Illustration by josh Hagler
Wednesday September 19, 2001
So today's my birthday and, in honor of such an auspicious day, I've decided to give myself the gift of self-gratification. (snicker, snicker) And I don't mean masturbation. (Aawww) Well· not just masturbation. (ba-dum-bum, kiish - Yay!)
Enough with the gobbledy-guck! Onward: My true and honest gift to myself is an entirely self-indulgent and self-amused column. I get to write whatever I want. Wheee! Here we go.
Note: This column is best if read while you listen to Hendrix's "Castles Made of Sand,"Weezer's "The Good Life" or anything off of The Essential Nina Simone but especially the tracks "Just Like Tom Thumb's Blues" and "To Be Young, Gifted and Black." Oh... and also Cheap Trick's "Surrender."
Also, I have this blister on the roof of my mouth right now. I just popped it and I can taste the stuff coming out. It's salty. That was a short taste of the genre known as gross-out humor popularized by such passing fad talents as Tom Green, the Farrelly Brothers and whoever that guy on Jackass was. I thought I'd take a quick trip on the bandwagon before it splintered into· splinters. Do you think I was too late?
And now... take a moment, wherever you are, to stand up, stretch, take a deep breath, hold it and count to 10. Then exhale even more deeply and yell "WHO WANTS TO WRESTLE?" Then shake your tushie and think of me, or ice cream, whichever image comes easier. Now, don't go looking around wondering what people are going to think of you. While they might not understand you now, they'll read this later and it will make as much sense to them as it does to you and then they'll do it too and it'll be like one of those snowballs you keep hearing so much about. And eventually the world will be a better place.
This is my birthday promise folks and now my birthday wish:
Well, actually· It's pretty graphic and I don't have much space, so· I'll just give you the highlights.
Here goes nothing: The entire cast and crew of the A-Team, an elephant, the primary colors, "Love and Theft," a chimp with a really big soul, Bill Murray, Lenny Bruce, a large metallic barrel full of beer, a large metallic barrel full of beer, a shopping spree at the Home Depot, a baby fight, a 1969 GTO Judge, Hunter S. Thompson, a large metallic barrel full of beer, Oscar Wilde, the world's largest box of CrackerJacks with extra peanuts, Zelda Fitzgerald, Jack Black, Bob and David, a bundle of fresh towels, Lyle Lovett, Slash, David Sedaris, Hef, all of Hef's "friends," a private concert by Destiny's Child (Mmmmm· Destiny's Child), H.R. Puffinstuff, the Mystery Machine, a lifetime supply of motor oil, 50 hardboiled eggs, ice - and, of course, world peace (for the ladies).
I also just want to say that whoever keeps pooping in the first stall of the third floor bathroom of the library without flushing it is in for some trouble. And I'm not talking about trouble with the law. I'm talking pure, unadulterated street justice. Old school. I'm on to you Mr. All White Reeboks. I am on to you!
I think that's it. Wait· wait· no, that's it.
But before I go I'd like to give a quick shout out to my peeps in T-town: my roommates, Super Fluous and Journo-man for putting up with my random fits of rage, my kid sister Jackala for loving me enough to fly down from Washington for my birthday, my like-a-sister Cockerel for making me laugh even when she doesn't mean to and to all my lovers in the overwhelmingly funny comedy groups, Comedy Corner and The Charles Darwin Experience.
Well that was my moment of self-indulgence. I liked it.
I only wish that I could have given this column my own headline. My editor insists on writing the headlines and well· let's just say he's not the best at it. He's pretty corny. He'll probably call this column "Happy Birthday To Me" or something.
But maybe I'm giving him too hard of a time. He's a good guy. Hell, he's a great guy and I'm not about to give up on him. And do you know why? I'll tell you why· it's because of a little thing I like to call hope.