Текст книги "When Will Jesus Bring the Pork Chops"

Автор книги: Джордж Карлин

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My advice is, if it’s fruit flavor you’re after, play it safe, go ahead and get some fruit. I have found in my experience that fruit almost always turns out to be a reliable source of fruit flavor.

Another good place you may wish to look for fruit flavor would be in fruit juice. Fruit juice is made by squeezing the juice out of the fruit. Apparently, the juice that runs out of the fruit has a fruit flavor. Perhaps that’s why they call it fruit juice. It doesn’t taste like tea. For tea taste, you would need to get some tea.

So let’s sum this up: If it’s fruit flavor you want, you can’t go wrong with fruit. Or, as I’ve pointed out, fruit juice. Don’t be ordering tea. Tea has a tea flavor. It’s not like fruit. It’s more like tea. If you want tea, I say order tea. That’s a different experience. It’s known as “having tea.”

Have you noticed, by the way, there are no tea-flavored fruits? Take a clue from nature.

LEAVE MY CHOCOLATE ALONE

I don’t understand why a chocolate dessert should include raspberries or strawberries. Intrusions of that type spoil the dessert. Leave the chocolate alone; it was doing fine by itself.

I mean, here I am, innocently sitting at my table, waiting for a nice chocolate thing with lots of whipped cream and chocolate sauce to arrive, and I find that some asshole in the kitchen has decided to show off by throwing a bunch of strawberries around. Chef’s ego! Strawberries belong in strawberry shortcake, not in chocolate desserts.

I wouldn’t want a bunch of chocolate in my strawberry shortcake, would you? No. Ergo, I don’t want strawberries hangin around my chocolate cake.

Chocolate cake is called chocolate cake for a reasonit’s chocolate. Leave it alone. Put the strawberries in a nice sherbet if you must. Or put em in a bowl by themselves, over there near the raspberries. But please don’t spoil my chocolate.

Hey, chef! You want to exercise your ego? Weave the berries into fabric and make a strawberry chef’s hat. Be as creative as you want, but stop fucking with my chocolate.

P.S.People who dip sweetly tart stawberries into liquified chocolate, wait for it to cool, and then eat the whole thing ought to be placed in mental institutions. What you should do is this: Drink the chocolate before it cools, then put the strawberries on your kids’ cereal.

And while we’re at it folks, nuts have no business in ice cream. Ice cream should be creamy. Nuts interrupt the creamy idea. Chunks of nuts don’t belong in ice cream. Put ‘em in a little bowl by themselves; put ‘em in a candy bar; stick ‘em up your nose for all I care, but leave my ice cream alone. And, in general, please folks, stop fucking with my desserts!

EUPHEMISMS: Food and Restaurants

Euphemisms and politically correct speech have also infiltrated the food and restaurant businesses. We may as well begin with the inflated job titles, since they seem to be showing up everywhere we visit.

In a truly absurd departure from reality, at some point waiters temporarily became waitpersons, as if waiters and waitresses were somehow sexist terms. For a while there, a few of them even became known as waitrons until everyone involved simply refused to call them that. Now they seem to have settled on servers. These servers are said to be on the waitstaff. Wait-staff seems forced, doesn t it? And it goes without saying, no restaurant to

day would dare allow a cook to cook the food; instead, the cuisine must be prepared by a chef.

An important factor to keep in mind with all of this restaurant and food talk is yuppie pretentiousness. I was in a Yuppie joint last year where the cover of the noontime menu, instead of saying menu, actually had the words lunch solutions. There I sat, unaware that I even had problems, and those nice folks were ready to provide solutions. Once again, I feel the need to emphasize that I actually saw this. Every example I offer you on these euphemism topics has been personally observed.

And before we get to the food itself, I just want to remind you that you can usually determine a restaurant’s price range by noticing how it advertises. If it uses the word cuisine, it will be expensive; if it mentions food, the prices will be moderate; however, if the word eats is employed, rest assured any savings you make on the food will be more than offset by high medical expenses.

Now, on the subject of food itself, I’m sure you know that certain foods have been altered. I don’t mean genetically, I mean euphemistically. They tried to do it to prunes. The California Prune Board wanted to change the word prunes to dried plums, because research told them that women in their thirties reacted more favorably to the phrase dried plums. California women in their thirtiesdoes that tell you enough?

