2007-Eleven
Page 7
TO ME, THIS MILITIA THING IS WHAT IT’S ALL ABOUT. IF BENNY IS GOING TO CREATE STYLES, IF HE IS GOING TO SELL CLOTHES, IF HE IS GOING TO SHOW THE ALIENATION OF WHITE MALES, HE NEEDS THESE GUYS. THE GUN NUTS HAVE GOT TO TAKE CONTROL OF THE BALL GAME. BECAUSE THESE ARE THE REAL CRAZIES. THEY REALLY THINK THEY’RE OPPRESSED—THEY FIGURE EVERYBODY’S OUT TO GET THEM. YOU HEAR THE OTHERS’ NAMES CALLED ALL THE TIME—YOUR OLLIE NORTHS, YOUR G. GORDON LIDDYS, YOUR RUSH LIMBAUGHS—BUT THEY’VE GOTTEN SOFT. THESE MILITIA TYPES, THEY DON’T TALK, THEY DON’T VOTE, THEY DON’T PAY TAXES, THEY JUST STARE AT YOU. SO IF THERE’S GOING TO BE PERSECUTION OF WHITE MALES, THESE ARE THE GUYS WHO’LL MAKE IT HAPPEN!
Apparently, we’re out of time. For Style, I’m Elsa Klensch reminding everyone: You’re the victim, so dress like one!
Story Days
Songs by Phil Collins boosted this summer’s hit animated
motion picture Tarzan. Is this the future of rock?
This summer, treat your family to a musical spectacular of mystery and wonder, a story that has delighted working men and women for ages! Walt Disney Motion Pictures presents the magical tale of a young sprout from Jersey who was born to climb.…
In the deep dark woods or out on the street
Of a runaway American gloom,
At night we climb extensions of flora
From suicide legumes.…
Yes, the beanstalk’s jammed with broken heroes when the fantasy of Walt Disney and the morality of Bruce Springsteen team up to bring you Beanstreets! You’ll travel back to a bygone era and meet Jack, the tough-talking-but-lovable Vietnam vet who gets laid off at the refinery and must sell his beloved 1972 Dodge Dart.…
The car door slams,
Mary’s trunk waves.
Like a Buick she sputters across the lot,
As her radiator sprays.…
This summer, case the promised land with Jack, his girlfriend Candy, and a cast of characters only Disney and the Boss could create. You’ll meet the Magic Rat, Crazy Janey, Jack the Rabbit and Weak Knees Willie, Sloppy Sue and Big Bones Billy. They’ll be coming up for air! Because when Jack needs $2,500 to cover child-support payments and debts no honest man can pay, he heads to the boardwalk to see the mysterious Madam Marie.…
Show a little faith!
There’s magic in the beans,
It ain’t a dollar, but hey,
They’re all green.…
It’s Beanstreets! the classic tale mixed with classic rock! And after Jack gets into an argument with his dad, who’s out on disability with the gout, his exwife Sandy tosses the beans into the parking lot of an abandoned factory—and something incredible takes root.…
Thrown down in a dead man’s town,
The first sprouts, they took
Before they hit the ground.…
Grown in the U.S.A.…
Featuring the voices of Matt Damon as Jack, Heather Graham as Rosie the talking harp, Clarence Clemons as the Big Man, and Howie Mandell as Tramp, the incredible goose that lays golden eggs.…
Jackie, let me in, I wanna be your hen,
I wanna buy you tea and crumpets.
Just check my eggs with the Franklin Mint
And write your checks off my omelettes.…
You’ll visit Gigantic City, that world above the clouds, where everything that dies someday comes back. But when Jack meets the Corporate Giant, it’s a death trap, it’s a suicide rap.…
And the goslings down here
Don’t lay nothin’ at all,
They just honk back
And let it all be.…
Don’t waste your summer prayin’ in vain! Because the fireworks are hailin’ over Beanstreets!— coming to theaters on the edges of towns everywhere. And in time for Christmas 2000, Bob Dylan is Alexander Graham Bell.…
But I would not feel so all alone,
EVERYBODY MUST GET PHONED!
The Electric Kool-Aid Antacid Test
Ken Kesey’s current bus tour, reliving his
Merry Pranksters’ cross-country trip in 1964,
could inspire an update from Tom Wolfe.…
“Next exit, pull over?” (O, the pain—)
“BUT I WOULD NOT … FEEL SO ALL ALONE …”
“Next exit, please.” (O, the freakin’ pain!)
