She was an indoor cat, but male cats knew she was in there somehow. They were just all around the house and somehow she was sneaking out because one morning I found a stamp on her paw. I wouldn’t have noticed, but I had just bought this new black light, and she passed right under it. “Hey! What is that?” I said.
And the male cats, they were sneaky the way they tried to get in to see her. One of them disguised himself as a UPS man. He had the truck, the packages, everything. I said, “I’m not falling for that.” The suit was just hanging off of him, his little name tag said “Fluffy.” “Oh, right. I will not sign here. Scoot!” He went off all mad in that big truck, stripping the gears. They don’t know how to drive! Cats.
He came back the next day as a cable repairman. Same outfit, little butt crack hanging out this time. So he fooled me. I let him in. He got me Nickelodeon for free, hooked that up somehow. So now I get to see all the old shows.
Smart cat—I’d like to see his test scores!
ask ellen
or
it might look like honey,
it might taste like honey,
and bless my corns,
it might even be honey
During the early 1980s, before I became one of America’s most beloved comedians (at least that’s what Mom calls me; well, she either calls me that or Señorita Monkeyshines) I earned my keep by writing a column called ASK ELLEN OR DON’T ASK ELLEN, IT’S ENTIRELY UP TO YOU AND ABSOLUTELY NO SKIN OFF MY NOSE EITHER WAY, THOUGH IF YOU EVER EXPECT TO GET AN ANSWER THE LEAST YOU CAN DO IS ASK … ELLEN THAT IS.” Most papers shortened this to ASK ELLEN since the entire title took up all my allotted space. This column, where people would ask me whatever was on their minds, ran in twenty newspapers, nineteen of which were in the Canadian province of Saskatchewan.
I have received many letters asking me to reprint some of my favorite ASK ELLENs. I have received a whole lot more letters begging me not to reprint them. I, however, prefer to dwell on the positive (and get away with not writing something new). So without any further ado (or to be honest with just the cutest little teeny bit of ado) here are some of my favorites. Enjoy!
Dear Ellen,
Hi I am eight years old. The other day I went to my neighbor’s house and asked him if I could borrow his toupee for Show and Tell. He told me, “Go to Heck!” I didn’t know what that meant, but it sounded bad. So I told him to Fuck Himself. What is Heck?
Signed, Curious.
Dear Curious,
Many people think that Heck is just a polite way of saying Hell. Those people are as wrong as wrong can be (and believe me, wrong can be pretty damn wrong). Heck is just to the left of Hell; it’s a suburb of Hell. Heck is a little bit nicer than Hell. For instance, Heck has Dairy Queens and you don’t have to pay as much for car insurance. People in Hell wish that they were in Heck.
But as nice as Heck might be (and in all honesty, it’s not that nice), it is nowhere as good as being in Heaven. Oddly enough, when somebody does something nice, nobody ever says, “Go to Heaven!” I guess that’s because a person would have to die before they went to Heaven. Saying “Go to Heaven” is like saying “Drop dead” but with a positive spin.
Dear Ellen,
How would I explain chewing gum to an alien? I’m just curious. There is no alien holding me hostage and making me answer stupid questions. I do not need HELP! Because, if there was an alien and he thought I was asking for HELP!, he might take me to his spacecraft, fly me to his planet, and put me in a zoo.
Signed, PLEASE HELP ME!!
Dear Please Help Me,
Good question. Chewing gum is an anomaly. I’m not exactly sure what anomaly means, but I’m sure that it could apply to chewing gum. A good rule of thumb is, whenever you don’t know the answer to a question, say that it’s an anomaly and then run away before anyone can ask you any more questions.