And the poor prunes were not alone. A long time ago the same thing happened to garbanzo beans. Apparently, someone thought the word garbanzos sounded too much like a circus act, so they began using the older name, chickpeas. Also at about that timeagain, for marketing purposesChinese gooseberries became kiwifruit. And since it was obvious feminists would never use an oil derived from rapeseed, we were all introduced to canola oil. And just to round out our meal, the reason Chilean sea bass became so trendy a few years

ago was because it was no longer being called Patagonian tooth fisb. That item needs no comment.

And let’s not even mention capellini, which became angel-hair pasta, Jesus! Angel hair. And by the way, who was it that took the perfectly nice word macaroni and started calling it pasta in the first place? That sounds like more of that marketing bullshit. Never underestimate the relentlessness of the marketing people. Because long before we had yuppies, consumer goods had been getting image upgrades from the marketers.

For example, seltzer water has variously been known as seltzer, carbonated water, soda water, club soda and, finallyenter the yuppiessparkling water. Sometimes these days, the label on the sparkling water says lightly carbonated. Of course, that means they had to find a name for water that wasn’t carbonated, and since noncarbonated sounded far too ordinary, the trendier restaurants decided on flat water. There are even a few places that refer to it as still water. It’s subtle, but it’s clearly a decision that when it comes to beverages, flat may possibly be seen as negative.

Never overlook pretentiousness. Pretentiousness is the reason we don’t drink water anymore; instead we hydrate ourselves. Hey, I’ll hydrate myself to that.

EUPHEMISMS: Buy This and Eat It FOOD LINGO

Food-advertising language. You’re familiar with the words. You hear them all the time: Fresh, natural, hearty, old-fashioned, homemade goodness. In a can. Well, if those are the words they want to use, let’s take a look at them.

Old-fashioned

When they say old-fashioned, they want us to think about the old days, don’t they? The old days. You know, before we had sanitation laws; before hygiene became popular; back when E. coli was still considered a condiment.

Homemade

Right next to old-fashioned in the warmth and nostalgia department is homemade. You see it on packages in the supermarket: homemade flavor. Folks, take my word for this, a food company operating out of a ninety-acre processing plant is functionally incapable of producing anything homemade. I don t care if the CEO is living in the basement, wearing an apron and cooking on a hot plate. It’s not gonna happen.

Same with restaurants. Homemade soup. Once again, it doesn’t matter how much the four-foot, amphetamine-laced waitress with the bright orange hair smoking the three Marlboros reminds you of your dear old mother, the soup is not homemade. Unless the chef and his family are sleeping in the kitchen. And if that’s the case, I’m not hungry.

Homemade is a myth. You want to know some things that are homemade? Crystal meth. Crack cocaine. A pipe bomb full of nails. Now we’re talkin’ homemade. If you need further information, check the notes of Timothy McVeigh. Old Tim knew how to cook up little homemade goodies.

Home-style

Sometimes the advertising people realize that homemade sounds too full of shit, so they switch to home-style. They’ll say something has home-style flavor. Well, whose home are we talking about? Jeffrey Dahmer’s? Believe me, folks, there’s nothing home-style about the boiled head of a Cambodian teenager. Even if you sprinkle parsley on the hair and serve it with oven-roasted potatoes.

Style

Style is another bullshit word you have to keep an eye on. Any time you see the word style added to another word, someone is pulling your prick. New York-style deli. You know why they call it that? Because it’s not in New York. That’s the only reason. Its probably in Bumfuk, Egypt, the owner is from Rwanda and the food tastes like something the Hutus would feed to the Tutsis.

Another bogus use of the word style is in family-style restaurant. What that means is that there’s an argument going on at every table. And the eldest male is punching the women. You know, “family-style.”

Gourmet

Here’s another word the advertising sluts have completely wiped their asses with. Everything is gourmet now: gourmet cuisine in a can, gourmet dining in a cup. Folks, try not to be too fuckin’ stupid, will ya? There’s no such thing as gourmet coffee, gourmet rolls or gourmet pizza. Gourmet means one thing: “We’re going to charge you more.”

The same is true of the word cuisine. The difference between food and cuisine is sixty dollars. That’s it. They’re stealing from you. You want to know some real gourmet food? Toasted snail penises; candied filet of panda asshole: deep-dish duck dick. Now you’re talkin’ cuisine.

Hearty

This is a word only a bullshitter could love: hearty. Soups are hearty, breakfast is hearty. Folks, next time you see the word hearty, take a good look at the rest of the label. “Hmmra! Six hundred grams of saturated fat.” You know, hearty. As in heart attack.

