What am I Thankful for?

Hello to all of my blog lovers (aka creepy loners and soviet refugees who are drawn to my moustache and testosterone-ladened musk) I am sure all of you have a wonderful Thanksgiving so I don’t need to wish you one. In fact there are a few of you that I hope choked on your turkey…just a little. Anywho, I am here with a quick bloggityboo just to update you on five things I am thankful for this year.

5. Garbage. Hear me out. In this tough economy that we live in, the one thing that will never go away is garbage. In fact, there are studies that show that recessions produce more garbage then in times of economic prosperity (I think it comes from the fact that dumpsters are now filled with the personal effects of stock brokers who have taken a toaster into the bath with them.) So–in short–garbage keeps sanitation workers employed and they, in turn, put money back into the economy. Next time you go to a department store … pay in garbage, our most valuable commodity.

4. Women who think they’re better than me. I realized that I was put on this Earth for a reason. And that reason is that I make people strive for more. I make girls with low self-esteem think that I’m the best that they can do until the moment they realize they made a huge mistake (that moment usually comes when I make them pick up the check or when I bring a car battery into the bedroom with us). They look at me with disgust and think to themselves, “I need to go back to school. I need to make something of myself. If I don’t do something with my life I’ll be stuck with this kid forever. He’s wearing Star Wars underwear with a hole in the crotch.” I take pride in motivating all of that. That is an invaluable service to the world.

3. Gummy Coca-Cola bottles courtesy of the heartless Haribo Corportaion. Sure pygmy boy-slaves are forced to work in their factories but I’ll be damned if they don’t produce a delicious product.

2. Homeless midgets — cause they’re awesome.

Now before we get to the #1 thing I am thankful for let’s see some items that didn’t make the list.

- Assless leather pants… because they make church pews more comfortable
- Air
- Computer Generated Actors. Hopefully they can put an end to Jennifer Aniston’s career.

And now for the #1 thing I am thankful for:

1. Social Media and online photo albums. If it weren’t for online photo albums on Facebook I wouldn’t know what you look like in a two-piece bathing suit.

Good night everybody!

The Doctor and Mr. Sandwich

Alexander Sandwich hated children. He just did. He once charged the stage at a performance of “Peter Pan” in the park because he found the idea of a world where no one aged too hard to handle. And even worse than normal children were sick children. He loathed sick children. He once placed them right above Barbarians and the Molemen as “History’s Greatest Monsters.” So for him, sitting in a doctor’s office was like being lactose intolerant at a dairy farm. This was Alex’s fourth visit to the doctor this year after a year of on and off vomiting, fainting spells and delirium (his wife caught him watching and enjoying “Beautician and the Beast” last week on Starz!)

You may be wondering why Alex would be seeing so many sick children at his doctor’s office, well, Alex never stopped seeing his pediatrician even with the noticeable handicap of being 47. He claimed it was because his physician was a “genius” however it was really because he liked the Quick Draw McGraw jigsaw puzzle the office owned.

His pediatrician had been there for every ailment Alex had ever had (even after Alex watched that television special on the black plague and he thought himself to be coming down with the medieval disease.) However, as Alex approached the front desk of Dr. Fitzpatrick’s office he was in for a little surprise.

“Okay, Alex. Dr. Neilsen will see you in a moment.” Said the front desk nurse who once hit Alex on the head with a rolling pin because he called her ‘Chica.’ That was about a week after Alex found out he was 1/14 Puerto Rican.

“Where’s Dr. Fitzpatrick? He‘s always here to see me.” Alex didn’t like change. In fact, he loved routine so much that he took the same route to the same job every morning for five years despite the fact that he got fired after only two years. So not seeing the doctor he has been with since his first diaper rash was a lot to take in.

“Oh you didn’t hear? Dr. Fitzpatrick passed away last week.” The burly nurse responded.

“Dead? But how? He‘s a doctor.”

“He was 87…”

“Wow. That really makes you think.”

“A mystery worthy of Ripley’s no doubt.”

“But what am I going to do? I can’t see a new doctor at this age. I like my old one.”

“Well unless you want to exhume his corpse I’m afraid you have to see our new doctor. He’s nice. He was Frank Gifford’s physician until Gifford started to see another doctor behind his back. Now sign your name and take a seat.” Alex found a seat next to a man who seemed to rival his own age.

“What are you in for?” The man asked.

“Vomiting, delirium and odd spells where I think I’m the reincarnated hat of Abraham Lincoln.” Alex answered while shooting an intense glare at a coughing toddler.

“No kidding? I have the same symptoms.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. The other night my wife caught me actually laughing along with ‘Mad TV’ all while claiming to be FDR’s monocle.”

“Laughing along with ‘Mad TV’? You must have it worse than I do. Do you have the same chest pains and intense sweating?”

“Yes! What’s your name?”

“Alex Sandwich.”

“Really? You must have had sweet parents. My name is Hank Fine.”

Just then the conversation was interrupted by the soft voice of a child.

“Can I borrow the puzzle mister.” The child was pointing at Alex’s Quick Draw McGraw puzzle.

“You sick?” Alex asked.

The boy nodded his head.

“Get out of here you little germ pod. Why don‘t you go cough on your mother?” Alex poured Purel on the boy‘s head. “I hate kids. Why do I need to catch their germs just because their parents let them play in the rain? Why do they need to come near me when they‘re sick? They‘re not my write-off.”

“Do you have any kids?” Hank asked.

“Yeah. One. I don’t trust her. She’s always playing in the dirt and touching my towels. One time she sneezed all over my encyclopedias. I had to throw out the first half of the alphabet. That’s the half with all of the good stuff.”

“That’s true. I’ve never heard anyone care about the letter ‘N’.”
Just then the nurse called both men at the same time to go into their respective rooms to wait for the doctor.

“Well good luck buddy.” Hank called out.

“You too.”

Alex walked into his room and began to wait for the doctor. After fiddling around with some Q-Tips (don’t worry he put them back) and playing darts with some needles he found in a big red box, Alex decided to save the doctor some time by stripping down to his underwear.

“Good afternoon Alex my name is …..” Doctor Neilsen just stared at Alex’s exposed legs. “Your pants are off.”

“Yup.” Alex smiled.

“Why are your pants off?”

“To save some time?”

“Ok well get dressed please? I can’t allow anyone to strip in my office anymore. Unless Proposition 1138 passes. And we all hope it does.”

“Fine, I‘ll get dressed.”

While Alex put his clothes back on he explained to the doctor what was wrong with him.

“How much worse has it gotten the past few days?”

“A lot worse. I can’t stop sweating and my chest feels like it’s on fire.”

“Ok well I have the results of your blood test from last week.”

“What do I have?”

“Guess.” Dr. Neilsen had drawn a very crude game of hangman on a napkin.

“What? I‘m not gonna play a game while my health hangs in the balance.”

“Guess. It’ll be fun.”

“Fun? This is fun? I got dropped off my health insurance and I might have to claim bankruptcy soon. I just want to know what I have!”

“Come on. I‘ll give you this book of Arby‘s coupons if you get it.” The doctor was now waving the coupons in front of Alex’s face.

“Cancer?”

“Nope. Two more tries.” The doctor had drawn a head on the hangman board.

“AIDS?”

“Nope. C’mon. My wife got this in one guess.” The head now had a torso and arms. The doctor had also taken the liberty of drawing some stick figure mourners and stick figure executioner next to the stick-effigy that was Alex.

“Hepatitis?”

“Wrong! Now you’re dead! ” The stick figure was now completely hanged as Alex looked on in horror. “You have Turner’s Syndrome!”

“What’s that?”

“It’s when the body has a hard time stabilizing a core temperature which might account for your sweating and delirium.”

“What do you mean it might account for it? You don‘t know for sure?”

“I’m pretty sure. I don’t know. The website only let me read so much then it said I would have to pay $7.99 a month for a subscription.”

“Is it fatal?”

“It can be. I need to get you on some medication right away so come back in two weeks and we’ll see how you have progressed.”

“It could be fatal? Is the medicine gonna work?”

“Probably.”

“Probably?” Alex asked

“Yeah. Probably. What do I look like, a ….” Dr. Neilsen stopped talking.

“A doctor…?” Alex questioned.

“Listen. Out of the two of us, I’m the closest one to a doctor. I am wearing the
white jacket after all. You can’t buy these just anywhere.” You can buy those coats anywhere. It was actually from a Halloween costume from years ago when Dr. Neilsen dressed up as “Dr. Boner.”

“Ok. I guess this is my only option being that you’re the only doctor that accepts coupons and interesting trades in lieu of real money.”

