Текст книги "When Will Jesus Bring the Pork Chops"

Автор книги: Джордж Карлин

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When Will Jesus Bring the Pork Chops

TRUE FACT: There is actually an erotic wrestler.

When I’m in someone’s house and I see something I want that’s small and easy to conceal, I steal it. It’s my belief that property belongs to the person who wants it most.

Whatever became of alpha-carotene?

I wonder what kind of masturbation fantasies Stephen King has.

I also wonder if anyone has ever masturbated while fantasizing about having sex with a live chicken. Usually, I wonder about these things while I’m masturbating.

Isaiah said, “They shall beat their swords into ploughshares and their spears into pruning hooks . . .” Let me ask you something. When was the last time you heard of someone who made a fortune selling ploughshares and pruning hooks?

You’re probably thinking to yourselves right now, “I wonder what he thinks I’m thinking right now.” Or, you may be thinking, UI wonder when he’s going to say, ‘You re probably thinking to yourselves right now, I wonder what he thinks I’m thinking right now.’ ” Or you could be thinking, “I wonder when he’s going to wonder when I . . .” Well, maybe not.

Hey, guys, did you ever get your balls caught in the toaster when it was turned all the way up to dark brown, and your wife was trying to rub butter on your balls, and your pit bull was in the kitchen and he really loves butter? It’s an awful feeling.

When I’m writing, I always like to have the TV playing in the background. I usually try to find a program that’s interesting enough to leave on, but stupid enough to ignore.

I think sometimes the word overseas is pluralized unnecessarily. The way I look at it. New York to London is “oversea.” After all, there’s only one sea in between them.

This statement is untrue.

Regarding astrology: An obstetrician or a maternity nurse who weighs between one hundred and two hundred pounds actually exerts a greater gravitational force on a baby at the time of its birth than do any of the distant planets that are said to influence a person’s personality and destiny. Why aren’t these bulky, proximate objects factored into the astrological charts that are so carefully laid out?

There are caregivers and there are caretakers, and yet the two words are not opposites. Why is this?

Whenever I hear that someone lives in a gated community I think of places like Auschwitz.

TRUE FACT: There is actually such a thing as the Paralyzed Veterans of America. And I wonder, Who answers the phone?

Until you’re a certain age, you don’t have anything to “put behind you.’ That’s what life seems to be: a process of doing things that eventually you just want to put behind you.

There are now murderous turf-wars going on in which people are being brutally killed over the right to sell a substance called ecstasy.

You know something you don’t see anymore? The sacking of a city. Rome and Constantinople were good examples. Next time we win a war, we ought to sack the capital of the country we defeat. “US. TROOPS SACK BAGHDAD.” Wouldn’t that be good? I guess we do our sacking in subder ways. Through the business community.

I think they ought to have really fast escalators that you have to jump on and off, and if you get hurt, too bad.

When I notice a dead fly on the windowsillone that wasn’t there the day beforeI always wonder how he died. I wonder if he had a stroke,

or maybe a little fly heart attack. Then I think maybe he’s just pretending to be dead so I won’t swat him. So I swat him.

Here’s a tip from the power and light company on saving energy: If you have elderly people living with you, cut back on their heat and light. Old people often exaggerate how cold they feel.

NO CHILD LEFT BEHIND

I was thinking the other day that one kid who’s really gonna have emotional problems when she grows up is that Jon Benet Ramsey. You know, because of all the media attention, her parents being under suspicion, the speculations about sexual abuse. Jesus, that kind of thing would fuck any kid up. And then I remembered, hey, she was the one who got killed. And I thought, it’s a good thing she’s dead; at least she won’t have to suffer.

TELL PIERRE I SAID HELLO

HANK: I’m going up to San Francisco this weekend. FRANK: Oh. Well, tell Pierre I said hello.

HANK: Actually, I knew you would say that, so I took the liberty of calling him and telling him you said hello. He said in that case to tell you he also says hello. So, “Hello” from Pierre. And he said to add, “How’s it going’?”

FRANK: Oh, that’s great. Well tell him everything’s going just fine. And don’t forget to say, “How are you?”

HANK: Well, he and I knew you would ask that, and so Pierre has authorized me to say that he’s glad you’re fine, but that he hasn’t been feeling too well lately.

When Will Jesus Bring the Pork Chops

FRANK: Oh. Well, tell him I’m sorry to hear that and I hope...

HANK: He says he knew you would be sorry to hear that, but he thinks it will blow over.

