UNCLE MONTEZUMA
Uncle Montezuma wasn’t too bright; he thought Irving Berlin was the Jewish section of Germany. As a young man he wanted to be a gynecologist, but claimed he couldn’t find an opening. He was proud of the fact that while serving a prison term for sodomizing a prairie dog, he learned to drink beer through his nose. For years, he managed a gay car wash but lost all his money investing in a roadside sausage museum. His last job was managing a Playboy club in Auschwitz. When he retired, he wasn’t given a gold watch, but his former boss would call him once a week and tell him what time it was. Finally, after marrying a woman who had repeatedly blown Strom Thurmond during a military funeral, he died from eating a batch of carelessly made hollandaise sauce.
EUPHEMISMS: Hotel Lingo
There is no part of American life that hasn’t been soiled by the new, softer, artificial language. It’s everywhere. When you travel, you notice it in the hotel business, or as they prefer to think of themselves now, the hospitality industry. And by the way, hotels are one more place where you will run into job-title inflation.
There was a time in a hotel when you checked in with the desk clerk; now he’s the front-desk agent. But when he answers the phone he becomes guest services. I guess it’s only fair, everyone else in the hotel has been upgraded. The bellhop has somehow become a luggage assistant, and he claims to work in luggage services. The maids have been upgraded several times over the years: cleaning woman, maid, housekeeper; now they’re room attendants.
And on the subject of rooms, depending on where you’re staying, room service is likely to be called in-room dining. Or private dining. One brochure I read called it your private dining experience. Pretentiousness. Never underestimate the role pretension plays when it comes to creating euphemistic language. Here’s another example of it:
At one hotel where I stayed, the restaurant was temporarily located on the lower level. I was told the reason was that they were undergoing restaurant enhancement. Okay? The concierge actually uttered that phrase. Not remodeling—restaurant enhancement. And he said it as if it were something people say all the time.
By the way, I shouldn’t have to remind you that that lower level he referred to was once called the basement. I guess I don’t really mind the phrase lower level; at least it’s descriptive, although it is the comparative form and not an absolute. Lower than what? It also bothers me when they tell me the gym is located on level three. Level three is just plain old pretentiousness.
And I wish hotels would make up their minds on what to call the gym. It’s been everything: gym, fitness center, exercise room, health club. Spa. God! Spa-a-a-ah! Used to be you had to go to Europe to find a spa. Now any place that has a sink and more than three towels is a fucking spa!
One more thing about hotels. A lot of them have replaced the DO NOT DISTURB signs with signs that say PRIVACY, PLEASE. It seems like a small thing, but there’s a difference that’s worth noting:
Do not disturb is assertive; it’s strong. Do not disturb! It means GO AWAY! But privacy, please is weak; it sounds as if you’re pleading with people: “Privacy . . . please?” Softness. To my mind, it’s one more example of the feminization of language that has taken place in this country. And, more important, it represents a retreat from reality.
PUT IT OUT, FUCKO!
Here’s another example of the same problem:
THANK YOU FOR NOT SMOKING. Now, speaking strictly for myself, I find nothing wrong with the phrase no smoking. It’s simple, it’s direct, it’s firm. No smoking! Any questions? Fine.
But thank you for not smoking. First of all, it’s weak. And second, for God’s sake, why are you thanking them? It’s as if you think they’re doing you a favor by not giving you emphysema.
Personally, if I were trying to discourage people from smoking, my sign would be a little different. In fact, I might even go too far in the opposite direction. My sign would say something like, “Smoke if you wish. But if you do, be prepared for the following series of events: First, we will confiscate your cigarette and extinguish it somewhere on the surface of your skin. We will then run your nicotine-stained fingers through a paper shredder and throw them into the street, where wild dogs will swallow and then regurgitate them into the sewers, so that infected rats can further soil them before they’re flushed out to sea with the rest of the city’s filth. After such time, we will systematically seek out your friends and loved ones and destroy their lives.”
Wouldn’t you like to see a sign like that? I’ll bet a lot of smokers would think twice about lighting up near a sign like that. You have to be direct. Thank you for not smoking is simply embarrassing.
Personally, I think all of this upgraded, feel-good language is a further sign of America’s increasing uncertainty about itself.
GIMME A BURGER
Have you noticed that many restaurants can’t simply say “cheeseburger” on the menu. They have to get cute and over-descriptive? Well, why not go along with them? Why not use the menu’s own language when you place your order? But if you do, you must do it right; no fair reading directly from the menu. Instead, you must memorize the exact description given of the item you’ve chosen, and then look the waiter directly in the eye as you say:
“I’ll have the succulent, fresh-ground, government-inspected, choice, all-beef, eight-ounce, charbroiled sirloin patty, served on your own award-winning, lightly toasted sesame-seed bun, and topped with a generous slice of Wisconsin’s finest golden cheddar cheese, made from pure, grade A, premium milk recently extracted from a big, fat, smelly cow infected with flesh-eating bacteria.” See if that doesn’t get you good service.
