Posts
The 4 Questions From the Randy’s Discount Herring in Wine-Like Sauce Label
1. On all other nights, we need not dip even once, but on this night why not dip everything in Randy’s Kosher-For-Passover Discount Extra Salty Wine-Like Sauce®?
2. On all other nights, we eat chametz or matzah, tonight, why not matzah -- accompanied, of course by Randy’s Kosher-For-Passover Discount Herring in Wine-Like Sauce®?
3. On all other nights, we eat any kind of vegetable and on this night, why not maror (which we make tolerable by mixing in plenty of Randy’s Kosher-For-Passover Discount Maror Helper in Wine-Like Sauce®)?
4. On all other nights, we eat sitting upright. On this night, why do we eat reclining? And why not? Everybody’s feelin’ Randy! This Pesach, tell Ma and your bubbe to get plenty of extra. The whole Meshpucha’s coming over!
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The Maggid of the Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaardvark Civil Liberties Union
We were slaves once in the land of Egypt, but G-d brought us forth from there with an outstretched arm and a mighty hand. Now we ourselves have become the enslavers. We have exploited the undocumented slackers, infringed the liberties of atheists and wife-swappers, and failed to Mirandize the neighbor’s enemy combatant pets. To free ourselves of the cycle of enslaver and enslaved, we are commanded to regard ourselves as being in Mitzrayim, just as our ancestors were, and to flee the inclination to oppression, just as our ancestors did, right after they stole all the silverware.
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Pincus Ming Mandelbaum’s Dayenu
If they had charged for the first bag, but allowed the second bag to fly free,
--dayenu!
If they had made parents traveling with small screaming children to sit in the way back behind a screen,
--dayenu!
If they had arrested and prosecuted the selfish morons who tried to stuff over-sized duffle bags in the limited overhead bin space,
--dayenu!
If we hadn‘t sat on the tarmac for 2 hours,
--dayenu!
If the person who kept jamming his knees in the back of my seat had developed a full-body rash,
--dayenu!
If they had found the slob who failed to grasp the meaning of the pictogram on the toilet in the lavatory of the paper towels in a circle with a diagonal red line through it, and pushed him out of the plane,
--dayenu!
If the sound on the headset had worked,
--dayenu!
If I hadn’t gotten on the wrong flight and ended up 3,000 miles away from my intended destination,
--dayenu!
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The 10 Plagues of Recent Memory From: “The Whimsical Reconstructionist Haggadah -- Suggested Readings”
(dip your pinky finger in your wine cup and sprinkle a little wine on your plate and a little in your neighbor’s lap with the recitation of each plague.)
1. People who say “as far as” instead of “as far as that is concerned,” as in: “As far as matzah, I could go egg or plain.”
2. “Gimme back that filet-o-fish/ Gimme that fish”
3. Public radio fund-raisers
4. Texting while driving
5. Cattle disease (C’mon, gotta have cattle disease!)
6. Never-ending winter (global warming notwithstanding)
7. Spam (all kinds)
8. Spoiled kitties, who are never full -- no matter what
9. potholes
10. Death of the cell phone battery
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Surgeon General’s Warning:
The Surgeon General Has determined that hiding the afikoman between the cushions on the couch could attract lint, cat hair, and other substances not suitable for human ingestion, although, it could also result in the discovery of small change or old Hanukah gelt.
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A Closing Prayer From the BBC
The Seder now ends in accordance with Halachic Law, provided there is no conflict with the rules of the Geneva Convention,
Complete in key details, but omitting celebrations of colonialist aggression
As far as the Children of Israel, aspirations of Zion should be maintained within internationally-recognized borders
With joyful song -- spruced up with Sabar Wolof, the Dance Drumming of Senegal,
Let those of us in the politically-aware Diaspora proclaim:
NEXT YEAR IN THE PARTS OF JERUSALEM NOT INFLAMING THE PASSIONS OF THE UNITED NATIONS HUMAN RIGHTS COMMISSION -- SUCH AS THE CROWNE PLAZA.
Happy Pesach from HIYLH
Friday, March 26, 2010
Thursday, March 25, 2010
IF YOU DONATE RIGHT NOW, OUR STATION MANAGER WILL RUN AROUND THE BUILDING BUCK NAKED!