The/words

It’s a good idea to be wary of any words ending in y, in particular such words as butter-y, lemon-y and chocolate-y. Any time marketers add a y to the name of a food, you can be sure they’re yanking your schwantz. Real chocolatey goodness. Translation? No fuckin’ chocolate!

And while we’re at it, zesty and tangy are not real words that normal people use in conversation. Has anyone ever turned to you in a restaurant and said, “This pork is really zesty. And it’s tangy, too”? My comment? “Hey, Zesty, I got something’ tangy for ya!”

Flavored

Folks, watch out for the word flavored. Lemon-flavored drink. Oh yeah? Lemme know if you spot any trace of a goddamn lemon in there.

There’s even a pet food that calls itself a chicken-flavored treat. Well, a dog doesn’t know what chicken tastes like. He might like it if you give him some, but he’s not gonna say, “Oh good, I was hoping we’d have something chicken-flavored again. One grows tired of beef.’

Natural

The last one of these bullshit food words is natural. And these comments are directed at all you environmental jackoffs out there. The word natural is completely meaningless. Everything is natural. Nature includes everything. It’s not just trees and flowers and the northern spotted owl. It’s everything in the universe. Untreated raw sewage, polyester, toxic chemical waste, used bandages, monkey shit. It’s all perfectly natural. It’s just not real good food. But you know something? It is zesty. And it’s tangy, too. Bon appe’tit, consumers.

RETAIL BLUES

LET’S TAKE THE GLOVES OFF

When did they pass a law that says the people who make my sandwiches have to be wearing gloves? I’m not comfortable with this. I don’t want glove residue all over my food; it his not sanitary. Who knows where these gloves have been? Let’s get back to the practice of human hands making sandwiches for human beings.

And we have to stop this tipping-people-for-counter-service thing. No one should get a tip for standing erect, moving a few feet to one side and picking up a muffin. The sign on the pathetic little tip cup says TIPS WOULD BE APPRECIATED. Well, so would some fuckin’ decent service. Let’s be honest, folks, there’s not a great deal of IQ floating around behind these counters. Maybe in their homelands some of these people might pass for intelligent, but to me, if they live in this country and can’t speak English, their IQ plunges about three hundred points. I shouldn’t have to leave a tip in order to pay for someone’s English lessons.

DON’T BE A PHONEE

Store clerks! You should not be on the phone when you’re waiting on me. When I, the customer, walk up to the counter, the phone should be put down. And if it rings while you’re waiting on me, let it ring. After ten rings, pick it up, and, without even saying hello, say, “I’m currently waiting on an actual, paying customer who has money and has had the courtesy to come into the store to transact business. I will get to you when the store is empty. Stay on the line if you wish, but I may not get to you till sundown.” Then smile at me and say, “Where were we?” The in-store customer should always come first.

MOVIN’ ON UP

And where did this new rule come from that says the second person standing on line in a store has to hang back and leave about six feet of space between himself and the customer being waited on? You know, one person is already up at the counter and the next person is standing back five or six feet, leaving all this unused space. When did this shit start?

And I’m not talking about stores where there’s an obvious central feeder-lineone line that feeds a number of counter positions. I’m talking about an individual line that feeds a single counter, and these dopey people hang back like they’re afraid of offending someone. This has obviously grown out of some perverted, politically correct impulse. Move up, motherfucker! Take up the slack! You know what I do when I’m behind one of these timid jackoffs? I step right in front of him and take his place in line. If he doesn’t like it, I say, “You should have moved up, twat-face. Don’t you know space is at a premium? I gave you a full minute and you didn t move. Now I’m next!”

THE UNDECIDEDS

I also get very unhappy with people in supermarkets who stop their carts in the middle of the aisle and just stand there looking at the soup. They don’t know what they want, so they’re looking. Parked. Middle of the aisle. They’re trying to decide. Why would you go to the supermarket if you didn’t know what you wanted? You know how I shop? I enter the store with a list in my hand, and I move quickly through the aisles from item to item, and I’m in the parking lot before Hamlet has figured out if the cream of mushroom is a better bargain than the chicken with stars. I say, know what you want, get what you need, and get the fuck out of there. That’s how ya shop.

MESSAGE FROM A COCKROACH

“Hello there, I’m a cockroach. Listen, I’m gonna keep this to a minimum, because I gotta get back to the kitchen and eat a bunch of crumbs that I spotted on the table. Plus there’s a little puddle of gravy on the left side of the sink near the drain that nobody noticed. Okay, here’s my deal: Bug sprays. We don’t like ‘em, we don’t need em, we don’t want ‘em. We say get rid of ‘em. Okay? That’s it. Otherwise, if you don’t do what we want, we’re gonna crawl all over your face while you’re asleep. We’ll even go up your nose. We don’t care. Thanks. Ill see you later. And for chrissakes, turn out the lights, will ya?”

