The look on my face says that I’m not worried about anything. Waterskiing is easier than I thought it would be. Why didn’t I try this earlier? I’m posing for the camera. I’m waving with one hand. This is one of the coolest moments of my life, no question about that. I’m looking right into the lens of the camera, which is why I don’t see the oncoming wake, where I probably should be looking.
This turns out to be the last moment just before I hit that wake.
Now that I look at myself I remember exactly what happened. A moment later my body spins completely out of control. I am struggling, desperately trying to maintain my balance. The boat swerves. Is Ed turning the boat? He is. Are you kidding me? Then everything starts to go into slow motion. I am wiping out. There is no saving it now. I am falling badly. The wipeout feels almost like it is punishing me for trying to avoid it. I go down. Face-first. My mouth is open—in fact, it couldn’t be more open. I feel several hundred gallons of lake water go into my mouth. Water goes into my eyes, nose, ears, butt… every possible body hole. I continue to get dragged by the boat, because for some reason, I am still holding on to the line. Finally I let go. I am still moving forward, though. My water-logged body comes to a stop. I float there. I am disoriented. Angry. I knew this was a bad idea. Why did they make me do this? Then I discover that I am missing my bathing suit. Everyone is laughing. But I am not laughing. I am the only one not laughing.
Now I am trying to somehow still look cool. My sunglasses are gone. They left a nice cut in my forehead though. I’m searching for my bathing suit. When did it come off? Where the hell is it?! There it is. I grab it. I’m putting it back on in the lake. I’m getting out of the water.
Now I notice that my bathing suit is on backwards. Great. My so-called friends are laughing even more at me. These people suck. I am trying to be a good sport about this, but I am complaining. And I am blaming Ed. I yell at him and tell him he did this on purpose. That son of a bitch. I know it.
Ed just couldn’t stand to see me actually getting the attention for once. I tell him this. Everyone stops laughing. Then I stop accusing him because I can see people are now looking at me like I’m the jerk.
I go shower off. And that’swhere I end up finding some things on my legs. Leeches!? Are you kidding me? Leeches! Nobody said anything about leeches in the lake. I am cursing as I pull leeches off my legs. That’s when I see a snake. I run and scream. Julie is there, sitting with Ed. I hear her say to him, “He’s just mad that he made an ass of himself and he’s taking it out on you. What a creep. Don’t worry about it, Ed.” Ed and Julie hook up that night. I end up with a rash and some sort of sinus infection.
I’m going to rip up this picture now.
Epigrams, Fragments & Light V
erse
The bird,
The bee,
The running child,
are all the same
to the sliding glass door.
Seek and ye shall find
or ye shall become frustrated
and start to bang things
and hurt thy hand
on the door of the kitchen cabinet.
Leave no stone unturned
In your quest to
disrupt a rock garden
Ask three economists the same question
And you will get four different answers
that are equally long and boring to listen to.
Man:
Never more like a snowstorm
than when he sneezes
whilst eating rice.
A typo can charge the meaning of anything.
In Physics:
Rate × Time = Distance
In Bed:
Rate × Time = Prostitute
The Pursuit of Happiness:
It sure seems to like a good chase, doesn’t it?
Words have power,
you dumb piece of shit.
Let no man’s deathbed be a futon.
Worst of Both Worlds:
One example, the TV movie.
Every cloud has a silver lining.
Right. Okay.
And, tell me again how a silver lining helps me?
The best way to make somebody feel important is to try to assassinate them.
Spilling
floor cleaner
Only makes the
floor cleaner.
A scented candle left unwatched
soon becomes a larger scented candle,
whose scent is “entire house.”
The lord works in mysterious ways.
Indeed.
And a shorter way to say that is:
God is a sneak.
The man who wins an argument with his barber, has won only the verbal portion of the argument.
What a cruel, ironic, little joke
Nature has played on man
By making the dumbest people the loudest ones
I’m talking to you, sports fan.
This is not my best epigram.
A Wish Granted:
If only I could be sold more things, more of the time by larger and larger corporations.
Relationships,
like eyebrows,
are better when there is
a space between them.
Nothing wise
Was ever printed
Upon an apron
THE MEDIA: more content = more discontent.
