R. STONE: Really? Did he need surgery?
DR. BARNES: No. The bullet missed every vital organ.
DR. STONE: No kidding.
DR. BARNES: And, on top of that, he managed to pull out the bullet on his own using just a pair of tweezers. Then he stitched the wound up himself. He did a good job of it, too.
DR. STONE: What did he use?
DR. BARNES: A knife, some thread, and some whiskey.
DR. STONE: No infection?
DR. BARNES: Nope.
DR. STONE: [Shakes head] Wow.
[Dr. Barnes looks through his paperwork for anything else he missed.]
DR. BARNES: We also admitted several other similar-looking Caucasian guys, whom we referred to Neurology to be treated for amnesia.
DR. STONE: Hm. That seems to be going around.
DR. BARNES: Also, about an hour ago we had a man came in with an injured ankle.
DR. STONE: A sprain?
DR. BARNES: Not even. It was just a bit swollen from being twisted. Apparently he jumped out of an airplane without a parachute, and twisted his ankle when he landed on a very forgiving awning before rolling to the ground.
DR. STONE: [Nods] I saw something similar last week.
DR. BARNES: We also treated a guy for exhaustion, who was “tired from having sex” with beautiful women—most of them spies.
DR. STONE: Any female patients?
DR. BARNES: Nope. But one woman came in to see one of the guys with amnesia. The attending nurse said that the moment they saw each other he suddenly remembered her and was instantly cured.
DR. STONE: Hm.
DR. BARNES: Yeah. Neurology took a look at both of them before they left because apparently they were moving in slow motion when she first entered his room.
DR. STONE: Huh… Did you treat anyone else? Any Asian males by chance?
DR. BARNES: Are you kidding? I haven’t seen one in ages. The last one who came in was with that black guy.
DR. STONE: I remember. They were arguing a lot, but in a funny way…
DR. BARNES: Right.
DR. STONE: Anything for the Burn Unit today?
DR. BARNES: Not really. One guy came in who had been in a really big explosion. Apparently, he was right in the middle of the explosion when it happened.
DR. STONE: Yikes. That sounds bad.
DR. BARNES: You’d think. But he was just a little sweaty and had some dirt on him. He looked kind of cool actually.
[The doors fly open. Two EMTs enter pushing a gurney that has a badly mangled man lying on it.]
DR. STONE: Whoa! Is he breathing?
EMT: Barely.
DR. BARNES: Nurse! Get me 30 cc’s of Dexazine and call Trauma.
DR. STONE: [to EMT] What happened?
EMT 2: Witnesses said he was in some sort of fight on the very top of a high building. It was quite a struggle. At some point, while he was laughing maniacally, he was thrown off the building and landed on a sharp fence before tumbling into the street and getting run over by a truck.
DR. STONE: Let me take a look.
[Dr. Stone takes a closer look at the man.]
DR. STONE: This man is at the wrong hospital.
EMT 2: … Uh—
EMT: What?
DR. STONE: He is some sort of villain or henchman.
EMT: Oh jeez. Sorry about that, Doctor.
[The EMT wheels the man away.]
EMT 2: Doctor, we’ve also got a second patient. He’s right over there.
DR. BARNES: What’s his story?
EMT 2: He’s the guy who pushed the other guy off the building.
DR. STONE: What’s his condition?
EMT 2: He’s fine, except for a minor cut on his shoulder.
DR. STONE: Okay. Bring him over.
[Dr. Stone turns to Dr. Barnes.]
DR. STONE: I’m getting tired of working here.
DR. BARNES: Tell me about it.
Rain
Rain, rain, go away
Come again another day
But don’t wait so long that plants decay
Or water parks get ruined.
Maybe just figure out a schedule
In which you could come back,
Like, perhaps, when I’m sleeping
Or at certain, specific times that might end up being helpful.
Say, for example,
During an enemy’s picnic.
Thanks.
Rain, rain, go away…
Or, now that I think about it, maybe you could come the next time the guy in the apartment next door has his idiot friends over to watch baseball.
In that case, rain, please find where the game is
And then rain on it until the game gets canceled and his friends leave.
And maybe then you could also show up and rain on each of them, while they’re on their way home. Yeah. That would be great.
Rain, rain, go away
Come again another day
Oh, I just thought of another great time for you to come:
Whenever one of those pricks with a loud motorcycle drives down my street or drives past me on the highway and weaves through traffic.
