My Custom Van

by Michael Ian Black

  This is going to be the sickest fucking taco party EVER! We did this party last year and it was radical! How radical? My buddy Greg fucking died! That’s how fucking awesome it was. This year, I’m hoping two fucking fuckers die! How incredible would that be?

  If they have to drag some of you fucking fuckers out of here in body bags, I will be so fucking stoked.

  Fair warning: If you don’t like AC/DC, stuffing your fat face full of tacos, playing fucking taco piñata, swimming in crystal-clear, taco fart–free waters, and waving around fucking Kentucky bluegrass sparklers, then stay home and suck on your grandma’s fucking tit, because this is not the fucking party for you.

  On the other hand, if this sounds as truly twisted to you as it does to me, then without question this is going to be the single most important party of your entire fucking life. But be prepared for the long haul, because we are going to party as long as the tacos and the sparklers hold out, or until the fucking cops shut us down, or until seven-thirty, which is when I told my mom I would clear everybody out.

  By the way, it’s BYOFB, fucker.

  Vampires—Good for the Economy?

  WITH oil prices spiking, interest rates rising, and consumer confidence depressed, it might be time to finally consider how the sudden emergence of a vampire army would affect the American economy. My team of graduate students and I have spent the past several months poring over data and creating complex computer models in order to determine the answer to this vitally important question.

  Our findings were startling. Contrary to conventional wisdom, we now believe that a small-to moderate-sized horde of vampires would actually be good for the economy. Why? Let’s begin by looking at some industries that would immediately benefit from an onslaught of bloodthirsty, rampaging vampires.

  Cape manufacturers. For the last hundred and fifty years or so, the cape industry has been on a slow and steady downward trajectory. We believe that even a few thousand ravenous vampires could reverse this entire sector’s fortunes, as vampires seek to outfit themselves in the latest capery. Impact on nonvampire fashion could also be substantial: look for velvet, silk, and corset sales to rise.

  Garlic farmers. Even though the FDA has never proven the efficacy of garlic in warding off vampires (or even tested it), old wives’ tales die hard. In the event of vampire attack, per household garlic consumption will triple, or even quadruple. Look for entrepreneurs to capitalize: garlic toothpaste, garlic milk, and garlic-polyester blends may all become commonplace.

  Coffin makers. Vampires will need a place to sleep during daylight. Plus, they will be killing people. These two factors will combine to make the coffin industry a profitable one indeed.

  Angry villagers. While technically not an “industry,” angry villagers have traditionally responded aggressively to ravenous legions of the undead. These villagers will need torches, spikes, crosses, and bullhorns. Expect minimal but appreciable gains in these commodity suppliers.

  As in any economic shake-up, some businesses will suffer. Look for the following manufacturers to take the biggest hits:

  Makers of fake plastic and wax vampire teeth. While only a small part of the overall novelty industry, makers of fake plastic and wax vampire teeth will likely suffer the same fate that makers of realistic toy guns experienced during the crack cocaine epidemic of the 1980s and ’90s. Aggressive policing and mistaken identities will put fake vampire teeth manufacturers under tremendous pressure.

  Travel and tourism. While pandemics are generally bad for the tourism industry, the variables related to a vampire attack remain too disparate to predict, and thus, while travel and tourism will certainly suffer, it is an open question as to how much. One potential upside: if the undead can be contained, it is possible that some form of tourism might actually improve in vampire “hot zones,” creating opportunities for so-called “adventure tourism” outfits that will specialize in observing, and even hunting, vampires.

  Some other findings:

  Although vampires do not kill based on socioeconomic status, we expect the poor to be disproportionately affected, since they will be the least able to protect themselves, as well as the most likely to be wandering outside alone at night. We are calling this phenomena “the vampire tax.” Look for Democrats to capitalize.

  There could be an unintended benefit from this “vampire tax.” Because the most likely vampire victims are the same people most likely to use social services, there is a possibility that social welfare programs may actually begin to shrink, as their clientele is slaughtered by marauding bands of soulless wraiths. Savings to the nation could be substantial.

