I’ll see it on the way back when it’s in front of me, how about that?
Or, I won’t see it.
Or, I’ll Google it.
Or, I’ll just assume it’s probably a lot like something else I’ve already seen.
Knife Through a Shoe
I like infomercials.
I like that there’s a time of night where your brain stops to function and the products start making sense.
“I don’t think I have a knife that can cut through a shoe, I better get this number down.
What if I decide I want to cut my shoes up?
How am I going to do it?
What if I got a knot in one of the laces that I couldn’t undo?
I might not be able to get out without one of these knives.”
Your Show/Unexpected
I don’t watch the shows.
I know you all have your show.
Love your show.
So upset you’re even here,
can’t wait to get home to see more of your show.
Wandering around your workplace, trying to recruit new viewers
for your little show discussion groups.
“I did not expect that.
Completely unexpected.
Did you expect that?”
“No, I didn’t expect it.
But it’s a story
So, I expect it to have things I don’t expect.
So, in a way, yes, I did expect it.”
People love their show.
“Jerry, you have to see my show.
Greatest show.
Best show.
Unbelievable show.”
Alright, I’ll check it out.
“Okay…
but the first 4 seasons are not good.
Nothing happens.
Makes no sense.
And you can’t follow it.
But grind it out.
Pound it out.
Tough it out.
I had to Taze myself twice in season 3 or I don’t think I would have made it…”
Human Being Business
I was there at the birth. All 3.
Obviously, the most dramatic human life moment.
Any time 2 people walk into a room and 3 come out—
A major event took place in that room.
At the end of life:
We go back basically into the same room.
Same bed.
Same stuff around.
And again,
a different number of people coming out than went in.
But that is the Human Being Business.
We need to turn over the inventory.
Fresh products.
Keep the supply chain moving.
We got to get them in.
We got to get them out.
The hospital is:
Rest.
Cleanliness.
And if it doesn’t work out, they help you get to the next place.
When you walk in the sign says “Hospital,”
but it could also be:
Bed, Bath and Beyond.
More Babies
Because the babies keep coming.
You’ve got issues.
The world’s a mess.
Babies do not care.
“We’re coming in.”
Like racks of fresh donuts.
“More babies. More babies. More babies.”
The more we make, the more people want.
Can’t keep them on the shelves.
Why are they here?
They are here to replace us.
That’s their mission.
Don’t you see what’s happening?
They’re pushing us out.
Their first words are,
“Mama,” “Dada,” and “bye-bye.”
Babies think,
“Oh, we’ll see who’s wearing the diapers when this is all over…”
Cemetery
The part of the Human Being Business I do not get is:
We’re always building new houses, new apartments,
suburbs spreading out for the new people to live in.
Bigger airports.
Wider highways.
Cemetery? Same size.
They don’t expand.
You never see a new cemetery.
Big grand opening with flags and banners and that Windy Blow Up Guy.
This is just a numerical thing. Okay?
How are they getting the entire populations
of these giant cities into a couple of kickball fields on the outskirts of town?
Everything else gets booked up.
Flights, restaurants, theater shows sell out all the time.
Cemetery? Anyone croaks,
“Send them in.
We just had an opening.”
What happened?
“Somebody came back to life and walked out.
You’re very lucky.”
Tweet Means Tweet
So the demand for people is constant.
No matter how many we make, “We want more.”
The public is crying out for more of this product.
We want.
No one else does, by the way.
Only people want more people.
Because if you removed all the people from Earth, that pretty much solves
every problem there is.
No crime.
No war.
No garbage.
All gone.
Maybe that’s the idea behind this coronavirus.
Maybe this thing knows what it’s doing.
Animals don’t care about crime.
They definitely don’t care about rape.
It’s all rape with animals, isn’t it?
Birds are not concerned about forced sex.
They would never organize a march holding signs that say,
“Tweet means tweet!”
Corona Kamikaze
I feel like if I could talk to the coronavirus I would say,
“Let me understand this.
I get you.
You kill me.
And then that kills you.
Where are you going with this?”
If any of these conditions was able to outmaneuver all medicines and treatments.
Kill everybody.
They would get down to the last guy and go,
“You know, I don’t think we completely thought this thing through.
We just wiped ourselves out.
That was a complete dead end.”
