Wednesday, March 26, 2008
It's the little secret.
And it is true except for the dramatic reversals like men who are abusive.
Those men should be dropped into John Carpenter's New York with Snake Pliskin, Sly Stallone, Slingblade, Arnold, Condi Rice and Nancy Pelosi (oh...and the guy with the wood chipper from Fargo, or maybe Roy Batty from Bladerunner).
Now that we have disposed of them, there are the rest of us men....about 64 percent.
And here is the secret guys....shhhhh...it's never been about you.
It is always about women, or your woman. Make no mistake. It's as sure as gravity.
They are the deal, you are the occasion.
I just want it to sink in. and yes ladies...I am on to you...and I live in a fortress and have hot pitch on the stove for when you attack and I will not go easy into the night cuz I've had enough!
Stephanie Gilmore. She rocks.
Like Mac tells Miss T..."wait for it...wait for it". I think it use to be a double entendre. Let it sink in.
It was never about you and never will be.
God has a delicious sense of humor if God exists.
I don't know if God exists or not. But Mac and The Saint do and they are both wusses.
I saw Mac earlier and he was doing laundry and muttering under his breath.
I sat on the dryer and very purposely did not help.
I just asked questions and the naive sod answered blindly.
The Saint lives in the corner apartment...the one that flooded recently (which is not easy when you are 250 feet up on a hill).
When that happened he made biblical jokes and thought he was being clever.
So it was in this way that the duty came down to me to write about what is true and real, because these losers lose heart so easy.
They call me a "thug" and so I am. I like it.
I like the swagger and the fresh air.
Plus...I will get laid a lot sooner than either of these assholes.
The secret unfolded...
Cool pic huh?
It is about "women-folk" guys.
You may have slightly advanced physical prowess (never underestimate a small woman with a large heavy object). You men may funnel your testosterone into your professional drive and someday be as mad with power as Martha or Oprah.
It matters not.
If you take the biblical model...you guys were the first prototype and just used for parts on the superior model.
Deal with it. It's in the Bible.
Women have it over you hands down. They are smarter, more verbally adept, and they have a shape that can make you do the unconceivable at the right moment.
They also tend to rise above the major world-wide crap we men produce. They can produce children out of their bodies and you are just a donor. Build a missile, or create a videogame. You cannot compete.
They also have breasts that feed your offspring and also tighten and get hard when you touch her just right. You have one sexual center. She has several.
She’s a swirl and you are a stick.
Your only advantage is that you are taller and can open jars that she can't.
So why was Mac so forlorn?
Typical. He's in love with a woman who is not in love with him. Idiot.
I told him this would happen. He's a shmuck. He never listens, or at the wrong moments.
The Saint is worse off. He has a woman email stalking him.
Because he deems himself literary (I am the only one the three that published regularly in print) he answers and it just gets weird from there. She sends him a sweet note, followed later by one with all manner of accusations and assumptions.There will be a rabbit in his stewpot soon. I will only laugh.
Me? I just wanna get laid. I am an animal. I just wanna be conquered and get it over with.
Lay alien eggs in my chest, decide my karma, assign me duties, make me a sex-slave. It's all okay because it really is only about women.
Not the environment, not politics, not truth, taxes or values, etc... It's just about them.
Face it. Yer just Chum. Chum.
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
His twin brother died over 48 years ago and no one ever took any kind of public notice. They do not even know what became of his tiny premature body.
He lived a day. Scott was three pounds something, just like Mac was. Mac is a lot bigger now.
This is what eating does.
Mac confided and conferred with his Ex-wife. They still look at each other with some small suspicion, but neither is stupid enough to miss the fact they are both wicked smart and savvy about such things.
She came up with a great idea where people could choose to write down a poem, or a scripture, a drawing, or a letter. Whatever people felt comfortable doing. They could then read it or not, but then drop it in a fire to become ash.
As I was writing this first part, Mac was out back trying out his solution...a large sealed planter.
He explained why it was perfect (sigh...). Then he tested it to see if it would break...which would be typical. I could see it breaking and firing rifling up the dry grassy hillside at China Beach. I saw Mac, as he so often deserves, in manacles being loaded into the Fire Marshall's car.
