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It was “snake” music clear and simple.
You know the kind they like to listen to
when they’re being charmed out of a basket.
Though with the extra heavy bass speakers in the back
when the snake drives his low rider down the street
the windows of the store fronts vibrate reflecting
the multiple colors of his snake tattoos.
He’s just come from the library with books on
mouse hypnotism and hamster ventriloquism.
At home he sips whiskey and flips pages.
The next thing we know he’s at the pet store
marching a bunch of zombie-like mice toward the exit.
When the cops come through the front door
he and his mice hide behind a stuffed iguana.
From the cage section a hamster says:
“He’s in the back storage area. Get ‘em.”
As the cops disappear through the door
he loads his mice into the back of his car
and hisses:
“I’m not going back to prison.”
Turns the keys in the ignition,
which starts the car
and the alluring rhythm
of snake music.
First, the chicken crossed the road.
Then he came back to the original side of the road using the pedestrian signal.
Then he crossed the road and came back yet again.
He crossed the road again later that day came back twice more and crossed it again.
When word got out about the magic chicken.
People came from miles to see him.
They were seldom disappointed as we would often cross the street
and return several times in one day.
Some people called it a “Miracle.”
The Church said it would take it under further consideration before forming an opinion.
Then one day they closed the liquor store across the street
from his house,
so he stopped crossing the street
and just walked down the block to the liquor store on his side of the street.
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I get tired of everyone blaming Popeye for everything wrong in the world.
We’re dependent on Middle East Oil because we need it to grow spinach for Popeye.
The huge Federal deficit is caused from buying corncob pipes for Popeye
The worldwide sailor pants shortage and global warming is all because of Popeye.
I get sick of it.
Look there’s Olive Oil and Sweat Pea now.
What are they doing to reduce the jobless rate.
Oh, Oh, it’s Wimpy eating a hamburger on Tuesday.
Nice that he has time to eat a burger while this government
refuses to fund research on flesh-eating bacteria.
I put down my bag of Pringles and looked out my 12th story window
at the commotion in the streets below.
Crowds are rioting, turning cars over, and burning them.
A man with a piece of beef jerky in one hand,
is carrying a sign on a stick that I can just barely make out:
“Impeach President Popeye!”
Hmmm. I didn’t even know Popeye was President.
Don’t blame me I didn’t vote.
Maybe all this is his fault.
God damn you Popeye.
I curse you Popeye.
Or maybe it’s just my imagination.
Before I return to my bag of Pringles,
just to be on the safe side I drop a can of spinach
out the window on the crowd below.
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I never understood this line as a kid in our “Pledge of Allegiance”,
when reciting it in class at the start of the day.
“One nation Underdog…”
The cartoon character Underdog had many admirable attributes,
such as his devotion to “Sweet Polly Purebread.”
Still, it seems odd that we would all pledge allegiance
to a cartoon character at the start of the day.
It’s not as though he had invented plumbing or discovered a cure for farting?
Not as far as I know, but then again I don’t listen to National Public Radio.
The polite and correct thing to do for such things, as it typically is for most things
in life that you don’t understand is to just nod your head and smile.
Take for example a dog humping some guy’s leg.
Hopefully, not Underdog.
Or when that guy took off his pants and lit them on fire in church.
And when the police ask him to explain he scoffs and replies:
“Have you ever seen a dog humping a guy’s leg not wearing pants?!”
You know I think a dog probably would,
but I don’t file my observations of dog humping legs experiences
in a permanent part of my brain.
Again, hopefully not Underdog.
The best thing to do in such situations…
Just nod your head and smile.
“Sarah Palin announces last minute 2012 Presidential bid!”
Hmmmm. I’m a Republican and I wish she was dead.
Just kidding. Maybe not dead, but at least incapable of talking.
Just kidding. I’m not a Replubican.
I’m…
What’s that thing called when you greatly distrust both parties?
Oh yeah, “normal.”
Why are these Tea Partiers and others applauding her?
Just nod head and smile.
Oh, look there’s a dog humping a guy’s leg.
Now the same people are giving that dog a standing ovation.
I think I understand.
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Last night I dreamed I was in my cat suit
dragging a steak passed the dog pound.
All the dogs looked a bit like Marmaduke.
None of them looked like dolphins.
