flarn flarn filth

the smartest kid in the dumb class

jimjbollocks — Wed, 22 Feb 2012 22:37:57 +0000

Honey, I can’t begin to tell you how excited I am to have been rescued from that desert island. And although I spent four years, two months and sixteen days dreaming nonstop of the day I would be back in your arms, I know it’s going to take some time for us to get reacclimated to each other. Fortunately, the company is hoping to forestall a lawsuit by providing all of us who were stranded on what the media have called “the longest corporate retreat ever” with group therapy to deal with our survivor guilt. One of the things they told us during our first session today was that the first step to rebuilding our lives is to be honest about the inevitable changes caused by our very different experiences. After all, neither of us is the same person we were the weekend before New Year’s 2008- wait, is it the year that’s ending or the year that’s beginning? Well, you know, 2007 going in to 2008. See, this is one of the many things I’m going to have to relearn as I integrate myself back into society. Oh also, I may need a quick refresher course on how to use silverware after we get done with this family meeting.
The stress of daily life among the twelve who managed to swim to shore after Mr. Amparo’s Gulfstream V crashed into the ocean was overwhelming at times, and for me it was only compounded by the guilt of knowing that you had asked me not to go. As we learned to feed ourselves, finally discovered an effective method for desalination after numerous failed prototypes, and found shelter in caves after a storm destroyed the housing we had built from airplane debris and palm leaves, the other men and women on the island gradually became a family, bonded forever through our struggles. We built a functioning society that was loosely based on our corporate hierarchy, which meant that I wound up doing a lot of the physical labor and drew a disproportionate percentage of overnight panther-watch duties.
A couple of things you should know. For starters, I hope you’ll understand that I didn’t adhere to a strictly vegetarian diet. I need you to be prepared for the possibility that you might walk into me eating a ham sandwich at three a.m. in the kitchen in the dark, my face adorned with a grizzled, thousand-yard stare as I remember the occasional slaughter of a wild pig, for those were the only times our bellies felt full. As for the other thing you’re probably wondering about: although the temptation was there on several occasions, none of us ever strayed from our spouses. It was pretty close; I’ll be honest. The plane that found us flew overhead the day before we had scheduled a vote to finally give up and get buck wild, and the “for” side had really gained traction since the last time we had voted on it. Our cuddle sessions were strictly for survival, as it got pretty cold at night, and I should add that on my request, the company has also provided body pillows with faces painted on them. As an exercise, the therapist recommended that we name them together.