That would be a really perfect example of “another day” for you to “come again,” and to do so with as much force as possible, and maybe with extra slipperiness, too (if that’s an option).
Okay. Thanks.
Rain, rain, go…
You know what, while we’re at it,
When you do come again, rain,
Can you just come straight down, rather than on an angle, because it’s very annoying when
I’m trying to walk somewhere and you come down on an angle. It makes my umbrella less effective and if I’m wearing jeans they get wet and clingy, which really sucks.
All right. Thanks.
Rain, rain…
But, just to be clear,
You can disregard that last request about coming straight down if we’re talking about the situation with the guys on motorcycles or the other people I mentioned earlier.
So, the angle thing just pertains to when I’m walking. For them, though, I think coming down on an angle would work well.
Okay? Great.
Thanks, rain.
Rain, rai—
Wait, I was just thinking: What happens if I’m walking somewhere while, at the same time, one of the other situations I mentioned is also happening?
Okay, rain,… I think it would be best to just feel it out based on whatever I’m wearing combined with how annoying the other people are being at the time.
I don’t mind getting a little wet if it means that the aforementioned targets will be soaked, especially if I’m not wearing denim or some other fabric that takes a long time to dry.
Great. Thanks.
Rain, rain, go away
Come again another day
And when you do, please see above.
Okay, thanks, rain.
That’s it.
Honors & Awards (for Which I Would Qualify)
National Champion at being the ex-boyfriend who is most consistently awkward around his ex-girlfriend and/or anyone who is even a casual acquaintance of hers.
A scholarship awarded to Greek Americans who have done very little for the Greek American community but definitely look Greek American, no matter what outfit they are wearing.
Top 40 people under 40 who live in my apartment building.
The prize awarded to the individual who displays eminently distinguished achievement in continuing to eat Milk Duds even though the ones he’s already eaten are stll firmly lodged in his teeth.
Medal given to the person who is, by far, the least annoying member of his extended family.
Lifetime Achievement Award for Wanting a Lifetime Achievement Award, Despite Having Done Nothing to Earn It.
Best Supporting Actor for an outstanding performance when being shown a friend’s tattoo and acting impressed by it despite actually thinking that it looks terrible.
A fully endowed fellowship that goes to the person who has made an outstanding scholarly contribution to the study of what can be worn at least one more time before putting it into the hamper.
Award given for excellence in judging strangers who are innocently walking by a yogurt shop in an outdoor mall.
Gold medalist in sucking at each and every sport that could make someone popular in high school.
Congressional Medal of Snacking.
A grant for doing research into just what kind of asshole the guy who cut me off in traffic is.
Best Screenplay That Is Still Just in Someone’s Head.
Honorary doctorate for appearing to know more about cool bands than one actually does.
Semifinalist in national competition for overthinking one’s own haircut.
Award for Perfect Attendance on Earth for Whole Life So Far.
Best Actor while eating food served to him at his girlfriend’s parents’ house.
Trophy for special achievement in leaving just enough liquid in the juice container so that the next person who uses it will have to throw it out.
Nobel Prize for Chemistry with Very Cute Women Who Turn Out to Already Have Boyfriends.
Better Than Sex
Dear Friends,
I’m sorry for the mass e-mail, but I felt it was important that I get in touch with all of you to clear something up. Over the years I have used the term “better than sex” on numerous occasions. In fact, I think I’ve probably used that term even more often than the average person, probably due to my particular circumstances. Anyway, it seems that on many, if not all, of those occasions, I was a bit off-base and didn’t quite understand what I was saying. Let me see if I can explain.
After my recent breakup with Cheryl I was lucky enough to have sex with several other women. And after those very enlightening experiences, I have come to understand just how misguided I was all of those times when I described things as “better than sex.”
First of all, if you didn’t know, Chryl was the first woman I ever had sex with. I was happy to have sex with her, and it was pretty good, as far as I could tell. Of course, I didn’t really have anything to compare it to. And I believe that was where my difficulties with the expression may have started.
When I said to more than a few of you that living in New Jersey was “better than sex” I was not lying. Technically it was, given what I knew at the time. But, after having sex with Tamara and then Roxanne, I can see how that statement was grossly inaccurate, and even ridiculous. I can now confidently say that living in New Jersey is not better than sex. It’s not even in the same ballpark as sex.
