by Jack Handey
What would I call this new planet? It had large blue oceans, continental landmasses, and polar ice caps, not unlike Earth. Then it hit me: this wasn’t an exact duplicate of Earth but was very, very similar to an upside-down Earth!
I had to step back from the telescope and steady myself. I looked again, and it still looked like an upside-down Earth, but not as much as it had before. In fact, the more I looked at it, the clearer it became: my God, it wasn’t an upside-down Earth likeness at all but an exact duplicate of Earth! I had been right in the first place!
I was stunned. But then I was struck by a thought that was even more devastating: What if it wasn’t an exact copy of us but instead we were an exact copy of it? The possibilities were fantastic! What were we like, I wondered. Were we warlike? Did we look like humans?
So it was with great disappointment that I realized I had been aiming the telescope at a picture of Earth on the wall. I had been right after all: it was a duplicate of Earth. And yet it wasn’t a planet. I sat back in my chair, stunned.
When I finally recovered, I began to scan the nighttime skies. What would I find? The possibilities were enormous—everything from an exact duplicate of Earth to a planet that, if you blurred your vision, might look quite similar to our own.
Then I saw it: if that wasn’t a hologram of Earth, I don’t know what was. But who could be projecting such a hologram? Were they like us? Did they have the same hopes and dreams and hologram projectors? Just as I was being stunned by all of this, I heard a voice: “Wake up, wake up!”
I woke up, and then it hit me: it had all been a dream. I had fallen asleep at the telescope. Then I went back to sleep for about three hours, and this time I didn’t dream at all. But I woke up again, and I realized that the next-to-last nap had all been a dream. I was stunned.
“Hey, Bob,” I said. “You wouldn’t believe the dream I had two naps ago. I dreamed I discovered a planet that was just like our planet, Earth.”
“Earth?” said Bob. “Our planet isn’t called Earth. It’s called Megatron.”
I was stunned. What in the name of a supreme being exactly like God was going on here?
“No, wait—I was thinking of another planet,” Bob said. “This is Earth.”
Eagerly, I turned the telescope toward the sky. What new marvels were awaiting me up there? I wondered.
List of Things to Do Today
—Wake up.
—Yawn.
—Untangle self from sheets.
—Brush teeth. If cannot find toothbrush, use toothpaste on finger. If cannot find toothpaste, just rinse mouth with water. (Find glass first.)
—Read newspaper, shake head in disgust. Eat cereal, shake head at how good it is.
—Call work. Find out if I’m still fired.
—Take shower. Get clean, but not so clean it’s like you’re bragging.
—Fix hammock. Or just lie in it like it is.
—Put lids back on things from previous night.
—Look for ants. Write down number of ants seen. Compare with yesterday’s ant list. Note upward or downward trend on ant graph.
—Write chapter of novel. Have Doctor Ponzari trick Lance into going into room with moving wall of spikes, again.
—Put on pants.
—Change lightbulb. Get neighbors to help, if necessary.
—Put on fake mustache, walk around block. Take off mustache, walk around again; look for surprised looks on faces.
—Go to drugstore, pick up Viagra. Don’t tell pharmacist what it’s for.
—Buy bag of candy, in case people don’t give me candy when I go trick-or-treating.
—Ask Old Mister Barnslow where he got the name Old Mister Barnslow, and why nobody else calls him that.
—Try not to trip over “Jack’s Rock.” Ignore people gathered there to see if I do.
—Watch for skunks, write down number seen. If zero again, rethink whole idea of skunk graph.
—Walk to pier, go fishing. If I catch a fish, name him Rudy and release him. If no fish, shake fist at water and yell, “Well, you win this round, Rudy!”
—Throw rocks at mounds of garbage floating by. Make sure not kayakers.
—Ask out girl from payroll department at old job. Don’t tell her you’ve been fired.
—Practice funny cowboy dance for at least two hours. Concentrate on spinning movements.
—Call Wild Bob and ask him if he’s gotten over his no-drinking phase yet.
—Have staring contest with cat. Then go buy cat toys, like I do every day.
—Learn karate, from book I bought. Pick fight with big guy next door.
—Refill bird feeder; use bird seed this time.
—Call around, see if I am in anyone’s will.
—Work on design for the Everyday Helmet. Should be thick enough to protect head after tripping, and to repel objects thrown at head, but light enough to be casual.
—Meditate for an hour, lying down, on the couch.
—Fight inner demon. Let inner demon win so he doesn’t feel bad.
—Call up Don, see if I can borrow some more money. Remind Don I have finished making Voodoo Don.
—Do something just for fun. Go fly a kite. Or go to a bar and get really drunk, and complain about the government.
—Ask person on street for the time. Check my watch to see if he’s lying. Nod and say “You passed” if time is the same. Just shake head and walk away if not.
—Practice head shaking.
—Lie in hammock, count shooting stars. See if number continues to have eerie similarity to number of ants. Nobel Prize?
—Get out telescope. Check on college girls, to make sure they’re okay.
—Thank the man upstairs for putting a roof over your head. On second thought, don’t thank him, as he may raise rent.
—Prepare next day’s list of things to do. If too tired, just use this one again.