“EVERYBODY! … MUST! … GET! … STONED!”
“C’mon, guys! Next exit, PULL OVER!”
Hey, Tummytuck, chill. I am sitting with Tummytuck, a literary agent with a three-day goatee and the cultured whine of an Ivy League president, which is designed to say: I’ve grown tired of this ride, this singing, and suggest we stop somewhere for a strawberry-blond lager and some wood-fired pizza. We’re doing seventy-five in a sixty-five-mile zone, racing to make Ann Arbor in time for Kesey to do the Action News Live Eye at Six, then the book signing at Borders. For Tummytuck, the tight schedule is a serious bummer, because four mocha lattes and the bouncing of the bus have launched a two-pronged assault on his swollen prostate, and he needs a freaking rest room so badly he can taste it.
“Hold on until Michigan!” Carpal-Tunnel Girl howls from the back, flashing a Day-Glo, it’s-a-manly-deodorant-but-I-like-it-too smile, gorked on ginseng and a sugar cube laced with Melatonin, which might help her survive this all-you-can-eat bellyache of a bad trip. During the Chinese fire drill in Chicago, she slammed her shin into Further’s back bumper, and, YEOW, it still hurts to stand. The bus’s psychedelic pattern is giving her a migraine, not to mention her son, Brandon, who just called from Stanford to say he totaled the Range Rover. She accepts a hit from the Pepto-Bismol bottle being passed. “JUST KEEP GOING!”
Too late. Triple Bypass jerks the steering wheel, EAUGH, careening the bus, EAUUGH, onto the off-ramp, EAUUUUUGH, and into the parking lot of an A.M.-P.M. minimart, silencing the songs, halting the bridge game, and rousing nappers from their happy dreams. Soon, the Pranksters hobble out, stretching sciatica, lighting cigarettes, sucking in guts, buttoning pants, resetting hairpieces, and blinking fresh droplets of Visine, as a Dylan CD wails, “Ah, but I was so much older then, I’m younger than that now.”
“Oh, wow, man!” Kidney Stone shouts, discovering the nose-ringed, shaven-headed cash-register attendant. “Look, everybody, it’s Pirate Boy!”
“No, it’s Nosemetal Q. Youngfellow!” Miracle Ear proclaims, waving his cigar. “Roadside retailer extraordinaire!”
“I don’t see fat-free Ben & Jerry’s,” Trophy Wife asks, jabbing the counter with a Visa card. “Got any fat-free Ben & Jerry’s? Fat-free Ben & Jerry’s!”
“FAT-FREE BEN & JERRY’S!! FAT-FREE BEN & JERRY’S!!”
“HEY, SHUDDUP, PEOPLE! I’M TALKING TO CLEVELAND,” 401(k) yells, cradling a cell phone to his ear. “Listen, Phil, we still got 543 T-shirts in stock, and we’re cutting a big-time loss on the tote bags. I told you, man, this logo sucks. Nobody listened. I said we should take the Nike deal, but nobody listened, and now we’re screwed, because this logo sucks!
“Hey, Ringbeak,” 401(k) says to the clerk, showing off his shirt. “Would you wear this piece of crap?”
When the cashier looks confused, 401(k) waves him off and offers a paternal smile.
“Aw, forget it, kid. Don’t let us crazy hippie freaks blow your mind. Just do your own thing. If you’re into workin’ here on Maggie’s farm, that’s cool. But make your own kind of music. Stand up for what you believe in. And don’t never let no Doo-Dah man tell you otherwise!
“WHAT THE—?” He jerks to the phone. “WHADDAYA MEAN THEY’RE NOT THERE YET! You tell them kids to get their stoned-out asses to that bookstore by six, or we’re callin’ the cops! You hear me? What’s with these kids today? Like I said, it’s six o’clock at the TV station, six-thirty at the bookstore, eight at the hotel. Christ, I don’t care what they told you! THE TIMES, THEY ARE NOT CHANGIN’!”
Raze the Titanic
Today in Hollywood history: March 23, 1998.
Beneath the joy of these Oscar ceremonies
lur
ks a terrifying dilemma: The most successful
movie of the year—perhaps of all time—
cannot birth a sequel. Right?
First off, I truly love you guys for having me here because I know you’re busy, what with the speeches and humanitarian stuff, so I’ll try to pitch this in less than the usual three minutes.
We begin with a submarine, cruising the North Atlantic. But it’s not one of ours. It’s a German U-boat. Suddenly, the commander’s eyes bulge. He yells something in German. The subtitle: “ICEBERG, DEAD AHEAD!” The sub turns, barely avoids the ice, but scrapes off a piece, exposing—a human hand!