FRANK: Well, tell him if it doesn’t I have a great doctor in San Francisco. Ginny and I met him in Hawaii when we were there last year.

HANK: Pierre says he knew you had a great doctor, but he wasn t aware he was located in San Francisco. He also says he didn’t know you and Ginny had gone to Hawaii. He thought it was Canciin. And he also says, “Hows Ginny?”

When Will Jesus Bring the Pork Chops

FRANK: Tell him Ginny is dead.

HANK: Well, I’m sure he didn’t know, but I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that he’s real sorry to hear about that, and I’m willing to bet anything he offers his condolences. And, most likely, he’ll also say that if there’s anything he can doanything please don’t hesitate to ask.

FRANK: Excuse me, Hank. I’d love to keep talking, but I have to go buy underwear.

HANK: Oh. Well, Pierre says there’s a sale at The Gap. FRANK: Get fucked, Hank.

GUYS WILL BE GUYS

I don’t know why people got all excited about that guy Jeffrey Dahmer. Because he broke a few laws? So what? There’s nothing wrong with killing twelve people, having sex with their corpses, masturbating on them, eating their flesh and then saving the heads in the refrigerator. What’s wrong with that? Nothing. So far, nobody has been able to explain to me what it was Jeffrey Dahmer did that was so wrong.

First of all, lets remember, wrong is a relative term. Who’s to say what’s wrong? Who are we to judge? Put yourself in the other mans shoes. Who among you, under certain circumstances, might not kill twelve people, have sex with their corpses, masturbate on them, eat their flesh and then save the heads in the refrigerator? Not one of you, I suspect. So cut the guy a little slack. Always remember, there, but for the grace of God . . .

YOU’RE NOT FUNNY

Here are some things you should not say if you encounter a comedian. First: If you’re with another person at the time, don’t say to your friend, “You better watch out, he’ll put you in one of his skits.” We don’t like that. It’s not funny. And, by the way, we don’t do skits. Second: If you meet him while you’re at your job, do not say, “You oughtta work here, you’d get a lot of material.” It’s not true. Just because you work with a bunch of simpletons, doesn’t mean it translates into comedy. Third: If you work at a store and we re shopping there, and some small mix-up occurs that needs to be sorted out, don’t say to a co-worker, “He’s gonna put this in one of his routines.” He his not. One more thing we don’t like: When you tell us something that

you think is funny and then you say, “You can use that if you want.” We don’t want to use it. Believe me.

POW! SMACK! BAM!

True: I stopped behind a small, beat-up camper at a red light, and noticed three bumper stickers: DARE TO RESIST DRUGS AND VIOLENCE, THERE’S NO EXCUSE FOR DOMESTIC ABUSE, and STOP SENIOR ABUSE. And I thought, I’m really glad I don’t live with those folks. I’d bet anything they were on their way to the hospital emergency room or perhaps intensive psychiatric counseling. If I’d caught up and looked inside the vehicle, I’m sure it would have resembled a Johnson & Johnson showroom.

COUNT TO A BILLION

ANNOUNCER: And now, ladies and gentlemen, direct from Dover, Delaware, Big Earl Stemplemeyer’s Television Network presents Count to a Billion.

(Applause, lively organ music)

Yes, it’s Count to a Billion, the show where ordinary people of limited intelligence can win big money by simply counting to a billion. As we like to say, “If you can count at all, and have a reasonable amount of time on your hands, chances are you can count to a

billion.” So now, here’s your host, a man you can count on, that burly guy who’s one in a billion, Basil Dan-derfleck.

(Applause, lively organ music)

BASIL: Thank you, Wynonie Flench. And now, folks, let’s meet our two players, Tillie Lipfinder and Zippy Brillnipper, alias Skeezix Pendleton.

(Applause, lively organ music)

When Will Jesus Bring the Pork Chops

BASIL: How about it, folks? Are you two ready to count to a...

When Will Jesus Bring the Pork Chops

TILLIE: Yes sir.

When Will Jesus Bring the Pork Chops

ZIPPY: You bet your ass!

(Applause, lively organ music)

BASIL: All right, let’s get started. As you know, we have only one rule: No skipping any numbers. Ready, set, go!

