by Bob Odenkirk
she was the toast of New York,
and the belle of ’gansett!
(A side note: my Pollock was swaddled in paper,
with typing upon it I’ve just begun to decipher.
Some absurdishy prose about night and its mother
signed by a Kurt Vonne-something-or-other.)
But if finders aren’t keepers,
if that’s not enough,
to prove provenance and stop all the guff—
listen here, final proof is coming your way,
and you won’t put a roadblock in my big payday.
Grandma knew there’d be doubters, second-guessers, and pros
who would line up to back up each other’s big “no’s.”
A line of art experts, a doubt promenade!
So she wrote very clearly for whom it was made—
In the corner the dedication: “Bobby O., 2nd Grade”!
Famous Quotations—Unabridged
“Know Thyself. Come on. Hurry up. We’re waiting. Oh, forget it.”
—Socrates
ABS
You are probably wondering where I got these amazing abs. They’re so ripply and rock hard, they’re difficult to fathom. If I were a character on a reality show about me and my middle-aged acquaintances, I might be nicknamed the Conundrum, in reference to these abs of mine. See, the abs don’t match the visage. My perturbed, puffy face sets you up for a blubbery gut. But then you see these abs, stacked like bricks, clearly delineated, and you have to ask, “Does he work out for two or three hours a day, or does he just work out all day?” Or perhaps you think I purchased them from a plastic surgeon in Beverly Hills. My secret is simple—dynamic tension! Constant dynamic tension. Tension that is tense, and dynamic, and never ending—the best kind of tension there is! I have analyzed each ab and where it draws its tension from so that you, too, can get the abs you’ve always dreamed of!
The ab on the upper right is taut and sinewy thanks to middle school. Specifically, the effort of trying to get my two kids placed in a top-notch middle school. Filling out forms, attending open houses, prepping for interviews, taking the entrance exams—it’s a lot of work, and I am there every step of the way, standing behind them, leaning over their shoulders, looking down (that’s what tightens the ab), swallowing hard (also good for the ab), and clenching and unclenching my fists (good for the fists). Thanks, kids—Dad loves you and Dad loves the ab you’ve given him.
The middle-right ab bulges handsomely thanks to talk radio. I simply tune in to conservative talkers when I am driving, and my screaming at the host tightens this ab for an extended, uninterrupted rep. Plus, disagreeing with someone on the radio gives me that powerless, overwhelmed feeling I’ve become addicted to. It’s better than a drug, because you get the abs!
The upper-left ab pops out impressively from the effort of lugging five-gallon water jugs into our kitchen. Actually, the lugging does nothing for the ab; it’s the part where you have to tip the full jug and place its spout into the dispensing reservoir, without spilling, that strains and sculpts this beautiful ab. The short moment of dread focuses tension on this ab like a ray gun. Afterward, slipping on the spilled water can be great for a whole-body clench.
The middle ab on the left (not my left, your left, if you are looking at me) is called Terrence. It’s a dignified ab. It tenses each time I read an op-ed article about global warming. The article’s point of view is immaterial; simply being reminded that I can do nothing to stop the horrific future of floods and catastrophe gives this ab a taut yank that lingers, burning calories in my well-creased forehead at the same time. Best to do right before bed, as the accompanying nightmares keep those abs pumping into the early-morning hours!
The bottom-right ab, the biggest of all the abs—and therefore the most impressive—is from not having sex. This ab is always quietly tensed. Has been for years now. Can you imagine the Dalai Lama’s lower right ab? Must be huge. I, however, did not take a vow of chastity, so it would be a sad situation, if it didn’t yield such an amazing ab.
The bottom ab on the left is harder to explain, but I believe that this ab is simply self-aware. It quivers with tension at all times, even more so when I am supposed to be relaxing, and I believe it is searching for a sense of purpose for itself and no answer is forthcoming. Nothing works this ab like a vacation. The aimless uncertainty, the absence of all deadlines, tightens and sculpts like nothing else. After ten days in Hawaii, this ab looks amazing.
