Monday, April 30, 2007

Taxicab Neoconfessions

WASHINGTON, DC - 4:37 p.m.

ALBERTO GONZALES gets into the cab. His hair is frazzled, his tie askew.

Where to?

Take me my, uh....shoot, I can’t remember. Just drive for a bit and let me check my e-mail.

Long day?

Longest of my life. I was in hearings all day.

You a lawyer?

Well, not exactly.


Uh, not exactly.

Did you win?

Mmm, not exactly.

Are we filming a Hertz commercial here?

Not exact—I mean, no.

So what was the hearing about?

You know, the Man hassling me about rules this and regulations that and mumbo jumbo about undermining democracy for partisan political gain. Let me ask you a question. You have to follow a lot of “rules” when you drive a cab, right?


Now what if you had to follow the same rules that cabbies had to follow in 1776? That would be stupid right?

Sure. Lots of things have changed since then.

Exactly! And sometimes you speed, right? Because you’re trying to serve your clients better, even though it’s “against the law.”

Yeah, of course.

And if a passenger doesn’t do what you tell him to do, you hogtie him and lock him in the trunk with a dirty sock in his mouth until he learns to play ball. Am I right?

Uh, not exactly.


The cab screeches to a halt. Gonzales sits in the back. The Driver taps the wheel.


Hey, why are we stopped?

You said stop.

No I didn’t.

Yeah you did.

Yeah, I think I’d remember that..

Gonzales’s phone rings. He answers,

Hola! Hey honey. (Slaps head) Right, right, I’m sorry. Be there soon. (He hangs up the phone and addresses the driver). I’m supposed to be at home!

Where is that?

It’s....uh....oh crap, not again....

WASHINGTON, DC - 4:18 a.m.

A man, wearing a black ski mask, throws a shotgun in the back of the cab. He’s covered in blood. When he removes his mask, his bald head is blurred, but the female DRIVER’s eyes go wide with recognition.

Hey, you’re Vice...

Just call me Dick and get us the fuck out of here.

The Driver steps on the gas. She looks back at him.

So what happened?

You know that thing I had a while ago? Me, an old man, out hunting...?

Yes, when you shot that old man in the face.

It sort of happened again.

You shot him again?

No, not him, another old man. Let’s call him Harry Tweed.

So you shot this Harry Tweed while you were hunting?

Not hunting per se. I was in his kitchen. With the lights off.

What did he do to you that made you want to hide in his kitchen with a shotgun?

See, when you put it like that, it sounds so sinister. Let’s say someone’s trying to kill your family. You know it, but you can’t prove it. You’d do anything to protect them right?

Of course.

Now what if there were a bunch of other guys keeping you from protecting your family? They keep demanding proof and evidence, and you just know those pompous fuckwits are going to get your family killed. What would you do to them?

I’d probably...

I tell you what you’d do, you’d sneak into his kitchen and let him know he and his pals better knock this shit off. But then he starts yelling and threatening to call the police, which makes the ringing in my head start again, louder and louder, and I know the only way to make it stop is if I can make this asshole stop yelling! (pauses) So I did.

You fired a shot!

Yeah. Well, more precisely, four shots.

But that’s only a double-barreled shotgun.

I accidentally reloaded. Listen, take this exit here to the Potomac. I need to drop this thing off.

GEORGETOWN, 12:15 a.m.

A male DRIVER picks up two passengers, a man and a woman. Their faces are blurred.

MAN (slurry)
Watergate Hotel. And make it snappy. (Embracing the woman) I got an Executive Branch in my pocket. Heh-heh-heh.

WOMAN (also slurry)
Oh, you’re so naughty! Are you going to veto me?

Over and over, Nancy.

Goddamnit,! I told you ix nay on the names-ay.

Sorry, you know my Spanish is no good! (To the driver) This here’s my mistress (gets elbowed by the Woman), ow! This here’s my wife, Nancy, uh, Drew. She solves crimes.

What kind of crimes do you solve?

Oh, you know, things like falsifying information, Constitutional violations...

You said we weren’t going to talk about that stuff tonight.