(Loud bell, lively organ music, applause, yelps, cheers)

TILLIE: (Incredibly rapid pace) 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33 …

ZIPPY: (Extremelyslowly) 1…2 …3. ..4…

BASIL: Tillie appears to have jumped off to an early lead, but as we know, slow and steady wins the race, so don’t count Zippy out yet. By the way, tonight’s winner will receive two free meals at Shorty and Bud’s Restaurant for the Unclean, featuring their world-famous Chicken in a Shoe. As Shorty and Bud say, “Wouldn’t You Like to Eat a Nice Hot Meal Out of Someone Else’s Used Footwear?” Well, let’s check back in with our two contestants.

TILLIE: (Incredibly rapid pace) 10,366,793, 10,366,794, 10,366.795, 10,366,796 . ..

ZIPPY: (Extremely slowly) 25,853,264 … 25,853,265 … 25,853,266 … 25,853,267 … 25,853,268 … 25,853,269 …

BASIL: Wow! Amazing! In no time at all, Zippy has caught up and pulled ahead. But he’d better not get overconfident, he still has 974 million to go.

We’ll check back in a moment, but first, a reminder that tonight’s runner-up will receive a handsome set of matching luggage from Americas luggage leader, Packwell and Goforth, now featuring the newest innovation in luggage . . . portable suitcases! That’s right, folks, these novel suitcases have actual handles built right into them, so now you can take your luggage with you anywhere you go. Take it on a plane, take it on a boat, you can even put it in your car. No more leaving your bags at home because they’re

“hard to carry.” Take them with you and travel in style! Packwell and Goforth: ahead of their time since 1357. Let’s check in again with Zippy and Tillie.

TILLIE: 536,895,241, 536,895,242, 536,895,243, 536,895,244… ZIPPY: 67,667,776 … 67,667,777 … 67,667,778 … 67,667,779 …

Well, Tillie has come back and taken a big lead, because, unfortunately, Zippy’s severe lisp has slowed him down considerably here in this section which includes tho many thicktheth and theventh. I’m sorry … so many sixes and sevens. This does not look good for Zippy. But we’re about out of time for now . . .

(Groans, hisses, boos, lively organ music)

. . . but join us again next week, as we watch the conclusion of this thrilling match on tape and meet two new contestants, as once again we play America’s favorite counting game . . . Count to a Billion!

(Cheers, boos, applause, hisses, shouts, threats, curses, audience advancing menacingly toward stage, lively organ music)

ANNOUNCER: (over music and crowd noise)

Tonight’s guests will stay at the fabulous Fireproof Motel, located between Long John Silver’s and the Rub

It and Yank It massage parlor, just outside Dover, Delaware. Dover: “The City That Just Missed the Mark.’ Don’t forget, the Fireproof Motel features superb drinks and finger food in the intimate cocktail lounge, Rita’s Box. Drop in and ask Rita for some finger food.

Stay tuned now for a full-length movie on America his favorite new date show, Dinner, Movie and a Hump. Tonight, your hosts, Dagwood Parkhaven and Candace Nooch, cook up a delicious whale chowder and breast of hyena on a bed of diced badger as they present an award-winning film about an amnesia victim. Who the Fuck Am I?, starring Esther Sylvester, Kermit McDermott, Chi Chi Ameche and Skeeter Van Meter. And introducing Keith Bunghole as the queer.

After the movie and the food, Dagwood and Candace will tear off a lengthy piece of ass on the kitchen table, taking turns being on top, and demonstrating several interesting, new sexual positions, including the Baghdad Twirl and the Bosnian Dick-knot.

Good night everyone, and God bless America!

(Lively organ music, lustful throaty moans and maniacal screaming)

When Will Jesus Bring the Pork Chops

EUPHEMISMS: Death and Dying

Some of our best work with euphemisms involves the subject that makes us the most uncomfortable: death.

Our most common euphemism for death is to say the person passed away. Or passed on. If you believe in an afterlife, you may prefer crossed over, or crossed over to the other side. Whenever I hear that someone has crossed over to the other side, I always picture Fifth Avenue.

Then there’s the official term for dying, the doctor term. In this case the person simply expires. Like a magazine subscription. One month he just doesn’t show up. Unfortunately, he can’t renew. Or so they say. Better check with the Hindus on that.

Now, continuing. In this current age of specializationand increasing detachment if the person in question dies in a hospital, it’s called a terminal episode. Although the insurance company sees it as negative patient-care outcome. That one’s actually kinda nice, isn’t it? And if the negative patient-care outcome was caused by medical malpractice, then it’s referred to it as a therapeutic misadventure. Colorful term. No wonder so many doctors are leaving their practices; it’s hard to get therapeutic-misadventure insurance.