  The stock market, of course, will suffer enormous short-term losses in the immediate weeks and months following the arrival of thousands of undead sucking the life force from the citizenry. Patience, though, will make this temporary correction a glittering opportunity for the shrewd investor.

  In conclusion, we are confident that long-term benefits will offset any short-term losses resultant from a vampire invasion. Within two years, we believe the economy will not only fully recover to pre-vampire levels, but may actually thrive. In short, vampires would be good for the economy.

  Zombies, on the other hand, would be a fucking disaster.

  Grasshopper

  UPON waking this morning, I discovered a grasshopper in my bed. The grasshopper was larger than average, and dressed in a little suit. Also, amazingly, it talked. Needless to say, I was very surprised. Unfortunately, the grasshopper spoke French, which I do not speak. Consequently, I did not think twice before killing it with my shoe.

  In retrospect, I wonder if this was a mistake. My wife speaks fluent French, and it would have been no big deal to go downstairs and ask her to come up and translate. Perhaps the grasshopper had words of great wisdom to share. If not, I still could have killed it with my shoe.

  Perhaps you think I am a cruel man. Maybe you are thinking the grasshopper did nothing to deserve its fate. But let me ask you: What do you do when you find a large insect in bed with you? Kill it, right? Right.

  Perhaps you are thinking, Yes, but this grasshopper spoke French. So what? I admit it is unusual, but just because something speaks French doesn’t mean you shouldn’t kill it. Look at Marie Antoinette. She spoke French. Did that fact prevent the citizenry from chopping off her head? No it did not.

  The only thing I regret about the whole incident was that I wasn’t able to save the grasshopper’s little suit. It seemed very stylish, and afterward I noticed that it was from Club Monaco, which is a good store. I really should have saved that suit. But, as the French say, “c’est la vie.”

  The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Meeting People More Famous Than You

  A scenario: you are gamboling along the promenade when you spot your favorite celebrity enjoying a gelato. You stop in your tracks, jaw agape. You have often felt that you and this celebrity would become fast friends were you ever to meet; now, finally, is your opportunity.

  What to do? How best to approach? Casually? With vigor? Should you “accidentally” spill your Big Gulp on his sweater? Discreetly cup his buttocks? Sweat begins to pool in your unmentionables. You are as frozen as that gelato your favorite celebrity passionately licks, as you yourself would like to be licked. What are you supposed to do? Don’t worry. I am going to help you. As a celebrity myself (very famous), I have often heard other celebrities talk about “giving back to the community,” and that’s great for them. I’m told volunteering for stuff is a terrific way to get laid. While I have no interest in donating time or money to “causes,” I would like to give something back to the little people who have made me so very popular on basic cable.

  It is in that spirit that I offer these simple tips for approaching tremendous stars like myself:

  First of all, relax. Famous people are just like you. Yes, we have more money. Yes, we are invited to parties so fabulous your head would explode were you ever to get past the velvet ropes. But after the flashbulbs have stopped poppi
ng and we roll out of bed around noon, we are just like you—we have people who put our pants on us one leg at a time.

  Approach a celebrity the way you would an old friend. An old friend who doesn’t remember you. Just walk up, extend your hand, and give a hearty, “Ahoy!” Everybody enjoys a familial naval greeting, especially stars. If you have the time to doff naval dress whites, all the better.

  Next, have a plan in mind. Many people are so happy just to be in the presence of the famous that they become completely tongue-tied once they’ve achieved this goal. Not you. You will know what you want to say and you will say it. For example, when approaching John Travolta, you might say, “Ahoy, John. I’m a big fan. Is it true you’re gay?” Then, the two of you can have a long and meaningful discussion about his sexuality. The next thing you know, he’s jetting off with you to meet Kelly and the kids in his private 747, while whispering the secrets to getting past the infamous Xenu’s Wall of Fire level in your Scientology training. All because you had a plan.