Sounds like you two have some issues to work out.

We’re trying to, man...

Yeah, you’re trying real hard. You didn’t stick up for me when Limbaugh called me “Nancy Fancy Feast” because I was “a spoiled pussy.”

What about you? That dirty hippy artist gave you a picture of me made out his own boogers, and you didn’t say anything.

I was just protecting his freedom of speech!

Oh, like you protected mine when I said Iraq had weapons?

You know, I see this all the time. The more couples fight, the more they really love each other.

He’s right. I do hate it when we fight.

Me too. I’m sorry I accepted the booger picture.

I’m sorry I didn’t have Limbaugh killed. (They make out fiercely for a moment.) What do you say we uh, raise the flag for bipartisan relations?

How long have you been working on that one?

MAN (quietly)
Since last week.

Here we are. (To Man) Say, would you be willing to sign this release?

Sure! (starts signing)

Georgio, no!

The Man signs the form, and the blurs over their faces disappear just before the picture cuts out.

Thursday, April 26, 2007

CDC: Bauer Simplex 24 Gripping Right-Wing Bloggers

The Center for Disease Control warned the nation today that an epidemic of Bauer Simplex 24 is sweeping through the conservative blogging community.

The syndrome, known as BS 24, causes ordinarily cowardly individuals to boast of their own hypothetical bravery during dangerous real-life events.

“BS 24 is triggered when someone discusses a recently terrifying situation, such as being held hostage, interrogated, or encountering a terrible act of violence,” said Dr. Su Do Nihm of the CDC. “It causes the victims to become delusional and fantasize how they would have responded with the calm, firm resolve of Kiefer Sutherland reading a television script.”

The disease first appeared in 2001 and has become progressively more widespread with every television season. This year had already seen an outbreak after the abduction of British sailors by Iran, with many conservative bloggers exclaiming they would never have been broken under such interrogation, even when facing such tactics as Cheeto-boarding and videogame depravation.

But an especially nasty, logic-resistant strain appeared after the recent news of the massacre of students at Virginia Tech University. John Derbyshire, writing for the conservative National Socialist Review, expressed surprise that students did not “jump” the Virginia Tech gunman, Cho Seung Ho. Derbyshire commented, “At the very least, count the shots and jump him reloading or changing hands. Better yet, just jump him....It's true—none of us knows what he'd do in a dire situation like that. I hope, however, that if I thought I was going to die anyway, I'd at least take a run at the guy.”

Dr. Coe Bagz, Research Fellow at the Frasier Crane Institute for Television Psychology, calls this “a classic case of BS 24.”

“In terms of his words, Mr. Derbyshire does in fact seem like a cool, collected, and determined individual, almost as if knows ahead of time what will happen and that the ‘writers’ will protect him,” said Dr. Bagz. “But that does not mesh with Mr. Derbyshire’s real life actions, where he is deathly afraid of having even a penis pointed in his face.

“I wouldn’t say that inspires a lot of confidence in his ‘jumping’ ability,” Dr. Bagz added.

As the disease usually does, it spread quickly to other areas of the right-wing blogosphere, including columnists Nathanael Blake and Carol Ionne.

“Conservative bloggers tend to transmit BS 24 rapidly because of their propensity to have unsafe, often anonymous, rhetorical masturbation in large groups,” said Dr. Nihm. “They tend to splatter their fellow bloggers with their written emissions without considering the consequences.”

Dr. Bagz noted that, while there is no medicinal remedy for BS 24, it does have one known therapeutic cure. “Actual combat tends to clear up BS 24 immediately, so we usually recommend enlistment.”

Tuesday, April 24, 2007

Top Ten Tuesdays: What are we not recalling? (Part I)

I wound up writing two different lists on today's topic, so I'm posting my double-album version of Brando Comes Alive.

10) How we let the Brothers Grimm write our battle reports.

9) Something about checks and...what’s the other word again?

8) That a woman’s womb is located inside her body.

7) Troops from Iraq (ever).

6) That the last time we talked with Iran about missiles, it was to get their billing information.

5) The chapter from history class about using poll taxes, tests, and registrations to keep certain people from voting.