But by far the most creative terms we’ve come up with to comfort ourselves about death are the ones that describe the rituals survivors put themselves through. We owe a lot of this softened language to the funeral business. Or, as they prefer to be known, the death-care industry. They have completely transformed the language used to describe what happens following a death.

In years past it went like this: “The old man died, so the undertaker picked up the body, brought it to the funeral home and put it in a casket. People sent flowers and held a wake. After the funeral, they put the coffin in a hearse and drove it to the cemetery, where the dead man was buried in a grave.”

But in these days of heightened sensitivity, the same series of events produces what sounds like a completely different experience: “The senior citizen passed away, so the funeral director claimed the remains of the decedent, took them to the memorial chapel and placed them in a burial container. Grieving survivors sent floral tributes to be displayed in the slumber room, where the grief coordinator conducted the viewing. Following the memorial service, the funeral coach transported the departed to the garden of remembrance where his human remains were interred in their final resting place. “

Huh? What’s that? Did someone die or something?

I’VE GOT A TRAIN TO CATCH

This item demonstrates how stupid the average American is. Every ninety minutes someone in this country is hit by a train. A train, okay? Trains are on tracks; they can’t come and get you. They can’t surprise you when you step off a curb. You have to go to them. Got that?

There are five thousand highway/rail-crossing accidents annually. To counter this problem, the Department of Transportation issued the following rules for people to follow at railroad crossings:

Don’t drive around lowered gates. “Okay, got it.”

Don’t cross in front of a train. “Never thought of that.”

Don’t walk on the tracks. “Check.”

Be aware that trains can’t stop quickly. “Good to know.”

Always expect a train. “This one would probably be tied in to the fact that these are railroad tracks, is that right? Correct me if I’m wrong on this.”

Look for more than one train. “Frankly, this is one I never thought of. Maybe if I remember the others, this one will take care of itself.”

GET DOWN!

Here’s something to think about: In the course of history’s wars, many battles took place in the woods and the countryside. So, sometimes I picture a soldier waking up on a spring morning, wildflowers growing around his tent, birds singing in the trees, perhaps the comforting sound of a brook trickling by in the near distance. And then a ten-pound cannonbail hits him in the face. It’s an interesting thought, don’t you think?

ON MY HONOR

I wanted to be a Boy Scout, but I had all the wrong traits. Apparently, they were looking for kids who were trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean and reverent. Unfortunately, at that time, I was devious, fickle, obstructive, hostile, rude, mean, defiant, glum, extravagant, cowardly, dirty and sacrilegious. So I waited a few years and joined the army.

PASS THE MUSTARD

In New York State, the law says that the ingredients of hot dogs can legally include a certain amount or percentage of insect parts and rat droppings. It’s per

missible by law. So, in New York, when you eat a hot dog, you more or less have to hope that the hot dog you’re eating contains only the most nutritious parts of the insects (not just legs and antennae) and that the rats whose feces you’re eating were on good, heart-healthy diets.

YOU’VE GOT A NICE VOICE, DO YOU HAVE INSURANCE?

I’ve been enjoying a new band from England called So Long, Mate! It’s a five-man heavy-metal band, and the reason it’s called So Long, Mate! is because at the end of each performance the other four members of the band kill the lead singer. As a result, the music has a certain urgency to it. Also, it keeps the tours nice and short; it’s basically one night, and then back they go to L.A. to hold auditions. The band plans to have an album ready in the year 2037.

DANNY NEEDS A TORSO

“Hello, this is David Nipplegripper, another insufferable Hollywood movie star who wants you to help some cause or charity merely because I say so. Today, I want to tell you about little Danny Pendejo. Danny needs your help; he was born with no torso. His legs are fine, his arms are fine, and his head is okay except for one really big, caved-in part on top. But he has no torso. Won’t you help by being a torso donor? Even a torso that’s too big will be better than no torso at all. Thank you. This is David Nipplegripper, reminding you to see my new movie, Breasts on the Moon”

NUTS!

Another sign of America’s decline: Because a few people are “sensitive to peanuts” and have “allergies” that might “kill them,” America’s commercial airlines had to stop serving those little bags of peanuts. It wasn’t sufficient that the affected people could simply refuse the peanuts when they were offered; the argument was made that the people who did eat the peanuts were putting “peanut dust” in the air, creating a health hazard for the “victims.” What a load of shit. If someone is in danger of dying from inhaling peanut dust, why aren’t they dead already? Why didn’t they die at a baseball game or at the circus? America has gone soft.