If we get $15, 0000 in the next hour, our station manager and our program director will have sex live on the radio! This is the kind of programming you can’t hear anywhere else.
You are so right Jill: For a contribution of $365 (that’s less than a dollar a day in a leap year) we’ll send you a full color calendar featuring candid photos of our station manager and our program director. These never-before-seen photos have never before been seen, not even by our station manager and our program director!
You said it Jack: Think of how much public radio and WLOL mean to you. From the moment you wake up until the moment you go to bed (or wherever you sleep) we’re there begging for money, but in a way that makes you think. Can a commercial radio station say that?
I couldn’t have said it better myself, Jill: Where else can you hear shows like “Radio Rain Forest” in which we bring you the sounds of larvae hatching while our intrepid correspondent whispers breathlessly into the microphone, barely able to contain his excitement as a snail lumbers onto a nearby twig?
Not only that, Jack: But where else can you hear shows like “The Kibbitzer” with Rhoda Feldman -- where Rhoda just sits around and kibbitzes with whoever happens to stumble into the studio that day? And when no one else is around, Rhoda kibbitzes with herself and sometimes just drums her fingers on the table to the rhythm of the songs of yesteryear. You wouldn’t be able to hear this anyplace else unless you went over to Rhoda’s house and sat around her kitchen table, and how could you do that if you don’t even know where she lives?
Right you are, Jill: Only public radio has what it takes to bring you the kind of news stories that cause you to look deep inside your soul, lay bare your innermost greed, and make you feel over-privileged and guilty for the rest of the day. Why? Because we care. We care deeply about our commitment to asking you to donate.
That’s right Jack: Which is what we’re doing right now. Because it takes a lot of resources to stay on the air even for one day. Even for two days!
Ditto, Jill, ditto: You know, the word “resources” is really just the word “money,” but spelled with different letters and containing an extra syllable. So that’s why we’re asking you to go to your phones right now (unless you walk around all the time with one of those phone earpieces that make you look like a cyborg, in which case, of course, you don’t have to go to your phone -- as you pretty much are a phone) and dial 1-888-GIV-CASH.
You got that right, Jack: Every little bit helps. But big bits help even more. And really huge bits are the best. And here’s another thing. Your contribution is fully tax-deductible. So think about it. If you only give a chincy little bit, you’ll only get to deduct a chincy little bit. But if you give, say, a really huge bit, that’s how much you’ll get to deduct. And there’s no limit on how much you can give! We need to raise $123,000 in the next 30 days, so if you give that much, that’s how much you get to deduct! Don’t just think about it, do it now, while we‘re haranguing you! Give $123,000 today and end our spring fund drive early.
Good call, Jill: We do have some gifts for the first ten callers who -- although they refuse to contribute $123,000 -- nevertheless, are willing to donate some pittance. For the first ten of you who call to pledge $180, we have a very fine collection of soaps and mini shampoos hand-collected by our station manager and our program director during their many daytime visits to area hotels over the last year. If you are the eleventh caller, you will be plumb out of luck. So better act fast.
Thanks, Jack: And thanks, also to Miriam’s Dog Taggery for donating customized dog tags to be sent to the first 30 lucky callers who pledge at least $36. These tags are especially great for people who have a dog named “Waffles,” as well as for people who like waffles.
Mmmm mmmmm, I sure like waffles, Jill: Which reminds me; if you listen to this station on a regular basis and you never make a pledge, it’s no different than walking into a convenience store, eating a package of Little Debbie Cakes® and then walking out without paying. It’s stealing, plain and simple, and it raises the price of Little Debbie Cakes® for the rest of us.
Great analogy, Jack: I couldn’t have said it better myself had I said it myself. In fact, even if you’re just randomly trolling the airwaves for klezmer or gansta rap or suchlike, and you inadvertently land on our station just for a few moments, you’re still sucking up precious resources, a/k/a money, and if you don’t pay for these moments, it’s a misdemeanor. The law is quite clear on this.
Very true, Jill: Very true. Many of you think that we get all the funding we need from the government. NEWS FLASH! (We can say that, because we’re a radio station). After the government is done picking up the tab for two simultaneous wars, socialized health care, the Wall Street bailouts, the auto-maker bailouts, and propping up a post office that nobody uses any more because nobody actually reads or writes letters, there is essentially nothing left over for us. So it is up to you, the inadvertently listening public. You are the “public” in public radio. And we are the “radio in public radio.” Without you, we’d just be radio. And you’d be…well, I don’t want to say it.