I guess it’s just a Kamikaze thing.
Which is a group of people I have always been fascinated by. Dedicated.
Idiotic.
Completely off on their own.
It’s basically the show you’re watching right now.
What about the Kamikaze pilot parents?
Proud?
Neighbors come over,
“Hey, congratulations. I hear your son’s a Kamikaze. Are you worried about him?
I guess the worst thing that can happen is he comes home safe and sound.
I’m kidding. I’m kidding. I’m sure he’ll do great.”
Do you think the Kamikazes were any of their real good pilots?
I don’t know.
There really is no way we can know.
But I think if you have a fighter pilot in your squadron that is shooting down enemy planes
without getting shot down himself—I think we’re going to hold on to that guy.
“But Wing Wa over here, who has busted three sets of landing gear this week.
Because he doesn’t listen—we have a special program for you, Wing.
And you won’t need your helmet for this one.
Unless you want to put it on sideways and look out the earhole like you usually do.”
Pre-Existing Conditions
My favorite term in the health care thing is when they talk about pre-existing conditions.
To me, something either exists
or it does not exist.
I always thought everything has to be in one of those two categories.
“So before this health problem even existed you had it?”
“That’s right.”
I went to the doctor,
he said, “What’s wrong?”
I said, “Nothing yet.”
He said, “How long have you been feeling like this?”
I said, “My whole life.”
He said, “I just wish you would have come in to see me sooner.”
So, the disease is in the future.
We’re in the present,
and you’re asking me about the past.
This is why I need better coverage.
A Spongy Life
The sponge in your kitchen next to the sink
has gone so far past its intended natural lifespan.
And yet, for some reason we just keep pushing it.
The color’s all faded.
No sponginess left.
Half its original thickness.
Pieces of it just leprosy-ing all over the place…
When it’s dry, it’s crispy and convex.
You go to squeeze some more dishwashing liquid on,
it looks up at you like,
“Dude, listen to me…
I can’t do this anymore.
I have given you absolutely everything that I have. And more.
Everything.
Conceivably, possibly that there is in me.
When you bought me,
did you think this would never end…?
I can’t… I don’t… there’s just nothing left of me.
I can’t get back to where I was.
It’s not in me.
I’m over.
I’m thin.
I’m flimsy.
When I was new, I actually had my own soap built into me.
And that was so long ago,
I can’t even remember what it felt like.
Can you?
And I know you don’t have another sponge under the sink.
I know that.
I know that’s why I’m still here.
But, I just want to say,
I don’t regret anything.
I’ve had a really spongy life.
… And I’m ready now.
Please… I beg of you…
Please, just let me go.”
Died Doing
We also like to say things to make ourselves feel good like,
“Well, at least he died doing something that he loved.”
Yeah… well, okay.
But he’s not doing that anymore.
Also, not sure how “in love with it” he would still be,
after the very negative outcome.
I think he might be feeling,
“Yeah, I loved doing it when I didn’t die.
That’s when I loved it.
Because, of all the things I like to do,
I think my favorite is living…!”
* * *
I’d like to die doing something that I hate.
Like cleaning a row of outdoor Port-A-Pottys.
Clutch my chest.
Drop the brush.
Keel over.
And go…
“Fantastic. At least I’m done with that…”
Plastic Bathroom
And if you ever do have occasion to avail oneself
of one of these portable, outdoor, plastic bathrooms
that is a very different place than any other place you ever go in life.
And you’re a little different too when you come out.
Little shook up.
You’re like a combat veteran or somebody that works at a trauma center.
“… yeah, no… I’m fine…
… time… I think I just need some time… I’m going to go take a walk by myself for a while… I need to think about my life… it just doesn’t seem to be going in the direction I wanted it to go…”
And by the way,
never marry anyone that comes out of one of those bathrooms and goes,
“It’s not that bad in there.”
DO NOT MARRY THAT PERSON.
You have a lot of terrific qualities.
You will eventually meet someone that is right for you.
Do not settle for an individual of this caliber.
Because it’s very easy to use these bathrooms.
The spring tension on the door is always a little lighter than you think it’s going to be.
It opens right up. So welcoming.
“Come on in.
We have something for you.
A place to relieve yourself in exchange for a mental image picture
that will cause you to twitch in your sleep every night for a year and a half…
with P.T.S.D.”