“Damn right. Now get the hell out of here I need to make this place look like a bar. They’re filming that Cheers reboot here.”

“Nice. Who’s playing Sam?”

“Zach Efron.”

On the way out, Alex saw Hank again in the hallway and confirmed that not only do they both have Turner’s Syndrome but they would also both be back in two weeks for a re-evaluation.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Two weeks later Alex had arrived for his appointment.

“I’m here for my appointment. Do you know where Mr. Fine is? I would like to see how he’s feeling.”

“Oh, you didn’t hear?” This is the second time the same burly nurse prepared Alex for bad news. “Mr. Fine passed away.”

“Passed away? But. Oh no! We have the same disease! I don‘t want to die. My wife is going to get a much better looking second husband! Probably one that doesn‘t get threatening letters from the bank!” Alex panicked. “My wife. I need to see my wife. And my mailman. I need to see him too! He borrowed my car!” Alex ran towards the door.

“Mr. Sandwich, wait! Don’t go down the elevator!” The nurse stood up and ran after Alex but it was too late.

“Nurse Williams. What happened?” Dr. Neilsen asked after running towards her down the hallway.

“Mr. Sandwich fell down the elevator shaft. He’s dead. I guess he didn’t see the sign.”

“Isn’t that a coincidence? That’s the same way his friend, Mr. Fine, died.” Dr. Neilsen then walked down the stairs with his Abry’s coupons.

Jason Serafino vs. Testicular Cancer

I wouldn’t call myself an inherently paranoid person. Sure, I stopped eating poultry during the “Bird Flu” scare and I “Islam Proofed” my house after 9/11, but usually I am pretty rational when it comes to irrational fear. However, my calm demeanor was put to the ultimate test four weeks ago when I felt dull pain in one of the male body’s most mysterious areas, my testicles.

No man, no matter how smart they think they are, has any idea how to deal with their testicles. Most men will sit around bragging about the size of their penis and talk about being hung like a random barnyard animal (I am in fact hung like a sheep dog.) However, no man talks about their testicles. We just don’t get them. I, for one, am not even sure if they’re supposed to be big. All I know is that they are there, hanging, just waiting to get tangled in the zipper of my cargo shorts. So, when I felt a consistent pain in that area I was immediately alarmed.

I waddled over to my computer and consulted the most intelligent group of physicians I could find, the members of the WebMd.com message board. At first they said it could have been an ailment called “Testicular Torsion” where the testicles get twisted around and begin to swell, (swollen testicles may have boosted my confidence but it would have come at the high price of pain). Or, they said it might be cancer. Right when I read the first letter in the word cancer I began to sweat like Wesley Snipes during tax season. I immediately took their advice and began to check my testicles for anything that resembled a tumor.

I decided to make a night of it. I hopped in the shower, grabbed some body wash and turned on my copy of Never Too Much by Luther Vandross. So, I began to rub my testicles in the shower in search of a tumor, (Note: This is not that much different than my normal nights at home sans the tumor search) when suddenly I felt something small on my testicle (Insert small testicle joke here). Was it a tumor? What does a tumor feel like? So, I decided to do the only rational thing I could think of, I wrote out my final Will and Testament. I got four lines down, which ironically was ¾ the way through it, when suddenly my mother stepped in. After crumpling up my tear soaked Will she sent me to the doctor.

I am not a big fan of doctors. Actually, I am not a big fan of anyplace where you can have your blood drained, given an enema and get told you were going to die all within an hour, (when you think about it, that whole last sentence sounds like I was describing an erotic Vampire party.)

After a week of worrying, my appointment finally arrived. I could see it already; the hot female health practitioner arrives, begins to strip me from the waste down (keeping my shirt on so she wouldn’t realize that we had bosoms of a similar size) and gives me my testicle rubdown. After finding no cancer we then proceed to make love until we were both dehydrated and blind from passion. Dreams are awesome. Dreams also never come true. Instead of a hot female doctor, I got a young nervous looking doctor who looked like Mark Linn-Baker.

I informed him of my predicament and he nodded. Then he said the words that I have, until that point…and this point, have only heard two other times, “Take off your pants.” Shocked, I complied. No X-Ray? No Ultrasound? No pants? I was nervous. Standing in my underwear he looked me up and down. His next phrase was even more of a mystery, “Take off your socks and shoes,” I, yet again, complied. Teary eyed and in desperate need of an adult I awaited my next order from my dominant MD. “Is titmouse a good safety word?” I wondered. He then looked me up and down again, “Now take your underwear off.” I complied and started to worry that my shirt would be the next victim in this odd production of, “Dr. Feelgood and the Fat Kid.”

Lowering down to his knees my doctor grabbed hold of what was left of my manhood and started to feel around for anything he deemed tumor-esque. His sweaty gloveless hands clashed violently with his cold wedding band as he groped me for my safety. Naked from the waist down and dead behind the eyes I began to recall cherished childhood memories in order to escape from my suddenly erotic trip to the doctor.

Then, in the middle of his caressing, my doctor looked at me and calmly stated, “It’s okay to get an erection son, it is perfectly normal.”

“What!” I thought to myself. “Why would I get an erection?”

Then, of course, I got an erection because, why not. Sweating and pulsating I began to wonder whether death would be so bad. Luckily my doctor didn’t notice my erection right away as he was too busy pressing his ear next to my testicle as if he were listening for a groovy bass line from a Pink Floyd song. Then, tossing me aside like a piece of meat, he declared, “You’re fine. Just ice it for a few days you probably just overexerted yourself while you were in the gym.” Then, getting up from his knees, and unaware of my awkward erection, he miscalculated his distance from my body and bumped his nose against my inexplicably erect penis. He stood up quick. We shared an awkward stare.

“Good day to you, sir,” I said while fumbling to put my pants back on. I then darted out of the room and never looked back. Checking with the local yellow pages and internet websites there was never any doctor that matched the name of who checked me out. Even stranger was the fact that we wasn’t even dressed like a doctor, but more like a creepy ‘80s Phys Ed. Teacher complete with shorts that straddled the line between appropriate and illegal to wear outside.

I never trusted another doctor again, except for the therapist I now have to visit every week. At least he doesn’t touch me when he tells me to take my pants off.

Next Time You See A Man With A Hairy Back You Should Thank Him.

There is an underappreciated group currently brooding throughout the world. This group is not of a particular race, religion or members of a specific sexual preference. No, this is a group that is so secretive and important that they make Free Masons look like the Mickey Mouse Club. I am talking about men with an excessive amount of back hair or as I like to call is, a “Sadness Sweater.”

These sad souls do all of the ugly grunt work this wonderful planet has to offer. While many men look at ugly girls on the street and say “Who would marry them?” Well, men with hairy backs are your answer. Much like the dung beetle that feeds on animal feces, men with hairy backs do the dirty work of marrying off the homely, sickly, or fat members of the female gender.

Hairy men take women that the mainstream would consider “unattractive” and make them wives and mothers. These ugly wives and mothers then go on to raise well behaved children (because they need not worry about having affairs due to their ugliness). These kids who are raised by unattractive women and hairy men are loved and taken care of because no other person would want to have an affair with either parent. These kids grow up to be your presidents or congressmen.

Kids with attractive parents grow up neglected and are usually found later on in life wearing fishnet stockings down in Atlantic City next to a 17-year-old Filipino boy on a leash all because their parents were too attractive to pay any attention to them. This is the balance men with hairy backs bring to this world. They do the dirty work no one else would dare touch.

Hairy backs go by many names i.e.: shoulder moss, celibacy hair, shame grass. I am standing up today to disclose a secret I have lived with since I was 16. I have a hairy back. I can no longer enjoy public pools, shirtless posedowns with the neighborhood boys, wear anything that has zippers (I took a half inch wide line of hair off my back when I dressed up as Schneider from “One Day at a Time”) or enjoy a normal civilian life.

A hairy back is not so much a physical feature as much as it is a way of life. We have meetings and folk songs. Harry Truman, Heinrich Himmler, Joseph Barbara, Robin Williams and an abundance of other notable people have all shared in this dirty secret. But, I am here to get the word out. We hairy backed individuals maintain the status quo in this world. So in closing, next time you see someone with a hairy back at a beach, swimming pool, jogging, etc. go up to them and say “Thanks for all you have done. Because of you I am better looking in comparison”

My Hair Raising Experience

 It was dark out and I didn’t like it. Now, I’m not one to get scared easily. Sure there was that time I reported the woman down the block from me to the I.N.S because she was walking around outside with what looked to be a turban wrapped around her head while brandishing a box-cutter (turns out she just got out of the shower and went to her front porch to cut open a package from UPS.) But usually I am pretty calm under pressure. But not tonight.