When Will Jesus Bring the Pork Chops

INSTRUCTIONS: FOLLOW CAREFULLY

Release the handle by pulling down the strap and tightening the fasteners. Press the button and remove the safety cap, then turn the knob to unleash the spring and wind the excess slack onto the spool. Loosen the screws on the plate lid and insert the tabs into the slots. Rotate the control switch a quarter of a turn before lowering the two levers. Then drop the main crank into a neutral position. Be careful not to unscrew the housing before engaging the catch. Plug in and you’re set to go. If smoke fills the room, read the troubleshooting guide at the rear of this manual.

ACTORS, NOT ACTIVISTS

I like the good actors. The real actors. The ones who keep their lives private. Sean Penn, Harvey Keitel, Alan Arkin, Robert Duvall, Al Pacino, Jack Nicholson, Johnny Depp, Robert De Niro, Gary Oldman, William Hurt, Dustin Hoffman, Gene Hackman, Gary Sinise, Christopher Walken, Gary Busey. They keep to themselves. You don’t see them appearing all the time on TV. They don’t cooperate with Access Hollywood and Entertainment Tonight. They’re actors. Not celebrities. They keep to themselves. That’s why their work is so good. Good for them.

DEAR MA

Dear Ma,

Even though you ‘re dead, I wanted you to know I’m doing real well. No thanks to you, I might add. I now have my own TV show and it’s getting very high ratings. 1 play the part of a guy whose mother dies but it doesn ‘t really bother him. I know they don’t have good reception where you are, so I’m going to send you a tape. Do you think a tape will be okay in the intense heat? Love, Dirk

TEAMS SUCK!

I don’t like ass kissers, flag wavers or team players. I like people who buck the system. Individualists. I often warn kids: “Somewhere along the way, someone

is going to tell you, ‘There is no “I” in team.1 What you should tell them is, ‘Maybe not. But there is an “I” in independence, individuality and integrity.’ ” Avoid teams at all cost. Keep your circle small. Never join a group that has a name. If they say, ”We’re the So-and-Sos,” take a walk. And if, somehow, you must join, if it’s unavoidable, such as a union or a trade association, go ahead and join. But don’t participate; it will be your death. And if they tell you you’re not a team player, just congratulate them on being so observant.

IN THE GROOVE

You ever run over a guy with your car? And you kind of panic? So you back up? And run over him a second time? And then you realize you have to get the fuck outta there before the police show up? So you put it in drive again and run over him a third time? What the fuckmight as well. What else you gonna do at that point, drive around him? Anyway, as you drive away, did you ever reflect on the fact that each time you ran over him the crunching sound got fainter and fainter? That’s because he already had two good, deep grooves pressed into him that you kept driving through.

PRIDE GOETH . . .

Parents are such fuckin’ doofuses. I saw a bumper sticker that said “Proud parents of a sailor.” What the fuck is so special about being a sailor? How about “Proud parents of a tailor”? Isn’t a tailor worthy, too? The whole “proud parent” thing is bullshit. Pretty soon I’m expecting to see “Proud parents of a child.” Have a little self-respect, will ya? You never see the children with

bumper stickers that say “Proud son of Mr. & Mrs. Klayman.” That’s because Mr. & Mrs. Klayman are such fuckin’ doofuses.

I’M IN THE MORAL MINORITY

I don’t think there’s really such a thing as morality. I think it’s a human construct designed to facilitate the control of people. Values, ethics, legal standards all of these things are human-generated, and they’re lumped under some vague idea called morality. But suppose humans got it wrong? Suppose there’s no actual, objective morality? Suppose there’s just a natural, worldly, secular, common-sense standard of behavior whose purpose is what’s best for getting along and what’s best for survival? That would be a good system. Why should a system like that be overlaid with a sense of spooky, mystical, judgmental oversight?

JUST DIE, MOTHERFUCKER

When this Catholic guy, Cardinal Bernardin of Chicago, died, they praised him for accepting death gracefully. Excuse me, but isn’t that what you’re supposed to do? Accept death gracefully? What’s that? You say many people don’t accept death gracefully? I see. So now we’re evaluating people’s behavior and praising them based on what other people don’tdo? Wonderful..

I don’t think people should ever get credit for doing something they’re supposed to do, even if it’s rarely done by others. Condemn the ones who don’t do it if you like, but don’t praise the ones who do it. Only one of the two behaviors is worth commenting on, not both.

