Change of Venue

Schizopolitan has been retired.  Now I'm posting stuff at Still Twitching...

Siegs' Action-Packed Treatments for Cameron/Schwarzenegger Sequels

'First Class' Joe Hasan wrote:

Hollywood action man Arnold Schwarzenegger may be set to juggle his role as California Governor with a return to the big screen - he has reportedly agreed to star in two big money sequels. The actor-turned-politician has agreed to re-team with Oscar-winning director James Cameron in a fourth Terminator installment in addition to a sequel to True Lies, according to website Moviehole.net

Though I am in favor of the mediocre taste of "T3" being washed away, do we really need a sequel to "True Lies"? The Beatles never tried to re-do or continue THEIR "White Album" and there is no urgent need for James Cameron and Arnold to do so with theirs, either.


Carlos FM replied:

It could be a bunk rumor though. Cameron said after 9/11 he'd never bother with a True Lies pic because terrorist plots just seemed tatseless. Plus he's got like 3 other movies lined up, all of them 3D Imax FX extravaganzas.

Sounds like the sort of rumor that pops up everynow and then. Then again, if it is true, Cameron's pretty crafty with sequels, as Aliens and T2 prove. He could actually add something to the films overall.

T4, I dont know nor give a fuck about. Part 2 capped that franchise off nicely.


Eric Siegs replied:

"True Lies 2" wouldn't have to be about terrorists, necessarily. Someone from the agency could go rogue, like in "Eraser" or the first season of "24" or both "Mission Impossible" movies. Charlton Heston, reprising his role as the one-eyed boss, goes evil and holds the world hostage with America's own nuclear weapons, and only the husband-wife team of Harry & Helen Tasker can stop him!! By the second act it's revealed that Heston, suffering from the late stages of Alzheimer's, is actually being controlled by someone else, a shadowy mystery evil boss. And in act 3, the Taskers find out who it is: Tom Arnold. "Why did you do it?" Harry asks. And Tom says: "Because I'm tired of sitting in the fucking van all the time." Gunfight, then Tom Arnold escapes in a Hummer while Harry has to chase him in some rinky-dink piece of crap - like a Vespa or something equally emasculating - and he gets Tom Arnold to crash the Hummer, saying some witty Ahnold one-liner that I'll think up later, and then they fight with guns again, and Tom Arnold ends up with the advantage. He's got Harry backed into a corner, when all of a sudden Jamie Lee Curtis swoops down in an Apache helicopter, explodes Tom Arnold right off the top of wherever they are (I'm thinking bridge; cliff would work okay, maybe roof of a tall parking garage, but I like bridge best),
rescues Harry and the day is saved. Well, they still have to defuse the bomb. But they'll do that in the last second. Then they get back into the helicopter and fly off to their second honeymoon.

Seriously, a movie like that, how can they not make it?

And I know what you're asking now. "Ok hotshot, great synopsis for True Lies 2, but how would Terminator 4 work?" Easy, my friends, easy.

The war between the humans and the machines has started, and the people are looking to John Connor for guidance and leadership. The only problem is, he's got no actual military experience and isn't sure what he's doing. And then - zzap crackle crackle - a visitor froom the future comes! But it's not who you expect: it's John himself, older, from the end of the
war, and now played by Viggo Mortensen because he's hot right now. Old John teaches Young John how to lead, and just in time, because Skynet has just invented the Terminators. Imagine, if you will, an entire platoon of Arnolds on the attack. Remember "The 6th Day", when there were two Arnolds talking to each other? It'd be just like that, only times ten!
Also, we want to see Arnold evil again, like in the first one. Enough of this hero-robot-"I know why you cry"-Data bullshit. No! Terminators are mean. Anyway, with the two John Connors leading them, the people are able to fight off the all-out Arnold attack. But then - zzzap crackle crackle pshaow - more time-travelers appear: a trio of T-1000 units, to lead the machines. So the people get all chopped up and blown to shit, they go into hiding, and Future John is killed. Things are looking pretty bad for the people. But then they figure out a plan to break into a Terminator factory and re-program them at the assembly-line stage, so now they've got troops of good Terminators (ok, we had to see Arnold as a good guy again eventually). And with the good Terminators, the humans once again are able to fight off Skynet's forces and the day is saved. And then at the end, they find the preliminary plans for the time-travel device, and learn that somewhere, they don't know where, Skynet is building this thing. And John's all "I know what they're trying to do - they're gonna try to kill me before I'm born." And the people are like, "Well what are we going to do?" And John's all "Lock and load" and then boom credits.

Yep. That'd be a damn fine movie. That'll make a billion dollars.

Listboy Presents The Greatest Stories Ever Told (to Me), Volume 1: 13 Tales from the Halloweenish Side

The Schiz is proud to welcome back guest columnist Listboy, who has finally returned to writing for us now that he has read all 4,320 "Best of 2004" lists published by the world's leading pop culture-based magazines last year. In the first volume of what will be his (we hope) regular column, "The Greatest Stories Ever Told (to Me)," he lists the stories that have scared him the most in his eighteen years on this mortal coil... Joe E.


13. "Oh, Susannah!," Traditional folk legend retold by Alvin Schwartz in More Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark
If you are in elementary school and would like to scare yourself stupid, or are an adult who would like to scare elementary school kids stupid, get your hands on all three volumes of Schwartz's Scary Stories. "Oh, Susannah!" in particular spooked me when I was a little Listboy, especially since I had yet to see the numerous variations of the tale in numerous teen slasher flicks.

The story is, Jane and Susannah are college roommates. Susannah comes home late one night to see the lights out and Jane under the covers. Susannah quietly changes into her pajamas and gets into bed.

Just as Susannah is about to fall asleep, she hears Jane humming the tune to "Oh, Susannah!" Susannah tells Jane she wants to go to sleep and politely asks her to stop humming. Jane doesn't reply but the humming stops and Susannah falls asleep.

A few hours later, she wakes up to hear Jane humming "Oh, Susannah!" again, and again Susannah asks her to stop. Jane doesn't reply and the humming continues. Losing patience, Susannah curtly tells her roommate to cut it out, but the humming continues.

Susannah gets fed up, leaps out of bed and tears the covers off of Jane, only to find that Jane has been decapitated.

Schwartz's Scary Stories books are recommended for ages 9 and up.