It all started as I was walking to my car to go to Home Depot. Usually I try to stay as far away from Home Depot as possible. All of that testosterone and wood makes me uncomfortable but the shrubs in front of my neighbor’s had grown wild and covered up her bathroom window so I decided to take it upon myself to do some clipping (Her soapy silhouette wasn’t going to ogle itself.)

There was only one problem about going to my car so late at night; I had to walk past a very ominous half-mile stretch of trees, abandoned houses and a very scary lawn gnome that looked like Randy Quaid in “Kingpin.”

As I looked at the creeptastic stretch of land that was laid in front of me I decided to take some protection just in case I was attacked: a cross (in case of Vampires), a gun with three silver bullets (in case of a Wolfman attack), and a copy of “Mad About You” Season 2 on DVD (because let’s face it, no one can live through a viewing of that. Legend has it that the National Guard once used it to take down Rosie O’Donnell after a vodka bender.)

Armed to the teeth with ways to dispose of even the most tenacious of adversaries I was on my way.

About halfway to my car I noticed a soft rustling noise coming from behind me as if something was creeping up on me.

I turned around and saw nothing. Looked everywhere and saw nothing. But every time I moved I heard it again.

“What is that?” I whispered.

In the middle of all of my panic I realized that the crotch of my pants had mysteriously become wet. I chalked this up to my leg sweat evaporating up into the air and creating a mini rainforest near my crotch. I think I even heard a Toucan at one point.   

What could be following me? A Wolfman? A ghost? A Libertarian? Some type of ghost of a Wolfman-Libertarian? I hope the Libertarians weren’t taking the form of Wolfmen and planning on taking over. I like welfare too much for that to happen. One of my lifelong dreams is to actually be on welfare soon.

As all of these thoughts were rocketing through my mind I decided to high-tail it to my car. As I picked up my pace so did the rustling noise. Whatever was coming after me was running right behind me.

 I turned around again and…..nothing. Yet, whenever I moved there was that noise again.

Reduced to tears and pleading with the monster to take my family’s life over mine I was certain I was going to be slaughtered or at the very least beaten pretty severely.

While throwing my arms in the air as a sign of forfeit I heard it again. It sounded like it was coming right from behind me but no one was there. It was at that point I realized what was making that rustling noise the whole time … it was my back hair rubbing against the inside of my T-Shirt.

When Dating Goes Horribly Wrong (Jason’s Greatest Hits)

With a spritz cologne, a quick trim of the beard and a hand full of Extra-Drowsy Tylenol P.M. I was ready for my first date in months. I took a few moments for preparation (I sprayed my silk shirt with Febreeze and took the “Reporters get it in on Time!” bumper sticker off my car) and then I was ready to try my best to impress the girl of my (pantsless) dreams.

The girl (whose name I cannot legally put in this story) that agreed to go out with me was actually my neighbor. When she opened the door to greet me I was stunned at how much more beautiful she was now that my vision of her wasn’t hampered by the shrubs outside her window or shower steam. She had legs like a Mountain Gazelle and breasts like a Victorian era Midwife. She was well out of my league but months of slowly weakening her defenses, studying her habits and chipping away at her self-confidence eventually led to her agreeing to go out on a date with me. One of the most important aspects to dating is the process of asking. In my case I just cut out letters from various magazines, pasted together a message, and threw it through her window while attached to a brick. Once I was cleared of federal harassment charges we were ready for our date.

(Random Dating Tips from Professor Von Lovingstein aka Jason Serafino)
Turns out women will never date a man they think they can do better than. However, men will go on a date with most anything moist and warm (thus why many overweight men stay at home with either buckets of chicken or a freshly baked pastry). The key for a lonely man is to make the woman think she can never do better than you. Some may ask, “How do you do that?” Simple: Just point out her flaws. Fat stomach? Say her silhouette looks like Alfred Hitchcok. Teeth that resemble a tangled set of vertical blinds? Say her smile looks like Marvin Hagler’s. Orphan? Say she’s so repulsive that her parents asked for cancer. It’s all fair game. I got lucky with this girl. Turns out she had a very faint mustache. It was small enough not to be a turn off yet big enough to warrant some much needed criticism. Simple nicknames like Peach Fuzz, Ms. Whiskers, or Yanni all pack a mean punch. All of that criticism slowly eroded her own self image to the point that she actually agreed to go on a date with the pervert next door. Of course, her mother had to convince her a little bit but after a while we were on our way.

(Now onto more of our story)
As the two of us entered my vehicle to go out the dinner I couldn’t get over the fact that she was wearing the ugliest sweater imaginable. It looked like a cross between the backyard of the Brady Bunch house and the carcass of a character from some pot-addled Dr. Seuss story. Ugly sweater aside I decided the date must go on. Turned out she thought the sweater was ugly too. All night long she kept calling her mom saying “I can’t believe I went out with this sweater” or “I just can’t stand looking at this ugly sweater anymore.” I agreed. However, I also thought to myself how nice that sweater would look thrown onto my floor in a fit of passion.

She looked nervous. First dates are very nerve racking. I however was not nervous at all. The only thing I worried about was my constant perspiration. I was known for being able to sweat through more than 4 layers of corduroy even during the winter. However, my family told me of a trick to deal with it. My secret was putting two Tampax pads under my arms and then taping four of them to my back. It would keep me nice and dry and add some volume to my already burly physique. This was a long cherished Serafino tradition passed down from my grandfather.

(More quick dating advice.)

First dates are similar to job interviews. You both get dressed up nice, shower profusely and the quickest, easiest way to ensure another date/interview is to sleep with the other person.

(Now for the rest of our harrowing adventure)
Dinner was fun, I suppose. She ate like a slob and actually took a bite of my mashed potatoes. People without vaginas usually get punched in the neck for that offense. However, it’s hard to have sex with a girl a black eye so I decided to keep my hands to myself (until later.) When the check came I made a mad dash for the bathroom. Her father is the manager of a Blockbuster Video Store I think she can afford to pay for a couple of meals. With the check taken care of we were off to the movies which I gladly took care of.

After a half hour of scrounging we eventually found some discarded ticket stubs in the trash which we used to hoodwink the nearsighted, elderly ticket taker into thinking were legitimate. While going through the trash was hard work my date didn’t mind. She was wearing long sleeves.

Before we got to the theater she made another call to her mother. “This sweater smells so bad.” I agreed. The garbage did a real number on it “I don’t care how much money you gave me to go out with it. It’s irritating me.” It really was an atrocious looking sweater and it looked very itchy. Like something a near sighted crossing guard would give you on Christmas. She really should not have gone out with it on.

After we got out of the movie, and I shut off my video camera, I decided it was best if we went home for a little rough love making. With a car full of awkward romantic feelings, and a trunk full of leather whips and spare car batteries, I had a feeling the rest of the night was going to be the most eventful part of the evening. Minutes from her house she called her mother one last time.

“Hey, mom. Yeah, we’re on our way home now. I can’t wait to get this sweater away off of me.” And I completely understood her point. Nobody would want that ugly sweater on their body.

I parked the car in front of her house and went in for a smooch.

“Get the hell away from me you fucking weirdo.” She screamed

I was shocked. This was like that Mother/Son 5th grade dance all over again. What did I do wrong? Was it the garbage diving? The alligator arms on the restaurant check? I thought those were staples of the first date.

“I never want to see you again! Oh and by the way. I would go to the doctor about how much you sweat. It’s gross.”

So, evidently I was the sweater she was on the phone complaining about. I guess my grandfather’s sweat prevention technique doesn’t work when you use pads designed for “light days.”

Douglas Skittlehands

      As Doug walked down the street he felt an intense rage build up inside of him that released through his vocal chords.

       “Dammit!!” Doug screamed.

       “What?” Doug’s roommate Philip asked.

       “I’m all out of skittles again!” Doug replied.

       Doug, a chubby man of average height, held up the empty “Family Size” bag of Skittles to his roommate. Philip, Doug’s skinny mooch of a roommate, had always been aware of Doug’s Skittle problem. In fact the reason why Doug liked Phil so much is because Phil’s hair is as “red as the most delicious of cherry skittle” according to Doug.

       “Do you want some of my M+M’s?” Phil asked.

       “ Pfff M+M’s” Scoffed Doug. “You mean Skittle’s ugly step brother. No Phil, I want to taste the rainbow not disgusting government surplus chocolate.” Doug ranted.

