When Will Jesus Bring the Pork Chops? (21 page)

MRS. DUMPTY: Well, he was very conservative, so we’ll probably stick with a traditional egg funeral.

MRS. DUMPTY: You know, skillet, a little butter, salt and pepper. Maybe some peppers and onions.

MRS. DUMPTY: I’m not sure. A lot of him has already soaked into the ground. But we’ll Krazy Glue the shell together as best we can, and go from there.

MRS. DUMPTY: We’re asking people just to send bacon. Or ham, if they like. And maybe some home fries, but not too greasy. Or they can just make a contribution to the Humpty Dumpty Foundation for Research on Safer Egg Salad.

MRS. DUMPTY: No sweat, my pleasure. I’m sure he’s smiling down on us from wherever it is eggs go. Although he was an egg-nogstic. Ha ha, he would’ve liked that.

LOPEZ: Well, that’s it. Humpty Dumpty is dead and no one knows why. A story we’ll undoubtedly hear more about. From the scene, this is Marcia Lopeznow back to our studio.

GOODNIGHT, TIMMY

Here’s a good way to provide some entertainment for your four-year-old when you tuck him in at night, and at the same time, stimulate his imagination.

“I came up to say goodnight and tuck you in, Timmy. You had a big day, so make sure you get a good night’s sleep. And don’t forget to watch out for the Boogie Man, Remember what Daddy and I told you about the Boogie Man? How he kills little boys? What do you think, Timmy? Is the Boogie Man here in your room, hiding somewhere? Is he in the closet? Is he going to jump out and kill you when I leave the room? He might; you never know.

“Maybe he’s under the bed. He likes to hide there, too. He might claw his way through the mattress and kill you. Don’t let him kill you, Timmy. You know what he does? He sticks a sharp metal tube up your nose and sucks the fluid out of your brain. It really hurts a lot.

“I’m going to turn out the light now and leave you alone in the dark. All by yourself. And I don’t want to hear a peep out of you. If I hear any noise coming out of this room, I’m going to come up here and beat you. Try to get a good night’s sleep. By the way, Daddy saw a monster walking up and down the hall last night. The monster had a piece of paper in his hand with your name on it. Night-night.”

Here’s a surefire way to stimulate the economy and increase productivity at the same time: From now on, when someone asks what time it is, it costs a dollar; that would stimulate the economy. Then, if they don’t want to pay, they have to go find out for themselves; that would increase productivity. Some of my ideas may not be perfect, but they’re always worth considering.

The best thing about visiting a hospital is that you see a lot of people who are much sicker than you, and it kind of makes you feel good.

TRUE FACT: I read that there’s a rich couple in the Hamptons on Long Island who have palm trees on their property, and in the winter they fly the trees to Palm Beach to get them out of the cold weather. I cant help wondering how they treat their servants.

You know how sometimes you have a song going through your head over and over all day long, maybe even two or three days? And it’s driving you crazy because you can’t get it out of your mind? Well, I know how to fix that. Its extreme, but it works every time. You kill yourself.

They’re always talking about what separates the men from the boys. Well, I’m gonna tell you what separates the men from the boys. The sodomy laws.

Regarding a wild-goose chase, why are these wild geese supposed to be so hard to find? They’re right up there in the sky. I see them flying over in

big flocks all the time in the spring and fall. They don’t seem to be hiding. So why do we make such a big deal out of this?

Live every day as if it’s your last and eventually it will be. You’ll be fully prepared.

I hope I meet Senator Dole someday. I plan to grab his bad right arm and shake it like crazy. By the way, I’m glad he didn’t get to be President. I prefer a guy who can push the nuclear button with either hand.

The feminists have this thing, “Take Our Daughters to Work Day.’ Why don’t the men have “Take Our Sons to the Cat-House Night”?

