and he quits it. Hitler hardly notices—

  HITLER [weary]: Ah, Fritz and…uh…

  FRITZ: Annette, my wife.

  Hitler grunts. Eva steps in.

  EVA BRAUN: Well, the night has finally come. It is a real pleasure to host you both again.

  Handshakes and smiles all around until the screech of a bomb tears the moment in two. An awkward pause. Hitler breaks the tension:

  HITLER: So, are we gonna eat, or what?

  EVA BRAUN: Yes, Adolfy, we shall eat.

  FRITZ: I’m so hungry!!

  They cross to the table and gaze a
t their first course, a salad. Hitler breaks the silence, muttering.

  HITLER: Salad.

  Hitler starts eating; the others join in. Eva prompts her guests to say something.

  ANNETTE: We were afraid we were late. So many streets are closed—well, they’re impassable, due to—

  She stops herself.

  HITLER: Due to what?

  FRITZ: Traffic. It’s backed up. Buncha weekend warriors out there.

  Hitler nods and smiles at Fritz.

  HITLER: I wonder what I would have as a last meal. Did you ever wonder this, dear Fritz? What would your final meal be if you could choose it?

  FRITZ [Laughing nervously]: Oh, I don’t know. I…I would just eat…I wouldn’t care.

  HITLER: Surely you would care. If you knew you had, say, three to seven days before you would be executed, you had time to plan, and many resources at your disposal, what would you eat?

  FRITZ: Well, I’m not much of a foodie myself. Annette?

  ANNETTE: I don’t eat dinner. Except socially.

  HITLER: Last lunch, then.

  ANNETTE: I don’t know…salad. What we’re eating right now.

  Hitler stares at his salad, then pushes it away.

  HITLER: No more for me.

  Eva scowls at Fritz and Annette—wrong answers all around.

  FRITZ: Well…well…

  HITLER: Well, what?

  FRITZ: Nothing. Just “well, well.” I was reading the paper… [off Eva’s scowl] Sports section! Have you ever heard about the Chicago Cubs baseball team in America? They’re really having a year, I’m told. At baseballing. [No responses.] Nobody?

  Hitler is staring off into space.

  EVA BRAUN: Perhaps our guests can tell us a bit about the small matters of daily life at university. Small, delightful matters.

  FRITZ: Oh, things are good. Nothing much going on. There’s the usual infighting. Not “infighting.” Uh, what’s the word. Tiffs. People have tiffs.