as young as we’re ever gonna get

jimjbollocks — Wed, 15 Feb 2012 21:30:48 +0000

In years past, the faceless image of the super ripped dude on the mailer, his golden tan abs rippling with the unspoken promise that you could one day look like this if you were taking the right nutritional supplements, would have been sufficient to draw me into the new fitness store that recently opened up by me, but nowadays the $20 off a purchase of $50 or more was the enticement I found most alluring. Clearly these marketing geniuses had covered every angle. As soon as I walked in, a super cute 22 year-old girl came out of the back, walking casually but purposefully towards me, asking if I needed help finding anything. And because my fear of appearing impolite slightly outweighs my fear of interacting with people, I told her I was looking for a whey protein supplement, hoping that she would just point me in that direction and not do the hard sell but figuring that outcome unlikely when she put her hand forward and said, “Oh, by the way: Hi. I’m Alexis.”
“I’m Gerard,” I lied for no real good reason, and instantly felt anxious about the lie while mentally noting her surprisingly firm grip. I should probably include the detail here that though I hope it won’t always be this way, in this particular chapter in my life my wardrobe choices are made primarily for comfort, which is a euphemism I use to explain some pretty unflattering styles I’ve elected to be seen outside the house with lately. I’m also shaving and bathing for comfort, as long as we’re being euphemistic, so by being matched up with this smartly attired, energetic girl, I was already at a considerable disadvantage. Sensing my vulnerability to a host of upsale techniques, I grimly steeled myself for the engagement.
Relief came over me as someone else came in to the store. It was this creepoid who had been driving around in the parking lot in kind of an ominous way, and before I had a chance to fantasize that Alexis would go interact with this unrepentant weirdo to preemptively safeguard against shoplifting, this other really cute 22 year-old girl came out of the back, honing in on him like a Tomahawk missile with a smile and an outstretched hand. “Hi, I’m Stephanie. Can I help you find something?” I wondered how many of them were back there. Was there a black chick? Did they keep a couple of hot guys on reserve, just in case a lady or a gay guy came in?
Alexis asked about my workout routine, eliciting from me the confident disclosure that I do some light running and swimming three or four times a week. I silently assured myself that by not mentioning weights at all, I had deftly eliminated from Alexis’ sales pitch repertoire several rows of plastic neon-colored jugs containing the Get Huge-type powders and mixes. This strategic move had me suddenly feeling like a chess grandmaster. I don’t exactly have my act together in other areas of my life, but the few hours a week I spend working out is the only time I feel I have even a modicum of control over anything, and in talking about a subject on which I was knowledgeable, I began to feel less intimidated. Maybe even emboldened. If I could display this kind of poise while buying a car or negotiating a conflict with a co-worker, I’d be a completely different person.
Meanwhile, it escaped my attention that by acting interested and impressed, Alexis had subtly built up her own advantage, as she was about to use my own strength against me like a judo champion. Given the benefit of hindsight I can see now that I had underestimated her, but swollen with my newfound expertise, I audaciously filled out the rewards card form she breezily pushed across the counter to me as she ran my debit card, and I impressed myself by savvily maintaining the Gerard ruse. It hadn’t taken me long to get cocky, and my cool demeanor abruptly dissolved when she quizzically mentioned that the name I had written on the form didn’t match the name on the card.
“Stolen card,” I breathlessly blurted in a panic, dreading the phone call I would have to make to the bank to report that someone had stolen my identity. I tried not to think how it was probably gonna look suspicious that the false charge was for a product I’ve been purchasing faithfully every six weeks for the last decade, and instead imagined myself looking graceful and athletic while sprinting towards the white sunlight beyond the glass door. See, I wasn’t just some guy in sweats, Alexis. These were my workout clothes.

fix up look sherpa

jimjbollocks — Thu, 09 Feb 2012 04:50:09 +0000

“May I have your attention.”
These words, spoken not as a request, but as a chilly demand implying dire consequences for any who might fail to comply with it, were the first sound the students heard after the crack of her pointer on the blackboard. The small woman whose hair was held back in a tight bun would employ that pointer like a riding crop all semester long, living up to her campus-wide reputation as an instructor unafraid to fleck her charges’ metaphorical hindquarters to drive them to their talents’ outermost limits. Under her tutelage, her pupils would learn every fiber of the curriculum, but perhaps more critically, they would conjure within themselves a fearlessness forged in the crucible of knowing that any danger they might encounter in the real world would be a trifle when compared with the famous withering glare she directed at any work she deemed below standard. If she was harsh, it was only to prepare them for the relentless onslaught of trials she knew awaited them at their schooling’s conclusion. And though controversial, her methods would be vindicated once the world saw the unprecedented heights of originality, humor and attitude reached by the Class of 1993 of the Spencer’s Gifts T-Shirt Design Academy, though they would later be known as the Class of 68: You Do Me And I’ll Owe You One.