  Maybe you want an autograph. Most stars are happy to oblige. A word to the wise, however: have your pen at the ready. Nothing is more awkward than spending long minutes fishing through your purse trying to find something to write with, only to emerge with a melty lipstick. It’s awkward and it makes you look cheap. If you don’t have a pen, remember that God gave you natural ink—your own blood.

  Pay that person a compliment, but don’t kiss their ass. For example, one time I saw Cameron Diaz at a party and told her I thought she was pretty funny for a girl. She was very flattered because she understood that I respected her enough to not insult her intelligence by saying she was as funny as a man. Long story short: I banged her.

  Also, don’t be afraid to offer money. Think about all the enjoyment that person has given you over the years. Would it kill you to approach with a twenty-dollar bill in hand? Some celebs will take checks. Personally, I walk around with one of those slidy doodads for imprinting credit cards. Sure it’s heavy, but I do it. Why? Because I care about the fans.

  Finally, know how to make a graceful exit. You’ve met that big star, gotten an autograph. Maybe the two of you made out a little. Great. Now it’s time to go. Yes, there will be tears. Some hurtful words might be exchanged, but that’s just because love can be so painful. Causing a scene will only make it harder for both of you to let go. A quick hug, and then it’s back to your separate lives. You, to your humdrum workaday world, the star back to his gated community, opulent lifestyle, and prescription narcotics.

  It doesn’t seem fair, does it? Of course not. And yet, that’s just the natural order of things. Some people are famous and some are not. It doesn’t mean one person is better than the other.

  I’m just kidding. That’s exactly what it means.

  My Custom Van

  THE minivan killed America. Consider the country pre-minivan: muscular, fiercely independent, sex-loving. Consider the country now: atrophied, communal, prudish.

  Why did vans need to shrink? They were perfect the way they were. Big, bad, endlessly customizable. What was once the ultimate pussymobile suddenly downshifted into a bland, proletarian motor vehicle. Why? The A-Team didn’t ride in a minivan. SWAT teams don’t pour out the back of minivans. The only teams that emerge from minivans are kids’ soccer teams, and kids’ soccer teams don’t kick ass. They kick soccer balls.

  We were Americans once. Meat eating, beer swilling, unfiltered cigarette–smoking Americans who drove vans and kicked ass. What are we now? Pantywaists and sissies. We used to be Americans, damn it. Now we’re global citizens.

  Fuck that. I’m getting a van.

  Moreover, my van is going to be awesome. After all, there’s no point in getting a van if it isn’t going to be awesome. To express this thought mathematically: Custom Van = Awesome.

  What makes a custom van awesome? It starts with the paint job. A van’s paint job should say something about its owner. It should attempt to embody the owner’s highest aspirations for himself. It should be a visual representation of his ethos, his creed. But it should also feature a naked chick on a horse. For example, an awesome custom van might depict an airbrushed naked chick riding a horse right into a dick. That would be pretty cool.

  But my sensibility is somewhat more refined, and my van’s paint job will reflect that. Which is why I’ve decided my van is going to feature a wizard flying atop the winged horse Pegasus, staff in hand, casting wicked laser lightning bolts below. Where’s the naked chick? I’ll give you a second to figure it out.

  Did you get it? The wizard IS the naked chick! How radical is that? Answer: a million. It’s a million radical. While the picture itself will be incredible, it is also loaded with symbolism. The wizard represents ambition and magic. The laser lightning represents power. The Pegasus represents a cool horse, and the fact that the wizard is actually a naked chick represents both my verdant sexuality and my verdant awesomeness.

  (And for you English majors who are going to say, “He’s using the word ‘verdant’ wrong,” guess what? I know what verdant means and I’m using it exactly right, which speaks further to my verdant awesomeness.)

  I should probably add that the van’s base color is going to be deep blue, to further enhance the illusion that the wizard chick is flying through the upper reaches of the atmosphere, which is not only outer spacey but also implies coldness, which of course necessitates that her nipples be hard.

  That’s the exterior.