FLY THE FRIENDLY SKIES

When I’m on a commercial flight, and I see a fly flying down the center of the airplane from back to front, I like to take him off to one side and ask him if he understands how fast he’s moving. They never really know. So the first thing I do is briefly explain Newton’s laws of motion, complete with a small diagram to make it a bit easier. But the only thing their little fly egos are interested in is how fast they’re moving. So I tell them that in order to calculate their velocity relative to the ground, all they have to do is add their own flying speed to the speed of the airplane. I show them how it works and they can’t believe it when they discover that they’re actually traveling over five hundred miles an hour. The first thing most of them mention is that a frog’s tongue wouldn’t stand a chance against that kind of speed.

PLEASE DON’T SAY THAT

Here is a small sampling of embarrassing societal cliches that I find tiresome and, in some cases, just plain ignorant.

IF IT SAVES JUST ONE LIFE

You often hear a new policy or procedure justified by the specious idea that “If it saves the life of just one (insert here ‘child’ or ‘American soldier’), it will be worth it.” Well, maybe not. Maybe a closer look would show that the cost in time, money or inconvenience would be much too high to justify merely saving one life. What’s wrong with looking at it like that? Governments and corporations make those calculations all the time.

EVERY CHILD IS SPECIAL

An empty and meaningless sentiment. What about every adult? Isn’t every adult special? And if not, then at what age does a person go from being special to being not-so-special? And if every adult is also special, then that means all people are special and the idea has no meaning. This embarrassing sentiment is usually advanced to further some position that is either political or fundraising in nature. It’s similar to “children are our future.” It’s completely meaningless and is probably being used in some self-serving way.

HE’S SMILING DOWN

After the death of some person (even many years after) you will often hear someone refer to the deceased by saying, ‘I get the feeling he’s up there now, smiling down on us. And I think he’s pleased.” I actually heard this when some dead coach’s son was being inducted into the Football Hall of Fame.

First of all, it’s extremely doubtful that there’s any “up there’ to smile down from. It’s poetic, and I guess it’s comforting. But it probably doesn’t exist. Besides, if a person did somehow survive death in a nonphysical form, he would be far too busy with other things to be smiling down on people.

.And why is it we never hear that someone is “smiling up at us.’ I suppose it doesn’t occur to people that a loved one might be in hell. And in that case the person in question probably wouldn’t be smiling. More likely, he’d be screaming. “I get the feeling he’s down there now, screaming up at us. And I think he his in pain.” People just refuse to be realistic.

THIS PUTS EVERYTHING IN PERSPECTIVE

This nonsense will often crop up after some unexpected sports death like that of Cardinals pitcher Darryl Kile. After one of these athletes sudden death, one of his dopey teammates will say, “This really puts everything in perspective. ” And I say, listen, putz, if you need someone to die in order to put things in perspective, you’ve got problems. You ain’t payin’ enough attention.

AMERICA’S LOST INNOCENCE

I keep hearing that America lost its innocence on 9/11. I thought that happened when JFK was shot. Or was it Vietnam? Pearl Harbor? How many times can America lose its innocence? Maybe we keep finding it again. Doubtful. Because, actually, if you look at the record, you’ll find that America has had very little innocence from the beginning.

LET THE HEALING BEGIN

This bothersome sentiment is usually heard following some large-scale killing or accident that’s been overreported in the news. Like Columbine, Oklahoma City

or the World Trade Center. It’s often accompanied by another meaningless, overworked cliche, “closure.” People can’t seem to get it through their heads that there is never any healing or closure. Ever. There is only a short pause before the next “horrifying” event. People forget there is such a thing as memory, and that when a wound “heals” it leaves a permanent scar that never goes away, but merely fades a little. What really ought to be said after one of these so-called tragedies is, “Let the scarring begin.” Just trying to be helpful here.

Consolidated International: We Need You

Were Consolidated International, and we might be looking for you. Are you one of those submissive people who show up, punch in, put out, pitch in, punch out, clean up, head home, throw up, turn in, sack out and shut up? That’s what we need, people we can keep in line. We just might have a place for you. Consolidated International: People making things, so people have things to do things to other people with.