       “Okay, anyway Doug our rent is due at the end of the week.” Phil said

       “Wouldn’t it be great if I could never run out of Skittles?” Doug pondered

       “Yea, Doug about the rent. Remember Mr. Rossovich said he would break our thumbs if we’re late with it again.” Phil said.

       “ Never ending Skittles ….. I would do anything for that.” Doug said

       “ Yea sounds great. But, Doug my thumbs. I really need those. I mean I don’t get many dates and I just bought that new videogame system.” Phil said.

       “I would even sell my soul for never ending Skittles.” Doug interrupted.

       Suddenly both men were shocked to find a brand new vendor on the sidewalk. Doug and Phil would walk these streets everyday picking up loose change from the floor to provide them with income. Phil would tell people that his job was in “Financial Recovery”. So naturally the sight of a new vendor intrigued the both of them. The new vendor stood behind a red cart with yellow flames painted on the side. The man was wearing a handsome white suit complete with a red bowtie. His black hair was neatly slicked back and a long moustache kept his upper lip company (it would have fit perfectly in a Dudley Do Right cartoon.)

       “How do you do gentleman?” the vendor asked.

       “Pretty good” both responded. “My nose is kind of itchy.” Phil said for some reason.

      “That’s a shame.” The vendor already seemed frustrated with Phil.

       “You must be new here.” Phil said.

       “Oh, I’ve been around for a while” the vendor said.

        “What’s your name? You look like a Lance. Are you a Lance?” Doug asked.
       
     “Lance? What’s you problem? That’s a Joshua if I have ever seen one.” Phil butted in.
     
       “Actually my name is Stan my lads.” The vendor spoke.
      
        “Ha! I win!” Phil said jubilantly.

        “How?” Doug asked.

        “Joshua is closer to Stan than Lance.”

        “…closer to Stan?” Both Doug and Stan stared at Phil.

         “Do you have a last name Stan? Or is Stan your last name?”
        
          “Just Stan, kind of like Madonna or Cher.” he said.

        “It doesn’t look like you’re selling anything Stan, your cart is empty. Unless you’re selling air. That doesn’t work I’ve tried. In fact there is still a legal case pending against me in Kansas because I sold a 10 year old boy some ‘cancer curing’ air.” Phil said.

        “No no. I sell something different. I sell wishes” Stan said “Do any of you have a wish that you want granted?” Stan asked.

        “Hmmm. Well I could use some Skittles” Doug said.

        Stan reached into his pants and pulled out a brand new bag of Skittles and handed the bag off to Doug.

        “You carry Skittles around in your pants?” Phil asked.

        “Usually” Doug replied “….. Oh you meant Stan.” Doug replied.

        Then without blinking Doug inhaled the whole bag. He mulled over whether or not he should lick clean the sweet innards of the bag, but he was soon interrupted.

        “You want more?” Stan asked.

        “Sure” a rainbow tongued Doug replied.

        “What if you never ran out? That would be pretty cool, huh.” Stan asked.

        “That’s my dream. Do you think you can make it happen?” Doug replied.

        “Please, I got Ben Affleck an Oscar. After that I believe anything is possible.” Stan reassured Doug.

        “What do I have to do?” Doug asked.

       “Just sign this contract” Stan replied.

        Just then Stan pulled out a contract that was seven lines long. Doug grabbed Stan’s quill pen and began to write his name.

        “Whoa! Doug! You’re not going to even read it?” Phil protested

        “Normally I would but …. all that reading. Nobody ever gets ahead in life by reading. Did you know Eisenhower was illiterate?” Doug replied.

        “Fine, give it to me and Ill read it” Phil said.

        Phil grabbed the contract and began to read it. Halfway through the first line Phil was fast asleep while still standing.

        “A real scholar your friend is. Anyway just sign your name and we’ll be on our way.” Stan said.

        Doug lifted up the quill pen and finished his signature. And just as soon as the last letter of his name was finished, the contract, Stan, and Stan’s cart were gone.

        “Wow” said Phil “……Do you think he was a magician?” He asked.

        “Probably. Or some type of gypsy. Oh man, I guess I’ll never get those Skittles” Doug said disappointedly.

         As they walked up to their apartment both young men radiated an air of defeat around them. Doug felt defeated for being tricked by Stan who he thought was a “slick big city magician.” And Phil felt defeated because he just lost $45 in a bet with a 9 year old on whether or not the word gullible was in the dictionary.

       “Next time I see that kid I’m going to kick his ass” Phil snapped.

        “You mean the nine year old with gout that swindled you out of $45” Doug replied.

        “Yea, that little bastard” Phil said.

        Doug disgusted with how the day turned out decided to go into his room. Doug approached the door and grabbed the knob. Just as he grabbed the knob the door started to glow like a rainbow. After a few seconds the door crumbled to the floor. Doug was shocked when he saw that it wasn’t a pile of broken door on the floor. In fact it was a pile of Skittles.

       “Sweet Sassy Molassy! Skittles as far as the eye can see!” Doug exclaimed.

       “Oh My God! The Door! Mr. Rossovich is going to kill us! Oh my God! My Thumbs! He’s going to break my thumbs!” Phil screamed.

       “But Phil, look at the floor.” Doug pointed out.

       Phil ogled the pile of delicious candy on the floor. Racing through Phil’s feeble mind were potential explanations for this tasty new talent that his roommate somehow acquired. 

       “Skittles!! Do you think that magician had anything to do with this?” Phil naively asked.

       “ I would assume so. But then again I do stand in front of the microwave while eating Skittles a lot. Maybe the radiation had something to do with it?” Doug said.

       “The microwave only made me go sterile. And the doctor said something about damaging my brain; I don’t know I wasn’t really paying attention.” Phil said.

       Doug, looking to see if this was a permanent fixture in his life, decided to go around the apartment touching everything he seemed fit to “skittle-ize.” First, Doug went over to the encyclopedia collection his grandmother bought him. Soon enough the whole collection of books, still in their original wrapping, were transformed into a glowing pile of Skittles. Doug leapt on to his hard wood floor sucking Skittles up like an ant-eater. Phil observed in horror as his diabetic prone roommate inhaled over 435 Skittles off of their floor; a floor which has not been cleaned since the Clinton administration. Doug got back to his feet with tears of joy streaming down his face. He went to reach for a tissue which instantly turned into more Skittles.

       “ This is the best day of my life!” Doug said still sniffling slightly.

       “Even better than that day we found a half eaten pizza in that person’s backyard?” Phil asked.

       “Phil, how many times do I have to tell you that was a little girl’s birthday party? Remember? We ran away from the cops and you slammed your head against that tree branch.” Doug responded .

       “ No…..” Phil replied vacantly.

       “And to answer your question yes, this is much better” Doug said .

       Doug then decided to go into the refrigerator and in the process turned it into Skittles as well. However this did not stop him from eating these rainbow colored remains. Doug then proceeded to turn all of the vegetables in the fridge to Skittles.

      “You know Doug this is a very dangerous gift you have” Phil warned.

      “Dangerous? Yea a never ending supply of my favorite thing in the world. Doesn’t sound like much of a curse to me.” Doug replied “And when Ashley comes over later she‘ll agree with me that this is the best thing I’ve ever done. If an endless supply of Skittles doesn’t impress her I don’t know what will.” Doug said.

       “But Doug, you can’t touch her. Or else you’ll turn her into Skittles as well.” Phil said.

       “So, I just won’t touch her. That’s fine with me” Doug said.

       “Well that doesn’t sound too different then your other girlfriends” Phil said.

       “By the way it only goes off if I touch her with my fingers. I can touch her with other things if you catch my drift” Doug smiled.

       “Do me a favor. Don’t try to create a new way to shake my hand” Phil said.

           
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………..
          Ashley arrived at 7:30. Doug started the evening off by mistakenly turning her $600 coach bag into even more Skittles. Doug hid the evidence by swallowing the pile whole. 

       “So Ashley, what do you want to do tonight” Doug asked.

       “I thought I would cook you dinner” Ashley said.

       Doug stood there trying to think of a way he could eat a home cooked meal without having it turn into Skittles.

       “That sounds like a plan. What are you going to cook?” Doug asked.

      “Well I only know how to make eggs. So I’ll just whip up some omelets. Hope you have plenty of vegetables!” She cheerfully said.

      “Yes…vegetables of course ….” Doug said guiltily.

      After finding a lack of vegetables and even more Skittles than usual strewn about the house Ashley starts to worry about her boyfriend’s physical well being.

