My Custom Van

by Michael Ian Black

  Yes sir, I have a grandfather about your age. My grandmother died several years ago, so I definitely can see how lonely an older man can get. I tell you what my grandpa does: he plays slot machines with some of the ladies from his church group. Now that may not be as exciting as shooting down a sixty-five-degree incline at eighty miles an hour like on the Torpedo, but he seems to like it, and he’s made some very good friends that way. So yes, I can understand how a man of your advanced age might crave female companionship. But I have to say, in my opinion, Six Flags is probably not the most appropriate venue for you to find that companionship.

  Yes, I understand that you have a season pass, and yes, I understand that you want to get your money’s worth, but I hope you can understand my position. We simply can’t have our older guests making unwanted advances at our younger guests. Now I’ve spoken to Nicole and she is willing to forgo pressing charges if you are willing to forgo that season pass of yours. Otherwise, I’m afraid I’m going to have to get law enforcement involved, and that wouldn’t be good for anybody, would it?

  Yes, I’m sure you did serve your country, Mr. Greene, and we’re all very grateful for that, but I’m afraid that’s neither here nor there at the moment. No sir, I have no idea what they did to you in Korea. But again, I have to say, that’s not relevant to this discussion.

  It’s really your choice about how you would like to proceed from this point forward.

  No, I’m afraid you won’t be able to return to the park this season. In fact, I’m afraid we’re going to have to ask you never to return again.

  Thank you, Mr. Greene. I think that’s the best decision for everybody. Thank you, sir. I like it, too. Yes, my wife got it for me for Christmas last year. It is silk, yes. Please stop touching my tie, Mr. Greene. No, I don’t want to see your junk.

  I’m going to ask Dave to escort you out now.

  Good Skiing Form

  SKIING is a lot of fun and great exercise, but to really enjoy the sport to its fullest, skiers must always use good form. What is good skiing form? Some people think it means bending at the knees and keeping the elbows tucked. Bent knees and tucked elbows are important, yes, but good skiing form takes a lot more than that. It’s an attitude, a hearty can-do spirit that’s as much mental as it is physical. What follows are a few tips I’ve come up with to ensure that your time on the mountain is as safe and fun as possible.

  Stay hydrated! People often think that if it’s not hot outside you can’t get dehydrated. Guess again, stupid. Cramping can turn a bunny hill into a double-black-diamond date with death. If you find yourself getting thirsty, don’t wait until you happen upon a mountain stream. By then it will be too late. Instead stop, drop, and scoop. Stop where you are, drop to the ground, and scoop as much snow into your mouth as you can. Sure, you might get some funny looks, but you’ll be the one laughing when they are dead on the mountain while you’re kicking back with a cup of fruit salad at the lodge.

  Keep your eyes open! It may be tempting to try to emulate those heroic blind skiers you see on mountains all over the world, but remember that those skiers aren’t blind by choice. Their blindness is due either to a bizarre genetic abnormality or maybe some kind of weird mutation like in X-Men. These people don’t ski blind because they want to “look cool” or “look blind.” They do it because they have no other choice. For them it’s either ski blind or don’t ski at all. If you still feel the need to limit your sight, a challenging alternative to total blindness is to wrap a colorful bandana around your eyes before heading down the hill. Not only will you look like you’re in Aerosmith but it also has the added benefit of warming the eyes on a chilly day.

  Don’t ski horny! This tip will no doubt elicit a couple of chuckles. That’s okay, go ahead and get it out of your system. Then read up, because this tip could save your life. Skiing horny is not only distracting but it can also upset your center of gravity. Why? Because boners weigh more than limp dicks. Gentlemen, make sure you are fully flaccid before attempting to ski, ESPECIALLY ON MOGULS! If you find yourself with a raging hard-on at the ski lodge, ask a bathroom attendant to help. Generally these foreigners will happily “finish you off” for a modest tip. Plus, they usually clean up any resulting mess. If you can get past the awkwardness of the situation, it will be the best (and safest) three dollars you ever spend.