It didn't crack or split. What you see in the picture above is the 2.5 seconds it looked good and ignited. It was followed by mass quantities of billowing smoke, extinguishing it, then nothing, then more smoke, then extinguishing it, then more smoke etc...for 30 minutes off and on.
Mac's kitchen was a mess and all our eyes hurt from the smoke. Manfred was whining and swearing in Basque. But Mac had an urn now...and we have a good focus for Sunday.
That's the reason he sent us on vacation. Selfish bastard.
More tomorrow...part 2
Wednesday, September 28, 2005
Is this a sexy picture or what? Beautiful.
Okay..okay...men and women seem to fixate a bit on B&B...you know. But it is a mistake. See it's really about the "swim"...that wonderful curve above the hips that sweeps up into her ribs, arching back and chest.
Look at the swim on this girl.
But the cool thing is women of all sizes and all ages have beautiful swims. I'll leave it at that. But dang!
It's a well known fact, Sonny-Jim that only the FINEST people read this Blog and have the most amazing comments in response to my endless prattling. Thus, we gig into the comment bag today!
This from the now wonderfully-red-headed-dreaded Tabs in an exchange with very astute husband:
"tabitha jane" he says, "the only reason men do anything is so that they can have sex"This is very good but only during certain stations of life. Stations of life are a lot like the "stations of the cross".
"really?" i respond.
"yes. why do i take a shower and shave? so i can keep my horrible job. why do i work this horrible job? so i can make money to pay for school. why do i work so hard to do well at school? so i can graduate and get a good job. why do i want to get a good job? so i can be seen as dependable and stable and therefore be attractive to a woman. why do i want to be attractive to a woman? so i can get laid."
The Ever-Gracious Martha said...
sounds to me what Maug wrote about was the 'princess syndrome' which all women have to an extent.
Well this is the Romantic Myth at the core. The betrothed is to be wed to the King, who, it turns out is a good man who actually loves. But the hum-drum of their lives leaves her empty and wanting. Plus he farts in bed and snores.
So she dreams of another and there he is...the new warrior and friend of the king (or perhaps just a guy on Craigslist).
A love triangle ensues which creates a heightened sense of drama and excitement, all of which serves to keep all three of them, and their many minions, from dealing with the more real questions about life and existence that are there every day.
That was 12th Century France, or 14th Century England. Today we just email flirt or eat Hagan Das out of the carton while watching other people do it all for us.
tabitha jane said...
companionship . . . men also need companionship.
This is underated. Of course some men do not need companionship, just direct supervision.
I am the wrong person to ask about this, but I suspect you are right.
Maugham Malraux said...
Tabs- yes they do...and more than they can fathom. But it flows both ways.I'm gonna stick with this cuz I see a sea of ships.
Find a man who is in touch with that and a woman in touch with her need to be intimate and physical and you got soemthing. Without it...you got fleets of ships passing each other in the cold silent night.
as much as i want this to be true...it's just not that simple...it's not all about us...i mean, we'd like it to be, we'd like to think it is and i'm sure even some men (yourself for instance) believe it is....but truly sex is a two way street and for the best results....both parties should participate with their animalistic intentions and raw passion and sexual drive....but who am i to talk, huh?Personally I think a whole lotta other human stuff gets way inbetween the animalistic and passionate. Everybody has a reason why it will not work. Frankly, many times these reasons are good ones. If you get more than seven reasons listed that ring true, it's best to become a monk.
We make most everything too complicated. And when we don't, it is. So this is why humor and humility are so important.
Even though they are related, the human race is good at one, but sucks at the other.
I bet you can all figure out which one is which.
Monday, September 19, 2005
Now I know he looks a lot like Ben Kingsley, but that is just superficial. He is actually more handsome and less intense.
Manfred is half Spanish and half East Indian. Then he is bi-polar...which essentially makes him "quad-polor" as well as inter-continental.
Manfred has been Mac's "faithful" manservant for 17 years. As such his main duty has always to "bring the car around". Beyond that Manfred simply watches soap operas, eats all of Mac's food and tries to (soap opera style) pick up on, in his words "Oh yes, whatever womans hee is so drawn too I will indeed by jove make a run! And many good thank-yous to you!"
Given Mac's track record it is obvious Manfred is often successful.
Examples to come...