That being said, if I were to explain chewing gum to your hypothetical alien, I would say, “Well, Mr. or Ms. Alien, chewing gum is something you put in your mouth, but it’s not really food. I mean, it has a flavor and everything—at least for a few minutes, then even that goes away—but there are no nutrients in it. It’s not even candy. You can swallow candy, but it’s probably best that you don’t swallow gum. I guess humans buy it because they just love chewing; hence the saying, ‘To chew is human, to forgive divine.’ ”
I’m not actually sure if I got that saying 100 percent right. One thing I can tell you about gum, though, is that there is no way of getting it out of your mouth that isn’t disgusting. You either have to reach into your mouth with your fingers (and who knows where they’ve been; I suppose you probably do, unless you’ve fallen asleep and there’s no telling where fingers go when you’re sleeping) and yank out the tasteless, saliva-drenched morsel, or you have to spit it out. No matter how much you practice, you can never make spitting out gum look demure.
At some time in your life, you will step on gum that has been spit out on the street. The way to get it off your shoe is to put an ice cube on it. The gum will harden and you can scrape it off with a spatula (see last week’s column: 25 REASONS TO CARRY A SPATULA WITH YOU AT ALL TIMES).
Dear Ellen,
If you ran the Academy Awards, how would you change things?
Signed, Just felt like sending a letter
Dear Just …
If I ran the Academy Awards (and I’m not saying that I don’t, though I’m pretty sure that I don’t), I would make them a lot livelier. I would assume that everybody who was nominated equally deserved to win. So, when the nominations are announced, I’d have the Oscar go to the first person from each category to arrive at the location where the announcement came from (it would be a secret and change each year). You could win either by being fast or by preventing the other nominees from getting to the destination (by means of kidnapping, putting under anesthesia, etc). I think it would make for exciting television while still maintaining the dignity of the award.
Dear Ellen,
I read this saying the other day: “To know that we know what we know, and that we do not know what we do not know, that is true knowledge,” Henry David Thoreau.
At first I found this very inspirational, then I realized I had no idea what it meant. What gives?
Signed, Am I an idiot or what?
Dear Am I an idiot or what?
You are not an idiot. Ipso facto you’re a what. What’s a what you might ask. But, you didn’t ask. So I won’t tell. Ha, ha.
If you’re worried that you don’t understand the saying, here is a simpler way of stating it. Knowing that you know that you know what you know is knowledge of that which you know. You know?
Hope that’s helpful.
Dear Ellen,
I have these friends … well, they’re not really friends, they’re people I work with. I call them friends because it makes my life seem less lonely than if I call them co-workers. Anyway, these very close friends of mine are always gossiping. Whenever somebody leaves the room, they begin talking about that person behind his or her back (his if it’s a male, hers if it’s a female).
I found this very amusing until I figured out some thing: Hey, when I leave the room, they must be gossiping about me! How can I prevent this from happening?
Signed, Person with lots of friends
Dear Person …
The only way you can prevent people from talking about you when you leave the room is to never leave the room. I would recommend this course of action highly. Don’t go to lunch. Don’t go to the bathroom—wear a catheter if necessary. And always make sure your back is to a wall. Never let anyone sneak up on you. If a phone rings, don’t answer it. Follow these simple rules and your workplace will be fun to work in again.
Dear Ellen,
Whenever I’m walking my dog, people bend down and talk to her, saying things like, “You’re a cute doggie. How old are you?” Is this weird?
Signed, Wondering if it’s weird that people bend down and talk to my dog
> Dear Wondering …
It’s only weird if they’re expecting an answer back from your dog.
It would also be weird if somebody asked you how old your dog was and you looked down at her and said, “Say that you’re two years old,” in the same voice that people talk to babies with. Because no matter how long you pleaded, the dog is never going to talk (neither is the baby, unless you plead for a year or so).
Also, a dog doesn’t care how old she is. Yet some people have birthday parties for their dogs. Some people have surprise birthday parties for their dogs. That’s just a waste, because any party would be a surprise to a dog. She has no idea when her birthday is. A dog doesn’t sit around thinking, “Boy, my birthday is coming up in two weeks. I hope they throw me a party.”