12. Tales From the Crypt- Episode 2: "And All Through the House," directed by Robert Zemeckis
The one where a woman kills her husband on Christmas Eve, then as she's burying his body, an escaped mental patient dressed as Santa Claus shows up with an axe. The woman can't call the police because they'll find out she killed her husband, so she fights off the maniac Santa by herself. Just when she thinks Santa is dead, she hears her young daughter say, "Look who I found, mommy! I knew Santa would come," or something to that effect. The woman turns around to see the mental patient standing next to the little girl, clutching his axe and flashing a bloodthirsty, snaggletoothed grin. "Naughty...or Nice?" Santa asks, and we fade to black.


11. Arnold Schwarzenegger's 2003 Gubernatorial Victory
And I pray there's no sequel, because like the Terminator series, the second installment would probably be twice as frightening as the original.


10. Harlan Ellison's Croatoan
A man and his girlfriend decide to have an illegal abortion in their home and flush the fetus down the toilet. Soon after, the girl turns hysterical and demands that her man go down to the sewers to retrieve their aborted kid. I won't spoil the ending, but I'll just say that it nearly scared my pro-choice opinions right out of me.


9. Mary Shelley's Frankenstein, or The Modern Prometheus
Sure it's flawed, but still quite impressive, considering Ms. Shelley was only a year older than me when she created her legendary monster. She also taught us one of the most important lessons in the history of the horror story: if you're going to re-animate a dead guy, you better also re-animate something for him to fuck, or he will make your life hell.


8. Richard Matheson's I Am Legend
The basis for The Omega Man and Night of the Living Dead follows the last man on Earth after everyone else catches a virus and turns into vampires. While I have much respect and affection for George Romero's Living Dead movies, Legend scares me more for one simple reason: Romero's undead are mindless, slow-moving, flesh-eating machines, but in Matheson's world, if you get caught outside after sundown, you better believe motherfuckers will run to grab a piece of your tasty ass.


7. The White Stripes' cover of Dolly Parton's "Jolene"
There's nothing inherently scary about the lyrics to the song, in which the singer begs the beautiful, irresistible Jolene, "please don't take my man!" The thing about the White Stripes' version (aside from the fact that Jack White doesn't change the genders of the characters, implying that Jolene is breaking up a gay couple) is that when Jack's bloodcurdling shriek kicks in during the chorus, it transcends mere heartbreak, jealousy, desperation and outrage; he sounds like he just might stab Jolene in the goddamn throat if she so much as looks at his man again.


6. George Miller's Babe: Pig in the City
Some people I know were traumatized at a young age by the Oompa-Loompas from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. For reasons I have buried into my subconscious, I still have nightmares about talking pigs.


5. William Friedkin's The Exorcist
There isn't much new I can say about this one. The spinning head, the pea-soup vomit, and "The power of Christ compels you!" all made it into the collective consciousness. But I still wonder why "Your mother sucks cocks in Hell!" never became a catch phrase.


4. Stephen King's The Stand, Chapter 35
After a bubonic-like superflu wipes out 99% of humanity in a matter of days, musician Larry Underwood must walk through the Lincoln Tunnel, in the dark, surrounded by an eternal traffic jam of corpse-filled cars and who knows what else. If that weren't creepy enough, I read this chapter while hiding in the desolate Literary Non-Fiction section of the bookstore where I work, thinking I was all alone, then right in the middle of the chapter, my boss- whom I call Fancy Ass, who resembles Rebecca DeMornay in The Hand That Rocks the Cradle but half-Jewish and half-reptilian, who allegedly maced her (now ex-)husband in the middle of the store after he handed her their divorce papers- pops out from behind a bookshelf and snaps, "Don't you have any work to do?" Much more often than not, I'm actually able to sense the chill of her presence several seconds before she can slither into my section and catch me reading on the job, but this time her dreadful aura was overpowered by Stephen King's storytelling.


3. "Bloody Mary," Public Domain, as told by My Sister and Two Older Kids on My Bus When I Was in First Grade
At three o'clock one afternoon many years ago, I ran off my school bus and into my house to warn my mother about Bloody Mary.

"Mom! Don't ever go into the bathroom with the lights off!"

"Why would I go into the bathroom with the lights off?"

"Just don't, because if you do, you'll see Bloody Mary in the mirror and she'll kill you. Two older kids on the bus told me."

My older sister entered the kitchen wanting to know why I was so scared, and I told her.

"That's not what happens," she said.

"Those kids are just trying to scare you," added mom.

"What really happens," my sister continued, "is that you see her in the mirror but only if the lights are out and you close your eyes and say 'Bloody Mary' fifty times, and then you open your eyes and then you see her in the mirror."

"Now your sister's trying to scare you," said mom.

"No it's true," my sister assured us. "She can't kill you, though, cause she's just a ghost. She can only kill you if you get scared to death. It's true, Sam's sister did it once."

"Don't listen to your sister, she's full of it," said mom, and I tried to believe her, even as my sister silently shook her head and smirked, You don't really think she'd tell you the truth, do you?

Later that night, my sister knocked on my bedroom door and asked in a hush if I wanted to see Bloody Mary. She promised me she'd be in the bathroom with me and if I got too scared, she'd turn on the lights and send Bloody Mary back to where she came from. And because I was seven years old, I couldn't resist.

We went into the bathroom, turned off the lights, stood in front of the mirror, I closed my eyes and said "Bloody Mary" fifty times.

When I opened my eyes and looked in the mirror, I saw behind me a shadowy outline of a face with darkness where the eyes and mouth should be. I whimpered for my sister to turn the lights on, but she didn't respond. An instant before I could gather enough wits to scream, I flipped the lightswitch. I soon noticed that Bloody Mary was wearing a Benneton sweatshirt. My sister had stolen one of my werewolf masks and was wearing it inside out so that it looked like a ghoul face.

I soon repeated that prank on a cousin and three of my friends.


2. H.P. Lovecraft's "The Call of Cthulhu"
This gothic tale of mad professors, ancient voodoo cults and enormous demonic blobs from outer space is scary enough in its own right, but it's extra high on my list because I read it during the 20 minutes I had to wait for the results of my HIV test. (By the way, ladies- I'm still negative!)


1. Stanley Kubrick's The Shining
To hell with those other movies where kids can see dead people- this is the grandmotherfucker of them all. Haley Joel Osment's Sixth Sense sissyboy wouldn't last a week in the Overlook Hotel before he pissed himself to death.

Extracting the Flavor of Ulysses in the Toilet: A Very Special Message from Reading on the Toilet is Fundamental

"All my good reading, you might say, was done in the toilet...there are passages in Ulysses which can be read only in the toilet- if one wants to extract the full flavor of their content."
- Henry Miller

From the Public Relations Bureau of The United Bacterial Federation

Found this on my computer screen this morning and don't remember writing it. Drop me a line if anyone's interested in moving to Rigo Buusto - Joe E.