Manfred tries to hit on Jennifer Connally during the filming of The House of Sand and Fog.
It is no secret around The Citadel that Mac has a certain penchant for dark-haired beauties with amazing eyes and high cheekbones. He, himself, will admit this after a few beers.
He claims he is not ruled by it. And there is some evidence for this. Apparently he has override capabilities if needed, but still...that's his default.
As such he has always had a goofy celebrity crush on Jennifer Connelly.
You can see it when the utterly stupid film Career Opportunities comes on and his eyes glaze over as JC skates through the aisles or dances alone to music.
Sucker. He might as well be Pavlov's retarded dog.
Anyway...the Connelly Incident...
The House of Sand and Fog was set in Northern California up high not far from The Citadel.
That's where they naturally filmed it.
At a locals casting party for extras, Mac struck up an unusual conversation with Connelly. He has never revealed what the substance was except to say that it involved a convoluted discussion of Kierkegaard's Diary of a Seducer and his own private recipe for Swedish cardamom Bread. Later the two were seen out back playing one-on-one basketball. I believe he let her win, but only by four.
When Manfred brought the car around, early I might add, he spied Connelly and got out to both introduce himself and find a way to drive an immediate wedge.
"Oh Sahib!" he cried aloud. "Who indeed is this most wonderfulnesses of women?"
Before Mac could stop him he continued.
"Oh you are the goddess what Mac speaks of so very very often...usually late at night when he is alone!" he exclaimed.
"Okay okay...I just here you mumble" he said quietly.
"Yeah, yeah..c'mon Manfred stop with the act" Mac said.
Connelly chuckled and sort of half-blushed.
Mac panicked inside, started to sweat in odd places, but held it together.
"I should go," she said. "I have an ealry call. Then she held out her hand. He took it and slid a glance toward Manfred that said "I will fucking kill you in ten minutes."
"Can I give you a lift back?" Mac asked.
"Oh I have a driver," Connelly said.
"Care to trade?" Mac asked sarcastically.
"Yeah sure...that would be fun!" Connelly bounced.
Mac felt a tightening in his chest and the sudden urge to chain Manfred to the back of the Jeep and take him for a long scrape.
"Oh!!" Manfred cried out..."what a wonderfulness this is in all its splendor!!"
And he absconded with JC and left Mac to deal.
The story continues...
So Mac wakes up the next morning, after walking home in the fog and settling in at 4 a.m. with a glass of scotch.
The apartment is unkempt. Manfred has left all his dishes in the sink. He is unaccounted for even now. Several Soap digests litter the table and a bag of fresh incense. Mac lights one but it smells like cow dung. He flushes it down the toilet, takes a pill and collapses.
When he awakes he is alone at in The Citadel. His roomate is gone to work, Manfred and the Jeep are unaccounted for.
He considers throwing himself off the balcony but figures the drop is not nearly severe enough.
He considers that if there was not a landing inbetween it would be enough. He wonders if he could do it in stages, then decides against it on pain principles.
He has no car and Manfred has gone awol.
But he has his mountain bike. So he grabs it and heads down the stairs before realizing that both tires are flat.
He walks two miles to a station that has a pump, but they need quarters...two of them...to pump simple air.
He begs a woman in a huge SUV and she relents.
She curses under her breath as he leaves.
It starts to get hot but he moves ahead. Mile after mile he pumps away. It gets colder and colder and it actually feels good to him. It cools his fever.
When he pulls up to the house he sees Manfred walking down the drive of the house and quickly grabbing Connelly's arm in anger.
Mac is overcome and he bolts for Manfred and tackles him in the dark gravel in a mad rush.
Suddenly others are on him pulling him off. In a daze he looks off West and sees Manfred standing serene against a long fence.
He has attacked Sir Ben Kingsley and utterly mortified Jennifer Connelly.
Two security guards pulled Mac from the ground and hustled him into the house of sand and fog where they promptly called the police.
Kingsley walked in and said, "Are you nuts?"
"I'm sorry sir," Mac said. "It's just I thought you were Manfred and you were attacking Ms. Connelly."
"The film crew didn't clue you?"
"I thought he had busted into the set," he said wagging his head. "Instead it turns out to be me."
There was an awkward silence while the security guard called in to the police station.