—Make self big martini. You deserve it!
—Have sweet dreams.
The Greatest Fly Fisherman I Ever Knew
The greatest fly fisherman I ever knew was a big bear of a man. When he stood up straight, he was well over six feet tall. He had powerful, hairy arms and massive, hair-covered legs. His body was also hairy. For some reason, he kept his fingernails and toe-nails long and sharp. He didn’t need a lot of fancy equipment to catch fish. In fact, most of the time he didn’t even use a rod and reel. He would just wade out in the river, reach down, and catch a fish with his bare hands. Sometimes he’d just stick his head underwater and catch one with his teeth!
He didn’t believe in highfalutin, “politically correct” ideas like catch and release. Whatever he caught, he ate—usually right there, while it was still alive. Once I even saw him eat a muskrat. The only thing he liked better than fish was honey. He’d sniff out a beehive and tear it open with those long fingernails of his.
Sometimes the bees would sting him and he’d let out a big roar of pain. I’d usually start laughing and he’d charge over and swat me across the head, opening up my scalp. But it was all in good fun. I think the only other thing I ever saw him eat was garbage.
He didn’t say much. In fact, hardly anything. He’d puff and growl if he didn’t like the story you were telling, and you’d usually have to play dead until he calmed down. But then, after another bowl of whiskey, he’d be ready for the rest of the story.
He seemed to follow his own set of rules. For instance, he never wore any clothes. And trust me, he didn’t like you trying to put clothes on him. Another one of his quirks was, well, he stank. He never bathed and his breath was terrible. Even after you offered him a mint, and he took the whole roll away from you and ate it, his breath was still bad. At least when he would defecate, he’d go in the woods.
Even worse, he had a drug problem. More than once I saw him staggering around, disoriented, with a syringe stuck in his buttock. The authorities would come and carry him away, usually in a net hanging underneath a helicopter. But a few days later h
e’d be right back, raring to fish.
And boy, could he fish! In fact, when other fishermen saw him coming, they’d usually run away, screaming, because they knew they wouldn’t be catching anything while he was around.
After the fishing season ended, he seemed to lose interest in just about everything but sleeping. I think he’d sleep right through the winter if I let him, which I finally learned to do, after repeated skull bites.
People ask what was the most important thing I learned from him about fishing. I guess it would be that you don’t need to be a slave to matching the hatch. A lot of times you’ll get just as many fish by chasing them into shallow water and pouncing on them. Or by stealing them from other fishermen.
The odd thing is, I never knew his name. Some people would yell out “Griz!” when they saw him, but I don’t think that was it. I tried calling him “Lonnie” for a while, but that didn’t seem to stick either. When I think back on it, all I can do is scratch my head, and then wince, from the stitches in my scalp.
But this spring I discovered the most surprising thing of all, when I saw him again after the long off-season. With him were two of the cutest, hairiest little children I had ever seen. And then it finally hit me: the greatest fly fisherman I ever knew wasn’t a man at all, but a woman.
Waffle and Pancake Council
As new president of the Waffle and Pancake Council, I am pleased to announce that the council has returned to its old mission of promoting waffles and pancakes. The crime phase is over. The ringleader, Doctor Ponzari (real name Willard Cadwallader) has been kicked upstairs, along with his chief henchman, Extractus. Others have been demoted or offered early retirement.
I wish to apologize to all those we killed or addicted to drugs. This was certainly not the goal of our founder, Abraham Cadwallader, when he started the Waffle and Pancake Council in 1905.
We knew we had to act when, as recently as two years ago, public opinion surveys showed that the things most associated with the council were “baby-stealing,” “extortion,” and “running over people with a motorboat.” “Waffles” and “pancakes” were not even in the top ten.
Things first started to go bad, in my view, in 1962. That’s when the council announced that it would promote not only waffles and pancakes, but also, where appropriate, bank robbery. At first we targeted banks that did not hold at least one annual pancake breakfast. But soon even that restriction was dropped.
The council was involved in everything from arson and prostitution to giving away waffle irons that we knew would break after just a few uses. The low point probably came in 1973, when the council announced that waffles and pancakes “suck.”
There was a brief period of reform in which the council went back to promoting pancakes, but only ones laced with psychotropic drugs, to turn people into mindless killing machines. The quality of the free waffle irons was much improved, but only because they were used to imprint crime instructions in the waffles.
Things reached a crisis point in 2005 when the Waffle and Pancake Council announced that it had acquired nuclear weapons. The device itself was nothing more than a flat cake of plutonium which, when struck with a uranium spatula by an unknowing stooge, was supposed to explode. The press had a field day. And even though most scientists agreed that the bomb would not have worked, it was enough to give pause to some on the council.
Across the country, local waffle council presidents spoke up, and were assassinated. But the message was starting to get through. The Cadwallader family received thousands of letters from ordinary citizens telling how they had been kidnapped and tortured by the council, or had been promised money for delivering drugs but still had not received payment.
That’s when I was brought in. After the personnel shakeup, the first thing I did was fire the advertising agency that produced the spots which had hypnotized so many people. Next, I ordered that the council bylaws be rewritten so that the definitions of “pancake” and “waffle” were more traditional, and not so vague that “pancake” could mean practically anything.