Finally, you’ve got to appreciate my extra abs. That’s right, I have two abs more than most people. They are in my lower back, and, I’ll admit it, they were put there by my Beverly Hills plastic surgeon. I was told that they are the latest thing. God, I hope so. They hurt like hell.
Famous Quotations—Unabridged
“There is nothing on this earth more to be prized than true friendship, but one of those heated bathroom floors? That comes close—real close.”
—Thomas Aquinas
SHAKESPEARE IN THE PARK
EXT. PRISON
INT. PRISON MEETING ROOM
In a sad, generic meeting room, five prisoners sit in their faded orange jumpsuits, rough characters all. In this California federal prison, they are mostly Latino. A fellow prisoner strides in with heavy energy and a shredded face. His imposing size adds to a sense of his own gravity. He is Placidio, their Director, and he is the big dog in this pack—not to be messed with! They, the prisoners, are in a theater group. What else is there to do—it’s prison!
Placidio unnecessarily silences the already silent group.
PLACIDIO
Okay, motherfuckers, shut the hell up!
(beat)
Now I want to congratulate you all on
an excellent production of Steamboat last
Friday. The reviews are in: you’re the hit
of the whole prison, but before you get
swell heads, I want to tell you your prize:
you have to take on Shakespeare!! The
immortal Bard! Every prisoner’s challenge:
the language, the passions, the intellect!
No reaction from the assembled. They’re not sure how to take this. Some smell a challenge. No one high-fives.
PLACIDIO (CONT’D)
Now, before you go high-fiving, because
you were all so great in the last production,
I’m going to let you pick which play
you get to do.
LUIS
Uhhh, any Shakespeare play?
PLACIDIO
Any one at all. The challenge of a
lifetime…you lifers!
LUIS
Well, I guess it’s hard to choose. There’s
so many…
Suddenly, in the back of the room, ROBERT speaks up. Robert is a white-collar criminal, only here due to spillover at the “country club” prison up the road…
ROBERT
Placidio has issued us a challenge. I have
not been the most vocal of inmates, but if
you’ll allow me to speak as a used-to-be
patron of the arts, I’d say, if I had to vote,
I’d vote for…Shakespeare in the Park.
The other prisoners aren’t sure about Robert, but we can see his suggestion has an immediate attraction to them.
RAFALIO
Sounds good to me.
RANDALL
Yeah, I like that one best.
There is general agreement all around, but before this wildfire can catch wind, Placidio wants to clarify his intent…
PLACIDIO
Okay, well, maybe you don’t understand
the question so good, but which of the
great Shakespeare’s plays would you
choose to do?
ROBERT
I understood you perfectly—I am a
great aficionado of the Bard, and I would
propose we take on In the Park. That one.
Its full name is Shakespe
are in the Park.
The other prisoners, who’ve never given a second look to Robert, are suddenly on his side in a big way. Their energy gathers in a restless mummering, but they silence when Placidio puts up his hand—
PLACIDIO
Wait, motherfuckers, wait! There’s no
such thing, man. I don’t think…
ROBERT
Uh, indeed there is. I saw it many years
ago. More than once. It was great. They
performed it outside, just as Shakespeare
intended!
Rafalio, no friend of Robert’s (he tried to kill Robert once…a day, for the past four years), is suddenly on his enemy’s side—
RAFALIO
Yeah, I’ve heard of it. The best play ol’
Bill Shakespeare ever wrote.
EDDIE
I know it, too! Shakespeare in the Park!
They do it every year in my hometown.
New York.
Placidio hesitates, he is not on firm footing here—
PLACIDIO
Okay, slow down, look…you mean, you
saw a Shakespeare play, like Othello, or
Richard the Third, or Hamlet…IN THE
PARK. Right? Yeah?
LUIS
I don’t know about that…it was just
called Shakespeare in the Park when
I saw it.