"I mean no disrespect," Mac said, "but you and Manfred look an awful lot alike."
"Who is Manfred?" Kingsley asked.
"He's, er...well..." he shook his head again. "We joke that he is my 'man-servant'," he said flatly.
"You have a man-servant, yet you ride a bicycle. Is this typical for Marin?" Kingsley asked with steely precision, a look not unlike several he does in Sexy Beast.
That image shook him, especially since he was handcuffed. He tried to think of another film...and got it.
Death and the Maiden where Kingsley was handcuffed to a chair and interrogated by Sigorney Weaver.
"I feel a bit like Dr. Miranda in your movie"
"They will be along soon enough to administers your rights," Kingsley said slyly.
"That was a good one," Mac said.
"And if you remember, despite his protestations Dr. Miranda does confess and is guilty."
"Well I am only guilty of mistaking you for Manfred. If you could just have Chester over here fetch him it would become clear."
Just then Ms. Connelly walked in which both excited Mac and made him wish he was in another country...Preferably a neutral one like Sweden.
"I think I have an explanation," she said with a smile. "I met this man last night and he was a perfect gentleman. He loaned me the services of his manservant Manfred who drove me back to my hotel."
Mac looked up at Connelly and smiled then at Kingsley.
"Apparently Manfred did not understand the deal," she continued, "and she stayed out in the Jeep all night so he could bring me here this morning."
"So?" snapped Kingsley. "What does this man have to do with him attacking me?"
"Well Manfred does look a great deal like you," she said then kinda bit her lower lip. Mac almost fainted, but held in.
"Let me go get him and I think you will understand," she said then smiled at Mac. "And let's get those handcuffs off him.
"Hey Chester!" Kingsley said, "get the cuffs of Dr. Miranda will you?"
The genius of Manfred.
Manfred walked in a few minutes later with Chester and Sir Ben Kingsley began to laugh.
"He looks like me?" he said. "Ha! Oh yes, I suppose a bit," he said shaking his head and looking away.
"Oh indeed by jove sir! What a wonderfulness to meet you here in the flesh!" cried Manfred in his typical Ghandi-like fashion. "Why did Sahib tackle you in the dirt?"
"He thought I was you and that I was attacking Ms. Connelly here," Kinglsey said calmly.
"Oh No Sir!" Manfred said defiantly. "I would never disturb Ms. Connelly. "I JUST bring the car around." Then Manfred lifted up his pant legs and began to hop around doing a little dance around the living room chanting "Ghandi-Gee, Ghandi-Gee! Ghandi-Gee!!"
Mac looked away in disgust. Connelly looked down at her feet. Chester put his hand on his billy-club. Kingsley stood up.
"Well I think we have all had enough," Kingsley said.
"If you would be so kind I would like you to take this gentleman home safely. We will explain to the police that it was a misunderstanding."
"Yes, Sahib," Manfred said grinning.
"And now you must go and we will go," Kingsley said steady. "Later today I have to put a plastic bag over my head and suffocate. I feel quite prepared to do that scene now."
Mac stood up and walked toward Connelly and the door.
"Thanks," he said quietly when he reached her.
"What was the name of that book?" she asked.
"Oh, in this case I'd choose another by Kierkegaard... The Concept of Dread."
"I actually read some of that in Grad school," she said.
"Perfect." he said even. "I'd stay and discuss it with you but the police will be here any minute for me. Fitting huh?"
She laughed and they shook hands. Then Manfred said "Sahib!! An autograph!"
Mac pushed him out the door without a word and they walked down the sidewalk toward the Jeep.
"Autograph?! Idiot!" he muttered low and lean. "So why didn't you come home Manfred? Weren't you hungry! Didn't you miss some episodes of your favorite shows?"
"Oh Sahib, you are so silly!" he exclaimed. " I have Tivo in my room! No no no no, Indeed I wanted to tell the wonderful Ms. Connelly all about you."
Mac looked off to the side as if talking to God and said "You see what I deal with?"
When they got to the car Mac said "I'm driving," as he unlocked it and slide in. He thought about making Manfred ride the bike back but didn't.
"Can you get the bike and put it on the back rack please?" he asked. As Manfred scampered off he saw him waving to Ben Kingsley who had come outside. Mac's head slumped into the steering wheel.