Mark, you might remember the time when we were camping and I described the rice cake I was eating as “better than sex.” You looked puzzled and said I was crazy. I told you that you were crazy. I was insistent. Well, Mark, I now see your point, and I stand corrected, very corrected. I can now say that rice cake (or anything I have ever eaten in my life, for that matter) was not “better than sex” thanks to my experience with Venus. By the way, this also applies to when I described both the bird’s nest we found on our hike and our canoe as “better than sex.” Again, my experiences with Cheryl kind of set the bar a bit low, and I didn’t know what I was saying.
When I started to think about it, I realized that there were many things that I inaccurately described as “better than sex” over the years. Some that I can remember include:
Air-conditioning
Finding a good parking spot
New carpeting
Sitting down
An adjustable baseball hat
Not being stuck in traffic
Tim’s one-man show
Using my new scanner
Wheat Thins
Killing a fly that had been bothering me
Not having sex
While each of these was technically “better than sex” at the time, they were really only “better than sex with Cheryl.”
Some of you may recall my tendency to use the term “worse than sex.” Again, please understand that I did not know any better. Given my experience, it seemed like a good barometer to use. So, for example, when I said, during that 12-day stretch of rain we had last year, “this weather is worse than sex,” I believed I was making a good point.
Similarly, when I described getting the flu, going to the dentist, and having to refinish my basement as all “worse than sex,” I was being truthful.
Of course, now I realize that pretty much everything is worse than sex. I feel silly about even making that sort of comparison. Thankfully, after hving sex with so many wonderful, adventurous, creative, and flexible women (who were not Cheryl), I can see how very, very wrong I was in the past.
I hope that clears things up and that all of you can understand where I was coming from.
And, Cheryl, if you’re reading this, I hope you’re doing well. I’m doing great, though not better than sex.
Short Stories
Years ago, when he was 91, Stan thought he was going to die. Now, approaching 114, he knew it was going to happen. Jet skiing was a bad idea, he thought, as his arms flew off his body.
The detective sniffed the surface of the chair. Just then, a woman walked into the study.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
The detective looked at her and replied, “The killer is lactose intolerant.”
Neil aimed and fired. As the duck exploded into tiny bits, the men stared in stunned silence. Then Walt said, “That’s the third decoy you’ve shot today, you idiot.”
When the stripper jumped out of the giant cake, everyone got excited. But then when she jumped into the regular-size cake, everyone got confused.
The shepherd fell asleep again. But who could blame him? He had been counting sheep all day.
Mary Brown was a shy woman, who spoke little and rarely made eye contact with anyone. She lived in a small yellow house at the end of Maple Street, which was where she made her jam and kept her sex slaves.
“New Mexico,” declared Bill. “We’re headed there and we’re never coming back.”
“Oh,” Isabelle replied, her eyes glassy with tears. Then she said, “Bill?”
“Yes?” said Bill, gazing off toward the horizon.
“You’re already in New Mexico.”
Bill turned and looked at her. “Oh,” he replied.
He smiled sadly, then said, “Christ. I don’t know how to read maps at all.”
The developers erected the house on old Indian burial grounds. And soon the angry spirits of the long-departed warriors stirred and rose up and unleashed their fury on the building. This was not really a problem, though, because the house was a haunted house, in an amusement park. If anything, it helped business. When the Indian spirits discovered this they were very irritated and really bummed out.
“It’s not enough to care,” explained Barbara. “You have to stop shooting people with that BB gun of yours.” Somehow Zeke knew she was right.
Time had not been kind to Gregory. And why should she have been? He had teased her from the first moment they met. “ ‘Time’? What kind of a name is that for a woman?” he had said.
The lovers embraced each other. Neither said a word. It was hard to speak with so much popcorn in their mouths.
Everybody knew that you should never provoke a rattlesnake, much less tie it into a bow. But that didn’t stop Judd. What did stop him was the rattlesnake.
Frustrating Uses of Etc.
“I’m looking forward to our date. Why don’t you pick me up at my parents’ house. Here’s how you get there: Take Route 95 North, after you go through the second toll, get into the left lane, etc.”
“Honey, I don’t quite know how to tell you this, but while you were away I got a little drunk with my ex, Bob, and his friend, Tyrone. Then we started to play-wrestle, etc.”
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