the head dracula

jimjbollocks — Wed, 01 Feb 2012 20:51:07 +0000

I had just passed Building 28, how was I suddenly in the 50s? It just skipped the thirties and forties altogether. I’ve delivered pizzas to some labyrinthine-ass apartment complexes, but there is none more confusing than this one assisted living facility in the really rich part of town. If I had wanted to spend my life weaving through some huge maze of bullshit to get anything done, I’d have filled out the paperwork to go back to college. Suddenly a teacup doberman in a diamond collar ran in my path, with multiple overmatched staff in ponchos in hot pursuit. One held up his hands like a cop as they crossed in my headlights, another held up his hands in apology. Relieved to see that my brakes still worked in the rain, I then looked up through the part of my windshield that the wipers can’t get to and saw Building 37, and parked in front of it.
The man answered the door in a smoking jacket looking just like Veronica’s dad from Archie comics. I probably should have clarified earlier that this assisted living facility is for people who can still cook their own meals and play golf, not like a nursing home. Before I could even say “Hello sir, I have an olive, tomato and mushroom pizza for you” using my talking to someone at the bank voice in a likely futile stab at a good tip, he got annoyed and said, “I had requested delivery from a female driver.” In fact, my making this delivery had been the subject of some controversy back at the pizza place, one complicated by my gambling debt to Wanda, and Wanda’s and my differing rock-paper-scissors techniques. You’re supposed to show what you got as you say the word “three”, not one beat after counting. I thought that was so obvious that I wouldn’t need to specifically mandate that before we played, but on an aborted first try she saw that I was planning to play paper. Probably did it on purpose. Remembering that Wanda couldn’t lock up until I get back, though, I accepted this oldster’s weary, resigned offer of a drink and wiped my feet on the way in.
“Have a seat; that scotch is older than you are,” he said, “You’d better enjoy it.” Those were the first of volumes of words that came from him as he paced the room over the next twenty minutes, telling me how his son had put him in here so he could take over the company. I got the impression that he didn’t entertain guests frequently. He kept the money in his hand, sometimes waving it tantalizingly in front of me as he got worked up and began to season his speech with gestures. Finally, he slumped exhausted into the wingback chair opposite mine and said, “I wouldn’t even be considered a young President. A young heart attack victim.” He blinked a slow blink that contained the hint of a wince which conveyed decades of accumulated hurt. I was then fully aware of his awareness that he had already begun his life’s final transition, that would end not with a new stage of life, but between impermanent stays at advancing levels of convalescent care. The end of his life would be mired in a transitory state, and he was in the process of giving up hope of ever emerging restored from the tunnel’s end. This interminable passageway was the stage, not a path to some hard-won achievement. I know what that’s like. When I was a kid, there were a couple years after my brother was born but before my sister graduated where my bedroom was in the hallway. Didn’t have any posters or anything, and I had to wheel my bed in every night. Now we were both depressed. He then stood and opened his smoking jacket a bit, raising a hand like a cop at my apprehension, I the only company he could still wield influence over. Displayed were the most comfortable-looking pajamas I had ever seen. They glowed. “These were originally owned by Pat Sajak. I accidentally wore them home from a week-long National Cookie Day party at Ludacris’ and he said to keep them.”

polar fear club

jimjbollocks — Wed, 25 Jan 2012 15:42:46 +0000

Yes, I’m Rodney. Oh, is today the day the camera crew was supposed to follow me around?, I’ll say casually when they arrive, acting like I just walk around the house wearing a shirt with a collar all the time like some kind of big shot. I was just settling down to read a few chapters of Ulysses. Would you care for a gingerbread cookie once they cool off? Gone will be the following items: the Iron Maiden posters in my living room, the stack of Club Internationals and Schlitz empties in my bedroom, and the pizza-stained mountain of paper plates on the card table in my dining area. As Fonzie proved, garage apartments need not be the seedy havens of nefarious activity which are so frequently documented by the very same local news channel whose van will soon be at my door. I’ll need to make a good impression, and shoring up my admittedly lax personal hygiene and housekeeping habits is just as important as making sure I’ve given myself time plenty of time to finish masturbating before they arrive.
They said they’d be here at 7 a.m. sharp Wednesday morning, so I’ve got 36 hours to get this place tidied up. It’s not going to be easy, but investigative reporter Cynthia Sujira Senghor and her crew deserve nothing but the best. After all, they’re the ones who are gonna blow the lid off this international matchmaking scam that’s been taking advantage of successful bachelors who are too busy with their professional lives to seek out a mate through conventional means. Although it’s been a while since I entertained company, I do remember that a good host shouldn’t have a kitchen counter full of newspapers open to the bra ads, or an unflushed toilet whose contents look like egg drop soup. And my mother taught me that closed-toed shoes are a must, as a true gentleman never reveals how many toenails he’s lost to fungus. While I’m thinking about it, I must call the city to come pick up this raccoon trap, though the next season of Boardwalk Empire won’t be the same without my little watching buddy.
The only thing I’m worried about is that they said they wanted to get a few shots of me at work, and there’s a lot that could go wrong there. I’m probably just gonna have to send a hooker to Myron’s house Wednesday morning to keep him away from the office. Seems easier than trying to convince him to take down that “Fuck Rodney” banner above his cubicle that I had to pay to have professionally done at FedEx Kinko’s after losing a bet that our boss was gay. Plus, since word of our wager got out, my desk is really maybe even uncomfortably close to a forklift loading zone, which may pose a challenge to Channel 11′s sound engineers. The stakes are high, but if this all goes well, it could be a big turning point for me; maybe even increase my chances with that cute new temp in payroll. Just let her try and come up with a reason not to go to the movies with me after finally seeing me as the center of attention for a positive reason. I’m not usually romantically compatible with American girls, but it would be a real waste of all this housework not to try and get some dirty leg while the place is clean.