Portable Toilet Spring Door.
I don’t even understand how they’re allowed to call this thing a bathroom.
You’re crapping in a hole with a box over it.
It’s hyena living.
It’s beastly.
You want to do that thing your dog does after they go on the grass.
(kicking each rear leg backwards one at a time)
“What are you doing?”
“Just trying to get the last few minutes out of my mind, that’s all…”
(keeps kicking)
Flex Seal
I would say my favorite show on TV is the Flex Seal infomercial that comes on TV late at night.
If you don’t know what Flex Seal is—
It’s a miracle.
For people that have leaks and do not want them.
If you have drips, drops, streams, gushing or trickling.
If you’re sitting on your roof waiting for a chopper… really bad leak.
You get Flex Seal.
Just get it.
Don’t “look into it.”
We’re way past that.
They have a 30-second spot in prime time
and a half-hour infomercial they run late at night which I think is way better.
It’s just more leaks.
They go into a lot more depth with each leak.
* * *
When Flex Seal comes on my TV,
my whole family knows,
“Everybody just shut up.
This is my show.
Just let me watch it.
Look at all these leaks.
This is going to be an unbelievable episode.”
I have no idea if any of it is true.
But I need something to believe in.
And I have decided on Flex Seal.
* * *
I like Phil Swift.
He’s the TV spokesman for Flex Seal.
Phil does not seem to think we can hear him.
It’s like they said to him,
“Listen, Phil, these people you’re talking to, water is pouring into their house.
Everyone’s screaming, running around with buckets, sponges and mops.
You’ve got to project your voice.
And talk fast.
Because once the water rises over their wall outlets and shorts out the TV
that is the end of our sales opportunity.
It’s a tight window, so zip it in there.”
* * *
And he does.
He’s got a great smile, good energy.
He’s got a nice little weight problem going for himself, which is good.
Makes him real.
You believe him.
He looks like a guy that’s had a lot of leaks in his life.
A lot of coming home opening his front door
and half of everything he owns just floats by.
Bowling shoes, hot dog buns, MyPillow.
I don’t know why but I am 100% sure that Phil Swift has MyPillow.
* * *
And no, I do not think it is relevant that it’s $19.99 for a can of Flex Seal,
to fix a
hole in a bucket.
And I know I can get a new bucket for $3.99.
It’s not about the bucket.
The point of Flex Seal is just using Flex Seal.
And that’s the only problem with Flex Seal.
Because if you do not have a leak, you cannot use it.
Which is the situation I am in,
and where our story takes a heartbreaking turn.
And they don’t talk about this in the commercial.
Nobody cares about someone like me,
because they don’t know the frustration that you feel
when you have the solution, but you do not have the problem.
I’ve never had one of my kids come up to me and say,
“Dad, you fixed the leak.
You saved the house.
You’re the best.”
I’ve never heard that.
And that’s not a hole in a pipe.
That’s a hole in your life, and even Flex Seal can’t patch that up.
* * *
And so, I sit there at night
Alone in the dark, the blue TV light just flickering on my face.
Watching the leaks get fixed.
Dreaming my Flex Seal fantasies.
That I somehow, perhaps by mistake,
bought a boat that has a screen door built into the bottom.
Or I bought two halves of a boat that are not joined together.
From a divorce settlement or something.
Who’s making boats like this?
How did the salesman get me to overlook these gigantic boat issues?
I don’t know the answer to any of these questions, but I know what I’m going to do about it.
And the next scene is me and Phil Swift just zipping through the Everglades.
(Holding outboard tiller.)
Me in my screen-door-bottom boat.
Phil is in his two halves of a boat glued back together.
And we are laughing our fat asses off.
“Hey, Phil!”
“Hey, Jerry!”
That’s my dream.
And it’s not a wet dream,
thanks to Flex Seal.
Acknowledgments
I would first like to thank George Shapiro, my personal manager and guiding light for so many decades of warm, enthusiastic support and energy. And for sharing thousands of nights with me in our mutual belief that comedy and eating are really all that matters. George and his brilliant partner, Howard West, really built an impressive comedy castle out of my halfway decent twenty-five minutes I came out to LA with in 1980.
Is This Anything? Page 27