Charlie, thirty-four and obese, with fine features and extensive facial tattoos, completely out of his league, suddenly butts in—
CHARLIE
(growing more sure of himself as he speaks)
Yeah, me too…I saw that play, too. Yeah.
I loved it. I love Shakespeare, all of him,
but this one…yes, is his best.
LUIS
Yeah, man, it had everything.
PLACIDIO
Like what, then? What happens in it?
LUIS
Well, this kid slept with his mother, the
queen…
PLACIDIO
That’s Hamlet…
RAFALIO
Oh, yeah, and then this Dad-King killed
his sons…
PLACIDIO
Richard the Third…
CHARLIE
…then at the end, the sprite from the
Garden told them all the moral!
PLACIDIO
Well, that’s Midsummer Night’s Dream,
man! You got it wrong—
LUIS
No, YOU got it wrong—it’s
Shakespeare’s greatest play: In the Park!
It’s what we want and we won’t settle for
anything less…right, guys?!
All the prisoners start pounding on their desks…
PRISONERS
In the Park…In the Park…In the Park!
The Director, scarier than the rest of the inmates, begins to back off—a riot is about to begin! Suddenly the door opens and a GUARD and WARDEN DANIELS enter.
WARDEN DANIELS
What the hell? Quiet down! All of you!
The Guard waves his gun and the prisoners quiet down.
WARDEN DANIELS (CONT’D)
The heck is going on in here, Placidio?
PLACIDIO
These motherfuckers, they can’t decide which
play they want to do for the next round.
LUIS
We did decide! We want to do
SHAKESPEARE IN THE PARK!
The prisoners cheer, but the Warden is skeptical, until—
ROBERT
Placidio said it was our choice and we
choose Shakespeare in the Park—what’s
wrong with that? I love that play, it’s
dear to me, it’s dear to all of us, it’s got
everything: romance, betrayal, fresh air,
sunlight! It’s the Bard’s most rewarding
entertainment yet!
Warden Daniels takes this in, then remembers he doesn’t give a shit.
WARDEN DANIELS
Oh…well, go ahead. It’s one of my
favorites.
The prisoners cheer and hug each other!
WARDEN DANIELS (CONT’D)
But I’m warning you! It’s not taking
place in some fake park here in the
prison; if we do it, we do it in a real
park, outside! Theater is already so
fakey, it makes me sick. I want to feel
something—you got me?! Make me see
eternity!
The prisoners nod…hell, yeah. As they celebrate, Placidio throws his hands up in the air—what has he wrought? And we hear the narrator answer his query…
NARRATOR (V.O.)
All of Cell Block Three escaped
during the first on-site rehearsal of the
production.
(beat)
But their understudies from Cell Block
Five went on in their place and made
theater history.
WHAT TO DO IN CASE OF FIRE
In case of fire, do not panic: the historic Dubonot Hotel, aka “The Piano Hotel,” built in 1914, will be fine. Over its storied history, the historic Dubonot—“The Hotel with a Player Piano in the Lobby”—has played host to more than 275 (reported) fires—and just look at it! Look around you! The old gal is fine. Some plaster is missing, sure, but we can replace that, and we will, we will. Basically, these kinds of things happen to this hotel all of the time.
Why so many fires? This is probably due to the fact that the historic “Dubonot: the Hotel with the Indefatigable Music Machine” was built directly over a little-known natural-gas fissure in San Francisco’s bedrock. One side effect of this constant seepage of natural gas is the delectable aroma of raw eggs wafting about every nook and cranny. In 1989, Chef Jeremy of Pierre’s, our in-house restaurant, decided to turn a negative into a positive and set out to make the best omelets in the city. He has succeeded spectacularly and is listed in the Guinness Book of World Records for “cracking the most eggs per year” and for “surviving the most kitchen fires of any chef, ever” (229 fires).