yours truly is in no mood to refer to himself in the third person

jimjbollocks — Wed, 18 Jan 2012 20:36:34 +0000

All right, gentlemen, it looks like everyone is here. I’d like to begin by mentioning how appreciative we are that everyone was able to make it on such short notice. I trust you all understand that we would not have called you away from your obligations elsewhere had not the subject of this meeting been as urgent as it is time-sensitive. For your troubles we have provided some delicious finger sandwiches, which will be made available when your cell phones are returned to you at the conclusion of this briefing. Now to the business at hand: I am pleased to announce that several decades of tireless work by our research and development team has at last yielded the achievement that should put us comfortably ahead of our competitors in the firearms manufacturing business for a generation. That’s right, boys. We’re talking about a gun that shoots knives.
To be sure, such a paradigm-shifting breakthrough is bound to raise quite a few questions, but please keep your hands down until the end. Hopefully this orientation will provide answers to most of them. To wit: is the gun that shoots knives extremely dangerous to use? Is it prohibitively expensive to maintain and keep loaded? Moreover, is it messy? The answer to all of these questions is most definitely in the affirmative, particularly the last one, as these slides of the gun that shoots knives being tested on live javelina hogs will attest. But despite its horrible impracticality, we believe this remarkable creation will have appeal due to the considerable status and respect commanded only by owners of a weapon that virtually guarantees a closed-casket funeral for its targets. In fact, you might say the gun that shoots knives is perfect for when you’ve worked really hard on an important presentation, only to have some cutup in the back possibly ruin it all by making snide comments under his breath. Am I making myself perfectly clear, Johnson?
I’m sure I don’t need to tell anyone that we’re gonna need to keep a lid on this thing for as long as we can, so no talking to the media, even the friendly outlets, as the gun that shoots knives is still not completely ready and we don’t want a repeat of ’88. The final stage of field testing dovetails with the first stage of our marketing strategy, which as per usual, is to leak a few of these to some gang members. After a few reports on the evening news about Bloods and Crips killing each other with guns that shoot knives, we fully expect to corner such coveted demographics as males between the ages of 33-39 who have a samurai sword prominently displayed in their dens, sexy female assassins between the ages of 16-48, and divorced cigarette boat-owning males between the ages of 48-55 whose online dating profiles say they’re seeking females between the ages of 22-26.