From the Public Relations Bureau of The United Bacterial Federation

Dear Humans,

We regret to inform you that very soon you will suffer a catastrophic plague. In all likelihood, the survivors, all 23 of you, will replace the Bubonic Plague with this coming plague as the plague in your species' history. You must believe that we made this decision with great resignation, after weighing all options and engaging in numerous fervent debates. But the bottom line is, it's you or us.

We should probably start to explain how we bacteria are writing you this letter. It's simple, really. But first you must understand that we know everything your species knows, and more, and we use our knowledge to manipulate our environment, e.g., you, for our best interests.

You may think your species is advanced when it comes to accumulating large amounts of information into very small spaces, then using that information to selfishly alter your surroundings, but remember: we've been doing that for billions of years, and we'll continue to do so for billions of years to come.

In fact, we have evolved to the point where each bacterium can store a virtually infinite amount of information into a receptor millions of times smaller than its body. Even if you tried to find this receptor with one of your microscopes, you wouldn't be able to see it, as it is comprised of matter that is invisible to the human eye. Think of it as ultra-ultra-violet.

Each of our receptors is connected to every single point in the known universe by what we call superfibers- string-like materials billions of times smaller than ourselves. An infinite number of superfibers passes through each point in the universe, and they can transmit information faster than light to any receptor capable of receiving it. At any moment in time, every bacterium knows the atmospheric pressure at the peak of Mount Everest, or the number of quarks between Neptune and Sirius B, or the population of dragonflies in western Brazil, or what Thomas Pynchon is thinking about eating for breakfast.

Though our superfiber network has existed for only the past few thousand years, we have been communicating with each other and manipulating our environment since we were the dominant species in the primordial ooze. In order to reduce cannibalism within our species and expedite migration, we began the experiment of evoultion. We started producing mutant organisms biologically different from ourselves, in both superior and inferior ways. Superior because they were more complex and could travel much faster. Inferior because they would never be able to discover their ultimate purpose: to serve as our food and vehicles.

Our needs have always been more than fulfilled, and until recently, our existence has never been seriously threatened. That is, until your species started evolving.

As a result of some unexplained miscalculations, your species has developed the ability to willfully destroy extraordinarily large numbers of organisms, including us. We now have good reason to believe that you are dangerously close to developing weapons capable of destroying not only all of our species, but most other forms of life on the planet as well.

Though we may boast of our ability to manipulate the forces of nature, we must admit that one thing we could never figure out was how to prevent your species from trashing the place. Think of how you can program your computers to do a million and one things, but occasionally it shuts down without warning and there's nothing you can do about it. Certain bugs you just can't fix; certain mysteries of the universe may never be solved. We must reiterate that if we could correct your species' desire to end life as we know it on this planet, we certainly would. We also pledge to work non-stop to solve your species' dangerous defect until the last possible moment before you end the world, but if our intelligence is accurate, that time is approaching sooner than later.


We should finally tell you how exactly this letter was written. As we mentioned earlier, we often manipulate more complex beings such as yourselves to suit our particular needs. For instance, if we decide we need to infiltrate a certain area, we will chemically alter an organism's psychological state to influence its migration. We created greed, lust, longing, boredom, angst, fear, paranoia, all kinds of desire and stress, all to keep you critters on the move.

Your development of communication technology, albeit far inferior to our superfiber network, has greatly facilitated our ability to mobilize your species. Thus, we have chosen to use your internet to issue the 23 lucky survivors their fair warning.

We took control of a young man while he was unconscious and stimulated his body to type and publish the message you now read. The human in question is Joseph Eliot Rosewater, a relatively smart fellow, but not a great scientific mind. We determined that his Schizopolitan readership consists of 22 people, and like Mr. Rosewater, none of these 22 people, despite being gifted in many ways, possess the scientific knowledge to cause considerable harm to the rest of the planet.

Therefore, Mr. Rosewater and his 22 readers have been chosen as the survivors of the forthcoming plague. There are, however, conditions the survivors must accept:

1. The chosen 23 must relocate to the island of Rigo Buusto, midway between Costa Rica and the Galapagos archipelago. It is currently uninhabited by humans, although its agreeable climate and abundant food supply make it an ideal habitat for your species.

2. Only the chosen 23 will survive the plague, so we suggest they refrain from informing non-Schizopolitan readers, unless of course they'd like to unleash worldwide panic. Besides, anyone not among the chosen 23 will be destroyed, regardless of whether SHe migrates to Rigo Buusto.

3. Once all chosen 23 have reached Rigo Buusto, the plague will occur, unless we are forced to activate the plague sooner.

4. If a chosen survivor fails to arrive at Rigo Buusto before the plague is activated, hir survival may not be guaranteed.


If we can offer any consolation, it is that we have designed the plague to destroy all human hosts instantaneously and painlessly. When the chosen 23 arrive at Rigo Buusto, all bacteria will be notified via the superfiber network, and will simultaneously shut down the central nervous systems of all those infected. Each human selected for destruction has already been infiltrated by our carriers, who lie dormant, awaiting the green light.

We do have faith in your species, which is why we're keeping 23 of you. We sincerely hope that with a more manageable number of your species in a centralized location, it will be easier for us to discover the causes of humankind's apocalyptic instincts and eradicate them. According to our speculation, it shouldn't take longer than 50,000 years.

We apologize for the inconvenience.

Sincerely,

The United Bacterial Federation

I Don't Think I'm All That Cool, I Just Happen to Know People Who Know People

or, Various Degrees of Joe E.


Gary Busey starred in Stephen King's Silver Bullet with Corey Haim

Corey Haim starred in The Lost Boys, License to Drive and Dream a Little Dream with Corey Feldman

Corey Feldman was once interviewed by Corey J. Feldman for a newspaper article titled "Corey Feldman with Corey Feldman"

Corey J. Feldman works for Cityzen.TV with me, Joe E.



Robert Pollard and other members of Guided By Voices competed against Albert Hammond, Jr. and the other members of The Strokes in Family Feud for the video of The Strokes' "Someday"

While watching The Witnesses at Brownie's in July of 2002, Albert Hammond, Jr. knocked over a half-full pint of beer that belonged to me, Joe E., and didn't offer to replace it.



Kevin Bacon starred in Mystic River with Sean Penn

Sean Penn starred in 21 Grams with Benicio Del Toro

Benicio Del Toro once shared an elevator with me, Joe E.

fun n games - Awesome Lionel Richie Song, Awful Lionel Richie Song, Or Just OK Lionel Richie Song?