A Question of Degree:
Is the man with
the beard of bees really any more
impressive than the one with
the mustache of bees?
On Fleeting Youth:
One moment,
an escape artist,
The next,
a man who needs help getting out of a chair.
I wish
This poem
Were longer.
There,
That’s better.
If these walls could talk,
what secrets they would share,
and how muffled those secrets would be
by all the wallpaper there.
What is a fairy tale, but a lie with a nice ending.
“It is better to kill someone with kindness.”
Indeed, it is.
May I suggest showering them with gifts, very heavy gifts.
The Liar and the Truth Teller:
I came to a fork in the road
where there was a liar and a truth teller
Luckily, I had a gun
So both quickly became truth tellers.
I was a tree hugger
once
during a storm.
Never be less interesting than your refrigerator magnets.
Our Times, a Brief History:
As televisions became flatter,
People became rounder.
One Phone Call
—Hello.
—Hello? Jeff. Oh, thank God! It’s me, Allen.
—Hey.
—Listen, man, I need your help. I’m in prison and—
—Can you speak up? I can barely hear you.
—(louder) It’s Allen. I’m in prison. There’s been some sort of mix-up and I’ve been arrested. They think I committed a murder! But I haven’t done anything. It’s a long story. Listen, I really need your help. I’ve only got this one phone call, and they’re about to transfer me to another prison—
—Okay.
—I don’t have my ID or anything on me. I left it all on my desk by mistake. I need you to go to my place and grab my ID and my pills. Please don’t forget the pills—that’s the medicine I need to take every—
—I think there’s something wrong with the connection. I still can’t really hear you.
—It’s probably the payphone I’m using in the prison. Did you hear any of what I was saying? I’m in major trouble and I don’t have much time. They’re going to extradite me to Cuba, because they think I’m—
—I’m just messing with you. I’m actually not here. This is Jeff’s voicemail.
Gotcha! (laughs) I’m in Europe until late August. Leave me a message after the beep. Laters. (beep) This user’s mailbox is full and unable to accept any messages at this time.
More Drawings
Snowglobe with frustrated man trying to shovel driveway.
Dog-with-rash Lampshade.
Superhero flying through flock (just to be a dick).
Dead Gravestone Dealer.
Fish Fart.
FOUR
My Powers
Before you even think of coming near me, I should warn you that I have powers, and not just ordinary powers. I have super powers. I may appear to be average, but I can assure you I am anything but.
For starters, I can see the future, both during and after it’s happened.
I can also hold my breath for hours at a time in my hands. And speaking of my hands… they are lethal weapons. They are so lethal that I often keep them tied to my sides lest I accidentally kill myself with them.
I can leap over the edge of tall buildings in a single bound, and I sometimes imagine doing it when I feel kind of depressed. But even though I know I can, I don’t, five times so far.
One of my greatest strengths is strength. I can crush an ice cream cone on my forehead like it’s a soda can, and then I can patiently wait for the ice cream to drip down into the lickable area of my face, and never even get a napkin.
In a fire, I am extra flammable, which I am likely to use to my advantage.
I can speed-read, especially anything printed on a T-shirt with large breasts beneath it.
I am a keen observer of human behavior, often from a perch or from behind some bushes. And when it comes to emotions, I can switch from crying to laughing in a matter of weeks.
I can shoot lasers out of my fingers, though I prefer not to because it requires a lot of set-up time.
And I can keep a secret better than… don’t you wish you knew.
When it’s very windy, I don’t complain. And when there is also rain mixed with the wind, I complain very little. But, if I’m in a bad mood, you’ll know it, because I can sulk so powerfully that it makes everyone who is anywhere near me kind of annoyed.
I am a fierce competitor. During board games, I destroy my enemies completely or argue with them until they don’t want to play anymore.
If you come at me in the wild, be warned. You will be outmatched. I have been known to communicate with animals who have twice my intelligence and then really agitate them.
I can make any doctor go crazy, just by asking him a series of basically identical questions, each with slightly different wording, about the thing on my back.
Dentists fear me, because while they are focusing on my teeth, I am focusing on their crotch.
I can kill someone’s cat with a yo-yo, and probably on purpose too.
I am versatile. I can work with or without a sidekick. I can even work against a sidekick. Villains fear me because I am unpredictable and broccoli. See what I mean?