Life’s that way sometimes.
I kept hearing this beeping noise in my head.
It wouldn’t go away.
I looked down between my legs and noticed I was driving a truck.
Well, backing up a truck.
I was particularly pleased with myself for making this discovery
and for not being a dolphin.
Jim asked: “May I have more butter.”
I replied: “I’m sorry Jim there is no more butter.”
Knowing full well that we had a fridge in the janitorial supply closet
fully stocked with butter.
It felt good to be an asshole.
And to not be a dolphin.
It seems like everyone I know is going marsupial.
You know…
Getting a pouch sewn onto their abdomen to carry things.
At first I thought this odd.
And a bit disturbing.
Like a “man purse.”
Scary.
But just as a woman could now more easily carry her daily accoutrements.
Like her lipstick and cellphone.
I could also more easily carry my man accoutrements.
Like a 6-pack of beer.
Or my sawed off shotgun.
I found it very freeing to no longer have to carry my sawed off shotgun
tucked down my pant leg where when I walked stiff-legged into a bar
and a bunch of drunken sailors would inevitably say:
“How’s it going there peg leg.”
Before they could properly apologize to my sawed off shotgun.
Having a pouch immediately raised my self- confidence.
I was able to simultaneously enter a 12-step program
and start a national speaking tour as a “life coach”
on how people could improve their lives.
It seems like everyone I know
is also is getting into this “life coaching” thing.
I would look at them and think.
Your life sucks.
What are you going to give advice on how to have a life that sucks.
A better approach might be for them to give advice along the lines:
“How to not turn out like me.”
Or take my own mundane and rather unremarkable life.
Are the depressing details of how I got to this unfortunate state
of any possible value to you?
Evidentially, and people are willing to pay for it.
It’s always better to have some stranger
who knows absolutely nothing about you
tell you how to live your life
rather than take the time to just figure it out yourself.
When I got back from my pouch-inspired national tour
of improving people’s lives I was exhausted.
They greeted me at my front door
with folded arms and frowns on their faces.
What was it with these kangaroos?
At first I thought it was funny that there was no candy.
Then I thought we were all going to die.
Then I laughed until I wet my pants.
Then I was put on a suicide watch because there was no candy.
When the man with the candy finally arrived we treated him
like a lost Gnome returning from Siberia.
In other words we killed him and took all his candy.
The first thing we did was go through all the candy bags
to confirm they did not contain any snakes.
Amanda ate too much candy too quickly, got a sugar rush, and fell out the window.
Ted put Bar-B-Q sauce on his candy indicating he was likely from Texas.
I thought about putting some of the candy in a piñata
and hitting it with a stick as everyone would enjoy this.
Instead, to save time I just hit Ted with the stick.
And we all took his candy.
People seemed to enjoy this.
Ted made the inappropriate comment that we had hired Amanda,
because she was a piece of eye candy.
I went over to Amanda and put my eye against her shoulder.
She politely said: “What the f**k are you doing!”
And then poked me in the eye.
I went back to Ted and hit him again with the stick.
We invited all our friends over to enjoy the candy,
but when we realized this would result in less candy for each of us
we locked them in the basement.
I saw an airplane fly by outside the window and wondered if they were after our candy.
To be safe I called the police and told them there was a bomb on that airplane.
The President stopped by and asked if we had any candy.
I called the police again and told them that the President
had planted the bomb on the airplane.
Later, after eating so much candy that we nearly popped,
in order to protect ourselves from potential tooth decay,
we brushed out teeth.
And then I hit Ted again with the stick.
Two men walk into a bank carrying what look to be violin cases.
One of the men hands the teller a note.
She places bundles of 100 dollar bills in a stack on the counter.
The man takes all the money.
The two men go out in front of the bank and pull their
violins from the violin cases.
They put the cases on the ground and scatter the bundles
of 100 dollar bills inside the 2 cases.
They play their violins for the rest of the afternoon
and nobody passing by drops in less than a 20 dollar bill.
At 4:45 they gather up everything and return the stack
of 100 dollar bills to the teller.
She points to the left and buzzes them through.
The note from the morning had asked where the bathroom
was and if they could use it.
What is wrong with this story?
Correct.
No government funded money was given to upper management
as bonuses, thus f*cking over tax payers.