The bike racked, they tore off down the road toward San Rafael. Then he just had to ask.
"Okay, so what did you tell her?"
"Oh in sublime moments of self-revelation and utter disclosure I did in full gloriousness depict you in all your splendor!"
"You told her about my ex-wives in other words."
"Oh YES!! She was most intrigued, especially about the incident in Mazatlan!"
Mac groaned. "I suppose you told her all about Miami?" he said glumly.
"Not enough time."
"Great," Mac said.
"Do you hate me Manfred?"
"No no no no Sahib!" he exclaimed with joy. "I love Sahib! You are my Mortifier!"
"You mean role-model..."
"Oh?...oh okay...that too," Manfred said more quietly.
"Anything else?" Mac asked looking out the window.
"Ummmm...thinking," Manfred said looking out the other window. "Oh YES!! I told her that you are a Horny man!"
"You mean holy man," he said under his breath.
"Oh yes!! Indeed!! Yes, that is what I should have said! But I did, in goodness and conjugation depict the deep level of your spiritual horniness!"
"So it all worked out then," Mac said sardonically.
"Did for me."
"I got her phone number."
There are a cast of colorful charcaters that reside in and around The Citadel and it is time we named them.
We all know Mac is the ringleader, but he attracts the oddest people.
I'm the only normal one.
There is , of course, the infamous Manfred, Mac's long-time manservant who has never done an honest day's work in his life. Hans Gruber is his turgid German interior designer and just, well, a bit particular. Every once and awhile Col. Smythe will drop in from British Intelligence, or Pastor Derrick BacGhee will come by to counsel him.
Then there is Tim Whipple the "Concerned Guy", and Tele-evangelist Juan Terrel.
But in this post we are gonna talk about Alfonso, Mac's semi-Italian gardner who has the most annoying voice you have ever heard.
Alfonso suffers from Blocusglandulusinflationada in which the tail end of puberty is prolonged through the rest of your life.
Thus Alfonso's voice is always cracking at the oddest moments and is far too high for a man of his years.
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
Click for a closer view. Unfortunately it is not a spoof.
It's a true story worthy of The Onion's own pages and spoofing. The hip, funny and creative personals owned by Spring Street Networks hosted at hotspots like The Onion, Salon.com and Nerve.com has been swallowed whole by the huge and utterly ghastly Friendfinder Network. The 750,000 or so members that enjoyed the site have now been, essentially, acquired and thrown into the big 30 million-person vat of singles soup like seasoning.
Their profiles, pictures, witty comments and ability to find other like-minded singles have all been compromised. Worse, their creative and beautiful pictures (see below) will now be lost in a sea of the world's worst personal photos.
There have been huge technical problems at the old site once all those souls were sold.
My neighbor Mac suddenly showed up with warpaint on his face; his former girlfriend's name, date of birth, Zodiac sign were all changed. Her "Hot List" of guys was also deleted (Mac confided later these did not bother him as much as it should for a friend he loves. He's a selfish man).
Personally, trying to access my account I was fed pages of line code. When I tried to hit technical support I was sent to the page above.
These are classy people with a great sense of customer service and what people want. Many of the women at the site appear in pictures with the heads chopped off. I shudder to think what the men's pictures include and exclude.
When I did more investigation I found that many of the personal items in many profiles had been somehow "shifted" like one of those "temporal displacements in the tachyon field" that regularly occurred in Star Trek. Given the vast size of the Friendfinder and its large number of related, yet subjugated, personals sites I fear for the worst.
Here are some of the their listed but related sites where data can so easily (given their marvelous coding) shift and be transported, sometimes en mass:
and now added to this the Spring Street Network, which they will probably rename the three popular spots:
ParodyFriendfinder = The Onion
In the July 26, 2005 press release it was announced that the "sites acquired through Spring Street will continue to be branded independently and will not be connected to the Friendfinder network."
Which is a bald-faced lie. It has already happened.
Next...what happens when bad coding meets your personal information as a single...
When I clicked on page two of a search this is repeatedly what I got.
Don't they know Matrix code goes up and down, not left to right? And it is GREEN on black!
People are reporting (those who can...my posts have been deleted repeatedly) lost credits (that's money folks), changed passwords, deleted posts, messages, and Hot Lists.