At the beginning of the Iraq war I saw a red, white and blue bumper sticker that said UNITED WE STAND. What is that supposed to mean? During the Revolutionary War it referred to the American colonies. What does it mean now? That we should all think alike and there should be no dissenting opinions? As far as I’m concerned, United Were Fucked.

O. J. Simpson has already received the ultimate punishment: For the rest of his life he has to associate with golfers.

I don’t believe in road rage; I prefer the gentle rebuke. If I don’t like the way someone is driving, I pull up alongside the other car and say, “I hope your children turn out poorly.” Only once have I lost my cool. That was the time I said to a woman, “I hope you get a blister on your cunt.’ But I said it with a smile.

TRUE FACT: A headline said “Peacekeeper killed in safe haven.” Good. That’ll show him.

A lot of gay men stay in the closet because they’re interested in fashion.

I wonder if a person who comes out of a coma feels refreshed and well rested.

One day it dawned on me that Hitler had a mom and dad. The phrase “Hitler’s mom and dad” has an odd ring to it, doesn’t it? It’s kind of like when CNN used to talk about the city of Tikrit in Iraq being “Saddam Hussein’s hometown.” The two ideas don’t seem to go together.

You know what’s good about being in your sixties? Your children are in their forties, so you don’t have to worry about child molesters anymore. Unless, of course, one of your forty-year-old children is a child molester.

I drove past a school with a sign that said we’re DRUG-FREE AND GUNFREE. Later that day I drove past another school that didn’t have a sign like that. What am I supposed to infer from this about the second school?

REASONS FOR GIVING UP HOPE: Nothing works, nothing counts, nothing fits, no one cares, no one listens, standards have fallen, everyone’s fatter, lines are longer, traffic’s worse, kids are dumber and the air is

dirty. Til be back later with more reasons for giving up hope. In the meantime, try to come up with a few of your own.

Here’s a thought: If you have a perfectly DNA-matched identical twin, technically, it’s possible to go fuck yourself.

Sometimes you hear people say, “What kind of message does that send to our children?” And I think, What messages are these people talking about? When I was a kid, I never got any messages. Maybe an aunt would send me a birthday card or something; or once in a while my mother would get a Western Union telegram. But at our house, that was about it.

Good news for senior citizens: Death is near!

During one of those patriotic orgies of self-congratulation that followed the first Gulf War, as General Schwarzkopf was bragging about dropping fire on women and babies, a protester interrupted his speech. The man who had killed a few hundred thousand civilians continued to speak. The protester was charged with disturbing the peace.

In New York Stare, there’s a town called Eastchester. It’s in a county called Westchester.

I think we need some new Christmas carols with a more modern approach. Of course, I wouldn’t abandon the religious theme completely. How about “Holy Christ, the Christmas Tree’s on Fire”? Or ”Jesus, Can You Believe It’s Christmas Again?” This ought to get the ball rolling; I’m hoping you people will take it from here.

TRUE FACT: In 2002, in the US. Supreme Court, the surviving heirs of the famous film comedy trio were awarded “the intellectual rights to the Three Stooges.’

I don’t know about you, but years ago, when Evel Knievel was jumping across the Snake River, I was rooting for the river.

In the news from Israel, I keep hearing about the “cycle of violence.” It reminded me that when I was a kid I had one of them, too. After school, I used to pedal it around the neighborhood, hitting other kids over the head with a big steel pipe.

They always say the vice president is just a heartbeat away from the presidency. Don’t they mean the lack of a heartbeat?

I always feel good when I visit a sickroom supply store and see all the things I don’t need.

The last thing a young girl needs is a hands-on father. I feel really good. I wish I felt even more like this.

Dear Mom,

How are you? I am fine. I tried to donate my liver to science but they wouldn ‘t take it. Next time I’m going to add some sauteed onions and a light sauce. I’ll let you know how it goes. Love, Neil

There’s nothing wrong with a man who enjoys a good blow job. Anonymous

I read an article that cautioned people against shaken-baby syndrome. Do people really need to be told this sort of thing? And if some people do need to be told, are these the kind of people who are very likely to heed the advice? Personally, I never shake a baby. Unless the recipe calls for it.