TRUE STUFF

You know those broken white lines that separate the lanes on a highway? Have you ever counted them? If you do, you’ll find that there are a hundred of them every mile. It’s true. Each line is a hundredth of a mile from the next one. Count them for yourself as you track your distance on the odometer. Just count how many there are each tenth of a mile; there should be ten. But while you’re counting, don’t forget to keep an eye out for that big eighteen-wheeler up ahead, parked sideways in the middle of the road.

CHOW TIME

“Hi, I’m Ferris Banderhead, another bothersome movie star who tells people to support some charity or other in order to make myself appear concerned and to increase my popularity. Not to mention easing the guilt I feel for having much more than I deserve. But enough about me. April is National Hunger Month. In Beverly Hills, we’re having our annual Hunger Banquet and Gala called ‘Hors d’oeuvres for Ethiopia.’ Send in your dollars today and help us feed people around the world who could certainly use a nice hors d’oeuvre. And remember, the sooner we conquer hunger, the sooner we can start working on upset stomach. Thank you. This is Ferris Banderhead, reminding you to see my new spy movie, The Snotlocker Papers.”

Mannheim Rehab: Call Today

“I’m Dr. Mannheim of the Mannheim Rehab and Recovery Center. People ask me, ‘How can I tell when one of my loved ones needs help with a substance abuse problem?’ And I say, ‘If you see them lying in a corner, naked, in a puddle of their own filth, it may be time to think about counseling.’ Call Mannheim today, and we’ll come over and pick them up. But before we get there . . . please clean up the filth.”

UNCLE BLITZEN

Uncle Blitzen was a troubled man. As a child, visiting backstage at a concert, he was fondled by a viola player and lived the rest of his days with an unnatural fear of stringed instruments. He was one of the nine hundred people present at the Jonestown Massacre, but he threw away the Kool-Aid and only pretended to be dead. When everyone stopped moving he looted the corpses. Subsequently, he moved to Stockholm, where he became the town scumbag. Years later, he reemerged in England as a self-proclaimed bishop, roaming the Midlands with a band of rogue altar boys, administering forced communion to lapsed Catholics. He died during Hurricane Shlomo in front of an adult sex shop when the store’s sign blew down and he was crushed to death by a giant neon dildo.

UNCLE PINOCCHIO

Uncle Pinocchio had twenty-three separate and distinct personalities; unfortunately, all of them were unpleasant. He believed that Porky Pig cartoons rep

resented actual events, and he once stabbed his dog with a ceremonial Japanese saber in a dispute over a lamb bone. He always wore a three-piece suit. It didn’t have a vest, the jacket was just torn in half. He drifted from job to job: balloon vendor, freelance daredevil and stoop laborer among them. He finally settled in his basement, where he lost his mind trying to invent a rectal harmonica. After that, the family kept him tied to a linden tree in the backyard, where they fed him with a slingshot. After six years, they released him on Mussolini’s birthday, whereupon he married a passive-aggressive librarian who later beat him to death with a dictionary stand.

UNCLE SHADRACK

Uncle Shadrack felt he was special because one of his testicles was shaped like a Brazil nut and the other like a cashew. He loved to run up to women, screaming, “You want some mixed nuts?” He told me that in his younger days he was quite a lover and once fucked a girl so hard her freckles fell off. Alas, he didn’t marry well. His wife, Chlorine, looked like something that might be found in the Dumpster behind a cloning center. Her PMS was so bad she had a mood swing installed in her backyard. As a child, while watching a gay pride parade, she was run over by a float full of lesbians, and was eventually found dead in a military barracks, having ingested a load of bad sperm. Shadrack was electrocuted by a RadioShack pacemaker he purchased at a thrift shop.

UNCLE SHEMP

Uncle Shemp was alarmingly unexceptional. He had no detectable lifestyle, and his only accomplishment was the fact that he was a lifelong member of the general public. He started slowly, struggled hard and eventually clawed his way to the back of the pack. Occasionally, he would show a sudden flash of mediocrity, but quickly return to his usual pattern of complete insignificance. He was a man without memories. He didn’t have amnesia, he simply had no memories. As he put it, “Nothing big ever really happened.” As a result, he wore a Medic-Alert bracelet saying PLEASE LET ME DIE. His only pleasure was his hobby: picking through airline wreckage, looking for children’s toys. He died at seventy-five from a head injury suffered as the result of undue glee following a bowel movement.