But worse are the ways all of their personal information is getting lost and showing up elsewhere...probably on someone else's profile. I suddenly became a Capricorn and an old deleted photo depicted me like Harrison Ford on Mosquito Coast. I've only conversed with a few people, but birth years changed, names mispelled or changed outright.
Then it hit me. If that's true, what other viral issues now exist within the massive 3.2 million person Friendfinder Network? (By the way this will get me banned for life, but who cares? It SUCKS and I wouldn't use it again. Besides, I am just a fiction and my dates always pick up the check anyway and accuse me of being two-dimensional.)
So suppose all those on the former Spring Street Network (SSN) have been mis-slotted on the new juggernaut?
What if atheists gets thrown into the "Big Church" Friendfinder lists and suddenly they are being hit on for "missionary dating" (which does not include the missionary position by the way) by those who simply want to "hug in the spirit and kiss in tongues"? I mean, nothing personal to either group, but I don't wanna end up on either BigChurch or Alt.com (Bondage & Detainment/Sado-Masochism).
I do admit sometimes they use similar tactics, but maybe that's why I want none of it.
And what if this incompetence happens between the races on their massive site given their obvious coding issues? It could be like that scene from Ghandi where the Pakistanis are on the one road and the Indians on the lower one passing each other and there is a suddenly breach and they sort of spill into each other and a massacre ensues.
No, this is potentially ugly folks.
What if the upcoming KKKFriendfinder gets co-mingled with NAACPFriendfinder? What if SwiftBoatFriendfinder members get thrown in with MoveOnFriendfinder members? What if I'mOkYou'reOkFriendfinder members are suddenly identified at AAFriendfinder (the reverse would not happen-"What is said on this Friendfinder site stays on this Friendfinder site")?
Do I have to remind you that some portions of this are satire? I do, because some of our readers are Fundies looking for a fight. They have no sense of humor.
Next... oh the Photos!
Tuesday, September 06, 2005
I am not suggesting any of these woman are not attractive in person. It's the photos.
Scientists have a great deal to say about human attraction, but they did not have Internet dating in mind. I cannot think of a scenario where such eye-candy is delivered to both men and women in such rapid succession with the actual possibility of meeting, and even mating, no matter how small, is actual.
Don't be fooled. Men and women both look at the pictures first to see if they could remotely be interested. It may be a 60/40 male thing, but it still exists.
Facial structure, hair, smile, and some idea of physical presence can make a person want to learn more.
Of course, once they read the attached profile there is usually quick "red-flagging". "I'm a Bush-lover" or "Karl Rove fans need not apply," can be immediate show-stoppers no matter how initially attractive.
Now I do not know why, but the photos of women (and that is all I have looked at) on the Friendfinder network are, er..mostly just awful at best, and scary at worst.
Take the headless women above, the woman who has photoshop blurred her face (I assume she has self-esteem problems) and really just plain bad photos. Even the "glamour shots" are...well. No, and this was a random sampler.
The profiles are generally not much better, and with 3.2 million members and a search engine that produces women from the Ukraine and Namibia every third profile...well by the time you find someone to contact they've already dated someone else, become attached, engaged and their next child is due in the Spring.
Mac tried this service several years ago and did find one beautiful, intelligent and charming woman. But by the time they met she really just needed him to store her car for awhile while she hunted for a new place to live in LA.
He is so chivalrous.
Next...SSN profiles...may they R.I.P...
Sunday, September 04, 2005
So I do a thing on dreams and Simon Templar decides to also do a serious piece on dreams. Okay. Enough!
Dreams are ridiculous. Take this one from last night...
I'm following Al Michael's around asking him questions about announcing. He just wants a Coke at this ridiculous giant chicken restaurant. I'm immediately pissed because I see they want 1.79 for a stupid 8 ounce Coke.
Michaels turns to me and says "Don't worry, it's on me."
I figure he can afford it I follow Michaels into the restaurant and we go up to the counter and order.
"Let me ask you," I say "I know it's very tough to be ON all the time during a broadcast...but you guys do coast, right?"
"Coast?" he asks incredulously.
"Yes, coast. I mean whenever you tell a story that you have told more than 8 times, you are just coasting...it's just filler." I say. "You just start it and your brain goes elsewhere. I mean I've heard you tell the Bobby Bonds story 11 times...you are just coasting."
