Tuesday, December 25

SECRETS OF THE OOZE? INDEED.

So the other night I was walking around my family's neighborhood at one-thirty in the morning, smoking Camel Wides while oozing menace and angst. It was like something out of Noir, only set in suburbia instead of The Big City, and instead of Bogart or Cary Grant, I'm awkwardly the main character.

Then, I suddenly saw the shadow of a ten-foot turtle looming across the side of a neighbor's house.

This, disturbingly, is not a dream. One of my neighbors (who may or may not actually be a serial killer) had decorated his front lawn with an enormous ceramic turtle. To top that off, he installed a large spotlight right in front of this piece of classic art, creating the shadowy illusion of a turtle the size of a Panzer tank.

If I had been drunk, I probably would have pissed myself.

Merry Christmas.

Tuesday, December 18

"LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT"

I, William Thomas Xavier-Pendragon, being of sound and disposing mind and memory, and not being actuated by any duress, menace, fraud, mistake, or undue influence, do make, publish, and declare this to be my last Will and Testament.

The Xavier-Pendragon estate will be divided among my various beneficiaries in the following manner:

To my loving wife, Marla:
I leave you the new Solarium, my most treasured posession. In addition, I leave you half of our summer home outside of Aspen, Colorado, and half of the newly renovated guest house that lies adjacent to it. I also leave you the entire town of Aspen itself, which I won in a poker game from Eliot Gould years ago. I hope these things make you happy, Marla...I have loved you with all of my heart, and I always will. My never-ending devotion to you shall never falter.

To my equally-loving dominatrix and mistress, "Lady Nocturne":
I leave you the old Solarium. I also leave you with my various methods of transportation: the horse-drawn carriage, the wartime submersible, the steam-powered gyrocopter, etc. Furthermore, I leave you with the other half of my summer home in Aspen, mainly because I find the idea of my wife and mistress being forced to share a home rather amusing.

To my estranged son, Wesley:
I leave you my third solarium. It's the smallest of the three solariums, is constructed of sub-par materials, and often smells of damp mold. I also leave to you my four Olympic-sized swimming pools, my riverboat, and my chain of nautical-themed restaurants. Why do I leave you these seemingly random possessions? Because of your severe phobia of large bodies of water.

To all of my slaves and indentured servants:
I give you your freedom. I also offer my most heartfelt apologies: my legal council recently informed me that slavery was actually abolished sometime around 1865, and was never actually legal here in our great city of Las Vegas. My bad.

To my live-in nurse, Hilda:
You've been indispensable these final few years, constantly being by my bedside to attend to my every whim. As the cancer got worse, you stayed by my side, even as others left me. You have been my right arm, my closest friend, and my trusted advisor. I truly cannot thank you enough. You immense commitment and loyalty deserves the highest compensation. I leave you with my treasured collection of state quarters, my karaoke machine, and part-time access to Wesley's sub-par solarium.

And finally, to Dr. Donald Feifer, the inventor of the solarium:
I leave you my 470 million dollar fortune. Your architectural creation has brought both a literal and metaphorical light into my life, and for that I am eternally grateful. I only ask that you use a portion of the money to build the world's largest solarium in my honor, and name it after me.

Thank you.
Yours in life and in death,
William Thomas Xavier-Pendragon

Sunday, December 16

"POSSIBLE OBAMA CAMPAIGN SLOGANS"

Barackzanne: Democracy, You Don’t Need To Put On The Red Light.

Being The Leader of The Free World Isn’t Exactly…Barack-et Science.

In 2008, Get Ready to Party Like a Barack-Star.

Here I Am; Barack You Like A Hurricane.

First We Gonna Ba-rack, Then We Gonna Ba-Roll…Obama/DMX in 2008.

"DIDDY N' ME"

Sean "Diddy" Combs and I first met during the brisk autumn of 1978.

We were classmates together at the Dunham School for Young Men, located in northern Rhode Island, and we quickly became close friends. I tutored Diddy in Geometry and Grammar, and he taught me how to fire a rifle. Although we drifted apart through the years, we still occasionally send handwritten letters to one another, written on delicate parchment paper and sealed with wax.

I am proud of Diddy and of all his recent success. However, it hurts me deeply to see him maligned in the press. Criminal charges seem to haunt him, and the media enjoys slandering him viciously with blatant lies, obviously jealous of his enormous success. With that in mind, I've decided to write something to clear away the rumors surrounding my best friend Diddy, and to hopefully set the record straight.

1. Many people are aware that Diddy is an established record producer, clothing designer, and rapper, but were you aware that Diddy is also an established inventor? This is true. To this day, Diddy holds the patents for the following items: the pneumatic drill, the bionic leg, the men's overcoat, mustard gas, the phonograph, the bolt-action rifle, the CAT scan machine, and the hologram. Also, he is responsible for inventing the remix.

2. You probably already know that Diddy changes his name every six years. Previously, he has been known as "Puffy", "Puff Daddy", and "P. Diddy". But did you know that every time Diddy changes his name, he also sheds his outer layer of skin, and eats it for nourishment? This is true.

3. Diddy cannot be killed by conventional weapons. During our brief time together in '78, I personally saw him shot, stabbed, hung, and burned, all to no avail. This is because Diddy is what's known as a "Highlander"; a race of immortals who wander the earth, cutting off the heads of other Highlanders in order to absorb their power. Not only is he a "bad boy for life"; he's a bad boy for the length of hundreds, perhaps thousands, of lives.At this point in time, Diddy is one of two remaining Highlanders; the other being former "Cheers" star John Ratzenberger. The two wander the earth; one endlessly lending his voice to Pixar films, the other endlessly selling Pro-Active, both waiting for the inevitable battle. After all, there can be only one.