Dear Ellen,
How would I explain to an alien that people bet on horse races and dog races, but they don’t bet on people running or car races?
Please forward your answer to the Municipal 200 on the planet Qogratz, located on the far side of the Milky Way.
Signed, Going on a trip and don’t expect to be back any time soon
Dear Going …
I guess in order to bet on a race there has to be some sort of animal involved. We’d probably bet on the Indy 500 if there was a monkey driving around in a race car. Maybe we’d bet on the 100-yard dash if all the sprinters had to carry a pig while they ran (this might make the winning times a lot slower).
Also, have fun on your trip. I hope that you read this before you leave, because I’m not sure that I can forward this answer; you didn’t leave a zip code! You know how strict they are about that.
Dear Ellen,
Hi. My name is Spoogy. What do you think about that?
Signed, Spoogy
Dear Spoogy,
I think it’s great.
Dear Ellen,
Who stole the cookies from the cookie jar?
Signed, Spoogy
Dear Spoogy,
You stole the cookies from the cookie jar.
Dear Ellen,
Not me.
Signed, Spoogy
Dear Spoogy,
Yes, you.
Dear Ellen,
Couldn’t be.
Signed, Spoogy
Dear Spoogy,
Then who, my dear Spoogy, then who?
You obviously need more help than I can give. I recommend you talk to a counselor or a clergyman or basically anyone else besides me.
crazy
superstitions
that really
work!
If your nose itches, someone wants to kiss you.
If the clasp on your necklace has turned to the front, someone is thinking about you.
If your ears are burning, someone is talking about you. If your ears are itchy, they are dirty.
If your palms are burning, you will be coming into some money soon. If your palms are ringing, you are crazy.
If you hit your funny bone, you will hear a joke within twenty-four hours. If you hit your head, you will cry.
If you find a bunny in your yard, a distant relative will marry a Finnish diplomat in September.
If a spider is in your pants, you will hop around and scream.
If you sleep with a teabag tied around your head, I don’t know why.
the benefits
of being a
celebrity
by
ellen degeneres, big enormous star
Many people ask me, “Ellen, how has fame changed your life? What does it feel like to be a star?” And really, it makes me laugh—I mean I’m no different from anyone else. I guess just because I’m a “celebrity” (or, if you prefer, America’s most beloved comic sweetheart) they assume my life is weird or something. My daily routine is pretty much the same as yours—or even yours.
I wake up around—oh seven, seven o’ five. My house-boy, Quaw, prepares my breakfast, usually a Figurine and a glass of apple juice and maybe half of a banana. Then I’ll play with my pony for a while out by the lake—that brings me up to lunchtime. Quaw will usually surprise me for lunch. Sometimes he’ll be dressed up as an Indian and serve some spicy Indian dish and a Pepsi with a straw. Or, he’ll be a Spanish conquistador or a Chinese emperor and I’ll pretend to be a peasant girl from the village who’s hungry and he invites me into the palace for a cup of soup. Then he asks me if I want to use his washroom to bathe, and I do and then at 3 P.M. I’ll watch Oprah. After that, I’ll write a letter to People magazine or US magazine to compliment or protest some story they wrote about Johnny Depp or Madonna or somebody.
Okay, that brings me to around six o’clock when I go pick up the kids from day care. Not my kids; I drive a van for the neighborhood moms who are busy. Then I’ll be home in time for Wheel of Fortune and a hot meal: maybe lasagna or pasta with a creamy pesto sauce or some vegetarian burritos.
From 8:30–9:30 Quaw will do some exotic dancing in the disco for me and some of my close friends. Then we will talk and visit and finally head on into the den to the big-screen TV to watch either Jerry Springer, CNN, or whatever is on my outdoor security camera. Around midnight my friends mosey out of my house, I take a couple of Excedrin PMs and a glass of Diet Sprite, and call it a day.