      “Well Doug, your apartment lacks vegetables or anything natural to eat” she said

      “Yea you missed it…. I ate my usual six helpings of vegetables right before you got here” Doug lied.

     “Yea your labored breathing and split in the back of your pants somehow makes me doubt that.” she responded  “Doug I want you to do me a favor. No more sweets and especially no more Skittles. Too much sugar and fatty foods can make you soft …. all over.” She warned.

      “Okay Ashley, for you no more sweets” Doug said.

      Now Doug desperately tried to figure out a new way of eating. He finally came to the conclusion that he would need to dive face first into every meal he had for now on. He was also disappointed to realize that his dream of Ashley being proud of his new gift was officially out the window.

     “Good. Your gonna be my thin ripped boyfriend.” She said “So do you wanna go into your room and watch a movie?” Ashley asked.

     “Yea sure. What do you wanna watch?” Doug asked.

      “Doesn’t matter” she said.

      The two walked into Doug’s door less bedroom and shut off all the lights. Ashley threw her arms around Doug and started to kiss him. Doug stood completely still with his hands in his pocket.

     “You have protection right sweetie?” Ashley asked.

      “Yea sure right over here” Doug replied.

       As Doug went to reach for his Pathmark brand condoms they turned into Skittles right in front of him.

     “Oh shit” he thought “Maybe Phil was right. Maybe this is a curse”

     Claiming that the protection was taken care of Doug jumped on top of Ashley. Being careful not to touch her with his hands he kept his fingers near the desk next to his bed.

      “Baby what’s wrong? You seem a little timid today. Is it that weird rash again?” she asked.

      “No. No. I’m fine. Just, my palms are a little sweaty” he said.

      As Ashley’s eyes were closed Doug spotted an uneaten Skittle on his desk. He carefully picked it up between his thumb and index finger. Doug, much like Popeye, felt an instant rejuvenation when his favorite food hit his lips.

       “Man that hits the spot” he silently stated.

       “I’m glad you like it” a naïve Ashley said.

      Just as Doug was done licking his fingers Ashley gave him a love bite on the side of his neck. Surprised by this, Doug instinctively flailed his arms. In the middle of this androgynous flailing Doug’s hand smacked Ashley flush on her right cheek.   

      “Ouch! Babe not so rough!” she screamed.

      Doug froze. He hadn’t touched a human since his new gift was bestowed upon him. What would happen? Did he just send Ashley to that big candy store in the sky?

      “Nothing happened” a now relieved Doug thought.

      Suddenly Ashley’s face started to turn a pale shade of orange, then green, then red.

     “Babe. I’m not feeling so good” she said.

      She leaned over the bed to throw up. She started to violently heave. Then to Doug’s horror he witnessed her throwing Skittles up all over his floor.

      “This can’t be good” Doug said.

      Ashley got out of bed to stand up and run to the bathroom. Suddenly, her legs collapsed into a pile of Skittles on the ground.

     “ Doug!” she screamed “What’s happening!?!”

     “I think your turning into Skittles” he said.

      “What! Why!?!” She screamed.

       “Ummmm Why Not?” he said.

      “You Fat Fuck! I know your behind this you better fix this or else im going to tell everybody that …………………..”

      And just like that she was gone. The girl that was only going out with Doug because of a dare was now resting peacefully as a pile of Skittles on the floor. In a panic Doug ran out of his room only to see Phil sitting right outside seemingly listening to the whole thing.

      “Phil! I have a potentially delicious problem on my hands” Doug said in a panic “….. were you out here the whole time listening to Ashley and me?” Doug asked.

      “Yea …. I always listen to you when you’re with a girl” Phil said.

      “What! Why!?!” Doug screamed.

      “I don’t know …. I guess I get a little lonely. That and you patched up the peephole I used to have in there.” Phil said.

      “Ok I’ll deal with that one later. First things first I ‘Skittled’ Ashley” Doug said

      “ Skittled huh? Sounds pretty steamy” Phil said.

      “ NO! I mean I turned her into Skittles. She’s dead” Doug said.

      “Oh No! What are you going to do?” Phil asked.

      “ I’m going to do the honorable thing” Doug said.

       “Turn yourself in?” Phil asked.

       “No… eat her remains” Doug said.

       Phil spent the next 15 minutes watching his sobbing roommate eat the “Skittled” remains of his girlfriend. Ashley’s body was the equivalent of 6500 skittles ( she had put on a little weight herself recently) and Doug ate most of them. He took a handful as a constant reminder of the love he felt for her, and in case he got hungry later.

      “Man, I don’t know what I’m going to do” Doug said while licking his fingers.

      “First gather up all the money you have” Phil said.

      “That shouldn’t be hard I only have $47 under the couch cushion” Doug replied

     “Hmm not bad. Secondly you have to buy a bottle of bleach to dye your hair. Then hop on a plane to Mexico” Phil said.

     “Yea one problem with that. I can’t touch anything. I’m cursed! I’m a monster!!” Doug began to cry.

      “Why don’t you get a job at the Skittles factory? They’ll probably pay you good money, and they can never run out” Phil suggested.

    “Don’t you get it. I just killed someone. And I’ll kill again. I can’t spend my life not touching things” he moaned.

      “Why don’t we find Stan?” Phil said.

      “Yea. That’s a good idea” Doug replied.

      The two men rushed down to the corner where they first met Stan but he was still gone. They asked everyone they saw and no one ever even heard of him.

    “I have an idea” Phil said “I’d sell my soul for a bag of peanuts”

     Just as Phil uttered those words a red mist enveloped the street. As the mist dissipated it revealed Stan and his cart.

    “Ahhh my satisfied customers. Back again so soon. I’m assuming it is the redhead this time around that wants a wish granted” Stan replied.

     “No Stan, I want my wish taken back. I killed the only girl who would sleep with me. And by mistake turned Phil’s collection of Hogan’s Heroes collectable plates into Skittles.” Doug said

       “You what!” Phil screamed.

      “We’ll talk later” Doug said.

       “ Unacceptable you cannot back out of your deal now. I’m afraid this little gift is of the permanent variety.” Stan snapped “You should always read your contracts” Stan smiled.

      Doug grabbed the contract out of Stan’s hand and started to read it.

      “No,no,no,no” he repeats over and over.

       “What is it?” Phil asked.

      “My soul ….. I gave him my soul in exchange for this. It’s irreversible” Doug said

      “What kind of magician steals people’s souls!!?” Phil screamed.

      “Yes I stole your friends soul……magician? I’m not a magician???” Stan looked confused.

     “Well….what are you then?” Phil asked.

    “Well I thought I was pretty clear with the red colors and the sign on the side of the cart”

     Doug and Phil look on the side of the cart and it read “Official Cart Of The Devil: Stealing Souls Since 400 B.C.”

      “Are you trying to tell me that you’re some type of Wizard?” Phil asked.

     “I’M THE DEVIL YOU FOOLS!!!” Stan screamed “God, I’ve never been so infuriated with anyone in my life. Not even all that time I spent with Nixon was this annoying.” Stan remarked.

     “So what now I’m stuck like this forever?” Doug asked.

      ”Well there is one way to give up your gift. But, it won’t be pleasant.”  Stan said.

       ”What is it? I’ll do anything” Doug pleaded.

      Stan pointed his finger at Doug who was instantly surrounded with a red mist. All of a sudden Doug sat straight up. He was shocked to realize he was back in his own bed covered in sweat.

      “Oh my god! I’m home” Doug said reassured.

       Doug rushed over to his desk and touched it and ……. Nothing. Nothing at all. His gift was gone. Stan had kept his end of the bargain.

       “Oh, thank God!” Doug cried out in joy.

      Just as he said that his phone rang, it was Ashley.

      “Ashley baby it’s really you. Let’s go out right now. Let’s see a movie I don’t care I just want to see you. And baby I’m never eating another Skittle again, in fact I never wanna see another Skittle again.” Doug said.

     He hung up the phone and went into his kitchen and was greeted by Philip who offered Doug a bowl of cereal.

     “O man sweet cereal. All natural healthy granola cereal” Doug said excitedly

     He grabbed the cereal and poured it into his bowl only to be absolutely paralyzed with shock.

       ”Skittles! The whole box is filled with them!” Doug screamed.

     “Ummmmm yea where have you been? That’s all there is” Phil said “It’s been like this forever. Remember the food shortage of the late 70’s? The Skittle corportation saved the world. Like they were sent from the angels.” Phili smiled fondly as he loaded his insulin pump.

   “What do you mean? That’s impossible!! This can’t be happening!!”