But before the waiter leaves your table, ask for a glass of water. Say, “Would you mind bringing me a clear, cylindrical, machine-crafted, moderate-capacity, drinking vessel filled with nature’s own colorless, odorless, extra-wet, liquid water?” Pisses them off.
ROLL ’EM
I’m never critical or judgmental about whether or not a movie is any good. The way I look at it, if several hundred people got together every day for a year or so—a number of them willing to put on heavy makeup, wear clothes that weren’t their own and pretend to be people other than themselves—and their whole purpose for doing all this was to entertain me, then I’m not gonna start worrying about whether or not they did a good job. The effort alone was enough to make me happy.
NOTHING CHANGES
Dear Political Activists,
All your chanting, marching, voting, picketing, boycotting and letter-writing will not change a thing; you will never right the wrongs of this world. The only thing your activity will accomplish is to make some of you feel better. Such activity makes powerless people feel useful, and provides them the illusion that they’re making a difference. But it doesn’t work. Nothing changes. The powerful keep the power. That’s why they’re called the powerful.
This is similar to people’s belief that love can overcome everything, that it has some special power. It doesn’t. Except one on one. One on one, love is incredibly powerful. It is a beautiful thing. But if love had any power to change the world, it would have prevailed by now. Love can’t change the world. It’s nice. It’s pleasant. It’s better than hate. But it has no special power over things. It just feels good. Love yourself, find another person to love and feel good.
Love, George
BITS AND PIECES
• Remember, drinking and driving don’t mix. Safety experts suggest you do your drinking first and get it out of the way. Then go driving.
• When your toilet won’t stop running, and you put your hand in the tank to fix the chain, don’t you wonder, briefly, whether or not the water in the tank has already been in the toilet bowl?
• If you can’t say something nice about a person, go ahead.
• I’m not taking sides here, but in listening to a discussion about the Middle East on C-SPAN the other night, I realized I would rather tongue-kiss Yasir Arafat than ass-fuck Ariel Sharon. It’s got nothing
to do with politics, it’s just a feeling I had.
• “Is Bruno a sadist?” “Beats me.”
• They say that rather than cursing the darkness, one should light a candle. They don’t mention anything about cursing a lack of candles.
• Beethoven was a pupil of Haydn, and Schubert lived near the two of them. Supposedly they all frequented the same little cafés. I wonder if they ever got together and gang-banged a lady piano player. Just a thought.
• If you’re a criminal, the best way to be is “at large.”
• We have classifications called “legally blind” and “legally dead.” What about “legally tired”? I think a guy should be able to declare himself legally tired, so he could get out of doing things he didn’t want to do.
• If I ever have a stroke, I hope it will be early in the morning, so I don’t take my vitamins that day for no reason.
• The American Eye Association reminds you that sties are caused by watching young girls get undressed.
• You know what kind of guy you never see anymore? A fop.
• I typed the word Google into Google. Guess what came up? Everything.
TRUE FACT: The Professional Bowlers Association sanctions a tournament called the Odor Eaters Open. It’s probably because of all those rented shoes.
• I wonder how many eventual homicides have resulted from wedding ceremonies performed at the Happy Wedding-Bell Chapel in Las Vegas.
• I’ll never forget Spondo. Spondo wasn’t able to sit around and talk about the good times, because in the sixty years he lived he’d had only one good time. And he would never tell anyone what it was, because he was afraid that if he talked about it, it wouldn’t seem as good anymore.
• I notice Connie Chung has faded away again.
• Personal ad: “Hello, I am Henri. I am fifty-five years old, and I am looking for someone who will leave me alone. Please respond. And then leave me alone.”
• Christians must be sick in the head. Only someone who hates himself could possibly think of the pleasures of masturbation as self-abuse.
• I believe the next trend in cosmetic surgery will be a procedure that leaves the person with a cryptic smile. Occasionally, of course, the surgeon’s hand will slip, and the patient will wind up with a baffled look.
• Are you sick of crime? Well, some communities are doing something about it; they’re putting people to death for no reason. Why not start a similar program in your town? Hang a few people in a public area and watch those crime statistics improve. You’ll be amazed.
• Ignore these four words.
• There are some people who are so nondescript that if their identities were stolen it would be an improvement.
TRUE FACT: It’s against the law to mutilate grave remains. So apparently, it’s not illegal to be in possession of grave remains, the trouble starts when you mutilate them. Nice distinction.
• I have an impersonal trainer. We meet at the gym, we don’t talk, he works out alone and I go home.
• Here’s how money can buy happiness: Money gives you options, options give you breathing room, breathing room gives you control and control can offer you a measure of happiness. Maybe.