My thoughts, exactly, Jack: Allow us to put it to you this way. Public radio is a big f*****g deal. Even the vice president of the United States knows that. We’re always there for you and now we’re asking you to be there for us, because we’re always there for you.
Jill: you hit the nail on the head. We’re like the drip, drip, drip of a leaky faucet -- on incessantly night and day in the background until you develop a nervous tic. This is your public radio, provided that you pay for it and don’t try to mooch.
Y’know, Jack: You can also give on-line at www.wlol.org. Just click on the “donate $123,000 now” button.
Wonderful Jill: Before we go back to our regular schedule, we’d like to thank our phone volunteers on loan from the county work-release program. And a special thanks to whoever brought in all those packages of Little Debbie Cakes® for the phone volunteers. Didn’t see a receipt in the bag, by the way, heh, heh, heh.
One more thing, Jack: We’ll be back unannounced at irregular intervals throughout the day with some more fund-raising, so don’t even think about trying to turn the volume down, because you never know when we’re going to come back on or for how long, and if you try to mute us you might miss something good.
You are so right Jill: For a contribution of $365 (that’s less than a dollar a day in a leap year) we’ll send you a full color calendar featuring candid photos of our station manager and our program director. These never-before-seen photos have never before been seen, not even by our station manager and our program director!
You said it Jack: Think of how much public radio and WLOL mean to you. From the moment you wake up until the moment you go to bed (or wherever you sleep) we’re there begging for money, but in a way that makes you think. Can a commercial radio station say that?
I couldn’t have said it better myself, Jill: Where else can you hear shows like “Radio Rain Forest” in which we bring you the sounds of larvae hatching while our intrepid correspondent whispers breathlessly into the microphone, barely able to contain his excitement as a snail lumbers onto a nearby twig?
Not only that, Jack: But where else can you hear shows like “The Kibbitzer” with Rhoda Feldman -- where Rhoda just sits around and kibbitzes with whoever happens to stumble into the studio that day? And when no one else is around, Rhoda kibbitzes with herself and sometimes just drums her fingers on the table to the rhythm of the songs of yesteryear. You wouldn’t be able to hear this anyplace else unless you went over to Rhoda’s house and sat around her kitchen table, and how could you do that if you don’t even know where she lives?
Right you are, Jill: Only public radio has what it takes to bring you the kind of news stories that cause you to look deep inside your soul, lay bare your innermost greed, and make you feel over-privileged and guilty for the rest of the day. Why? Because we care. We care deeply about our commitment to asking you to donate.
That’s right Jack: Which is what we’re doing right now. Because it takes a lot of resources to stay on the air even for one day. Even for two days!
Ditto, Jill, ditto: You know, the word “resources” is really just the word “money,” but spelled with different letters and containing an extra syllable. So that’s why we’re asking you to go to your phones right now (unless you walk around all the time with one of those phone earpieces that make you look like a cyborg, in which case, of course, you don’t have to go to your phone -- as you pretty much are a phone) and dial 1-888-GIV-CASH.
You got that right, Jack: Every little bit helps. But big bits help even more. And really huge bits are the best. And here’s another thing. Your contribution is fully tax-deductible. So think about it. If you only give a chincy little bit, you’ll only get to deduct a chincy little bit. But if you give, say, a really huge bit, that’s how much you’ll get to deduct. And there’s no limit on how much you can give! We need to raise $123,000 in the next 30 days, so if you give that much, that’s how much you get to deduct! Don’t just think about it, do it now, while we‘re haranguing you! Give $123,000 today and end our spring fund drive early.
Good call, Jill: We do have some gifts for the first ten callers who -- although they refuse to contribute $123,000 -- nevertheless, are willing to donate some pittance. For the first ten of you who call to pledge $180, we have a very fine collection of soaps and mini shampoos hand-collected by our station manager and our program director during their many daytime visits to area hotels over the last year. If you are the eleventh caller, you will be plumb out of luck. So better act fast.
Thanks, Jack: And thanks, also to Miriam’s Dog Taggery for donating customized dog tags to be sent to the first 30 lucky callers who pledge at least $36. These tags are especially great for people who have a dog named “Waffles,” as well as for people who like waffles.