   Doug got up and ran from the room.

 “Doug! Buddy! Take a jacket it’s raining out” Phil screamed.

  Doug ran down the stairs of his apartment out into the rain. But, instead of drops of water there was only Skittles. Thousands upon thousands of Skittles pouring from the heavens onto Doug’s head.

    “NO!! NO!! Skittles. That’s All There Is!!! Skittles! Skittles! Everywhere!!” Doug lay on the sidewalk crying.

    A shadow soon engulfed him. It was a familiar shape. It was Stan….

   “Got your fill yet Doug?” Stan walked away leaving Doug on the pavement sobbing into a pile of what will haunt his dreams, the color of a rainbow.

My Religious Experience

I was sweating. Sweating like Wesley Snipes during tax season. Who sweats this much? It’s November. Only people with the flu and Tom Arnold are usually this sweaty. No, this was different. I have an excuse this time. I was about to have dinner with God himself. Well, not really God but one of his right hand men. Mr. Ken Kaplish the overzealous religious father of my girlfriend, Teresa.

Teresa. She was best. Gorgeous eyes, bountiful lips, silky smooth hair and bosoms like a Swedish wet-nurse. She also happened to be the only girl in Northern Drexler County that never had a restraining order against me or caught me skulking around the bushes outside their bathroom window with a sketch pad. We were only dating for two months and her family was very anxious to finally meet me. They wanted to see the boy that her daughter was going to “See into the afterlife.” Here’s the thing. They’re not only religious. They’re super religious. You know. The kind of religious that doesn’t only do it out of fear, they actually believe the stuff they’re saying.

As I stood outside of the house, sweating my way through a very expensive Hootie and the Blowfish vintage t-shirt, I turned to Teresa.

“I wanna go home.” My sweat was spritzing  her like an erratic sprinkler system.

“Don’t worry. He’s not that bad. He’s very understanding about things like this.” Teresa was dabbing my sweat off with a beach towel.

“Understanding? You’re talking about the man who tried to have our school shut down because Angela DelBeccio was holding hands with Craig Johansen during the homecoming game. He called our school a ‘Proverbial cesspool of sex and debauchery.’”

“Ok. He can go a little crazy. But I already talked to him. He said he is going to try and understand our relationship.”

“All right. I believe you. I’m just worried that I’ll wind up being brought up on the O’Reilly Factor like your last boy friend.”

“Yeah. Daddy overreacts sometimes.”

“Overreacts? He got that poor kid’s whole family put on the government’s ‘Do Not Fly’ list.”

“This time will be different. I kinda like you.”

“I kinda like you…” just then her front door opened and there stood her father.

“But not as much as Jesus! Hello sir.” The sweat now collected in my socks and provided every one of my footsteps with a satisfying ‘slosh’ sound.

“You must be Anthony. Teresa has told me a lot about you.” Her father was a well dressed man. He even had pants on. My father never wore pants past 7:00 P.M.

“Yes. Teresa has told me a lot about you as well. While we were at church. Ya know. Being holy and judging poor people.” I haven’t been to a church since I mistook St. Agnes Church for an Outback Steak House. They didn’t give me any food but they did take all of my money.

“Oh good. Another churchgoer. Perhaps you would be interested in joining us next Sunday?”

“Sir, I would want nothing more.” I would want anything else besides that. I would rather eat at Arby’s everyday for the rest of my life than go to church with him. I would rather eat that soggy government surplus roast beef than sit in church with this man. He was like Karl Rove if Karl Rove wasn’t forged from the souls of fallen Nazi war criminals.

“Let’s go inside and eat shall we?” He smiled at Teresa and led me inside.

Teresa’s house was very unsettling. Every shelf was adorned with statues of Jesus. Jesus was on the book shelves, on top of the TV, there was even a life-size stuffed Jesus doll in the living room. The most unsettling piece of Jesus memorabilia had was the toilet that was shaped like Jesus’ head with an engraving that read “I accept your waste” around his lips.

“You really like Jesus don’t you?” I asked

“Oh, he’s the best. Did you know that Jesus can lift more than Spider-Man?” He just smiled.

“Really?” He was nuts. This guy was nuts. He ogled Jesus like I ogle Mrs. Swanson, the Albanian Phys Ed. teacher with the crew cut.

“One day I hope to finally complete my script.”

“Script?” I didn’t want to ask. But I knew I had to.

“Yes. Teresa you didn’t tell him?” Teresa just sat there with her face in her hands. “I am in the middle of writing a movie script where Jesus comes back to cleanse the Earth of all things liberal.”

“Oh that sounds pretty interesting.” I smiled at Teresa.

“I already talked to Alan Rickman about playing his talking tiger sidekick.”

Thankfully my horrified gaze was interrupted by Teresa’s mom calling us in for dinner.

“So, how did you two meet?” Mr. Kaplish asked as he loaded up his plate with potatoes and meatloaf.

“At a football game.” I said. Teresa looked at me stunned as her father choked on his meal.

“Football! Teresa isn’t allowed to those games. Have you seen where the quarterback puts his hands when he receives the ball? No. It is like Sodom and Gomorra on that field.”

“We were protesting it, sir. Sundays are for praying not for playing.” I hoped my San Francisco 49ers underpants weren’t sticking out.

“My little girl’s first protest? I’m very proud of you.” Mr. Kaplish’s eyes were welling up. “Lord, I thank you for this day.”

“Yeah, Daddy. You should have seen me. It was great. I even sentenced my first single parent to Hell.”

Mr. Kaplish had to dry his eyes at the mere thought of his daughter damming a single mother to a lifetime of hardships.

“So, how is this relationship going?” Teresa’s mother asked.

“It’s going great.” Teresa lit up. “We do everything together.”

“Well, as long as my baby girl can wear a white dress on her wedding day I’ll be a very proud man.”

“Why white?” I asked.

“To symbolize purity and virginity. It’s a celebration of the the fact that her body has never come into contact with a man’s.”

“Oh not a problem. With that logic I guess her dress can be white. Just not her gloves.” Everyone stopped eating and directed their hateful gaze at me. Looks like I’ll be the next one sentenced to Hell.

The Adventures Of Two Men And The Zombie-Communists That Loved Them

A cold wind sliced through the simple sunny day. With New Year’s Eve approaching, the city should have been a bustling mosaic of culture and press; however something odd seemed to be brewing over the past week yet no one could figure it out. Slowly the citizens of New York were acting stranger than usual. Sam Stein, an unemployed street magician recently stripped of his post for turning a live rabbit into a corpse, picked up on the strange happenings and decided it best to alert his roommate, Bernard Butkis. Butkis was a rookie lawyer who was featured on the short lived Fox reality show World’s Worst Lawyers for mixing up the terms guilty and innocent and in turn got a northern Kentucky family life in prison for group Jaywalking.

“Bernard. Bernard!” Sam burst through the door; he was covered in more sweat than his husky frame was accustomed to.

“What, Sam? How many times have I told you not to disturb me while I prepare for my case?” Bernard looked up from his files annoyed. His glasses fogged with frustration.

“What case? You mean the family that’s suing Disney Land for not being the ‘Happiest Place on Earth’? When are you going to take on real cases?”

“Hey! They thought while Busch gardens had worse rides they came out a little bit happier. So, it was their right to sue. I may be fresh out of law school, but I still like to think I’m making a difference.”

“Last month you represented four people in a class action lawsuit against the Hamburglar. And you wound up losing within 12 minutes.”

“Listen, someone needed to at least try to put that burger stealing monster behind bars. I answered the call. And by the way when was the last time you even had a job?”

“First of all, if that fat kid hadn’t sat on my top hat before my performance that rabbit would still be alive and I would still be the 3^rd best street magician Manhattan’s ever seen. And second of all, I found a new job. I deal in financial recovery.”

“Picking up loose change from under vending machines is not ‘financial recovery’.”

“Alright ‘Matlock’ why don’t we compare our earning for the last four weeks. By the way I had something to tell you but now I don’t think I will.”

“Just tell me so I can call you stupid and end the conversation.”

“Fine. I just saw the weirdest thing. You know Lorenzo, the guy that runs the fruit stand near the vending machine on Adams Street?”

“Yeah.”

“Well on my way home from work I saw him just grab some guy drag him to the ground and he just started to bite him.”

“What!”

“Yea it was pretty weird. His skin was like a weird ash gray color and it seemed like he had a hard time talking.”

“Did anyone try to help him?”

“No, there wasn’t anyone else around. In fact, I didn’t see many people out all day. Dude I don’t know what’s going on but it’s pretty weird out there.”