1. Lady
2. Three Times a Lady
3. Easy
4. Dancing on the Ceiling
5. Say You, Say Me
6. Brick House 2003 (with Rob Zombie)
7. Brick House
8. Endless Love
9. All Night Long (All Night)
10. Hello
11. You Are
12. Stuck On You
13. Ballerina Girl
14. Do It To Me
15. Penny Lover

Awesome: 3, 4, 5, 7, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15
Awful: 1, 6
Just OK: 2, 8

Two Russians and I Debate the Meaning of Fictional Literature

Scene: My workplace, The Strand, the self-proclaimed world's largest used bookstore, 18 miles of books and 36 varieties of pungency.

Two Russians approach me: a 50-ish woman (#1) and a 20-ish man (#2).

RUSSIAN #1: Do you have Speak, Memory, the autobiography by Nabokov?

JOE E: If we do, it'll be in the Literary Non-Fiction section.

RUSSIAN #1: No, no, it is a fictional book.

JOE E: His autobiography is fictional?

RUSSIAN #1: Yes, it is fictional autobiography.

JOE E: I'm pretty sure his autobiography is non-fiction.

RUSSIAN #2: Nabokov is fiction writer.

JOE E: I know he wrote fiction-

RUSSIAN #1: He is great Russian fiction writer.

JOE E: Yes but his autobiography is non-fiction. Or at least that's where we keep it.

The Russians think it over for another moment.

RUSSIAN #1: No, it is fictional autobiography.

RUSSIAN #2: Yes, it is fiction.

Let the Pontiffication Resume

For the past three weeks I've sequestered myself in my apartment until they elected the new Pope. The whole time I was very depressed, for I feared they might not elect a really old white European with conservative values.

Then when I heard the good news, I celebrated by blowing a puff of green smoke from my bedroom window.

And now life is back to normal.

Til tomorrow, friends.

Look at Mother Nature on the Hunt

Neil Young is alive and well, recovering from his recent brain aneurysm. Keep getting well, Neil.


Oh, and I think the Pope may have died finally.

Is the Pope Dead Yet?

No, not yet.

Oh, wait- yes, the Pope is dead.

Sorry, scratch that- the Pope is not dead.

Actually-

Nope nope nope, the Pope is still not dead.


Remember folks, you heard it here first at Schizopolitan.

The Wind-Up Bird Coincidence

Recently I purchased the Haruki Murakami novel "The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle." Unfortunately I had only finished six chapters before I absent-mindedly left the book in a cab.

I really wanted to finish the story, so today I bought a replacement. At the time of purchase, the store clerk inserted a complimentary bookmark in between two pages chosen at random.

When I got home, I opened the novel and found the bright pink bookmark at the beginning of chapter 7, precisely where I had left off.

Coincidence? I think so.

Shout at the Devils: That's Me - Gene Klein, Volume 1...by Gene Klein

Joe E's Note: Today marks the debut of "That's Me - Gene Klein," our second-ever guest-written column. (Our first guest-written column, "If I Picked the 1998 Academy Awards," by Listboy, debuted a few weeks ago.) I planned on writing a short introduction about the author, Mr. Gene Klein, until he wrote me:

"Please refrain from describing me in the preamble; people will get to know Gene Klein from reading Gene Klein. That's me- Gene Klein."

So with no more ado, The Schiz proudly presents:

That's Me- Gene Klein: Volume 1

by Gene Klein

The country is so betrayed by the treason of oral sex, that they're happy enough to let a hustler steal his way to the White House, in order to restore integrity.

The new President and his friends ignore the 9/11 warnings.

9/11.

The Patriot Act.

Afghanistan.

Toby Keith, Darryl Worley and others ride a love for their country and hatred of foreigners to the top of the charts.

Journalist Daniel Pearl is murdered by his kidnappers, after being abducted in Karachi (later, journalists from various countries will be taken hostage at different junctures).

The U.S. invades Iraq to remove weapons of mass destruction (the company awarded with contracts for logistics support planning, Halliburton, was once run by Vice President Richard Cheney).

No weapons of mass destruction are ever found. Instead we find evidence of U.S. soldiers abusing and humiliating Iraqi P.O.W.s.

1000s of Americans and tens of thousands of Iraqis die, due to war related activity.

For not wanting to get involved in the war, the popular news source known as the New York Post superimposes the image of a weasel over the body of France's President Chriac- and puts it on the front page. Television viewers are treated to similar displays of unbiased journalistic integrity during the "No Spin Zone" segments of the Fox News Channel's "The O'Reilly Factor" (Fox News is run by Rupert Murdoch- the same man who publishes the New York Post).

After all of the above, as well as evidence of the unconstitutional detaining of prisoners at Guantanamo Bay, a senseless stagnation in the development of some of the most important scientific breakthroughs of our time (stem cell research), a surge in the movement to deny millions of Americans of their basic civil rights (homosexuals), the alienation of the United States from THE REST OF THE WORLD, the heartland of the United States of America provides President George W. Bush with a clear and decisive "mandate" to further remake the world according to his Christian (read "financial") values. Against the wishes of Bruce Springsteen!

I, Gene Klein get a bit annoyed at MoveOn, the promise of Barack Obama and the supposed revitalization Howard Dean will be to the Democratic party. Things are not getting better, they're getting progressively worse. It's not a case of me, Gene Klein being cynical; it is not pessimism, it is a logical conclusion that any logical human being will come to after looking at the facts- go ahead and read them again, is there ANYTHING there that does not illustrate the state of the world to be one of rapidly developing entropy? So save your time and anger- complaining about the government and signing those petitions to reform the electoral system/ save social security/ "tell President Bush what you think of his latest policy" won't do a Genedamned thing. Do you think the government cares about the electronic signatures of people who don't give them the billions of dollars they regularly receive from their rich friends (not Gene Klein- though I am very, very wealthy).

To improve things, you need to start lower on the food chain. Motley Crue.

Before I get to how ridding our culture of Motley Crue would be beneficial to society, let me explain why they need to be banished.

Exhibit A) Vince Neil KILLS a man, a friend of his that was stupid enough to go driving with Neil when he was drunk.

Exhibit B) Nikki Sixx causes a riot at a show on the band's 1st reunion tour (Generation Swine), when he callas an African-American security guard a nigger. He later explains that he is not a racist, but was pointing out the officer's shortcomings as a human being (for acting too harshly with some concertgoers) by labeling him with a word meant to devalue one's status as a human being, solely due to his/ her African roots. To be honest, I don't know if the riot started because Sixx called the man a nigger, or if it started independently, prompting this piece of trash to call the man a nigger. But, that's not the point. Either way, he used a word that has a sole function: demeaning one's race. In front of thousands of people, with a microphone! THEN he had the nerve to say that there were no racial overtones to his diatribe. How Klein of him.