Though my typical day is nothing out of the ordinary, I must begrudgingly admit that being a celebrity does carry with it some pretty cool perks. I’d like to list for you now some benefits of being a celebrity.
“Hey,” you might now be interjecting, “I don’t have to read the rest of this—I already am a celebrity.” Well let’s make sure you know what the term celebrity means. A celebrity is a well-known famous person who is easily recognized. If you are a person who has chosen not to have sex, you’re not a celebrity—you’re celibate. Now, I’m sure there are many benefits to being celibate, though the only two that spring to my mind are: one, you probably become better at other things, like, for instance the Jumble or remembering Star Trek trivia; and two, I would imagine you don’t have to change your sheets quite so often. But that’s not what I care to talk about right now.
Here then are some advantages of being a celebrity.
When you’re a celebrity you tend to get special treatment. For instance, I was at the Sizzler yesterday and a woman who worked there came up to me and told me that I could eat all the shrimp I wanted. I heard her say it to a lot of other people, too—which goes to prove one thing: A lot of celebrities eat at the Sizzler.
At the Gap they have a special changing cubicle just for celebrities—it’s just like all the others except it has a star on the door and a bowl of fruit inside. Also, you’re not limited to three items, you can bring in four.
When a celebrity plays Scrabble, the letters Q and Z are worth twenty points and not ten, the celebrity is allowed to see her opponents’ tiles, and whatever a celebrity says is a word is a word (e.g., ZQWXJEM). This may lead to some arguments with your noncelebrity friends, but don’t let that worry you. Another benefit to being a celebrity is that you get to win every argument you’re in.
In every election, whether it’s local, state, or national, a celebrity’s vote is counted twice.
One of the major benefits of being a celebrity is that more people know how to pronounce your name correctly. That may not sound like much, but when you have a name like DeGeneres, believe you me, that counts for plenty. An added plus is that more people know how to pronounce my brother’s name as well.
The National Board of Health says that celebrities are allowed to eat five eggs a week and not four. If you win a People’s Choice Award you’re allowed fifteen eggs a week.
Celebrities get free HBO for a week once or twice a year. I know this happens for me; I’m guessing it happens for other celebrities, too.
Though it might be considered pretentious in others, it is never showy for a celebrity to have an entourage. I personally don’t go anywhere without an entourage of fifteen to thirty-five people complimenting me incessantly and laughing loudly at all of my jokes. T
hough it gets kind of crowded when I go into one of those little booths to have my passport picture taken, I find that it’s worth the inconvenience. Among the members of my entourage (or if you prefer retinue or gang) are: Stumpy, my personal trainer; Lupé, my sheep herder (I keep her around in case I ever decide to purchase some sheep or even just one sheep); Pantry, the woman who brushes my teeth; Todd, my food taster (I’m sorry, Todd was my first food taster—he died after eating a bad batch of Rice Krispies Treats that I must have undercooked. Dutch, my second food taster is gone, too. He didn’t die; I fired him for either looking me in the eyes, using the word “and,” or forgetting to start each sentence with “Madame do you wish that I …” A celebrity can fire anybody for whatever reason they decide and not be thought of as rude—in fact it’s considered to be sort of cute and whimsical.); Bong Bong, my tennis pro; and a group of people who don’t look familiar to me but claim to be my friends.
Celebrities can drive eight thousand miles without changing their oil. Plus, they get a 5 percent discount at participating Jiffy Lubes.
If a celebrity goes to a hospital for a major operation, any plastic surgery the celebrity desires is included for free. Or if you pay to get one lip injected with collagen, you get your second lip injected for free.
The sign NO SHOES NO SHIRT NO SERVICE never applies to celebrities.
At the supermarket, celebrities are allowed to take thirteen items into the ten-items-or-less lane. They can also pay by check if the sign says CASH ONLY. When they buy milk they can add five days to the expiration date.
Celebrities can go on any ride in any amusement park no matter how short they are.
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