“What do you mean you saw no people?”

“I’m telling you the streets were kind of empty. Like the premiere of a new Jennifer Aniston movie.”

“O god. You don’t think she came out with another movie do you?”

“Let’s hope not. But, if she did, I’ll be prepared.” said Sam as he pumped his handy shotgun.

Just then a horrific bang came from the front door right as a loud moan was heard.

“Reeeeennnntttt. I need the reeeennnnnt!” The two men froze in horror at the ghastly moan that emanated from their door.

“Do you think that’s Mr. Drukakis?” Bernard jumped out of his seat.

“I don’t know of anyone else who would be yelling at us for rent.” Sam walked near the door.

Suddenly the bangs grew louder and louder. The two men just stared blankly until the last bang brought the door of its hinges as it slammed to the floor. In the doorway stood what looked like a cross between a man and an old catcher’s mitt.

“Mr. Drukakis! Your skin looks awful” Bernard retreated back a few steps.

Bernard began to close in on the deranged landlord. Nikolai Drukakis was at one point handsome by landlord standards. He didn’t “wow” the ladies but he didn’t make them shriek in terror either. But now, he stood before the boys looking unnatural even by landlord standards. Mr. Drukakis stood somewhat motionless letting out a low grumble. His hair fell in clumps on the stained wood floor. The men, confused, moved even closer to the onetime gracious recipient of a “Landy”, the only award show strictly for landlords. Mr.Drukakis won his award in the category of ‘Least likely to evict you on Christmas’.

“Grrrrrrr,” said Mr. Drukakis

Suddenly without warning he leapt from his position and on top of Bernard.

“Mr. Drukakis! We’ll get you the rent! You don’t need to drool on me!” Bernard struggled to get Mr. Drukakis off him. Suddenly a shot rang out and Mr. Drukakis fell to the floor. Sam stood over the body holding the smoking shotgun in his hands.

“And you said buying a shotgun wouldn’t be sensible. This baby is gonna wind up paying for itself if I shoot three more people.” Sam looked at the gun smiling.

“Great shot ass, you killed our landlord. Now we’ll never get our security deposit back.” Bernard kicked Mr. Drukakis’ thigh with his foot to see if he were alive. He wasn’t.

“No, don’t you see. He looked just like Lorenzo. Something is wrong with these people.”

“Yeah, he seemed so lifeless and emotionless. Like Tobey Maguire. What do you think is wrong with them?”

“Well let’s see. They both lumbered around. Both had a taste for human flesh. Both let out horrible moans. And the skin on their face was all decrepit and leathery, like George Hamilton. So, if my knowledge of pop culture and contemporary media is correct then these people must have turned into the one thing that can never truly be killed…Communists.” Sam seemed to shake at the thought.

“Communists?”

“Yes, Communists. Hard working, wealth sharing, moustache wearing communists. They’ll throw you in the Gulag for eating an orange without their permission.”

“I think all those years of wearing your magician’s hat too tight has damaged your brain. They’re not communists you ass. They’re obviously vampires.”

“Vampires. It’s fuckin’ day out.”

“Well, then they’re daytime vampires.”

“Daytime vampires? Vampires can’t live in the day.”

“Can so.”

Just as the two men were arguing over their own principles they were disturbed by moans emanating from outside.

The two men rushed to the window only to witness dozens of Zombies roaming the streets. (Listen, we all know they’re not communists or vampires. For all intents and purposes they will be known for now on as zombies.) Police men zombies, butcher zombies, hobo zombies. It seemed everyone on Bernard and Sam’s block was being infected. The Zombies all had similar walks and worn out skin like Mr. Drukakis. Their clothing was torn and their hair thinning. Upon viewing this Bernard came to a horrible realization.

“Oh my God. Lisa, she’s out there in the city somewhere.”

Bernard’s thoughts now focused on the only girlfriend that never tried to run him over with a lawnmower while he was trying to sunbathe.

“I thought she was staying over for the night?” Sam was busy searching Mr. Drukakis’ corpse for a copy of The Communist Manifesto. Sam erroneously believed this book to be the power source for these “Super-Communists”.

“No, I sent her home real quick to pick up The Muppets Volume 1 on DVD and her portable DVD player.” Bernard looked more ashamed than usual.

“You lazy ass.”

“I gotta go find her.”

“Out there? Are you crazy? What if more of those creatures come after you?”

“I’m going. I’m the one who sent her out there. I’ve seen all the Death Wish movies enough to know how to deal with these punks. I’m not gonna lose her to these daytime vampires.”

“Communists.”

“Whatever they are I have to find her.”

“Well if you’re going I guess I’ll wait here for you to get back.”

The moans the two men were ignoring during their conversation were slowly getting closer.

“Umm, Sam you better come with me.” Bernard’s gaze was transfixed on the exposed doorway.

“Why?”

Bernard pointed to the doorway where a group of three zombies were slowly walking towards them.

“Fuck!”

The two men quickly hopped out the window and down the fire escape, knocking down Sam’s secret Marijuana garden.

“Where do we go now?”

“Lisa’s apartment. It’s only about a mile away.”

The two men walked down familiar streets in their neighborhood that had suddenly turned into a dismal war zone. Store windows were smashed in. Cars were upturned and lit on fire. Public phones were left off the hook. And there were a strange number of exotic flowers lining walkways that the men had never noticed before.

“When did this all happen?” Bernard wondered.

“Obviously over the past few days. It’s pretty odd that we didn’t notice.” Sam grabbed a Blu-Ray player from the broken display window of his favorite store Do Androids Dream of Electronic Appliances?

“Well, when was the last time we got out of the apartment?” Bernard wondered.

“I left this morning to go to work, even though that only lasted 15 minutes. I guess most of the destruction didn’t really make it over by my vending machines yet. It seems to only being going in the direction of Time’s Square.” Sam was trying to catch up with Bernard who is a brisk walker. Sam on the other hand doesn’t believe in exercise and in high school was voted ‘Most likely to have to be cut out of his house’.

“And before that?”

“Hmmm.” Sam pondered. “Oh. We got out of the apartment last weekend when we thought we saw Alan Alda outside carrying a book of carpet samples down the street.”

“Damn. If I wasn’t so busy with all of these cases I would have noticed and could have saved Lisa.”

“Yeah god forbid you don’t do your job. That class action suit filed by the M.A.T.S (Mothers Against the Three Stooges) never would have been settled.”

“The daughter of Larry Fine bonked me in the head with a wrench so hard I forgot my ATM code.” Bernard remorsefully reminisced.

Just as the men turned the corner they spotted an over turned shish-kabob cart surrounded by hungry scavengers consuming the unsupervised food.

“Thank god, free food; this day is starting to finally look up for ol’ Sam!” Sam ran over to the cart and pushed one of the looters out of the way. As Sam was busy inhaling free shish-kabob’s Bernard began getting concerned.

“Sam!”

Bernard noticed the man Sam knocked over was letting out a familiar noise.

“Oh, Christ!” Sam screamed and blinded the Zombie with a shish-kabob skewer.

Sam grabbed an armful of shish-kabob and the two men took off running. This kind of physical exertion is something they have not done since grade school. Seeking shelter they hid in a local Arby’s. An Arby’s filled with zombies.

The Zombies had taken over the restaurant. Zombies complained of dry sandwiches, Zombie children were playing with kid’s meal toys, and elderly Zombies were sitting in the booths complaining about politics over their coffee.

“Great! They’re everywhere.” Bernard exhaled.

The Arby’s Zombies slowly approached them. The two men ran out the door only to be confronted by the skewered Zombie they originally ran from. With two groups of greasy food loving Zombies closing in on them Sam felt it necessary to repent.

“Bernard?”

“Yeah buddy.”

“Listen if we don’t make it I gotta admit something to you. I’m the one who put Kool-Aid powder in your gold fish bowl, not your mom.”

“What! I haven’t spoken to her in three years because of that.”

“I’m sorry buddy. I thought he’d enjoy it. I mean it was entrapment. The Kool-Aid guy kinda looks like a fishbowl himself. I guess it was subliminal”

The Zombies drew dangerously close. The two men took one last breath and prepared for the worst. Suddenly, one by one, all the Zombies dropped to their knees and adult contemporary was heard over a deafening radio.

“What’s happening?” Bernard wiped tears from his eyes.

“Boys! Come with me.” A man pulled up with a boom box in an open hatch black Jeep. The two men hopped in the Jeep with the stranger and they proceeded to drive down Exposition Boulevard.

“Who are you?” Sam shifted in his seat.