Mmmm mmmmm, I sure like waffles, Jill: Which reminds me; if you listen to this station on a regular basis and you never make a pledge, it’s no different than walking into a convenience store, eating a package of Little Debbie Cakes® and then walking out without paying. It’s stealing, plain and simple, and it raises the price of Little Debbie Cakes® for the rest of us.
Great analogy, Jack: I couldn’t have said it better myself had I said it myself. In fact, even if you’re just randomly trolling the airwaves for klezmer or gansta rap or suchlike, and you inadvertently land on our station just for a few moments, you’re still sucking up precious resources, a/k/a money, and if you don’t pay for these moments, it’s a misdemeanor. The law is quite clear on this.
Very true, Jill: Very true. Many of you think that we get all the funding we need from the government. NEWS FLASH! (We can say that, because we’re a radio station). After the government is done picking up the tab for two simultaneous wars, socialized health care, the Wall Street bailouts, the auto-maker bailouts, and propping up a post office that nobody uses any more because nobody actually reads or writes letters, there is essentially nothing left over for us. So it is up to you, the inadvertently listening public. You are the “public” in public radio. And we are the “radio in public radio.” Without you, we’d just be radio. And you’d be…well, I don’t want to say it.
My thoughts, exactly, Jack: Allow us to put it to you this way. Public radio is a big f*****g deal. Even the vice president of the United States knows that. We’re always there for you and now we’re asking you to be there for us, because we’re always there for you.
Jill: you hit the nail on the head. We’re like the drip, drip, drip of a leaky faucet -- on incessantly night and day in the background until you develop a nervous tic. This is your public radio, provided that you pay for it and don’t try to mooch.
Y’know, Jack: You can also give on-line at www.wlol.org. Just click on the “donate $123,000 now” button.
Wonderful Jill: Before we go back to our regular schedule, we’d like to thank our phone volunteers on loan from the county work-release program. And a special thanks to whoever brought in all those packages of Little Debbie Cakes® for the phone volunteers. Didn’t see a receipt in the bag, by the way, heh, heh, heh.
One more thing, Jack: We’ll be back unannounced at irregular intervals throughout the day with some more fund-raising, so don’t even think about trying to turn the volume down, because you never know when we’re going to come back on or for how long, and if you try to mute us you might miss something good.
Friday, March 19, 2010
In a Parallel Universe, I’m a Very Big Deal
Case Study #1
A woman hands me $15,000 and says, “How do you do? ”
“That’s a fine How do y’do,” I says. “Where did you get it?”
“From trees,” she says.
“I wish I had an apple,” says I.
“You think it’s so easy?” she says.
Case Study #2
I fall asleep and dream that I have a day job where I talk on the phone a lot and file things, and sometimes rearrange the papers on the desk so that the most horrible ones are in the middle instead of the bottom. I wake up at my desk and realize that it was all a dream.
Case Study #3
On a wee jaunt to the Super Existentialist Market to stock up on Ring Gels® and macaroons, I have some time on my hands waiting my turn to pay in the “500 Items or Fewer” checkout lane. My eye catches the title of a tabloid news story and refuses to release it. The headline reads: “PROOF OF LIFE BEFORE DEATH.” I feel reassured.
Case Study #4
Everywhere I go, everyone knows my name, and I don’t know theirs.
“You’re famous,” I say to my reflection in the mirror.
“Do I know you?” responds my reflection.
Case Study # 5
A form arrives in the mail (which is in and of itself a miracle) from the government. I am supposed to check a box to identify myself as either an absurdist or a dada-ist.
“What a dada thing to ask someone,” I think.
“Aha!” exclaims my reflection.
“Do I know you?” I ask.
Case Study # 6
I can’t think of where to go on vacation so I travel back in time to a debate about slavery at the Constitutional Convention in Philadelphia in 1787. I try to blend in, but I’m the only one not wearing stockings and shoes with big buckles.
Plus, it won’t stop raining.
Case Study # 7
Someone rushes up to me while I’m trying to negotiate a hot dog vendor’s price in a downwardly direction.
“Help me take our country back!” he shouts.
“OK!” I shout back. “Where does it go?”