Bang! We roll the credits. “Kate Winslet … Billy Zane … George Clooney in … TITANIC II: JACK RESURRECTION!”
Flash to Germany 1936. A Nazi scientist, Dr. Klauss Von Schlumberg, examines the chunk of ice. Using a top-secret thawing process, stolen from an American named Clarence Birdseye, he brings Jack back to life!
Now here’s the beauty of this: We don’t need Leonardo DiCaprio. You sit eighty-six years in an ice cube, and it rearranges your face. In this case, Jack comes out as George Clooney. Or, if necessary, somebody cheap.
Anyway, Jack wakes up confused. He doesn’t know about the Nazis. He thinks he’s in Schenectady. When the Germans realize there’s no current record of Jack’s existence, they do what you’d expect: They train him to become the ultimate killing machine. Then they send him to America on a mission via—get this—the Hindenburg!
We’ll build an exact duplicate of the blimp, right down to the sign: Goodyear! (That’s a joke, guys.) Anyway, Jack rides in steerage, while the filthy-rich human trash in first class hang out in a ballroom, up on top.
Onboard, Jack spots Rose, his old Titanic sweetheart. She’s trying to kill herself by breathing helium. Rose is bummed, because her mom hooked her up to marry a young Adolf Hitler. Of course, Rose doesn’t love him. He’s Hitler, for God’s sake! But if Rose doesn’t marry the guy, her mom will have to get a job.
Rose doesn’t recognize Jack, because—hey—he’s George Clooney. Jack talks her out of suicide by breathing helium and doing funny elf impersonations. But Hitler doesn’t laugh. He yanks her away, and they walk the deck, where Hitler notes with pride that there are parachutes only for first-class passengers.
But somebody else is watching: Rose’s former fiancé, Caledon Hockley. He’s here to sell the Nazis something they desperately want: The Ark of the Covenant! Because, as everybody knows, an army that carries the Ark cannot be defeated!
Anyway, Hockley gets Jack arrested. They tie Jack up in the main control room, next to a panel of critical instruments. He manages to draw a sketch of Rose and slip it out the window, where she finds it and realizes that George Clooney is Jack.
Bang. We hit the flashback sequences, play the Celine Dion song.
Rose sets Jack free. But Hitler, being Hitler, tries to steal the Ark. Hockley goes nuts—did I mention he’s on drugs?—and shoots the control panel, causing the Hindenburg to burst into flames.
Everyone has only two hours before the ship goes down. Hitler gets away in a makeshift plane. Hockley tears the parachute from a baby’s arms and escapes. Jack and Rose run from flaming deck to flaming deck, until they reach the top of the blimp. They have one ’chute. Holding each other, they jump.
But the ’chute can’t support two people. Falling, Jack tells Rose to go forth and prosper, to fight the Nazis, and to push for sexual equality while keeping her womanhood. Then he lets go and disappears into the clouds.
Last scene. Safe on the ground, Rose clutches Jack’s sketch and books passage to her new home: Krakatoa, east of Java!
Well, questions? Sure, I can script it by Wednesday!
Sing Sing Danny Rose
Sure, he’s crazy, mad as a hatter. What difference
does it make? You know, a long time ago, being crazy
meant something. Nowadays, everybody’s crazy.
—Charles Manson, answering Diane Sawyer’s
question, “Is Charles Manson crazy?”
… And it’s ba-boom! I’ve done all my best material, my biggest gag, my sharpest bit, and still no response. The guy’s lying there like an oil painting, and I’m the one who’s dying, and I’m thinking to myself, “Charlie, this killing stuff always worked in the past. Have I still got it?” Hey, you guys ever pull a Rasputin? They are absolute downers, am I right?
I hear you talking, Charlie, and I can really relate, but I gotta tell you, and I mean no disrespect here, but the diehard is a rarity nowhere else but in L.A. Back in those days—and I saw this man in L.A., and I swear to you guys, this man killed in L.A., Charlie, you murdered them out there—and I’m not knocking the people in L.A., I love the crowds, I love the stars, but L.A. is not N.Y.C., do you hear what I’m saying? I’m just saying that Jimmy B. would never—
Breslin again! Give us a break with the Breslin thing, OK, Berkowitz? None of you guys know Midwest. I’m talking Chicago now, my old stomping grounds, where you find the toughest people anywhere.