  The challenge, then, is to make the inside as awesome as the outside. When decorating an interior, I like to go with a “classic contemporary” motif. This means honoring the past without a slavish devotion to the stale conventions of yester-year.

  How’s this for starters? Instead of decorating with the traditional shag rug, I am going to go with flokati, which looks exactly like shag, but is a lot more expensive. That way, when I’ve got a lady back there and she asks, “Is that shag?” I can answer, “No, baby, that’s flokati.” When she asks what the difference is, I won’t directly answer. Instead I’ll rub my thumb and middle finger together in the international sign of “very pricey.”

  Historically, wood paneling is chosen for a custom van’s interior walls. Not so in my case. I’m going to go with bamboo. Just as tough as wood, but environmentally friendly. Sustainable, just like the huge boner I’m going to get when my lady friend and I run our hands along its smooth surface. “Bamboo,” I’m going to whisper in her ear.

  Do you hear that? That’s the small, soft sound of her panties hitting flokati.

  Then there are the small details that will raise the temperature from merely awesome to Simply Awesome. The steering wheel, for example. How to wrap it? Rich wood veneer, leather, aluminum? No. Because there’s not going to be a steering wheel. Instead, I’m going to control the van with a vintage Atari 2600 joystick. How radical is that? Again, a million radical. Of course, the fire button on the joystick will not actually fire anything, but it will make laser sound effects, a subtle reminder of the laser lightning featured so prominently outside.

  Here’s the coup de grâce: fudge cabinet. That’s right. I’m going to build a small pullout drawer that will house nothing but fudge. Imagine me and my lady sprawled out in the back, wrapped in nothing but a cashmere spread. We are postcoital and feeling peckish. I casually lean over and pull open a mahogany drawer. Inside are individually labeled chunks of handmade fudge, accumulated from the various mom-and-pop fudge shops I passed along my journeys. Check and mate.

  Then there’s the license plate. Obviously I’m going to need to go custom with the plates. I have a few ideas.

  Wkd Wzrd (Wicked Wizard)

  Awsm Wzrd (Awesome Wizard)

  WzdfOzm (Wizard of Oz-some)

  PsseMbl (Pussymobile)

  Lzr Sdz (Laser Sounds)

  Flokati (Flokati)

  Dlbrt (Dilbert—because I’m a fan)

  What’s the total price tag on a custom van this awesome? I figure I can do the whole thing (including fudg
e) for around $100,000. Can I afford to spend that kind of money on a purely discretionary purchase like a custom van? Let me answer that question with a question: Can I afford not to? Now let me answer the question I posed to answer the first question: No.

  No, I cannot afford not to. Yeah, that’s a triple negative. Which is not only fantastically syntactic (“syntastic”), it is yet another example of my verdant awesomeness.

  I am the wizard. The wizard is I.

  A Meditation on Salami

  TANGIER than bologna, rounder than ham, exoticker than turkey, salami has never gotten its proper due. Which is sad, considering that salami IS THE GREATEST LUNCH MEAT IN THE WORLD! If I seem a little overenthusiastic, it is perhaps because salami has so many detractors. Why? For starters, the name: salami. It sounds stupid, like a reject from the Seven Dwarfs. Sleepy, Grumpy, Salami.

  Or like an acronym for something else. SaLAMI: Sandwich Lovers All Make It. That’s a terrible example of what the acronym for salami could be, but I think you get my point.

  Also, salami seems to awaken the xenophobia in people. It’s kind of Italian, but kind of New Yorky (Jewish), and it seems like exactly the kind of food that terrorists might enjoy. One could easily imagine a group of bearded cave dwellers gnawing on hunks of salami while plotting the demise of the Great Satan. Of course, one could also easily imagine that same group juggling bowling balls on the moon, for the simple reason that imagining stuff is easy.

  (A quick note: I’m not ascribing any superhuman juggling abilities to terrorists. Far from it. If anything, juggling bowling balls on the moon would be considerably easier than here on Earth, due to the moon’s lower gravity. Besides, terrorists probably hate juggling, because juggling is one of our freedoms.)