Case Study # 8
I am up in the middle of the night watching television. An advertisement comes on for the “Amazing Door Opener Assistant” for only $19.99. I act now and order 17 of them, because I just hate the fuss of turning door handles.
Case Study # 9
I try to write a novel, but don’t make it past the second page.
I have to wonder: “Why can’t I ever finish anything that I sta…
A woman hands me $15,000 and says, “How do you do? ”
“That’s a fine How do y’do,” I says. “Where did you get it?”
“From trees,” she says.
“I wish I had an apple,” says I.
“You think it’s so easy?” she says.
Case Study #2
I fall asleep and dream that I have a day job where I talk on the phone a lot and file things, and sometimes rearrange the papers on the desk so that the most horrible ones are in the middle instead of the bottom. I wake up at my desk and realize that it was all a dream.
Case Study #3
On a wee jaunt to the Super Existentialist Market to stock up on Ring Gels® and macaroons, I have some time on my hands waiting my turn to pay in the “500 Items or Fewer” checkout lane. My eye catches the title of a tabloid news story and refuses to release it. The headline reads: “PROOF OF LIFE BEFORE DEATH.” I feel reassured.
Case Study #4
Everywhere I go, everyone knows my name, and I don’t know theirs.
“You’re famous,” I say to my reflection in the mirror.
“Do I know you?” responds my reflection.
Case Study # 5
A form arrives in the mail (which is in and of itself a miracle) from the government. I am supposed to check a box to identify myself as either an absurdist or a dada-ist.
“What a dada thing to ask someone,” I think.
“Aha!” exclaims my reflection.
“Do I know you?” I ask.
Case Study # 6
I can’t think of where to go on vacation so I travel back in time to a debate about slavery at the Constitutional Convention in Philadelphia in 1787. I try to blend in, but I’m the only one not wearing stockings and shoes with big buckles.
Plus, it won’t stop raining.
Case Study # 7
Someone rushes up to me while I’m trying to negotiate a hot dog vendor’s price in a downwardly direction.
“Help me take our country back!” he shouts.
“OK!” I shout back. “Where does it go?”
Case Study # 8
I am up in the middle of the night watching television. An advertisement comes on for the “Amazing Door Opener Assistant” for only $19.99. I act now and order 17 of them, because I just hate the fuss of turning door handles.
Case Study # 9
I try to write a novel, but don’t make it past the second page.
I have to wonder: “Why can’t I ever finish anything that I sta…
Thursday, March 18, 2010
ESSAY CONTEST WINNER -- “Why I Deserve to Win the Powerball Lottery”
First off, I’m not smarmy and practically nobody around here is smarmy. This is pretty much a smarmy-free zone. I’m a regular “Joe,” although “That” is not my real name, and neither is “Joe.” (I do know a few people named “Joe,” but I don’t know anybody named “That.” But even the people I know named “Joe” don’t have quotation marks around their names. “That’s” just an affectation. It’s kind of smarmy. Which is why you never hear about anybody named “Joe” winning the lottery. Or “That” for that matter.
I’ve never won a lottery before. I’ve also never played one. Played Bingo once. Came in second. There was a smudge on the playing card, and I called out “B-A-N-G-O!” at an inopportune moment. They damn near kicked me out.
I promise that if you let me win the Powerball lottery, I’ll make sure that, up to the winning moment, I will have had no interest in lotteries whatsoever. I also promise that I would not even have stepped foot in the Smarty-Mart that will have sold the winning ticket except that my brother will have been out of Randy’s Discount Herring in Wine-Like Sauce, and he will have asked me to pick up a jumbo pack on my way over to his house to watch a pigeon racing extravaganza on the computer.
I further promise that it will not have even occurred to me to purchase a lottery ticket, except for my brother telling me to be sure to pick one up prior to exiting the store and subsequent to tendering legal tender for the picking up of same.
I also promise that my brother will have given me instructions about what specific numbers to play. I further promise that I will have forgotten these numbers by the time I get to the store (except that I will think there might be a 2 in them) and that, therefore, I will just play any old stupid numbers that come to mind, making sure to include a 2 in them.
When I win the 240 million dollar jackpot, I won’t come forward to claim the prize for a very long time. Not because (as will be widely assumed) I am consulting with lawyers and accountants and the like, but because the winning ticket will have slipped behind the refrigerator and I will have forgotten about it until I pull the refrigerator out from the wall months later to retrieve a magnet of a photo of Albert Einstein sticking his tongue out, whereupon I will discover the winning ticket and some dust balls worthy of an honorable mention in the Guinness Book of Honorable Mentions.