4) Giving a big bonus to someone just for licking our comb.

3) That “carne asada burrito” is Spanish for “you’re going to have to spare more than a square.”

2) How to broker peace between two groups of closely related people who want to blow each other off the face of the earth.

1) How to answer the clue phone when it’s ringing off the hook.

Top Ten Tuesdays: What are we not recalling? (Part II)

10) Uh...

9) Just a sec...

8) Authorizing torture? No, that's seared into my memory like a cigarette burn.

7) Allowing wiretaps? I do recall that because I just listened to the secret tapes from that meeting.

6) Habeas Corpus? Sorry, don't speak Latin.

5) Starting a fire? That’s close, but I seem to recall someone saying we didn't start the fire.

4) Firing! That's it. But firing what?

3) A gun? There is this big hole in my foot. We’re getting warmer.

2) An e-mail! Firing off an e-mail! That's what it was!

1) What was in the e-mail? Let me answer that with a song...

Friday, April 20, 2007

Friday CJ Random 11

It’s one more random than 10!

1) “Not Behind the Fighter Jet,” Guided by Voices. I needed a shot of this today. I’ve been in a bit of a funk all week—tired, still a bit sick, and feeling particularly unfunny, which is hell for me. This bit of catchy GbV is like a Red Bull for my mood.

2) “Dear Prudence,” The Beatles. You know when you’re making the transition from winter to spring, and you get that morning where it’s still cold, but you can tell you’ll be able to lose your jacket later in the day? This song sounds like that morning.

3) “Get What You Need,” Jet.

Butt-Head: Uh, huh-huh, what the hell is this?
Beavis: I think it’s AC/DC. Fire!
Butt-Head: No way, buttmunch. This sounds like a bunch of wusses trying to sound like AC/DC.
Beavis: Oh yeah, um, that’s what I meant to say. These guys are like too pretty to be AC/DC.
Butt-Head: You think they’re pretty? Huh-huh-huh-huh.
Beavis: Shut up, Butt-Head!
Butt-Head: You know, I’ll get what I need when I get a guitar solo that doesn’t suck.
Beavis: I’ll get what I need when I get some nachos.
Butt-Head: And boobies.
Beavis: Yeah, yeah, boobies! Boing!

4) “The Fall of the World’s Own Optimist,” Aimee Mann. Never has such pessimism sounded so catchy. Plus, I love any song that works in a rhyme with “beheading.”

5) “Debaser,” The Pixies. I am un CHIEN Andalusia! Love this song. And it works so well today, because who doesn’t want to debase our culture a little right now? You know, take both hands and yank that pole out of America’s butt?

Butt-Head: Heh, heh, you said “pole.”

6) “Mission,” King’s X. Here’s how you make Christian rock that doesn’t sound like the Gospel According to Creed or Bon Jovi singing psalms. Thick guitar riff, soulful singing, and lyrics that remind us that the point of Christianity is not to climb into your religious treehouse every Sunday to give your fellow congregants a smug reach-around.

7) “It’s a Shame About Ray,” The Lemonheads. Smells like MTV Buzz Bin. Just like the candy, the Lemonheads started out sweet but ended up sour. This is them at their sweetest.

8) “You Don’t Care Nothin’,” Rancid. Oh, but I do care about this album so very much. It was the soundtrack for my subway commute when I lived in New York. It has a glossy grit that really fit the Guilani years there. And now it would be a perfect theme song for McCain's campaign.

9) “Yellin’ in My Ear,” Operation Ivy. The iPod channels its inner Pitchfork nerd to lecture me on how Operation Ivy begat Rancid. I tell it to shut its cornhole so I can enjoy this classic bit of ska punk, with its hyper shaky guitar riff and lots of yellin’ in my ears.

10) “Hot Hot Hot,” The Cure. Oh, how TLB and I used to groove to this back in the day. Probably the most un-Cure song in their catalog, because it lets loose with unabashed fun without bludgeoning us with lyrics that say, Look, I'm not a depressed, lipsticked, power AquaNet user all the time! I can be happy! No, seriously, let me sing over and over how happy I am! I’m looking at you, “Friday I’m in Love.”