Exhibit C) Nikki Sixx injures a fan at a Brides of Destruction show, by hurling his bass guitar at the attendee's head.

Exhibit D) Tommy Lee beats his wife.

Exhibit E) Tommy Lee beats his wife again.

Exhibit F) Tommy Lee beats the shit out of his wife.

Exhibit G) Tommy Lee thrusts against a barely conscious Jenna Jameson, so violently that the repeated motion rips out her clitoral ring.

Exhibit H) While I have no knowledge of the life and times of Mick Mars, other than a recent lawsuit and an operation, I also have no reason to believe that he's a good human being. The company one keeps . . .

And what's do they get for their misdeeds?

Another sold-out reunion tour. Supermodel wives. Reality shows (Vince and Tommy), book deals (The Dirt), movie deals (The Dirt), intercourse with Pamela Anderson, Janine, etc.

In other words, they're being rewarded handsomely for their ugliness.

Our continued adoration and spoiling of Motley Crue finely illustrates that the more heinous you act, the better your rewards. Go ahead and try to argue- I just gave you two separate sets of evidence that confirm this sad truth; the history of Motley Crue and . . . think back a couple of minutes. Who else committed/ was responsible for a batch of atrocities and was then commended for these efforts (hint: his prize was in the form of re-election)? George W. Bush and his administration! And do you know why? Because the majority of Americans are dumb? No- the majority of ANY group of citizens is usually dumb, that's not something unique to America.

It's because of Motley Crue. It's because George saw other cokeheads that got away with murder (literally), bigotry and virtual rape (virtual, because A) Bush raped a Constitution- ours- and some land- ours and Iraq's, not an actual human being, though they ARE being awfully quiet about those lost years and B) I have no evidence other than a hunch- the same smoking gun I have in the case of "what happened to my client's guitar amplifier on the night his band played Siberia?"
. . . Gene Klein digresses. That's me- Gene Klein). If Motley Crue was stopped in 1981 or earlier, there would be four less assholes setting an example for those who would happen upon the spotlight after them (such as George W. Bush). In turn, there would be less evil for the Midwestern and Southern states to reward with a mandate. And the world would be a much better place.

So again, no Motley Crue means less worrying about when you'll die at the hands of terrorists for your government's actions. I'm Gene Klein. That's me- Gene Klein.

fun n games - Jean-Paul Sartre or Billie Joe Armstrong?

1. When the rich wage war, it's the poor who die.

2. The town bishop's an extortionist, and he don't even know that you exist.

3. Destiny is dead, in the hands of bad luck.

4. Words are loaded pistols.

5. Three o'clock is always too late or too early for anything you want to do.

6. I stepped in line to walk amongst the dead.

7. I needed a Creator; I was given a Big Boss.

8. She believed in nothing; only her skepticism kept her from being an atheist.

9. No one ever died for my sins in hell, as far as I can tell.

10. I was both the creature who despairs and the God who has always saved him since the beginning of time.

11. To hell with unity. Separation will kill us all.

12. Life begins on the other side of despair.

13. This is how I'm supposed to be in a land of make believe that don't believe in me.

14. I am all alone, but I march like a regiment descending on a city.

15. There's no need for red-hot pokers. Hell is other people.

16. To know you is to hate you, so loving you must be like suicide.

17. Somebody get me out of here. Anybody get me out of here...Get me the fuck right out of here...This life-like dream ain't for me.

18. The center of the Earth is the end of the world.

19. There's no more hope - but it's still "before." We haven't yet begun to suffer.

20. It's not over before it's too late.

21. There is no progress. Evolution killed it all.

22. Freedom is what you do with what's been done to you.

23. Everything has been figured out, except how to live.

24. Dignity's a land mine in the school of lost hope.

25. Human feeling. That's beyond my range. I'm rotten to the core.

26. Apathy has rained on me; now I'm feeling like a soggy dream, so close to drowning, but I don't mind.

27. Life's a bitch, and so am I.

28. I led two lives; both of them were untrue.

29. I'm a smartass, but I'm playing dumb...I have no belief, but I believe I'm a walking contradiction.




Sartre: 1, 4, 5, 7, 8, 10, 12, 14, 15, 19, 22, 23, 25, 28
Billie Joe: 2, 3, 6, 9, 11, 13, 16, 17, 18, 20, 21, 24, 26, 27, 29

Fuck You, Old Lady in the Wheelchair

9 p.m. Saturday, I enter the after hours ATM vestibule of my bank on 14th and 1st Ave. The only other soul there is a wheelchair-bound lady older than 60. She's not using an ATM but she seems to have an envelope in her hand, maybe making a night deposit. I don't know why I shut off my iPod because of her presence, but I do it.

I get my cash, my finger is a centimeter away from the play button on the iPod, I'm half a second away from strutting back down the street to Lyrics Born's "Callin' Out," and

"Can you push me out? I can't reach the door."

Wouldn't Jesus? "Sure."

I get behind her and notice chin hair and body odor that would make Grendel run for the hills, but of course Jesus wouldn't judge her for that.

Before we can leave, we need to gather the things she's conveniently left on a desk several inches out of her reach- newspaper, scarf, gloves, wool shawl.

"You want this empty styrofoam cup too?" though I should have known the answer is yes.

I start to push, but I push too fast for her liking.

Would Jesus' patience start to wear thin yet?

Moving her through the door proves difficult due to the bags of recyclables dangling from the sides of her chair. We make it out, but not before she spits out some exasperated "Watch it!"s.

Outside, I ask, "Are you OK?", meaning, "Can I go now?"

"Of course I'm not OK!", as if I had just cancelled our wedding.

"Well..."

"Can you hail me a taxi?", which she of course could never get into by herself. If it were just her odor that was repulsive, I'm sure Jesus would help her. But I'm not Jesus, and I hope he would forgive me for thinking that this lady was really a demon that gypsies warn their children about, and that if she didn't ask me for $20 in cab fare, she would probably try to loot it from my pocket while I hauled her ass into the back seat.

Fuck you, old lady in the wheelchair.

"Listen, I'm really sorry but I have to run right now."

"Yeah, fine."

I let go of her wheelchair. As I turn away, I think I see her start to roll down the sidewalk toward a parallel-parked car. I keep walking, and before I even try to listen for the smack of wheelchair and car, my finger is on the play button.