4. Diddy's favorite food? Gumballs. In fact, Diddy love gumballs more than anything else: more than winning a Grammy, more than Sean John, even more than making someone walk ten thousand miles to get him a cheesecake. His payment for appearing on the "Godzilla" soundtrack was a crate of ten thousand gumballs, delivered by Godzilla himself. This is true.

5. Diddy does, in fact, "run the city", but this accomplishment is much more incredible when you realize that Diddy actually doesn't have any legs; he lost them to an advanced strain of Polio in the early 90's. But Polio cannot stop a man like Diddy; he spent years inventing himself a pair of bionic legs, and once they were completed, he ran the New York marathon to celebrate.

6. Diddy loves memorializing dead people. His song "I'll Be Missing You" paid tribute to the fallen Notorious B.I.G., and then was later reprised to pay tribute to Princess Diana. But were you aware that Diddy killed them both? This is true; every time Diddy's career begins to slump, he kills someone famous then mourns their loss with a song about their death. He used a hit squad to murder Biggie and later got rid of Diana with his army of robotic paparazzi. This is true.

I've repeatedly offered to give my life to Diddy, to jump into a volcano in order to provide him with more fodder for his songs, but Diddy has refused. Why? Because according to Diddy, I am "not famous enough", and "nothing rhymes with 'Volcano'".

So, in conclusion, I hope this clears up some of the misconceptions you may have had regarding my best friend Diddy. It's my greatest hope that every time you bite into a gumball, or the next time you get a CAT scan, you'll think of Diddy...and smile.

QUOTE OF THE DAY

"One of the Nazis, in a rare display of humor, even juggled grapefruits and, delighted, I sad up in bed and clapped." -Bret Easton Ellis, American Psycho

DREAMS I'VE HAD, PART 1

The dream starts, and I'm sitting on the curb at the end of a cul-de-sac.

Behind me: the desert; a moon blooming above the horizon and drowning it in cold light, a sky the color of pooling india ink and mountains the shade of day-old bruises. Before me, the cul-de-sac bottlenecks into a two-lane road and curves into the neighborhood. Neatly clipped lawns and pastels of suburbia.

Suddenly I hear the sound of small wet feet slapping across the concrete in a quick sprint.

I spin, my heart tightening like a clenched first, but I can't see anything in the darkness. The sound is everywhere, all around me, moving so fast, disappearing, reappearing in another place before dissapearing again, and I don't know what to do.

That's when I see it frozen in the streetlights.

It's small. Child-sized. Moves in jerks and ticks, twitches and skips, and even from here I can see the sharp lances of steamy breath jetting from its nostrils. I can hear it again, the pitter patter of it's little feet on the ground, and all of a sudden it's giggling; a high-pitched shrieking laugh, incessant and maddening and not altogether human.

Suddenly it’s right in front of me.

I can feel it’s cold breath on my skin, listen to it’s labored breathing, and it’s teeth are chattering hard and fast between it's gasps of breath. It is something resembling a child, four or five years and very small, skin the color of bone and slick with wetness. It is dripping on the pavement and still shivering, it’s teeth chattering obscenely, eyes rolling back into the skull to reveal solid white.

Something in it’s hand, shining; a straight razor with an ivory handle, so large in the child’s tiny fat fingers.

It’s chest contracts and expands, and a hand raises, the razor about to arc into me, and I can hear it’s voice moaning the same words over and over, "so cold so cold so cold so cold" and I hear the end of each word chopped short by his chattering teeth just as his razor whips down and effortlessly cuts through my face and into the bones of my cheek.

And as black blood runs down my face like a hot teardrop, I realize that the razor felt like a blade of ice, and my teeth begin to chatter.

The dream ends.

Saturday, December 1

THE WAL-MART GAME

The other day I was hankering for some rock-bottom prices and American hubris, so I went to Wal-Mart.

I didn't really go with intent to purchase anything; merely to walk through the brightly lit corridors, watching morbidly obese people buy things that they don't really need in order to make themselves feel better about their lackluster lives.

After a while, I made a game out of it, and I encourage you to play along the next time you travel to the 'Mart. Here's how it works: I've assigned arbitrary point values to some of the more common sights that you may find at your neighborhood Wal-Mart. It's a game of keen observation that rewards the player with a careful eye!

-For every American flag you see, award yourself ten points.

-For every piece of unnecessary merchandise that ties into a disappointing summer sequel, award yourself fifteen points. (Personally, my favorite were the horrible Spider-Man 3 plush dolls that made Toby Maguire look like he had a hydrocephalic head.).

-For every Toby Keith cd OR for every piece of Larry the Cable Guy merchandise OR for anything emblazoned with NASCAR logos, award yourself twenty points. (Personally, my favorite was the NASCAR crock-pot; it was such a strange contrast of a sport that awards high speed with a cooking device that prides itself in its slow speed. The contradiction was maddening).

-For every pregnant single mother you see, give yourself fifty points. (For the record, I saw three of them. Two of the three looked to be around eighteen years of age.) You receive ten extra points if the pregnant single mother is buying alcohol or cigarettes.

-One hundred points if you overhear another shopper say something racist OR homophobic OR anti-Semitic.

My final score? One hundred and ninety-eight bajillion points.

...and I'm proud to be an American, where at least I know I'm free...