11) “Tear It All Away,” The Church. Wow, all this late 80s and early 90s music makes me feel like I should be buying an acid-washed jean jacket at County Seat. Thankfully, I’ve only held onto the music and not the fashions. Except for the skinny white leather tie in my closet. I’m getting buried with that on.

Have a good weekend. The funny will return, possibly over the weekend, as I can feel my brain hamster running in his wheel again.

Tuesday, April 17, 2007

Top Ten Tuesdays: What's landing us in hot water?

10) Grave misunderstanding with the cannibals.

9) Getting our views on 9/11 from someone with two-and-a-half brain cells.

8) Sending official government business from our account.

7) Calling out name of husband's brother during sex, causing brother to pop out from the bedroom closet.

6) Being racially insensitive toward those people.

5) The warm ocean currents turning our prime beach front property into Atlantis.

4) Turning the bidet into a flamethrower.

3) Making our Bollywood production of Shall We Be Burned in Effigy.

2) Throwing the Book of Judges at criminals.

1) Suggesting that college kids who can’t handle six-packs responsibly should be packing heat.

Saturday, April 14, 2007

Happy Birthday, TLB!

Today is the lovely birthday of The Lovely Becky. It is the 19th (!) birthday I have spent with her. It is much better than the 18th birthday we spent, cleaning up from a tornado. In fact, TLB's birthday has a long history of despair and disaster. Bad things happen around her birthday...and in fact, they started happening in anticipation of her birthday:
  • The Donner Party departed for their fateful trip
  • Lincoln was shot
  • The Titanic hit an iceberg (extra double irony)
  • Turkey invaded Armenia
  • Katharine Hepburn had to share the Oscar with Barbra Streisand (the horror, the horror)
  • Apollo 13's oxygen tank exploded
You get the picture.

But so far today, everything has been fine. No icebergs, comets, swirling clouds of wind, swirling swarms of scarabs, invasions, explosions, bloody coups, or bad news. Which is the best birthday gift of all.

Happy birthday, baby!

Friday, April 13, 2007

Friday CJ Random 11

It's one more random than 10!

The iPod was very sad today, almost as if it knows Kurt Vonnegut died. Blue Girl had a great post about his passing, and the random 11 seems to fit it pretty well.

1. “A Man Needs a Maid,” Neil Young. A butler would also do, just so we’re not accused of sexism here. The warm piano lines complement Neil’s pleading voice very well.

2. “Celluloid Heroes,” The Kinks. One of my favorite Kinks songs because the lyrics tell such a sad tale about fame. I like it because I often think things like, What’s Jan-Michael Vincent doing today? Which then seems sad, because once you've done Airwolf, how do you go back to a normal life?

3. “Comin’ Back,” The Crystal Method. Speaking of whatever happened to.... This bit of techno-lite illustrates Vonnegut's Luddite philosophy pretty well: what sounded so ahead of the curve 10 years ago now sounds so 10 years ago.

4. “Riff Raff,” Mark Kozelek. A song from my favorite cover album ever, a collection of acoustic versions of AC/DC songs. Bon Scott plugged into folk music suddenly sounds lonely and reflective instead of lewd and randy. Context is everything.

5. “To Remake the Young Flyer,” Guided by Voices. A dewy, dreamy track, with a slow chiming Beatles guitar. It’s almost humid in its thickness.

6. “Day Old Blues,” Kings of Leon. Starts with an achy acoustic guitar and croaky vocals full of smoke and regret, until the rest of the band kicks in and makes an urgent plea at the end. It sounds like M. Ward gone electric.

7. “Psalm,” M. Ward. Wow, how about that? More lonely acoustic guitar that shifts up into a faster rhythm that makes me think of driving along the Carolina back roads on a beautiful sunny day.

8. “Come On Eileen,” Dexy’s Midnight Runners. There would be a point where Vonnegut would tell people to stop blubbering and have fun at the wake. This is a good song to get the party going.