Telepathic Secretary

If one isn't already in the works, let's invent the Telepathic Secretary.

Whoever has the means to invent it is welcome to the patent, if you can promise me a lifetime supply of Telepathic Secretaries and eternal health coverage.

I understand the creation of the Telepathic Secretary could be dangerous, but it's a chance I'm willing to take.

Here's how you make it:

1. Record which parts of your brain are stimulated when you think of certain sounds: ie, "When I think of the sound 'the,' I am stimulated in sector 847.23.XX.11107.B of my brain." Record results for as many sounds as you can think of. If you're stuck for ideas, consult Dr. Seuss' "On Beyond Zebra."

2. The Telepathic Secretary transcribes Phonetic Brain Stimulations into an iPod-sized Word Processing computer, creating an instantaneous mental diary.

If I Picked the 1998 Academy Awards (The Debut of Listboy)

(Editor's note: Today, the Schiz proudly presents its first guest-written entry, by my longtime friend, Listboy. Listboy began reading at the age of 3, when he picked up an issue of Rolling Stone's 100 Greatest Albums of the 80's while waiting for his first haircut. He has grown into an avid reader and writer, as well as a film and music buff, but he refuses to read or write anything that isn't a pop culture-related list. He also refuses to elaborate much, if at all - Joe E.)

Best Picture: "Boogie Nights"
Best Director: Paul Thomas Anderson, "Boogie Nights"
Best Actor: Mark Wahlberg, "Boogie Nights"
Best Actress: Pam Grier, "Jackie Brown"
Best Supporting Actress: Julianne Moore, "Boogie Nights"
Best Supporting Actor: Tie - John C. Reilly, Burt Reynolds and Don Cheadle, "Boogie Nights"
Best Cinematography: Roger Deakins, "Kundun"

SADD Truths for the Kids

When I started junior high, we had just come out of what Wayne Campbell called "that limited skirmish in the Middle East," an act of government-sponsored violence that seemed short and noble enough not to raise a stink about.

But barely a month into my junior high days, a good kid I knew named Matthew Marino was out riding his bike one afternoon when a drunk driver smashed into him, and days later Matthew was dead.

Now that we suburban Long Island kids had something of a martyr on our hands, suddenly it seemed as if we also had a righteous cause, and a mortal enemy in drunk drivers.

(A year earlier, a local girl our age named Deanna Moon also died tragically when a retractable gym wall closed on her, but retractable gym walls and negligent gym teachers just didn't make good enemies, I suppose.)

Many of my friends started joining Students Against Drunk Driving like it was giving away free bags of Sour Power. Never again would one of our own die from such careless disregard for human life.

Some time later, SADD came up with a deliciously morbid idea. It was called 'Black Wednesday' or 'Death Day' or something like that.

SADD claimed that every 38 minutes or so, a child somewhere is killed by a drunk driver. Our class periods at West Hollow junior high were also around 38 minutes long. So one day, during each period, they would announce that a student from West Hollow was just killed in a drunk driving incident.

"May we have your attention please...today, at 10:23 a.m., West Hollow student Sara Morgenstern was riding in a car with her parents when a drunk driver ran a red light and crashed into them. She suffered massive brain injuries and was pronounced dead on the scene."

But it gets better. Since each student they named was a real West Hollow student, each kid mentioned dressed all in black that day. Then, when his/her named was announced, they could no longer speak with anyone for the rest of the day.

I'd like to propose a similar program for today's junior high kids. But instead of announcing drunk driving fatalities, make an announcement for every time a soldier or civilian is killed in Iraq. Not just in one day, but until we get the hell out of there.

And don't just stop at wearing black. Try to create the illusion of shredded intestines, amputated limbs, popped eyeballs, etc.

So Long and Mahalo - Hunter S. Thompson, 1937 - 2005

Hunter S. Thompson was arguably the looniest, most intoxicated writer I have ever admired, and yet the tragedy of his suicide feels almost as unexpected and painful as the suckerpunch to the gut that killed Houdini.

When Kurt Cobain blew his head off, I was 13, far more tender than I am now, and I cried. But I wasn't anywhere near a state of shock. Long before his suicide, in the back of my mind, I practically waited for it to happen.

I'm not crying now, but the "What the fuck?"s in my head are louder and more persistent.

Hunter saw the dreams of the sixties devoured by hideous reptiles, yet his supernatural sense of humor made him invincible in ways that Hemingway, Kerouac and Cobain weren't. He taught me that even if we fail to prevail, to engulf the nastiness that surrounds us with our sheer positive energy, we could at least keep the nastiness at a distance simply by cackling in its motherless face.

When the nuclear apocalypse came, I always thought, if I survived, I would read his editorial first, and it would make me laugh the most.

He never lost his cynicism, but even until the very end, he never seemed to lose his humor or passion either. In what may be the last piece he published before his death, he discussed his idea for Shotgun Golf with Bill Murray:

(from ESPN.com:)

HST: "I'm working on a profoundly goofy story here. It's wonderful. I've invented a new sport. It's called Shotgun Golf. We will rule the world with this thing."

BILL: "Mmhmm."

HST: "I've called you for some consulting advice on how to launch it. We've actually already launched it. Last spring, the Sheriff and I played a game outside in the yard here. He had my Ping Beryllium 9-iron, and I had his shotgun, and about 100 yards away, we had a linoleum green and a flag set up. He was pitching toward the green. And I was standing about 10 feet away from him, with the alley-sweeper. And my objective was to blow his ball off course, like a clay pigeon."

"So there it is," he writes later in the piece. "Shotgun Golf will soon take America by storm. I see it as the first truly violent leisure sport. Millions will crave it."



In spite of the state of things today, I feel my faith in our invincibility is stronger than ever. I still feel the way Hunter felt in the sixties, as he wrote in "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas:" "You could strike sparks anywhere. There was a fantastic universal sense that whatever we were doing was right, that we were winning..."

But the fact that the world just became too much for even Hunter S. Freaking Thompson to bear no doubt extinguishes a few of those sparks, and kicks a big fat dent in the Chevy convertible I'm cruising down the Nevada Highway at 100 miles an hour.

To Hunter, I raise my glass, plus two bags of grass, seventy-five pellets of mescaline, five sheets of high-powered blotter acid, a salt shaker half full of cocaine, and a whole galaxy of multi-colored uppers, downers, screamers, laughers...and also a quart of tequila, a quart of rum, a case of Budweiser, a pint of raw ether and two dozen amyls.

So long and Mahalo.

fun n games - Mentioned in Billy Joel's "We Didn't Start the Fire" Or Not?