Charlie, David, I agree with Mr. Gacy, because when I was back in Milwaukee—What? YOU? SHUT UP, DAHMER, SHUT UP! Don’t you ever interrupt, and don’t you ever call this man “Charlie”! It is Mister Manson to you. Listen, you had one shtick: killing people and eating them. That’s it. You ate ‘em. That’s all. So, you got on Inside Edition? So what? You’re still a punk. This man here had everything. He had demon worship. He had a cult. You? You got nothing.
Go easy on the kid, Gace. Hey, guard, you got fresh cream cheese for these bagels? You know, kid, I was doing mental when you were in diapers. I was doing that wah-wah nutso act when you were a peanut in a shell. And people respect me for that. They know when they hear the name Charlie Manson, they’re going to get top-shelf crazy. Like with Diane. She’s a sweet kid. She comes to me, and she knows who does wacko. Swastika on the forehead? Zodiac didn’t do that. Hillside didn’t do that. I did that, and I was first. Diane appreciates this, so I help her out, toss her a few crumbs. In this business, a little respect goes a long way. Berky, am I right?
Damn right! So don’t open your punk mouth here, Dahmer, because you are in the presence of more talent than you’ll ever have. And don’t give me that Entertainment Tonight spotlight sneer either. Just shut up and eat. You serial kids don’t realize how good you have it today because of this man. I mean, when I was on top, I still remember Jimmy B.—
Here we go with the Breslin again.…
… Listen: People lined up to see me, but even to Jimmy B., this man here, Charlie, he was Chairman of the Board. You may be hot now, Dahmer, but let’s see you in twenty years.
Kid, if I were you I’d listen, because Berky and the Clown were working the clubs long before you ever picked up a fork. You too, Chapman. We don’t even want to hear from you. What did you do? One? One is lint! One is a night! You do not deserve to ever have Diane visit you! You are not worthy of such a lady! You should get used to Geraldo, because that’s where you’ll always be. Yeah, it’s been more than twenty years, but I still got it. Every time I’m up for parole, I’m front-page news. You Generation X’ers? Your type is a dime a dozen. You’ll be replaced. Me? I broke ground. I’m here to stay. Gace, am I right?
Amen, Charlie, amen.
Guys, I’d love to stick and kibitz, but I’m doing a project with Fox. I got meetings all day. Hey, warden, check! This one’s on me.
Away from It All
Bub and Satey thank you for renting on scenic Wrickey Lake. Please note these cabin rules and recommendations:
1. The locked basement is for storage only. Please stay out of this area.
2. The Vanderpools, who live on nearby Wrichard Bay, will remove your trash and recyclables, at no charge, nightly. Just leave unwanted items outside your cabin. (Note: Be sure to bring all wanted items inside.)
3. If, while hiking, you meet a group of stray dogs, remember that they generally are more afraid of you than you are of them. Simply toss aside whatever food yo
u’re carrying, then move slowly away. DO NOT RUN!
4. Please show respect for the flag that flies over the Vanderpool family compound. This signifies the Republic of Vanderpool, a sovereign nation separate from the United States since 1973. Trespassers could face interrogation or possible incarceration.
5. For day trips, we suggest nearby Potterfield (twenty-eight miles south on Route 182), home to the Exit 47 Truck Stop, which offers a $5.95 All-U-Can-Eat Grand Seafood Buffet, Tuesday through Friday. (Best to go before Friday.) Further south is Mr. Wiggly’s Sausage Barn, where families can tour “the magic of meat from hoof to bun.” Free samples. Also, don’t forget Happy Land Park, featuring Big Rickety, the world’s oldest and fastest wooden roller coaster, and Ultimate Pee Wee Fighting every Friday, the winner receiving a fifty-dollar savings bond. (If planning to enter, don’t forget child’s birth certificate!)
6. At night, you may have dreams about the basement or at times feel an overwhelming compulsion to see what’s down there. Please, do not go in the basement.
7. Because of the high-intensity lines from Rainbow Valley Nuclear Units 1 and 2, radios, flashlights, and other electrical equipment may turn on and off spontaneously. (No pacemakers, please.) Also, inside the cabin, you may occasionally experience minor electric shocks. MAKE SURE YOU ARE COMPLETELY DRY BEFORE USING ANY APPLIANCE!
8. You might hear shouts or explosions along Vanderpool Road between the hours of 11 p.m. and 4 a.m. These are routine field maneuvers conducted by General Vanderpool and his troops. If such noises occur, merely turn off all lights and remain inside your cabin.