Doctor Ponzari’s hideaway, Skull Island, is being restored to its original shape and topography, and has been given its old name, Turtle Head Island. Also, the inhabitants of the island have been set free and given electric mixers, without charge.
Safeguards have been set up. All council members must have picture IDs, and if your face is surgically altered to hide your identity, you must get a new picture ID. Eye patches are prohibited, even with a note from a doctor. The council will promote waffles and pancakes only as food items, and not as “high-speed projectiles” or “suffocating devices.” We are also severing ties with our so-called “sister council,” the Muffin & Dynamite Board.
The council chamber has been renovated. The dramatic under lighting, which made everyone look so sinister, has been taken out. The microphone system has been adjusted back to normal, so people’s voices don’t have that ominous bass sound. The chamber is now no-smoking.
I don’t kid myself. It will take years to get things completely back to normal. For instance, in a concession to some senior council members, it was agreed that we would not only promote waffles and pancakes but also a type of maple syrup whose fumes, when released, will knock you out. Doctor Ponzari is still technically chairman of the board, but his deranged memos are now quietly filed away.
In short, we are back to pushing buckwheat, not buckshot. We sing the praises of the Belgian waffle, and not the “Mexican Waffle,” which is a type of torture. I am hopeful that the words of Abraham Cadwallader, carved in wood and now back on the wall where the missile-tracking screen used to be, will once again guide us: “All a boy needs to keep himself amused is a good pancake.”
Some Funny New York Things
The other day I was thinking up some funny New York things, and here are some of the things I came up with:
A guy is in the subway, and suddenly he turns into a monster. I don’t know why he does, and it doesn’t really matter. But here’s the funny part: another guy comes up to him and asks him what time it is, and it doesn’t even bother him that the guy is a monster! Can you believe it?!
Or how about this: there’s a long line of people waiting to pay for their groceries, and some lady comes and tries to cut in line, and the other people just yell at her! I don’t believe it! They don’t even know her, but they yell at her anyway!
But you can’t talk about New York unless you talk about the subway. Oh, wait, I already did that one.
What about how expensive the apartments are. Picture this in your mind: a pirate is trying to rent an apartment, and he has his treasure chest with him, and he asks the landlord how much of his treasure will he have to use to pay for the rent. And the landlord says, “All of it.” All of it?! Now, that’s a high rent!
And what about the cabs, you’re saying. I was just getting to that. But first I have an idea for a situation comedy that I want to put in here. Maybe it could be in New York, I don’t know. Anyway, a funny situation comedy would be one where Dick Butkus is married to Zsa Zsa Gabor, because think of it: Dick Butkus and Zsa Zsa Gabor! They’re not even alike, those two!
First, Dick Butkus comes home. Then he starts yelling, “Zsa Zsa, I’m home!” At first you don’t see Zsa Zsa, and you’re thinking, Oh, no, what has Zsa Zsa gotten herself into now?!
But then she finally comes out, and she’s holding a gun. “I’m going to kill you, Dick Butkus,” she says, “because we’re not alike at all. I’m Zsa Zsa Gabor, and you’re a big football player.”
I don’t know what happens next, but so far it’s pretty good, don’t you think?
Oh, anyway, the thing I was saying about New York cabs is, the drivers are all from foreign countries. I’m not sure why that’s funny, but it seems like it is. Maybe what’s funny is there’s a cab driver who’s real goofy and funny, and he drives so wild that you fall out of the cab onto the street! Hey, come back here!
And even though you’re all scraped up and your bones are
broken, a wino comes up to you and says, “Gimme some money.” Gimme some money?! Your bones are all broken, but he still says gimme some money! He’s a New York wino, all right!
I can’t think of any more funny New York things right now. So EXCUUUUSE ME!
Little Tiny Stories
SLIM PICKINGS
I had never eaten dog before, and I didn’t intend to start now. “Just give me some more of the copilot,” I said, extending my plate.
BLOW DART
The first blow dart hit me in the neck. The second hit me in the leg. After that, I blacked out. When I woke up, I asked Lelani how many blow darts had hit me. She seemed annoyed. “What am I,” she said, “your personal blow dart counter?”
INVISIBLE GUY
If it worked correctly, the paste I was smearing on my body would make me invisible. And even if it didn’t, it would probably moisturize my skin.
LOST WORLD
A world ruled by dinosaurs? It didn’t make any sense! I could understand a world where dinosaurs had some say, but not rule.
DRUGGED
After I finished my second double gin and tonic, I felt woozy, unstable on my feet. Then I realized: my drink had probably been drugged! I had a beer, then two more, to clean out my system, but they made me feel even dizzier. I thought some exercise might counteract the drug, so I got up on the diving board and started dancing. But it was no use. When the drug finally wore off, I was lying in the backyard wearing nothing but a hula skirt.
THE CURSE FULFILLED
As I watched in horror, Lucinda’s face grew old, hideously old, right before my eyes! The curse had come true! Hoping she didn’t notice, I slipped her engagement ring back into my coat pocket.