  Ski tipsy, not drunk! Time and again, I see people getting paralyzed and killed on the slopes. Sometimes they get paralyzed, then killed. Sometimes killed, then paralyzed. The reason? Too much booze. Everybody knows that a couple of relaxing drinks before skiing is to be commended. Drink too much, though, and you will ski off a cliff, EVEN IF THERE ARE NO CLIFFS AROUND! The trick is knowing your limit. One simple test—go to the top of the mountain and ski down in a totally straight line. If you find yourself swerving all over the place, chances are you’ve had too much. If that’s the case, stop, drop, and scoop. Get some of that invigorating cold snow into your system as soon as possible; too much alcohol can instantly transform a pleasant day on the slopes into a blunt-force traumatic brain injury. Skiing high is fine.

  The ski patrol is not there for your amusement! Yes, they have zippy snowmobiles and sleds, but that doesn’t mean they want to spend their day speeding up and down the mountain responding to fake emergencies just because you find it amusing to lie on the snow screaming, “I think I broke my neck!!!” And never tell the ski patrol there’s been an outbreak of Ebola on the trails. They won’t find it funny, and neither will anybody else. Ebola is never a laughing matter—not even on vacation. The ski patrol are trained professionals with washboard abs and totally ripped bods. As an aside, some of them like to do it in the hot tub.

  Funny blow-up sumo costumes are a no-no on the slopes! Yes, they are a great way to meet people. Yes, they are hilarious. But even the safest blow-up sumo costumes were not designed for skiing. That technology is still years away from becoming a reality. Blow-up sumo costumes impede mobility and worse, they reinforce negative stereotypes about the Japanese. Japanese people have enough problems without seeing their culture mocked by insensitive winter sportsmen. Some great alternatives to funny blow-up sumo costumes include outrageous Dr. Seuss–style hats, furry clip-on animal tails (also good to offset any additional “boner weight”), Jimmy Carter masks, or my favorite, funny blow-up Chinese laborer costumes.

  Some other little tips: swim flippers aren’t a good substitute for skis, don’t ask for horseradish at the lodge (they won’t have it and it pegs you as an amateur), and try to use the term “après-ski” as much as possible.

  Skiing is a great wintertime sport that can be enjoyed by people of both sexes, all ages, and most races. Take it from me, if you follow my advice on good skiing form, you’re guaranteed to have a great time on the slopes. If you don’t, you might still have a great time. But you also might end up a vegetable.

  An Open Letter to the Hairstylist Who Somehow Convinced Me to Get a Perm When I Was in Sixth Grade

  Dear Geoffrey of Geoffrey’s Hair Creations,

  You son of a bitch. I didn’t have the nerve to call you that when I was twelve, but now I am a man so let me say it loud and clear: you, sir, are a son of a bitch.

  As if I wasn’t unpopular enough. As if I wasn’t already routinely subjected to ridicule and torment due to my smallish stature, unconventional attire (top hat and tails), and, as one teacher put it, “counterproductive” personality. As if all of that wasn’t enough, you had to go and add a synthetic Jewfro to my list of problems?

  You son of a bitch.

  I will give you credit, Geoffrey: you were sneaky. You never used the actual word “perm,” suspecting perhaps that I would balk. Instead, you suggested that I might improve my appearance somewhat if I added some “wave” to my preternaturally straight hair. “Wave” conjures images of St. Tropez; I envisioned myself sunning on some beach, sipping a (nonalcoholic) daiquiri and regaling a bevy of topless socialites with my tales of triumph over Ms. Pac-Man.

  And so
I acquiesced—never suspecting that an hour later I would stand up from your beauty chair looking like the long-lost love child of Mr. Spock and Little Orphan Annie.

  Instantly, I knew I had made a colossal error in judgment, which was confirmed by my mother, who told me I looked “adorable.” Adorable is not how one wants to look at twelve, when the rest of his male classmates are sprouting armpit hair and the beginnings of mustaches. Besides, I did not look adorable. I looked like I had a sponge on my head. Nor did I want to look adorable. I wanted to look feral.

  As bad as my new hairdo looked, it smelled worse. Like burned plastic rubbed in pool water. The smell burned my eyes and no amount of shampoo would wash it away.