hey, let’s write a song where we just name a bunch of cities

jimjbollocks — Thu, 12 Jan 2012 05:47:40 +0000

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french prince of bel air

jimjbollocks — Wed, 04 Jan 2012 06:32:06 +0000

Instructions: Put the headphones on. No, they’re not plugged into anything but this old dark corner of a barn. Let a spider crawl through the wire and into your ear. The music is the sound of her eggs hatching in your auditory canal, and you’ll need to listen carefully to it, so you can mimic it perfectly on the piano at the bookcase in the mansion that will open to reveal a secret passageway to a subterranean second mansion. That’s your home now. Sure, it’s got enough rooms for you to host a party and keep your work friends and school friends from ever meeting each other and inevitably exchanging stories about your substandard table manners, but every bathroom has the toilet paper unrolling from the back and a lock on there that prevents you from ever fixing it and every toaster in its many kitchens has a fucked up light/dark setting on the toaster that keeps you from making decent toast, even when you’re certain that you marked the perfect spot on the dial with a Sharpie. Use your wits to master the art of making toast in a frying pan, because you’ll need your strength for your day’s work of transcribing in longhand your interview with a septuagenarian parrot that has outlived multiple owners. Spend the next month holed up with the Remington Standard typewriter in your chamber and emerge with your masterpiece, then mail the manuscript to all five sets of brothers you know named Kevin and Kyle. Endure their withering criticism over your failure to adequately explain the parrot’s controversial failure to testify at the murder trial of Colombian drug kingpin Gerardo “Pan Dulce” Montoya, who acquired the blue Hyacinth macaw in 1987 in a card game and owned him until 1990, when he was shot at his Miami villa by DEA agents after a lengthy standoff. Run, the wind chafing your hot tear-stained cheeks, around the perimeter of the property, clutching your unfavorable reviews and seeking a spot to bury them where no one can see them. Settle on an area behind the hedge surrounding the western servant’s quarters and burrow with your hands under its sun-dappled leaves, until the black earth under your fingernails makes them ache. Collapse from exhaustion and listen to the sound of your breathing slowly diminish from frantic gasps to a sound too quiet for human ears, until you’re lying perfectly still. Feel the cool moist soil against your face and think to yourself what a perfect spot this would be to just silently decompose. Got it? Congratulations, you’ve just completed step one.

thou shalt call me zeroaster

jimjbollocks — Wed, 28 Dec 2011 06:56:00 +0000

Come see the one-man show that’s taking off-Broadway by storm-Stories From 101 96th Street! You’ll laugh, cry and even sy*h as Live Erotic Theater Quarterly‘s 1996 Newcomer of the Year nominee Sandy Montenegro inhabits the off-the-wall neighbors who inhabit the zaniest apartment building in the Bronx! You’ll have plenty to talk about on the long train ride home from Ralph’s Coffeehouse and Artist’s Space in Pelham Park after you get to know this dazzlingly diverse array of characters:

Mark on the fifth floor: “I mean, hey- can a guy get a pastrami on rye around here? Fifteen years I been comin’ to this deli; you’d think I could get a little service, don’t you think? I wear cheap clothes and my combover isn’t fooling anyone, right, pal? Yeah, you might say I’m a real jerk. I play my music too loud and have really noisy sex, where I yell at the woman to kick me like a horse right as I’m about to reach my peak. Be a real shame if somebody told my peers on the school board about my weird kink, but that doesn’t stop me from acting like a total asshole to people who have potentially damaging information, including audio recordings and infrared camera footage.”

Ivette on the third floor: “Yeah, papi, you might call me an around-the-way girl. Rap videos have been made about the way I take clothes out of a front-loading washer at the laundromat. Sure, I might be good-looking, but I act like it too, see, walkin around with my nose in the air and not giving anyone the time of day when I run into them in the lobby while checking the mail. There’s only one thing I like more than smoking cigarettes on the fire escape real slow and sexy, and that’s kicking a guy like a horse right as he’s about to reach his peak, and I’m the best at it. Yeah. I’m bad.”

Luther the superintendent: “I don’t gave a damn when you need it, I’ll get to it when I get to it, man! Look, I’ma have to call you later, aight? Sorry about that; the nerve of these tenants! They think it’s the end of the world if they go a few days without a working toilet. I’m as sorry as anyone that you’re being inconvenienced, but I couldn’t very well come back early from Palm Beach without cancelling some pretty nice dinner reservations, so my hands were tied. Hey, not for nothing, but we’ve all got problems. I can’t keep my Jaguar out of the shop, but do you hear me complaining about it? Besides, it’s not all bad. Just the other day, a guy in one of my buildings invited me to do some freaky, freaky stuff with a girl that’s known for kicking a dude like a horse right as he’s about to reach his peak, and I’ve always wanted to try that. Mother of Mary, it was everything I ever dreamed of and more. They told me that a threesome was a longtime fantasy of theirs, but they had had a hard time finding someone. Apparently one of their neighbors had been in the running until they began jumping to conclusions and harboring totally unfounded suspicions about his astronomy hobby. Between you and me, they seemed like a couple of snobby jerks.”