I will almost throw away the winning ticket thinking it is a parking ticket, and if I can forget all about it, why can’t they? Nice try. They never forget.
Although (as previously mentioned) I will try to throw away the winning ticket, I will be unable to do so, because it will stick to my fingers. Fate? No. Jelly.
Just as I am about to pry the ticket off my hand with a lemon zester, a news report will come on the radio (which I never listen to, but which, in this case, will be inadvertently turned on by the cat attempting to jump on top of the counter and missing and slipping down the shelves because he is too fat -- reaching out with his rabbit paws in a desperate attempt to break his fall and not look like an idiot, which he kind of is) mentioning that the winning ticket was sold in my neighborhood 5 months ago but that the winner still has not come forward yet, probably because the winner is consulting with lawyers and accountants and the like. (Little do they know).
This will pique my interest enough to cause me to look at the paper stuck to my hand -- after first soaking my hand in hot water. It will take several seconds for the fact that I have won A HUGE SUM OF MONEY to sink in -- about the same amount of time as it will take for me to pull my hand out of the sink and wave it around frantically to air-dry it (the ticket).
Winning (A HUGE SUM OF MONEY) will not change me, I assure you. When the reporters come to my house to trespass on my lawn and trample my crocuses, I promise that when asked whether I will quit my job, I will say something witty like “no, because I got fired, so they already quit it for me,” which will have been the truth. [Hint: One good reason why I deserve to win the lottery].
Then when they ask what do you plan to do with all that money, I will say, “oh, you know, fund the construction of a slimming salon for cats.” This will make not a few people mad.
So what? Did they win?
Smarmy bastards. Who cares what they think?
I’ve never won a lottery before. I’ve also never played one. Played Bingo once. Came in second. There was a smudge on the playing card, and I called out “B-A-N-G-O!” at an inopportune moment. They damn near kicked me out.
I promise that if you let me win the Powerball lottery, I’ll make sure that, up to the winning moment, I will have had no interest in lotteries whatsoever. I also promise that I would not even have stepped foot in the Smarty-Mart that will have sold the winning ticket except that my brother will have been out of Randy’s Discount Herring in Wine-Like Sauce, and he will have asked me to pick up a jumbo pack on my way over to his house to watch a pigeon racing extravaganza on the computer.
I further promise that it will not have even occurred to me to purchase a lottery ticket, except for my brother telling me to be sure to pick one up prior to exiting the store and subsequent to tendering legal tender for the picking up of same.
I also promise that my brother will have given me instructions about what specific numbers to play. I further promise that I will have forgotten these numbers by the time I get to the store (except that I will think there might be a 2 in them) and that, therefore, I will just play any old stupid numbers that come to mind, making sure to include a 2 in them.
When I win the 240 million dollar jackpot, I won’t come forward to claim the prize for a very long time. Not because (as will be widely assumed) I am consulting with lawyers and accountants and the like, but because the winning ticket will have slipped behind the refrigerator and I will have forgotten about it until I pull the refrigerator out from the wall months later to retrieve a magnet of a photo of Albert Einstein sticking his tongue out, whereupon I will discover the winning ticket and some dust balls worthy of an honorable mention in the Guinness Book of Honorable Mentions.
I will almost throw away the winning ticket thinking it is a parking ticket, and if I can forget all about it, why can’t they? Nice try. They never forget.
Although (as previously mentioned) I will try to throw away the winning ticket, I will be unable to do so, because it will stick to my fingers. Fate? No. Jelly.
Just as I am about to pry the ticket off my hand with a lemon zester, a news report will come on the radio (which I never listen to, but which, in this case, will be inadvertently turned on by the cat attempting to jump on top of the counter and missing and slipping down the shelves because he is too fat -- reaching out with his rabbit paws in a desperate attempt to break his fall and not look like an idiot, which he kind of is) mentioning that the winning ticket was sold in my neighborhood 5 months ago but that the winner still has not come forward yet, probably because the winner is consulting with lawyers and accountants and the like. (Little do they know).