Built in 1916, the historic Dubonot is not, as rumor has it, “always” on fire. It is, more aptly put, “usually” on fire. Another word that springs to mind is oftentimes. Our “famous” lobby has had a continuously playing player piano since 1969, and only eighty-seven of the fires have ever burned it down completely. Seventy-eight fires were put out before making it to the lobby, one hundred and thirty-seven of our fires were kept to the basement level, and only fifty-six fires were determined enough to destroy the player piano itself. Mysteriously, one hundred and eighty-seven fires that were started by arson were started near or within the piano itself—as though in retribution for its never-ending merrymaking.
While a fire engulfs the Historic Dubonot Hotel, please avoid the elevators and use the stairs.
THE SECOND MEETING OF JESUS AND LAZARUS
Everybody knows the story of how Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead.
Except you. You forgot. The details. The “deets.” Sheesh. Okay, here goes…
It seems Lazarus, the brother of Mary from Bethany, had fallen sick, deeply sick, in the way people living in the desert at that time did. This was only a short while after Jesus left town—he’d been there “teaching” and being worshipped. Laz’s sister had actually washed Jesus’ feet. Nice. Anyway, Jesus was on his general roving “mission” when his sixth sense got to tingling. He knew he had to return. But get this: by the time he got back, Lazarus had been in the tomb for four days, so he was good and dead. Now, that didn’t stop Jesus, who marched right into the tomb alone and came out with Lazarus right beside him, whistling and winking all the way. Okay, I’m not sure he was whistling and winking, but I’ll bet he felt like doing both. After all, Lazarus had been dead, and now he wasn’t. An “exponential qualitative change,” if ever there was such a thing.
So that’s the nutshell of it all, but hold up—th
is wasn’t the only time Jesus and Lazarus had a face-to-face. A few months later, they met again. Jesus was outside a temple trying to look inconspicuous, taking a break from messiah-ing, and Lazarus traveled for a day and three nights—one day he was sidetracked due to the heat, and finally he arrived at the J-man’s vicinity and ran right up to him, breathless, to thank him and ask a few questions…
I think it might have gone like this.
[To be read aloud to yourself in the voice of Bob Newhart.]
Jesus! Hey, Jesus! Hi…hey…it’s me.
What do you mean you don’t remember me? You helped me.
No, I’m sure you DO help “a lot of people.” But I think you’ll remember me—I mean, you REALLY helped me.
I’m Lazarus! The dead guy! You made me alive again! Yeah, that Lazarus! Right. Yeah, so…I wanted to say “thank you” and…if you don’t mind, ask a question or two. Yeah? Okay, well. First, in case you’re wondering, I’m fine. Lovin’ life, TCB and all that—I mean, my foot fell asleep last week, and that gave me a scare, but I just shook it around and everything’s fine. (chuckles)
Yeah, my question…well, my question is simply this: am I ever going to die?
I will. I’ll die…again? Wow, you seem pretty sure—you spoke pretty quick there. Sure, I believe you, I just…I guess the follow-up to that, then, would be…where and when and…how will I die…again. [awkward laugh]
You know but won’t say? Yeah, I figured you might have that kind of rule. I guess you’d have everybody badgering you if you didn’t. Fair enough, but, uh…just one more thing, if I DO die again, I mean, WHEN I die a second time, will you be…stopping by to…bring me back from the dead again? Or, was that a onetime deal?
One-time only. Got it.
Are you sure?
“Pretty sure.” Like, how sure? Is there a twenty percent chance that you would raise me up again? Fifteen? No? Ten? Three? Less than three percent? No chance. Okay. Wow. That’s…
No, I understand. I’m not disappointed, per se…I may not want to keep coming back to life, but…what if I ask? I mean, what if I asked you to raise me from the dead, you know, as I’m dying?
Still a no. Wow, you’re pretty committed to this. Okay. I mean—it seems a bit unfair. Just, I already died once, it wasn’t pleasant, now I get to do it again. I’m not complaining, but…