My weaknesses are few. I am sometimes too strong, like when I’m hugging a loud child or shaking the hand of an ex-girlfriend’s new boyfriend. I have been told that I don’t know my own strength by more than one arts and crafts teacher. My only real weakness is lava—and that’s only before it cools. Also, I have some severe food allergies.
I am helpful and I am honest. If I see an old lady trying to cross a street, I will tell her she is old. I very rarely steal anything. And if I do, it’s only because I know I could probably find a use for it eventually.
I can run fast. How fast? Why don’t you ask again, and raise your voice this time, because now I’m way over here.
My vision is impeccable. I can see through the clothes of anyone who is wearing something white who I’ve just sprayed with water.
I have a strong sense of justice, especially when someone tries to cut in front of me in line or break up with me.
When it comes to hearing, mine is legendary. I can become self-conscious about what two people are saying about me from the other side of a party. And when I can’t hear, I read their lips or go over and ask them what they were saying.
I am immune to poison, unless I ingest it; but even then, I put up a pretty impressive fight.
Also, my swimming has been described as “very disturbing.”
/div> And if we’re eating potato chips, good luck keeping up with me.
Finally, I am a bleeder. So, if you still think you want to fight me, why don’t you consider the mess you’re going to make.
That’s what I thought.
Human Cannonball Occupational Hazards
Getting into the cannon after somebody has left a cannonball in there and then getting shot point-blank with the cannonball and falling out of the front of the cannon.
Getting shot into the cannon (due to backfire).
Loss of hearing and/or entire body.
Inability to enjoy movies about pirates or old sea battles.
Getting shot out of the cannon and then colliding, in mid air, with another human cannonball who was shot out of a nearby cannon.
Recurring, being-shot-out-of-a-cannon night terrors.
After climbing into cannon, helmet gets stuck in the shaft of cannon. The cannon fires and shoots entire body into helmet.
The cannon won’t fire; while looking inside to see what is wrong with it, the cannon fires and shoots head off of body.
Ennui.
Eulogy
Rod. What can you say about Rod? He was one of a kind. He was so full of life. And even though he didn’t have a very long life, he totally squeezed everything he could out of the time he had. I mean, just think about how many times he stayed out all night clubbing.
Rod was one of my best friends. He was one of my “boys.” He was my “homie,” my “dawg,” my “nigga”… not literally, of course, because he was white, like me. We used to call each other that just as a joke. And, man, it was funny every time.
Rod might have been white but he had a heart of gold, both in the sense of being a good guy and in the sense that he had that big gold heart that he used to wear with his other bling whenever he went out. Man, Rod had some great gold chains. If you saw him out at a club or fighting somebody in a parking lot, you’d think he was a millionaire or a rapper, or both. That was Rod. That was how he rolled. You know, Rod was the first guy I ever heard use the term “roll” that way. He’d say “Let’s roll” or “Time to roll, bitches” or just “Roll!” What a badass.
And, damn, he sure was good with words. Rod was so quick. It always amazed me how he could come up with shit off the top of his head, like nicknames. He’d meet someone and within like 20 seconds he’d have a whole nickname for them. “Okay, blue shirt,” he’d say or “Slow down, big ears.” I remember the night he banged that girl on the stairs at Temptations. He had just met her and he was already calling her “DollfaceAnd you know what? She looked exactly like a doll when it came to her face. He was perceptive like that.
On top of being smart, Rod also had great style. He always looked like a player, especially when he rolled. All I need to say is “wifebeater and fedora” and anyone who knew Rod knows exactly what I’m talking about.
Even though he was cool, Rod never forgot where he came from. Probably because he never actually left where he came from. Sure, Rod used to talk about moving out of his parents’ house someday, but he also talked about just chillin’ there to see if he could eventually inherit it or something. Rod was a patient guy.
When I was asked to give Rod’s eulogy, so many memories started to go through my head: working out at the gym with Rod, drinking, tanning, playing video games, the time we double-teamed that drunk chick in the hotel Jacuzzi. Rod was a true friend. If you needed advice or a condom, he would give it to you, no questions asked. And he always had great sunglasses. Of course, he would never let you touch them, but you couldn’t blame him. They were really expensive and they looked awesome on him.
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