9. “Broken,” Pennywise. Okay, too much drinking and now we're punching the walls at the funeral home. Best to wait a couple minutes and let the iPod get it out of its system.

10. “Up Around the Bend,” Creedence Clearwater Revival. That’s more like it. This sounds like the kind of good time ol’ Kurt would want to have, outside and on the highway in the fresh air.

11. “Twilight,” Elliott Smith. One final shot of melancholy as we go. I talk about rocking a lot, and I definitely love the majesty of rock and the mystery of roll, but give me a song that walks the razor’s edge between sad and beautiful and I’m fished in every time. This one fits the bill to a T.

Here’s to the passing of a great writer and one funny SOB. After all, it takes a great sense of humor to add your sphincter to your signature.

Thursday, April 12, 2007

Why am I dreaming about Patrick Muldoon and bloggers I've never met?

The other night, I had a dream that I was on a flight piloted by Patrick Muldoon of Starship Troopers fame. Plus, on the flight, I met bloggers I have never met before.

What does it mean? If I knew that, I wouldn't be blogging from a fetal position right now. But you can read all about it and offer your own analysis at Celebrity Dream Cameo.

Tuesday, April 10, 2007

Top Ten Tuesdays: What are we apologizing for?

10) Replacing the phrase “global warming” with “hot sex” in government climate reports.

9) Plotting to make checks and balances go AWOL while on AOL.

8) Putting Soylent Ginseng in the Alpo.

7) Forgetting to declare the bullshit we brought back from our Bagdad shopping spree.

6) Being a little slow on recognizing the Emancipation Proclamation.

5) Hiring Joe Isuzu to write our current military history.

4) Losing the only computer disk in Georgia.

3) Stirring the hopes of Cubs fans (again).

2) Having a few too many shots of Absolut Bigot.

1) Giving a microphone to a wrinkled, racist, unfunny, misogynistic, anachronistic, old-man-smelling sack of shit.

Monday, April 09, 2007

Ziggy Played Guitar (Hero)

or Paradise (Lost) by the XBox Lights

I recently brought a bad, bad thing into my home. Something that could destroy my marriage.

Another woman? Heroin? A Republican voter registration card?

No, something far more adulterous, additive, and abominable...Guitar Hero II for the XBox 360.

Pictured: Guitar Hero II software and Explorer guitar controller.
Not pictured:
Man not having sex.

The game has been out for the PlayStation 2 for a while, and last Thanksgiving, I played it on my brother’s PS2. I could name that addiction in four notes.

“I must have this,” I said.

“Oh, sweet Jesus,” said The Lovely Becky, who saw the writing on the studio walls.

Finally this week, this plastic manna fell down the Stairway to Heaven and onto the XBox 360 .

So what is Guitar Hero II? It depends on who you ask. The publisher, Red Octane, calls it a “game” that “creates the sensation of being a rock star, as you rock out to 30 of the greatest rock anthems of all time.” My wife calls it “the nerdiest fucking thing I’ve ever done,” which is impressive considering how long she has known me.

I call it a sign that God wants us to be happy, much like beer, burritos, and blowjobs.

The game is pretty simple in its execution. You play along with the above mentioned rock tracks. On screen, a giant fret board scrolls notes toward you as the song plays. You simply press the colored fret buttons in sequence and tap the strum button in rhythm with the song. To get bonus points, you can add “star power” by tilting your guitar upward at the right moment (an action which prompted this exchange between me and my lovely wife).

It sounds stupid. It looks stupid. It should be stupid. I am, after all, 36 years old, and a grown man banging away on a Fisher Price toy in time with Warrant’s “Cherry Pie” should unleash power chords of shame and ridicule. You could have the looks of Brad Pitt, the coolness of George Clooney, and the whammy bar of Milton Berle, and there’s no way in hell any woman would tune you in, let alone pluck your G string, when you’re wearing a toy guitar controller around your neck.

But God help me, it’s the most fun I’ve ever had playing a videogame in my long, unillustrious history of videogame playing. Even more shocking, it doesn’t involve shooting, stabbing, sawing, gnawing, disintegrating, atomizing, dungeons, dragons, Italians, or monkeys. Just good, clean fun that goes to 11.