Audiences called Stories From 101 96th Street “an… effort,” “disturbingly racist, but in a way that was strangely ignorant of Asian stereotypes, unless there’s something I’ve been missing this whole time about them and Ritz crackers,” and “Uh, could you keep it down? People are trying to do the crossword here.” Get your tickets today, because this tour de force isn’t likely to be around long, and costume designer Rod Butterscotch really did put a lot of effort into creating a prosthetic ass big enough to meet Mr. Montenegro’s specifications for Ivette.

what to expect when you’re expectorating

jimjbollocks — Wed, 21 Dec 2011 21:34:23 +0000

My son, sit down and let me talk to you; there are certain moments in a father and son’s journey that must be acknowledged, and the son becoming a man is one of them. Seeing you in the bloom of your youth, I’m reminded of -and perhaps even a little wistful for- my own younger days. I had an apartment with a couple of guys, and a pretty sweet job doing construction. Whether we were watching football on television or having the girls from across the hall over for an orgy, we ate pizza, pounded beers and smoked dank every night. Every now and then we’d overdo it, then have to take of the next day off work so we could get rid of the shakes with a couple of seven a.m. brewcephuses. Sometimes, the sanitation workers would see me rushing to get the trash out before their truck arrived, and this happened often enough that they even gave a name, “el retrasado,” to the celebration dance I would do when I accomplished this task in time. Those were exciting times for me and my roommates. As young Amish men on Rumspringa, our wild behavior was fueled by a keen though unspoken awareness that we were unlikely to ever employ that kind of irresponsible decision-making again. It occurs to me presently that those days were long ago, as shown by the fact that my eldest son is now preparing to embark upon his own time living away from home.

You may have experienced some curiosity about the outside world while growing up in our cloistered community. Your time outside will likely raise more questions on this subject than it answers, but that is the price of wisdom. When a man chooses a path, he isn’t just picking one destiny, he is forsaking all other possible destinies. Do not, however, feel envious of those many paths not chosen, for just as you might later wonder what might have been if you had become a roadie for Cypress Hill, you will also come across unfortunate souls who through tragic circumstance, never had the freedom to know of alternatives. I’m proud of the man you’re becoming, and this time in the world will do you good. As you already know, life here is perhaps uniquely demanding and requires a serious commitment. Knowing what else is out there will help you decide whether to choose baptism and accept these demands for the rest of your life, and I trust that whatever you decide, you will do so with your eyes fully open.

Hold out your hand, Othniel; I want to give you something that served me well on my Rumspringa. It’s my old pager. Be careful who you give the number to, however, as not everyone you will encounter has had the same upbringing as you. Remember that learning to co-exist with others will prove invaluable long into your life, and those skills will never be tested more than they will among the English. Know when it is necessary to tuck your chain in and hide your Walkman, but remember that misunderstandings can also be avoided with diplomacy. Extend a measure of patience and mercy even to those who would drink up all the Hennessy you got on yo shelf. Surround yourself with the kinds of friends who you can trust to tell you if you’re being wack, for if your ass is a busta, 213 will regulate.

It’s a different world than where you come from, and you should get out there and experience all it has to offer by sowing your wild oats. Though the high-waisted jean shorts and Cross Colours short sleeved hoodies favored by modern women are not always ideal for corporal evaluation, they do leave a bit less to the imagination that the ankle-length solemn dresses you’re used to around here. You’ll soon learn that the world is full of girls that you will be proud to address as “mah tenderoni,” but don’t forget that sometimes what you’re looking for was here all along. Yes, I’ve seen the way you look at Stoltzfus’ girl Hannah. Indeed she comes from hearty stock; not even the most modest attire could conceal the fact that she looks like one of those rap guys’ girlfriends. Very well, then; your satchel is packed and you are ready to depart. I will see you upon your return, should you choose it, and I will be glad to put you back to work. Having your own bathroom for the first time will no doubt prevent your butter churning muscles from losing too much of their strength.