Imagine how creepy it would be to be sexually abused by your great-great-grandparents.

Do you know why it is that when a rancher fucks a sheep he does it at the edge of a cliff? It’s so the sheep will push back.

TRUE FACT: A guy somewhere in the Midwest was sued for having too many Christmas lights on his house. Happy holidays.

I think Western Union should have a service where women with big tits come to your house and sing “Happy Birthday.” They could call it a mammogram.

Whenever I hear about someone who “died for the flag,” I always wonder about his real motives. And then I remember, Oh yeah, they shoot deserters.

A lot of the people who worry about the safety of nuclear plants don’t bother using their seat belts.

HERE’S SOME FUN: Just keep calling telephone numbers at random and yelling, “Get off the line.”

This is National Disabled Month. Do your part. Cripple someone today.

Two soldiers get into a fight. Two other soldiers pull them apart and tell them not to fight. Then they all pick up their guns and go kill people.

“Which came first, the chicken or the egg?” “The chicken.” “What about the egg?” “Okay, the egg.”

Using technology to clean up the mess made by technology doesn’t seem too intelligent.

At one time, if you had had a telephone in a restaurant it would have been a novelty and attracted more attention than the food. Now if you have a telephone in a restaurant it’s considered a nuisance.

Why don’t they just let these gay Boy Scouts join the Girl Scouts? What the fuck, you’ve got two groups. Use them both.

There’s a whole different now now.

When you drive into California from Las Vegas they have an agricultural inspection station where they ask you if you have any fruits

or vegetables with you. And then they just believe whatever you tell them. What’s the point of that? You know what I do? On every trip I put a yam in the glove compartment, just to be sure I’m breaking the law.

We ought to have a name for the day before yesterday. Dayfbreday? Yesterforday? Why don’t you people just come up with something and get back to me.

I don’t own any stocks or bonds. All my money is tied up in debt. A good motto to live by: “Always try not to get killed.”

If Marilyn Monroe were alive today she would be seventy-five, and I’ll bet there would still be guys lining up for a chance to fuck her.

Why not join the army? Join up and die. How do you expect to keep America free if you won’t die? I’m dead; I died in Vietnam. I’m dead, and all my old army buddies are dead. Can you say that? No. What’s wrong with you?

Perhaps you’ve noticed, we no longer have old people in this country; they’re all gone, replaced by senior citizens. Somehow we wound up with millions of these unfortunate creatures known as golden-agers and mature adults. These are cold, lifeless, antiseptic terms. Typically American. All ways of sidestepping the fear of aging.

And it’s not difficult to understand the fear of aging. It’s natural. And it’s universal; no one wants to get old. No one wants to die. But we do. We die. And we don’t like that, so we shade the truth. I started doing it when I reached my forties. I’d look in the mirror at that time and think, “Well, I guess I’m getting . . . older!” That sounded a little better than old. It sounded like it might even last a bit longer.

But people forget that older is comparative, and they use it as an absolute: “She’s an older woman.”

“Oh, really? Older than what? Than she used to be? Well, yeah, so?”

People think getting old is bad, because they think being old is bad. But you know something? Being old is just fine; in fact, it can be terrific. And anyway, it’s one of those things you don’t get to choose. It’s not optional.

But that insufferable group among us known as baby boomers (ages forty-two through fifty-nine, as of 2005) are beginning to get old, and they’re having trouble dealing with that. Remember, these baby boomers axe the ones who gave us this soft, politically correct language in the first place.

So rather than admit they’re getting old, the baby boomers have come up with a new term to describe themselves as they approach the grave. They don’t care for middle-aged, so insteadget this, folksinstead, they claim to bepre-elderly. Don’t you love that? Pre-elderly. It’s a real word. You don’t hear it a lot,

but it’s out there. The boomers claim that if you’re between fifty and sixty-five, you’re pre-elderly.