The irony is that, while Guitar Hero poses a grave threat to my matrimonial bliss, my marriage also saves me from Guitar Hero. The guitar's anti-sex matter coupled with TLB's snark form twin guardrails that prevent me from swerving off Nerd Boulevard and into the Gorge of Eternal Geekiness. Because without my marriage, I could turn out like these guys:

Not the cape, of course. Well, probably not the cape. Okay, maybe if there was a Yes song....

Thursday, April 05, 2007

Pack for the Afterlife

Inside a meeting hall, past a sign that reads, "Hall of the Dead," hundreds of Egyptian royals mingle at a party. In one corner, RAMSES talks with NEFERTITI.

RAMSES (drunk)
So I says to him, I says, "Oh yeah, well why don't you try making bricks without straw."

Mmm, really? And what did he have to say to that, Ramses?

Oh, the same old stuff about the one true god this and the one true god that. Then the damn plagues showed up. You know, Nefertiti, if it hadn't been for those damn plagues, I would have been the greatest pharaoh ever. Ever!

Sure you would have, Ramses. Sure you would have.

ZOSER, the host, begins to speak.

Excuse me. Can I have your attention? Thank you. For those of you who are new, I am your host, Zoser, and this is the 4,807th annual Afterlife Harvest Festival. Welcome! We have finished bringing in the spirit grain of the Ealu fields, which we will offer to our lord and master, Osiris, ruler of the Underworld. To Osiris!

The Egyptians raise their glasses and toast Osiris.

Now, have a good time, and remember, my serving wenches are your serving wenches!

There is a loud KNOCK on the hall door. Nefertiti opens the door. TUT staggers in, wearing only a loincloth and carrying a pitcher. The Egyptians run to his side.

Great winds of Isis, it’s Tut!

What happened?

Tut takes a drink from his pitcher and catches his breath.

I was . . . I was . . . robbed . . . .

The Egyptians gasp and murmur. Zoser shushes them.

By who?

By those . . . those. . . archeologists.

Not again! They robbed Cheops, too.

What did they take?

Everything! My gold, my jewels, the sarcophagus. They even violated the tombs of my serving wenches.


What about your curses and wards?

I had some of the best! Even as we speak, a couple of the infidels are being devoured by scarabs.

I tell you, they're never getting into my crypt -- not if they know what's good for them. You just can't beat a good curse.

That's what I thought, too. But what good does it do me now? Look at me! I have nothing! I’m as poor as the lowliest slave. How am I supposed to enjoy eternal paradise like this?

It is awful, Tut, but don't worry. We will take care of you. Look around you – we brought plenty for all of us to share in the Underworld.

Yes, I suppose you're right. Thank you, thank you all. I raise a toast to your generosity.

The Egyptians raise their glasses in a toast. Tut looks around in confusion.

Has anyone seen my goblet?

Oh for the love of Ra! Could someone get Tut a goblet so we can actually drink our toast!

There is another loud KNOCK at the door.

Now what? Nefertiti, could you please (he points to the door)?

Nefertiti opens the door. In walk BOB and MILDRED.

Hi there! How y’all doing? (He shakes Nefertiti's hand vigorously.) I’m Bob Sawyer, this here’s my wife Mildred.

MILDRED (Reaching for Nefertiti’s glass while speaking to Bob)
Look honey, they’re already serving us drinks!

Serving you! Zoser! We have intruders.

Intruders! No, ma’am, we’re the Sawyers. (She points at Nefertiti’s neck.) My goodness, dear, that is a lovely necklace you have there.

Nefertiti steps back, putting her hand guardedly over her neck. Zoser walks over.

(Aside) Oh no, not again. (To Bob and Mildred) You must be Christians.

No, we’re the Sawyers. (Slowly, sounding it out) SOY-YERS. (To Bob) I don’t think they speak English here.

No honey, he’s asking if we worship Jesus Christ. (To Zoser) You bet we do! We’re just a couple of God-fearing people ready to enter the Kingdom of Heaven!