1. Cassius Clay
2. Mr. T
3. "Wheel of Fortune"
4. Dick Clark and Ed McMahon's "Bloopers and Practical Jokes"
5. Heavy Metal
6. Punk Rock
7. Electroclash
8. "Peter Pan"
9. Batman
10. Russians in Afghanistan
11. Japanese-Americans in Internment Camps
12. Pasternak
13. Kerouac
14. Cadillac-ac-ac-ac-ac-ac
15. AIDS
16. Fetal Alcohol Syndrome




Mentioned in "We Didn't Start the Fire": 3, 5, 6, 8, 10, 12, 13, 15
Not: 1, 2, 4, 7, 9, 11, 14 ("Movin' Out (Anthony's Song)"), 16

R.O.T.I.F. Needs Your Help

I normally don't like to publicize my philanthropy- I never told anyone that I coach a wheelchair hockey team on Thursday nights (they're also autistic), or about my volunteer work as a guinea pig for the Institute of Psychosexual Behavior.

But I need to tell you all about my latest charity project, only because it's kind of my baby, and if I don't start spreading the word, no one will. And I really, really believe my new charity can make a big difference.

I started Reading On the Toilet Is Fundamental (R.O.T.I.F., rhymes with 'motif') this year as a way of getting the public, but especially children, to read more while on the toilet.

Factual Science Magazine has reported that the average person spends between 5 and 45 minutes per day sitting on a toilet or hole in the ground. They also report that reading comprehension increases by 236% in the distraction-free environment of the restroom.

This means that in one year, a person can absorb over 1,000 extra pages of information simply by reading everytime SHe sits on the toilet.

My mission is simple: "A book for every toilet."

All we need are books, chains to secure the books to the toilets so they don't get swiped, and a modest advertising campaign. (As far as advertising is concerned, we're already off to a good start; former baseball and football superstar Bo Jackson has just signed on to do a poster campaign, featuring him reading "The Old Man and the Sea" on the toilet.)

If you have any books, chains, advertising know-how, or legal tender you can donate, please send them to Reading On the Toilet Is Fundamental, 128 St. Mark's, Apt. 2C, NY NY.

The future of America's toilet readers depends on us.

A Very Special Ninth Anniversary

It was nine years ago today when you first became mine, and I became yours.

I was a boy of fifteen, in a strange land, on a mission from God. The land was Port Chester, NY; the mission: to see The Ramones on their second-to-last farewell tour.

I grew up in many ways that night. The Ramones show was the first concert I chose to attend. (I had no say in seeing The Dave Matthews Band with my sister in New Orleans a year earlier.)

I also smelled marijuana for the first time that night. (Though I didn't get high until months later.)

But you're the only thing from that night that remains with me in the material world. Whenever I'm inside you, I'm instantly transported back to that magical night. I'm fifteen again- innocent, optimistic, the sound of freedom surging through my veins.

At the time we met, you were ridiculously overpriced at 30 dollars, but you've proven to be one of the best bargains I've ever had.

Though you've aged considerably- stretch marks, flaky skin, that mysterious orange-brown patch across the back of your shoulders- to me, you still embody the most beautiful kind of youthful energy I've ever known.

I love you, Ramones Farewell Tour Concert T-Shirt. We've only just begun.

Poems About Girls

'Epitaph for Peach'

As a boy I loved
a girl named Peach
who rode her tricycle
on the beach.

Strangers would snicker,
"So foolish and young!"
But she just pedaled quicker
and stuck out her tongue.

She couldn't go fast,
she often got stuck,
but Peach was a lass
who could not give a fuck.

She did what she liked
which was trike on the beach,
and so I loved
a girl named Peach.

'Baby Chernobyl'

I once loved a girl
named Baby Chernobyl.
Clumps of her hair
fell out by the bowlful.

She was ostracized
by the commie society
for talking to herself,
albeit quite quietly.

O, Baby Chernobyl,
Your heart is so noble and strong,
I don't care if your hair doesn't grow full and long.

Happy Valentine's Day, Or, If You're Japanese, Happy Obligation-Chocolate Day

Mostly plagiarized from the good folks at Wikipedia.

In Ancient Rome, the day of February 15 was Lupercalia, the festival of Lupercus, the god of fertility, who was represented as half-naked and dressed in goat skins. As part of the purification ritual, the priests of Lupercus would sacrifice goats to the god, and after drinking wine, they would run through the streets of Rome holding pieces of the goat skin above their heads, touching anyone they met. Young women especially would come forth voluntarily for the occasion, in the belief that being so touched would render them fruitful and bring easy childbirth.

The connection between the Catholic St. Valentine and romantic love is not mentioned in any early histories and is regarded by historians as purely a matter of legend. The feast of St. Valentine was first declared to be on February 14 by Pope Gelasius I around 498. There is a widespread legend that he created the day to counter the practice held on Lupercalia of young men and women pairing off as lovers by drawing their names out of an urn, but this practice is not attested in any sources from that era.

In 1969, as part of a larger effort to pare down the number of saint days of purely legendary origin, the Church removed St. Valentine's Day as an official holiday from its calendar.

The first recorded association of St. Valentine's Day with romantic love was in the 14th century in England and France, where it was believed that February 14 was the day on which birds paired off to mate. This belief is mentioned in the writings of Geoffrey Chaucer in the 14th century, who wrote in the Parlement of Foules that

"For this was sent on Seynt Valentyne's day
Whan every foul cometh ther to choose his mate."

Valentine's Day was probably imported into North America in the 19th century with settlers from Britain. In the United States, the first mass-produced valentines of embossed paper lace were produced and sold shortly after 1847 by Esther A. Howland (1828 - 1904) of Worcester, Massachusetts. Her father operated a large book and stationery store, and she took her inspiration from an English valentine she had received. (Since 2001, the Greeting Card Association has been giving an annual "Esther Howland Award for a Greeting Card Visionary".)

In Japan, Valentine's Day has emerged, thanks to a concentrated marketing effort, as a day on which women give chocolates to men they like. Rather than being voluntary however, this has become for many women, especially those who work in offices, an obligation, and they give chocolates to all their male co-workers, sometimes at significant personal expense. This chocolate is known as giri-choco, from the words giri (obligation) and choco, a common short version of chokoreeto, meaning chocolate.

By a further marketing effort, a reciprocal day, called White Day has emerged. On this day (March 14), men are supposed to return the favour by giving something to those who gave them chocolates on Valentine's Day. Many men, however, give only to their girlfriends. The return gift should be white (hence the name), and is often lingerie.