But I’d be willing to bet that in 2011, when they begin turning sixty-five, they will not be calling themselves elderly. I have a hunch they’ll come up with some new way of avoiding reality, and I have a suggestion for them. They should call themselves the pre-dead. It’s a perfect term, because, for them, it’s accurate and it’s highly descriptive.

By the way, those ever-clever boomers have also come up with a word to describe the jobs they feel are most suitable for retired people who wish to keep working. They call these jobs elder-friendly. Isn’t that sad? God, that’s just really, really sad.

And so, to sum up, we have these senior citizens. And, whether I like that phrase or not, unfortunately, I got used to it, and I no longer react too violently when I hear it. But there is still one description for old people that I will never accept. That’s when I hear someone describe an old guy as being, for instance, eighty years young. Even though I know it’s tongue-in-cheek, it makes my skin crawl. It’s overly cute and precious, and its an evasion. It’s junk language.

More: On CBS’s 60 Minutes, Leslie Stahl, God help her, actually referred to some old man as being a ninety-something. Please. Leslie. I need a small, personal break here.

One last, pathetic example in this category: On the radio, I heard Matt Drudge actually refer to people of age. And he wasn’t being sarcastic. He said, “The West Nile virus is a particular threat to people of age.” Poor Matt. Apparently, he’s more fucked up than he seems.

Now, going to an adjacent subject: One unfortunate fact of life for many of these eighty-or ninety-somethings is that they’re forced to live in places where they’d rather not be. Old-people his homes. So what name should we use

for these places where we hide our old people? When I was a little boy, there was a building in my neighborhood called the home for the aged. It had a copper sign on the gate: HOME FOR THE AGED. It always looked deserted* I never saw anyone go in. Naturally, I never saw anyone come out, either.

Later, I noticed people started calling those places nursing homes and rest homes. Apparently, it was decided that some of these old people needed nurses, while others just needed a little rest. What you hear them called now is retirement homes or long-term-care facilities. There’s another one of those truly bloodless terms: long-term-care facility.

But actually, it makes sense to give it a name like that, because if you do, you make it a lot easier for the person you’re putting in there to acquiesce and cooperate with you. I remember old people used to tell their families, “Whatever you do, don’t put me in a home. Please don’t put me in a home.” But it’s hard to imagine one of them saying, “Whatever you do, don’t put me in a long-term-care facility.’ So calling it that is really a trick. “C’mon, Grandpa, it’s not a home. It’s long-term care!’

By the way, while we’re on the subject of the language of getting old, I want to tell you something that happened to me in New York on a recent evening. I was standing in line at the Carnegie Deli to pay my check, and there was a guy ahead of me who looked like he was in his sixties. He gave the cashier a ten-dollar bill, but apparently, it wasn’t enough. When the cashier mentioned it to him in a nice way, he said, “Oh, I’m sorry. I guess I had a senior moment.” And I thought how sad that was. To blame a simple mistake on the fact that you’re in your sixties, even if you’re just sort of joking. As if anyone would think a twenty-year-old couldn’t make the same mistake. I only mention this because it’s an example of how people can brainwash themselves by adopting popular language.

I wanted to pull him aside and say, “Listen, I just heard you refer to yourself

as a senior. And I wanted co ask, were you by any chance a junior last year? Because if you weren’t a junior last year, then you’re not a senior this year.” I wanted to say it, but I figured, why would he listen to me? After all, I’m only a freshman.

EYE SAFETY TIP

Here his a safety tip from the American Eye Association: Never jab a knitting needle directly into your eye and repeatedly thrust it in and out. You could be inviting vision problems. If you should suffer an eye injury, rinse the eye immediately with a caustic solution of Clorox and ammonia, and rub the surface of the eye vigorously for about ten minutes with #3 sandpaper. The American Eye Association reminds you: Don’t fuck around with your eyes. They’re the key to vision.