TRUE FACT: You can now buy vibrating panties. They’re a kind of thong with a built-in vibrator. Just what we needed.
• If no one knows when a person is going to die, how can we say he died prematurely?
• I can’t help it, I just have this gut feeling that the Mafia is controlled by organized crime. I don’t know what it is, but something fishy is going on.
• I wonder if a classical music composer ever intentionally composed a piano piece that was physically impossible to play and then stuck it away in a trunk to be found years after his death, knowing it would forever drive perfectionist musicians crazy.
• Why don’t these guys named Allen, Allan, Allyn and Alan get together and decide how the fuck to spell their name? I’m tired of guessing. The same with Sean, Shaun and Shawn. Stop with all these cute attempts to be different. If you wanna be different, call yourself Margaret Mary.
• All patriarchal societies are either preparing for war, at war, or recovering from war.
• Somebody said to me, “I can’t believe Jerry Garcia is dead.” And I thought, Doesn’t this guy know? Everybody’s dead. It’s all a matter of degree.
• I can’t wait for the sun to explode; it’s gonna be great. Just three billion years. I’m so fuckin’ impatient.
• If you have a legal problem, guess how you determine whether or not you need a lawyer. You see a lawyer. Isn’t that weird?
• Middlebrow bumper sticker in California: if you can dream it, you can do it. Yeah, sure. Unless the thing you’re dreaming is impossible. Then, chances are, you can’t do it. But try to enjoy life anyway.
• “I collect rocks.” “How many you got?” “One. I just started.”
• Advice to kids: Get high on sports, not drugs. But if there are no sports in your neighborhood, go ahead and get high on drugs.
• If you had yourself cloned, who, exactly, would be your parents? Can you raise yourself? I guess so. And it might be fun. Just think, by the age of six you’d be driving yourself to school.
• Regarding creationists: Aren’t these the same people who gave us alchemy and astrology, and who told us the earth, besides being flat, was at the center of the universe? Why don’t we just kill these fuckin’ people?
• Idle thought: Do you suppose a perverted priest has ever tried to stick a crucifix up a kid’s ass? Just wondering.
• The wrong two Beatles died first.
• I wonder if anyone who was working in or near the World Trade Center that day took advantage of all the confusion to simply disappear. What a great way to get away from your family.
• Indoor electric illumination is often referred to as “artificial light.” How can it be artificial? The way I look at it is this: If I can read by it, see myself in the mirror and recognize my friends, it’s probably as real as I’m ever going to need it to be.
• You know what you never see anymore? A guy with a pencil behind his ear.
TRUE FACT: One of those clubs that feature nude dancers recently got in trouble with the government because it didn’t have wheelchair ramps.
I JUST DON’T SEE IT
Here’s something I don’t care about in a movie or a TV show: a blind girl. “This is the story of a blind girl who...” CLICK! You know what? As far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing they can do with a blind girl . . . well, maybe a couple of things, but there’s nothing they can tell me about a blind girl that’s going to interest me. I don’t care that she’s blind; I don’t care if she learns how to communicate with geese; I don’t care if she can identify three hundred different flowers from their smell. I really don’t care. Does she fuck? Now you’re talkin’!
FART RETRIEVAL LEAGUE
“Hello. I’m Fred Ponsaloney III, president of the Fart Retrieval League. We all know that millions of farts are released by Americans each day, but did you know not all of them are free to rejoin the atmosphere? It’s true. A small but significant number of farts each day are hopelessly trapped in seat cushions, suspended forever in cotton padding or foam rubber. We’re asking you to help rescue these forgotten farts by sending your donations to the Fart Retrieval League. We’ll send you a booklet entitled The Facts on Farts. And next time you’re in a hotel lobby, do your part: Jump up and down on a seat cushion for several minutes and liberate a few trapped farts.”
AS THE TURD WHIRLS
The Noodleman Twins Television Network proudly presents America’s longest-running daytime drama, As The Turd Whirls, a day-to-day chronicle of ordinary people desperately in need of professional intervention and perhaps even cranial surgery. Take a break in your day as once again we flush the toilet of life, and as blue water fills the bowl, we watch, fascinated. . . . As the Turd Whirls.
(Romantic violin music is heard as a well-built man approache
s a beautiful woman in an upscale bar)
VINNY: Hi. You wanna play a game?
NADIA: What kind of game?
VINNY: It’s called Count the Man’s Balls.
NADIA: Die in a fire, bourgeois scum!
VINNY: We really should get together, I’m an interesting guy. I can take a live cock-a-roach and put it up my nose and pretend it’s not there. I also like to do unusual things to small woodland mammals, but not until I pull out all their claws. Otherwise, look out! Lots of screaming from Vinny. I’ll bet you never dated a guy like me. Believe me, I’m worth a try.
When Will Jesus Bring the Pork Chops? Page 10