“I am Dr. Fraiser Halfrayser. I am a Necrotolgist.”

“You sleep with those things!” Sam yelled.

“No, I study them. These creatures are similar to Zombies.”

“Zombie communists? Blimey.” Sam clutched a cross that was hanging from his neck.

“Communists? What the hell…” Dr. Halfrayser then turned to Bernard. “… I’ll just talk to you. These creatures have the characteristics of Zombies. Yet, they are not technically zombies seeing as they are not dead. It is something of a disease, you see. This has happened once before in a small town in France. A certain flower that only emits spores once every 100 years causes this disease that turns people into these mindless infected monsters. Think of it as an exaggerated allergic reaction.”

“Why weren’t Sam or I infected?”

“Not sure. Where do you live?”

“In an apartment down by Roofer Street.”

“Do you live in an apartment with asbestos?”

“Yeah our landlord said he wouldn’t remove it until we stop taking pictures of his daughter sleeping.”

“There’s your answer. Asbestos. The miracle foam. You may be interested to know that citizens have been evacuated over the past few days by the army. That’s why it looks like a ghost town. Haven’t you read any of the flyers or seen the commercials?”

“We sold our TV for some One Day at a Time trading cards including the elusive signed Schneider hologram card.” Bernard smiled.

“Yeah and as for the flyers. I can’t read…” And nobody looked at Sam the same way again.

“How did you get rid of those zombies back there?” Bernard asked.

“Do you hear the music I’m playing?”

“Hall and Oates?”

“Yup, Zombies hate it.” Dr.Halfrayser skipped to the track Maneater. “Something about adult contemporary screws up their vastly primitive neuron patterns. We tried it with reggae too. It just gave them Zombie diarrhea. All we need to do is broadcast it over the part of the city that the Zombies have migrated to and they’ll go into a type of temporary coma. From there hopefully I can find a cure.”

“Where can we find a way to play music through the whole city?” asked Bernard.

Dr. Halfrayser pointed to Times Square’s sound system for the New Years bash which they were driving under. The Zombies have set up camp around Times Square in preparation for whom they thought was the king of all Zombies to appear, Dick Clark.

When the men got to Time Square’s sound system they realized it was suspended on top of a platform with the only way to get to it being a rickety ladder.

“They made that really inconvenient didn’t they,” Sam stared at the hazardous setup.

“Who can climb?” Dr. Halfrayser revealed to the men a limp that had been concealed to them while he was driving.

After much private squabbling, and a rock, paper, scissor game in which Sam won using a nuclear bomb, Bernard knew it would be up to him.

“I’ll do it. I need to do it. I need to see Lisa. She still has all my Wonder Woman comics.” And no one looked at Bernard the same way again. He grabbed the CD and began climbing.

“Climb fast. While the CD is in your hands we will be unprotected down here!” Halfrayser screamed.

Bernard climbed as fast as he could. Halfway up the ladder he heard the zombies slowly approaching Sam and his new male acquaintance. Just at that moment Bernard heard a familiar moan.

“Lisa!” Bernard looked down from the scaffolding as a zombified Lisa and a gang of seven zombies slowly made their way towards Halfrayser and Sam.

“Bernard put the CD in!” Halfrayser tried to beat the zombies off.

“I can’t. What if it kills her?” Bernard seemed content with staying on top of the scaffolding for the rest of his life.

Just then Bernard saw Lisa grab Sam and go to bite his neck.

“That slut!” Bernard screamed. He then grabbed the CD and put it in the sound system. “I’m sorry baby. No one kills my friend without my permission.”

Right as the CD was installed, Hall and Oate’s smash hit Private Eyes blasted over the sound system and throughout a good portion of New York. Zombies everywhere fell to their knees in horror. Slowly they were all left comatose in the streets.

“What’s going to happen to them?” Bernard asked as he got off the ladder.

“I am only days away from testing a cure out for them. Leave them where they are and I’ll be back later in the week to test it out. Thanks for your help boys. Now I must leave and search the city for any stragglers.” Halfrayser drove away after collecting a small fee from the men.

Bernard looked on in horror as his girlfriend lay motionless due to the smooth adult contemporary styling of Hall and Oates.

“Don’t worry buddy. Halfrayser is a genius. He’ll find a way.”

Bernard stared at Lisa and noticed something in her pocket. He reached in and pulled out The Muppets Volume 1 on DVD.

“You know what? I think it’ll be fine.” Bernard picked up the DVD and walked with Sam towards their apartment.

“Do you think when Mr. Drukakis is cured he’ll want the rent money?” Sam yelled as he tried to catch up to a quick moving Bernard.

“I’m not sure he’s even alive Sam. But, if he is I’m sure when he gets back he’ll give us a few extra weeks.”

“Yeah, the jerk owes us that much.”

“You shot him in the head with a shotgun.”

“True. Do you think his daughter is still alive?”

“Not sure.”

“Well if she’s in one of those coma things too I got dibs on her.”

“Have a blast.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“Gonna watch the Muppets.”

Why Being An English Major Isn’t As Rewarding As Money

It had been a really hectic six weeks before graduation. All I heard was how hard I worked and how proud everyone was of me. My school was even kind enough to send me a special congratulatory letter through the mail (complete with a check-sized return envelope and numerous reminders about how much the new football field cost.) But, I didn’t care. I was finally out of school. That means I would never have to call another person “Professor” ever again unless I get kidnapped by a villain from “The Shadow.”

Graduation day was nice enough as well. That silk robe really felt great against my bare thighs. Generic praise and adulation seemed to be the only thing coming out of people’s mouth like I mistakenly left the “loop” option clicked on my ipod. Looking out on that crowd of people I realized this was just the beginning of my grand journey. With the tools I learned in school and the life lessons I learned from both classmates and educators I wondered if it was even possible for me to fail in life.

As I walked towards the Dean to get my diploma only two things went through my mind. First, was how her brightly colored ceremonial robe made her look like a bishop on Boy George’s chess board. And secondly, not only will I never see these people again but I will most likely forget who they were.

I had dreams of writing “The World’s Greatest” novel at least once a month. That process would probably preclude me from keeping in contact with many people. But it was worth it. School was the best thing that ever happened to me. I learned about great writers and how to position your body in such a way so you don’t chip a tooth during a keg stand. I always thought college was just the beginning of my life.

After receiving my diploma I readied my eyes to gaze down on the most expensive piece of paper I had ever gotten (except for that napkin I bought that contained the original lyrics for “Imagine” by John Lennon. Boy he sure did use the term ‘shit head’ a lot) My diploma read:

“Bachelor’s Degree in English and Literature”

“I’m so fucked.” I muttered. I don’t know why it shocked me. Perhaps I never thought about it. What the hell is an English and Literature Major anyway? It makes it sound like I am a pretty important part of a really sissy army.

Somehow my little slip of the tongue picked up over the microphone and broadcast to everyone in attendance (evidently the janitors still talk about me. The eldest janitor, Cecil Brown, actually dressed up as me on Halloween once. His use of a bald cap and hot glue for tears was actually pretty inventive)

Everything in the ceremony stopped at my profanity. Even the recording of Yo Yo Ma’s recording of Schubert’s greatest work stopped (Yes, my school couldn’t afford an actual cellist nor an actual  ”>Yo Yo Ma album. This recording was actually taken from the opening ceremonies of the 2004 Olympics. It wasn’t even noticeable until the audience was informed by Bob Costas that the whole ceremony had just been brought to them by Arm and Hammer Deodorant.)

“You’re not fucked.” said the Dean. Again into the microphone. (This second use of the word “fuck” marked the most profanity at an outdoor graduation since Charles Bronson graduated from technical school.)

“A Degree in English? Really? I’m holding a degree in English and you’re telling me I’m not fucked? It’s not even the most used language on the planet. I would have been better off getting a degree in Mandarin!”

“You’ll be fine. Plenty of people have English degrees. Hugh Grant and David Duchovny just to name a few.”

“Oh great! The sexaholic and someone who picked up a hooker named Divine Brown. Maybe if I’m lucky I’ll get my head bashed in during some rough sex like Bob Crane.”

“Oh, he was an English major too.”

I stormed off the stage just as a quick breeze stormed up my ceremonial robe. My thighs which felt so good before were now public domain. The camera flashes were blinding.

……………………………………………………………………………………………..
So here I am. One year later and filling out this unemployment form. I am sure by “brief description” your agency did not want this rant. But hey, I got a degree in English and Creative Writing and I am going to use it.

But I was wrong about one thing. That diploma did come in handy. It burned slowly enough to keep me warm for a whole night.