  Perhaps the fault is not entirely yours. Perhaps some of the blame rests with my mother, who, upon entering your salon, asked, “What do you suggest?” Perhaps she shouldn’t have heeded your advice, even though my mother is a lesbian with about as much fashion sense as the handyman character Al from Home Improvement.

  But I cannot entirely absolve myself from blame either. After all, I was twelve years old, old enough to know that the Strawberry Shortcake look was not going to go over well at my school.

  Looking back on it now, it seems like everybody got a perm at Geoffrey’s Hair Creations. The “creations” were, in fact, perms. Maybe that was the only thing you knew how to do, Geoffrey. Maybe you only attended the beauty academy on the day they were teaching the class about how to make smelly, curly hair.

  Or maybe you are simply a specialist. A cardiologist is a heart specialist, maybe you’re a perm specialist. But I suspect you’re simply just a terrible hairstylist and a terrible person. And, as I said, a son of a bitch.

  The perm took about six months to fully grow out. In that time, I recall not being picked for either hockey team during gym class, bursting into tears during English class, being stood up by the only two people I had invited to my birthday party, and learning the word “faggot.”

  Was all of that your fault? No. Most of it, yes, but not all.

  Sixth grade was never going to go well for me, no matter how my hair looked. I know this now, Geoffrey. You only made a bad situation worse, the equivalent of throwing grease onto a kitchen fire. The house was always going to burn down—you just helped it burn down a little quicker. From those ashes, though, a new boy arose. A new boy, with straight hair and a winning attitude. A new boy who was, sadly, just as unpopular as the old one.

  I drove through my hometown recently and saw that your place of business has closed. What happened? Did you retire? Did the business go under? Or, as I hope, did you die? You know, Geoffrey, there is a special room in Hell reserved for bad hairstylists. It is small and hot and it smells like perms.

  Instructions for the Cleaning Lady

  HI there. I hope you have a great time cleaning my house today. Sorry I couldn’t be here in person to help you out on your first day, but I have a real job. (Just kidding!!!) Anyway, all the cleaning products are under the sink in the kitchen. Please use only the ones labeled “Cleaning Lady.” The other cleaning products are for my collection.

  If you get hungry, help yourself to anything in the fridge. Please think of my fridge as your personal hotel minibar. And like a minibar, I keep a full inventory with pricing next to the fridge. You can either leave cash or, if you prefer, I can deduct the cost of the food from your pay. Oh, and don’t use the silverware. I don’t want you to be tempted to steal it. (Just kidding again!)

  Now I know there is a tremendous amount of pet dander everywhere. I apologize for that. You would think a fellow who doesn’t own any pets wouldn’t have this problem. All I can say is, sorry. Just vacuum up the cat hair and dispose of it. Please save all the dog hair.

  You may have some questions about the incredibly realistic life-size female dolls in one of the upstairs bedrooms. Don’t worry—it’s not what it looks like (ha, ha). These dolls are for medical purposes. I am certified in training CPR and creating CPR “scenarios.” Last night, for example, I created a scenario in which I would have to perform CPR in a Victoria’s Secret store, which is why they are all dressed like that. If you could just give them all a light dusting and a thorough mouth cleaning, that would be great. Also, if you must move them, please call them by their names, which I wrote on their tummies.

  Now, the master bathroom. Filthy? Yes. My fault? Yes. The windows don’t open in there and there is no ventilation. My advice would be to hold your breath, clean as much as you can, run outside, take another deep breath, and then clean some more. Keep doing this until you figure out a way to get that place SPOTLESS! Believe me, I don’t envy you; I wouldn’t clean that bathroom. In fact, I haven’t, which is why it looks like that. I guess it’s true what they say—you people really do do the jobs nobody else wants.

  The rest of the house is pretty straightforward. Have fun. Just so you know, there are tiny video cameras hidden throughout the house, so I will definitely know if you took anything (not kidding).

  Sorry I didn’t leave any money for you this week. All I had were hundreds.

  How to Approach the Sensitive Question: Anal?