THE FANATICS WILL WIN

I hope you good, loyal Americans understand that in the long run the Islamist extremists are going to win. Because you can’t beat numbers, and you cant beat fanaticismthe willingness to die for an idea.

A country like ours, preoccupied with Jet Skis, off-road vehicles, snow boards, Jacuzzis, microwave ovens, pornography, lap dances, massage parlors, escort services, panty liners, penis enhancement, tummy tucks, thongs and Odor Eaters doesn’t have a prayernot even a good, old-fashioned

Christian prayeragainst a billion fanatics who hate that country, detest its materialism and have nothing really to lose. Maybe fifty years ago, but not today when germs and chemicals and nuclear materials are for sale everywhere.

People who don’t give a shit and have nothing to lose will always prevail over people who are fighting for some vague sentiment scrawled on a piece of parchment. Folks, they’re gonna getcha; and it ain’t gonna be pleasant.

We can’t drop a five-thousand-pound bomb on every one of them. They will either run all over us or, in trying, they will turn us into even bigger monsters than we already are.

And don’t get all excited about this goofy idea, “the spread of democracy.1′ No matter who the United States puts in charge to bring peace and order in Iraq or Palestine or anywhere else, those people will be killed. Its that simple. Anyone who supports the United States will be killed. Peace and order will not be tolerated. Start saving your cash for the black market, folks, you’re gonna need it.

THE CHANNEL SEVEN EDITORIAL REPLY

ANNOUNCER: Channel seven recognizes its obligation to provide equal time to viewers who disagree with its editorial policy. Here, then, with an editorial reply, is Dr. Steven Wanker, a clinical psychologist. Dr. Wanker speaks as a private citizen.

DR. WANKER: Thank you. Are these channel seven people kidding? Hah? What kind of crap are they trying to pull? Did you hear that shit they said last week about the budget? Jesus Christ! I couldn’t believe it! What kind of assholes do they think we are?

And they’re always acting so self-righteous, like they know what’s good for us and we’re too stupid to think. I’m gettin’ tired of this shit. How about you? Hah? Fuck these people! Who do they think they are, with their goddamn three-piece suits and fancy eyeglasses?

And, by the way, do you know how long it takes to get one of these goddamn editorial replies on the air? Three fuckin’ years! Three years ago I started asking to do this shit! They kept sayin’, “Well, we’re not sure you’re stable enough to be allowed on the air.’ And I said, “Stable? What’re you fuckin’ people, crazy? I’m as stable as the next cocksucker!” I said to em, “Bend over and Til give you something’ stable!”

Fortunately, they were able to recognize the logic of my argument and here I am. But you know what I found out these assholes can do? They can cut you off the air if they want to. For instance, if they don’t like what you’re saying, they can just fuckin’ interru

ANNOUNCER: That was Steven Wanker, a clinical psychologist. Tune in to channel seven tomorrow night for another editorial reply, as schoolteacher Howard Boudreaux delivers an

opinion titled, “What’s All This Phony Bullshit about Drunk Driving?” And, later in the week, don’t miss Mayor Cosmo Drelling as he addresses another important issue: “What’s So Bad about Slavery?” Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. We now join Blotujobs of the Rich a?jd Famous in progress.

And later this evening, tune in Doctor Jim as he removes a wart from a lesbian.

KEEP TV FAMILYFREE

I’m always glad when some group of American hostages is released overseas, and they finally get to come home to their families. 1 him not glad because I particularly care about them, but because I get sick of hearing about them on TV, and I get sick of listening to their families. Jesus, did I get tired of all those whining hostage-families during that bullshit in Iran in the 1970s. “My husbands a hostage! The government’s not doing enough!”

Hey, lady, if you don’t want your husband to be a hostage, tell him to stay the fuck out of Iran or places like it in the first place. It’s a simple thing; you don’t have to be a theoretical physicist to figure it out. If you stay out of these places, you’ve got a good chance of not becoming a hostage.

And the media always refers to them as “innocent Americans.’ Bullshit. There are no innocent Americans. And whatever they are, they’re certainly not news. First thing you know, once they’re back they start writing books, one by one, and you have to endure the whole thing all over again,

seeing them on every talk show, regurgitating the whole fuckin’ boring story again.

Here are some more families I’m not interested in: astronauts’ families. Who cares about these people? Astronauts’ wives and children. They re not newskeep ‘em off TV. I don’t even care about the astronauts themselves. Anal-retentive robots wasting money in space. Andnot incidentally spreading our foul, grotesquely distorted DNA beyond this biosphere.