Yes, well, it seems that there has been some mistake. . . .

Yeah, I know, we’re a little young, but hey, God’s will is God’s will.

No, what I meant was, you are in the wrong place.

MILDRED (shocked)
Oh no! Honey, we’re in hell! I’m sorry . . . I know I had impure thoughts about our pastor—

BOB (dropping to his knees in horror)
So did I!

ZOSER (irritated)
No, no, no! You are not supposed to stay here.

Zoser grabs them and takes them to the door. He points.

ZOSER (cont.)
Take that dirt road there through the Valley of the Shadow of Death. Make a left at Mount Olympus and cross the River Styx. Take a right at Valhalla and keep walking until you see a village full of mud huts. That’s where you’ll find Jesus. Now go! We’re having a private banquet here.

Mud huts?

Now wait just a minute! We gave money to the poor like we were supposed to, and we’re going to live in mud huts?

ZOSER (shrugs)
Well, when you worship the son of a carpenter . . . .

He starts to push Bob and Mildred out the door. Mildred becomes agitated and pushes her way back in.

And y'all are just sitting around up here with your gold and your food and your servants. What about when Jesus said, “it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the Kingdom of God.”

The Egyptians burst out laughing.

Yeah, and what about the meek inheritting the goddamned Earth?

The Egyptians laugh even harder.

ZOSER (wiping his eyes)
Please, stop, you’re killing us. I suggest you go and take this up with Jesus in your (stifling a laugh) mud hut.

The Egyptians start laughing again. Zoser walks the Sawyers toward the door.

ZOSER (cont.)
And next time you take a trip, don’t forget to pack!

The Egyptians laugh at the Sawyers.

I mean, who forgets to bring things to the afterlife?

Bob and Mildred step back in.

But, but, this isn’t fair . . . we didn’t know. . .

UP MUSIC (slow piano ballad - everyone sings)

When we became Christians
we thought we made the right decision

But your thoughts about life after death
could use a little revision

I didn’t think I’d need to bring much
to my final resting place

You should have treated your coffin
like your eternal suitcase

(Music changes to bouncy midtempo)

CHORUS (Egyptians only)
So pack for the afterlife
pack it all and all is well
or your heavenly paradise
will become a living hell

We Egyptians, we were buried right
we took things big and small
You should have known from our crypts
the writing was on the wall

Now you found out the hard way
without your stuff you won’t go far
You could drive to hell and back
if you’d been buried in your car

CHORUS (all)
So pack for the afterlife
pack it all and all is well
or your heavenly paradise
will become a living hell


So worry about what you’re bringing
and not about damnation
The more you pack the better

just stay away from cremation

(Back to main midtempo melody)

Everyone needs their things here
whether Christian, Muslim or Jew
Hindus can travel light
‘cause they’re just passing through

But all of you have been misled
worse than any pyramid scheme
If you go to the grave empty-handed
you’ll let out an eternal scream

CHORUS (all)
So pack for the afterlife
pack it all and all is well
or your heavenly paradise
will become a living hell

RAMSES (slow)
So pack for the afterlife
pack it all...and all is...well . . . .

Happy [insert your religious holiday/non-religious non-holiday/excuse for orgiastic chocolate consumption], everyone!

Tuesday, April 03, 2007

Top Ten Tuesdays: How are we raising campaign funds?

Special fair and balanced edition!

10) Letting top donor star in the next sequel to the Book of Mormon.

9) Manufacturing new party game, “Pin the Dick on the Homophobic Harpy.”

8) Holding contest to choose next scientific concept to ban from Kansas schools.

7) Putting New Mexico on eBay.

6) Auctioning our private, freshly churned reserve of Brett Favre’s sperm.

5) Charging extra for the “happy ending” at Bill's kissing booth.

4) Serving waffles at the prayer breakfasts on the Straight Talk Express.

3) Creating a new ice cream flavor, Speaks So Well Vanilla Fudge.

2) Sending Bernie Kerik to get the special box under the floorboards at the Bada Bing.

1) Walking into a room of wealthy celebrities and saying, “I’m Al Gore, bitch!”