  GENTLEMEN, this is a problem so many of us have experienced: how to ask a young lady if she likes it in the pooper. From my personal experience, if you simply ask your date (particularly if it’s a first date), you’re most likely going to be met with, at best, nervous giggles or, at worst, a steely gaze followed by a request to be let off the back of your bicycle.

  Why is this? I believe it’s because “society” frowns upon this form of intercourse, even though nine out of ten women prefer it. (Like most other facts in this book, I just made that up.) Why do I put “society” in quotation marks? Because what is “society”? It’s you and me, and the only way we are going to change “society” is by taking an active role in dispensing with the embarrassment and shame of putting your wiener in some chick’s butt.

  How do we do this? As loving men, how do we approach the sensitive question: anal?

  There are a couple of different methods. The most common is what I call “the accidental method.” Simply put, you wait until you are about to have intercourse. Then, you “accidentally” put it in her rear end. When she says, “That’s the wrong hole,” you say, “There’s nothing wrong about it.” From that point, it should be obvious how she wants you to proceed.

  I don’t recommend this approach because it catches the lady off guard and if, for some reason, she does not want to proceed in the prescribed manner, it necessitates you either cleaning yourself off or “double dipping,” which is not a good idea for hygienic reasons.

  Another approach is the “finger twaddle.” I call it that because “twaddle” is a very funny word. This is a multistage process. First, during foreplay, spend some time fondling her tush. If she responds positively, insert your pointer finger, a maneuver I call “the twaddle.” Twaddle around in there a little. She likey? Great. Now, as you twaddle, whisper the following in her ear: “Roll over, baby.” The rest should take care of itself.

  Maybe you’re one of those guys who likes to lay down the rules of the road before the evening progresses to coitus. As I mentioned before, simply posing the question in a straightforward manner rarely achieves the desired result. Instead, try asking in an indirect way.

  Perhaps you’ve just enjoyed a romantic dinner together (I suggest Red Lobster). The evening is going well, and you suspect the two of you might end up in bed together later in the evening. Great. Here’s what you do: order dessert. (If you take my suggestion of Red Lobster, I further suggest the Chocolate Wave.) When your Chocolate Wave arrives, spoon some of that gooey concoction into her mouth and say, “I wish this gooey concoction was my wang, and I wish your mouth was your butt.” If she says, “I wish that, too,” you’ll know where you stand. If she says, “That’s disgusting,” you can easily say, “I was just kidding.” Or, less convincingly, you could try, “I think you misunderstood me.” But that’s not the kind of thing that’s easily misunderstood
.

  If this is still too direct, take her on a long walk through a nature conservancy or arboretum. While strolling among the flora and fauna, take her hand in yours and say something like, “I’m having a great time. I’d like to know everything about you.” Women love to hear that. Next, ask her a series of utterly meaningless questions: “What are your hopes and dreams?” “Have you ever been in love?” “What’s the worst tragedy that’s ever befallen you?” Et cetera, et cetera. As you are “listening,” slowly wrap your arm around her waist and slide your hand down to the small of her back. Continue talking until you decide the moment is right for an “over-the-pant finger twaddle.” This is accomplished by lightly caressing her anus in a “sympathetic manner.” How do you caress somebody’s anus sympathetically? Brother, if I have to tell you that, you need more help than I can offer.

  Another tactic I have found helpful in the past is the tried-and-true “I have a friend who…” scenario. The way this works is pretty self-explanatory. While talking, mention that you have a friend who would like to fuck her in the ass. If she asks who, say “You don’t know him,” then quickly follow up with, “Isn’t that so funny?” If she says anything other than “That’s disgusting,” then I think you can safely assume that she will respond positively to those three magic words: “Roll over, baby.”

  As you can see, there is no one way to deal with this perpetually vexing situation. Instead, try a variety of the techniques outlined above. Trust your intuition. And if, by chance, you find yourself with a woman who doesn’t like it in the rear, don’t despair. While anal sex is an important consideration when considering a mate, it’s important to know that it’s not the only consideration. Remember, over time, even the tightest tush will wear out, but a warm heart never will.*