This will pique my interest enough to cause me to look at the paper stuck to my hand -- after first soaking my hand in hot water. It will take several seconds for the fact that I have won A HUGE SUM OF MONEY to sink in -- about the same amount of time as it will take for me to pull my hand out of the sink and wave it around frantically to air-dry it (the ticket).
Winning (A HUGE SUM OF MONEY) will not change me, I assure you. When the reporters come to my house to trespass on my lawn and trample my crocuses, I promise that when asked whether I will quit my job, I will say something witty like “no, because I got fired, so they already quit it for me,” which will have been the truth. [Hint: One good reason why I deserve to win the lottery].
Then when they ask what do you plan to do with all that money, I will say, “oh, you know, fund the construction of a slimming salon for cats.” This will make not a few people mad.
So what? Did they win?
Smarmy bastards. Who cares what they think?
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
THE PROBLEM WITH IDENTICAL TWINS
Identical twins with overlapping schedules who work as waitresses in the same diner are annoying because befuddled patrons are always calling out “Miss! Miss!” -- inevitably to the wrong one -- only to be told: “Sorry. Not my table.” This is enough to drive most people insane. I make it a policy to leave a de minimis tip in such establishments, which has the double advantage of at once expressing outrage about the insolent service and saving money.
I have, in fact, started a modest trust fund with the unrequited gratuities. Notwithstanding, my shrink thinks that, perhaps, I’m not as insane as I once claimed on the intake form, but, rather, just cheap.
He so opined in a somewhat beating-around-the-bush fashion in a recent session, stating: “It is likely that you don’t really see any twins in diners at all. You just use this to rationalize your cheapness, which might also explain why you are always so reluctant to pay my bill, until I threaten to sue you.” Doctors of the psychiatric persuasion frequently hide behind such technical jargon and riddle-speak. I paid him no never mind, while also not paying.
Another problem is when identical twins work as loan officers in the same bank. One will tell you with an ear-to-ear grin that you’d practically have to be a chronic deadbeat loser not to get approved. And the next day, the other one will tell you morosely that, because of your “nightmarish” credit, you have been denied and please don’t ever come back to this bank again. When this happens, I usually leave the loan officer quite a microscopic tip, such as none.
It is astounding how many identical twins work as loan officers. You would think that they are all genetically pre-disposed to the profession, much in the way that people who are always complaining about not getting paid are drawn to the psychiatric profession.
Once, when I went to a clothing purveyor to surrender a garment that had only been worn a few dozen times with the tags still in it, the salesman stumbled all over his own words pathetically trying to explain the store’s ridiculous 30-day return policy accompanied by the original receipt. “I suppose,” I told him, “that you don’t recall telling me at the point of sale that I was free to try the shirt out for a risk-free 123 days, and if not completely satisfied, to return it for a full refund with no questions asked, the original receipt be damned.”
“No, I’m quite sure I never said anything even remotely like that,” he claimed in a convenient fit of amnesia, “for the store’s policy to the contrary is posted all over the place in big bold lettering, and is also reproduced on those tags hanging from the very article which you are now attempting to employ in your scam.”
“I see,” I said, allowing him to dig himself a hole deeper even than the one in which he now wallowed. Burying him with my vastly superior rhetorical shovel, I added: “I suppose, then, that those representations about being free of risk et cetera were made by your diabolical twin.”
“I don’t have a twin,” he lied shamelessly.
I left him to twist in the wind like things that are often found twisting in the wind by people leaving clothing stores in a huff, arms draped with perfectly good shirts whose return has been deflected by ignorance and bureaucratic red tape.
This is another problem with identical twins.
They are prone to deception.
Thus inured to the rough and tumble of this dystopian worldview, I have learned to turn the tables. For example, the frequent visits from the neighborhood process server delivering this or that summons associated with the adjacent homeowner’s crusade to have various and sundry restraining orders issue against my cat are now met with a cheerful denial that the feline in question is currently -- or at any time heretofore -- guilty of the offenses alleged.
“Oh sure,” says the auxiliary representative of the law derisively. “Next you’ll tell me that the cat’s twin did all the things that are described in this verified complaint.”
“Precisely, my good man,” I always reply. "At this moment, mine is sleeping beatifically on the roof of your car with his muddy paws dangling over your windshield. Would you like to leave a little something in this jar for his college fund?”
Predictably, he declines.
Some people are just stingy.
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