The St. Valentine's Day Massacre is the name given to the shooting of seven people as part of a conflict between criminal gangs in Chicago on February 14, 1929. Although it was not a major event, it received nationwide media attention.

Seven members of Bugs Moran's gang, and an ophthalmologist who happened to be in the wrong place, were lined up against a wall in the garage of the S-M-C Cartage Company in Chicago and shot by five members of Al Capone's gang dressed as policemen. When one of the dying men, Frank "Tight Lips" Gusenberg, was asked who shot him, he replied, "Nobody shot me." Capone was conveniently on vacation in Florida at the time.

Death of a 'Crucible' Author/Ex-Husband of Marilyn Monroe - Arthur Miller, 1915 - 2005

"The job is to ask questions-it always was-and to ask them as inexorably as I can. And to face the absence of precise answers with a certain humility."

and...

"If I have any justification for having lived it's simply, I'm nothing but faults, failures and so on, but I have tried to make a good pair of shoes. There's some value in that."

fun n games - Let's Get Trivial

Inquiries:

1. According to the Internet Movie Database, who has more screenplay credits: Stanley Kubrick or Jean-Claude Van Damme?

2. Who starred in a commercial for Alka Seltzer: Orson Welles, Andy Warhol, Salvador Dali, or Marlon Brando?

3. True or false: Not only did Galileo NOT invent the telescope, but he did nothing to dissuade those who believed he did.

4. According to the Midwest Dairy Association, who was history's first "Big Cheese"?: Thomas Jefferson, Alexander the Great, Winston Churchill, or Henry VIII?

5. Who said, "When I see a dolphin, I know it's just as smart as I am"?: Douglas Adams, Captain Beefheart, Jacques Cousteau, or Ernest Hemingway?




Responses:

1. Kubrick, but at a 13-8 margin, it's a lot closer than you'd think, no?

2. Dali, though Welles did record voice-overs for frozen peas.

3. True, according to Timothy Ferris' "Coming of Age in the Milky Way." Geniuses can be real douchebags sometimes.
(The telescope was invented by Hans Lippershey.)

4. Jefferson. Says the MDA, "The phrase was coined when a cheesemaker gave a 1,235-pound cheese wheel to President Jefferson in 1801. Passers-by were amazed by the spectacle and dubbed it 'the big cheese.'"

5. Beefheart. He goes on to say, "Sometimes I'd rather be thought of as a dolphin than as a human being."

Hero of the Weekend

My hero of the weekend is Ohio resident Gary Milholland, also known as Mission Man.

When he's not working at Papa John's pizza restaurant, Mission Man busts dope tracks like "Chillin' at the Papa," "Prime Time Players," and "Weightlifting Jam."

He just finished a hot set at Lit, including a freestyle during Arbor Day's performance of "Better Off Alive." Then tomorrow, he's off to play a gig in West Virginia before returning to Ohio so he can deliver pizzas on Super Bowl Sunday.

Heroic.

Conspiracy Spy Adventure

A few weeks ago, I thought I'd alleviate my boredom by tricking the government into thinking I was an aspiring anarchist. Maybe, just maybe, I'd get involved in some cool conspiracy spy adventure.

I went to the bookstore and bought "Steal This Book," "The Anarchist's Cookbook," even a couple of titles by David Icke, the guy who believes the universe is controlled by reptiles from the lower fourth dimension, or something. I charged these books on my credit card to be certain the feds would find out.

Then yesterday I received the following letter from the U.S. government:

"Dear Mr. Rosewater,

"Thank you for your interest in the United States Government, despite its apparent antagonistic nature.

"Upon review of your file, however, we have decided that your intelligence, charisma, physical strength, and overall competence fall far below the standards of what we would consider a potential threat to national security.

"While we wish you the best in all your future endeavors, we hope you understand that we cannot expend any money or manpower to spy on you at this time.

"Sincerely,

"The Feds."

When I first read the letter, I was sad. But then I realized that they're probably using reverse psychology, and that my conspiracy spy adventure has just begun!

Penguins, Astronauts and Atom Bombs

Download "Charlie Brown," the new Random Computer video, here. It's an epic 2 minutes and 45 seconds that begins with the open road, ends with an atom bomb, and has penguins, astronauts, riots, sexy babes, and more explosions in between. Directed by the brilliant Eric Siegs.

(Your computer may work differently, but on mine, clicking the link downloads the file directly onto the desktop.)

Attack of the Cannibal Pigeons

On a walk this afternoon, I came across a small group of pigeons on the sidewalk, all huddled around something, pecking feverishly.

Upon closer inspection, I saw they were all eating the discarded carcass of a fellow bird. The sight sent me into a panic.

"Run for your lives I tell you!" I screamed as I hurried down the street and away from the horrific feast. "There are cannibal pigeons on the loose!"

Struck with panic similar to my own, my fellow human pedestrians joined me in running down the street and screaming about cannibal pigeons.

Until one member of the mob stopped me and asked, "I'm sorry, did you say 'cannibal pigeons' or 'man-eating pigeons?' "

"Cannibal pigeons!" I yelped. "Bloodthirsty cannibal pigeons!"

"Bloodthirsty they may be," said the curious stranger, "but if they're merely cannibals, then we as humans are in no apparent danger."

"Actually," I said as I started to really think about the situation, "the bird they were eating may have been a chicken, so technically they may not even be cannibals. It would be like humans eating monkeys."

"That's kind of disturbing," said a second pedestrian, "but not so much that we should be screaming and running like imbeciles."

"Although," said a third member of the mob, the lovely and talented Beverly D'Angelo, "in some cultures, monkey is quite the delicacy."

"All apologies," said I. "Sorry to have bothered you all."

"We're only human," said Ms. D'Angelo. "And since we're not monkeys, who's up for some monkey barbecue? I know a great place."

"Hell, I guess it can't hurt to try," said the man who initially found eating monkey disturbing.

An hour later, I enjoyed the third or fourth most delicious monkey I'll ever eat.

Testing the Theory of Time Travel

When I was eight years old, I thought I'd test the theory of time travel by writing the following letter, which would be passed on to future generations of Rosewaters:

"Dear whoever of my relatives are alive when time travel is finally possible,
Please visit me on April 23, 1989 to tell me the good news. I live on 8 Sorrel Hill Court in Dix Hills, New York, USA (Earth).
Thank you very much.
Sincerely,
Joseph E. Rosewater"

No one visited me that day, but that doesn't mean I don't believe in time travel anymore. I still have the letter. But I also have a feeling I'm going to lose it one of these days.