I say, keep the infection local. God! Haven’t we done enough damage on this planet? Now we’re going to go somewhere else and leave our filth and garbage all over the universe? Jesus, what a pack of fuckin’ idiots we are. Thank you.

SEEMS LIKE OLD TIMES: A DIALOGUE

KEVIN: Boy, a lot has changed in twenty years.

RAY: Yeah.

KEVIN: Is Naughton still around?

RAY: Frankie?

KEVIN: No, Jimmy.

RAY: Jimmy’s dead. And Frankie died at the funeral. They’re both dead.

KEVIN: What about Bobby? How’s he? RAY: He’s dead, too. A lot of em are dead.

KEVIN: What was the other Naughton kid’s name? Tommy? Is he dead?

RAY: No. Tommy’s not dead.

KEVIN: Thank God for that.

RAY: He’s dying.

KEVIN: Jeez! The mother must be heartbroken.

RAY: The mother was killed in a boiler explosion. Blown to pieces.

KEVIN: Jeez. I’ll never forget that house the Naughtons lived in. Kind of a cute little place with green shutters.

RAY: Hit by lightning fifteen years ago. Burned to the ground. All the pets were killed.

KEVIN: Jeez. That’s too bad. I remember the Naughtons always liked that house because it was so close to the church.

RAY: Our Lady of Perpetual Suffering?

KEVIN: Yeah.

RAY: The church is gone. Condemned by the city last year and demolished on Good Friday.

KEVIN: So where do the neighborhood kids go to school?

RAY: Most of the neighborhood kids were killed a few years ago by a rapist who worked at the grocery store.

KEVIN: Dorian’s?

RAY: No, Babington’s.

KEVIN: I liked Dorian’s. They always had good produce.

RAY: Dorian’s collapsed ten years ago and killed nineteen customers. The entire Halloran family was decapitated at the butcher counter while they were pickin’ out meat.

KEVIN: Jeez. Times really change. RAY: Well, life goes on.

REAL REALISM FOR REALISTS DRINK UP

I think the warning labels on alcoholic beverages are too bland. They should be more vivid. Here are a few I would suggest:

“Alcohol will turn you into the same asshole your father was.”

“Drinking will significantly improve your chances of murdering a loved one.”

“If you drink long enough, at some point you will vomit up the lining of your stomach.’

“Use this product and you may wake up in Morocco wearing a cowboy suit and tongue-kissing a transmission salesman.”

“Men: When emptying your pockets after a night of using this product, you may come across a human finger, a wad of Turkish money and a snapshot of a naked ex-convict named Dogmeat. The photo will be inscribed, ‘To Dave, my new old lady.’”

“Women: Drink enough of this and you will spend the rest of your life raising malnourished children in a rusting trailer with a man who sleeps all day. Except for the rapes.”

GOD REST HIS SOUL

Newspaper death notices could also be written more honestly. Have you seen the lies they print? “Cherished and beloved husband of Kathleen, devoted and esteemed father of Thomas; loving brother of Edward”? Bullshit. Let’s be realistic:

“Ryan, James D.; jealous and abusive husband of Kate; lustful, wanton father of Maureen; controlling and manipulative father of Matthew; cruel, envious and conniving brother of Thomas, died yesterday to the great relief of the family. May he burn a long time in the worst parts of the deepest pits of the hottest precincts of hell. It is good to have him out of our lives.

“Funeral at the Church of the Holy Bleeding Wounds, burial in Crown of Thorns Cemetery. No flowers; donations should be made in cash directly to the family for purposes of celebration.”

ON BENDED KNEE

This idea could spread. It might even inspire young men to make more realistic marriage proposals: “Honey, let’s get married. I realize I’m asking you to take a chance on a proven loserI don’t have any money or stuff like thatbut maybehear me outmaybe we could find a cheap, unclean apartment in a dangerous neighborhood and have more kids than we can afford. If we’re lucky, maybe a few of them won’t be born sickly and disfigured, in spite of our genetic histories. Meanwhile, I could find a dehumanizing, low-paying, dead-end job with no benefits, while you stay home watching TV and gaining weight.

“And if things get badlike if I get paralyzed, and you get raped by Mexican sailors and lose your mind and start crying all the timewe can always move in with my parents. They love kids, and their incest counsel

ing is almost complete. And I’ve noticed Dads ‘episodes’ are starting to result in far less property damage than before. What do you say, honey? You want to give it a shot? Maybe our second set of HIV tests will turn up negative.”