He grins back at me and says "Yeah, but I am still angry at God."
"You angry at God? Why would you be angry at God?"
"Who said anything about God?" I am thinking as just then a man in a dark blue suit walks up and looks me in the eyes and says "There is no such thing as God. It is a projection of human need and desire and the fear of death. It is not scientific and therefore irrelevant."
"Oh Geez," I say to Michaels. "Ya can't go anywhere these days."
"Look buddy," I say. "First of all you can't even explain your own existence and consciousness. Haven't you heard of Heisenberg's theory? Hey I have my own doubts about God's existence but let's not be stupid here."
He reaches across the counter and takes his order of chicken and walks away mumbling about the fall of the Berlin Wall. Michael's is not amused.
"Just get the chicken, okay?" he asks. "And the Cokes."
I do and follow on behind.
We sit down on a park bench to eat and he says "Well I was angry. But not so much anymore."
Just then we are interrupted by a commercial break...or the equivalent in dreamland.
Why is it always three names and get him out of the pool!
Sarah Jessica Parker...not my fav.
Suddenly in front of us is a large pool and there are several people bobbing around in it laughing. I see Sarah Jessica Parker, Mary Louise Parker, and Jennifer Jason Leigh.
This pleases me until I see Philip Seymour Hoffman also bobbing in the pool, then Anthony Michael Hall.
"Do you have a middle name?" I ask Michaels.
"No," he says "Shut up and eat your chicken."
"I don't have to shut-up," I say.
"Because it is my dream and I could throw you into that pool with only AMH and PSH."
"Point taken," he says. "How is your chicken?"
It's pretty good and I can have all I want and not gain a pound."
"You have gained weight," Michael's reports.
We sit in silence and watch SJP and MLP and JJL bob and laugh in the water. They seem to be having a good time.
"Why don't you get in?" he says.
"I have a date later with Nicole Ari Parker," I say flatly.
"Not Parker Posey?" he asks slyly.
"Naw, she's a bitch, has weird teeth and has no middle name.
"I don't have a middle name" he shrugs.
"That only means you are here for a different reason." I say. "Hey you got an extra napkin? This stuff is kinda greasy."
Al Michael's hands me a napkin.
"You have everything Al," I say "yet you coast on old stories and have no middle name."
"You gotta point?"
"Yeah...what's at your core...your center?"
"Right now?...Chicken and Coke," he laughs and some small bits of chicken end up on my pants.
"I can't take you anywhere."
"Hey, I paid. Look PSH is trying to hit on MLP."
"Great," I say "You wanna do the play by play?"
Every Body Out of the Pool...
I do kinda dig her...
"So, Michael's...why were you angry with God and why aren't you now?"
"Well we all have a reason to be angry with God," Michaels said. Then he started into a long rambling story that I have heard at least 300 times. Everybody has a reason but the same story.
"You are coasting," I said.
"Yes, I am."
"What happened then?"
"I realized it was my life," he said "so I just embraced it."
"Yeah and you got a $4 million dollar contract."
"Yeah and you get to work with Madden."
"Yes, he's alot like God."
Just then I got an outside email on my subconscious palm pilot....
Subject: conjugal yukon advantageous adherent
Do I want to buy a Rolex watch for $3.99, get free Viagra, get 4.9% on my mortagage (I do not have a house) and have a date in an hour?
I decided continuuing to sleep was a lot better and more real.
"Oh God...please let me sleep" I prayed to the unknown.
SJP got out of the pool and walked up to me seductively.
"You are married," I said grimly. "And you remind me of my ex-wife."
"The angry one?" she said sweetly.
"No, the other one...though she was pretty angry too."
"What's your middle name?" she asked.
"Christopher. But I don't wanna talk anymore."
"It's not funny dialogue," I say "and I am really into funny dialogue" and she slaps me in the face and leaves.
"That was smooth," says Michael's laughing.
"Yeah? Yeah?" I say kinda mad. "What's your middle name and what is your center?"
Michael's looks off in a lost way.
"Did I ever tell you about 'Pudge Fisk' in 1975?"
Just then JJL gets out of the pool along with AMH and PSH.
"Dismissed" I say. They leave.
Mary Louise Parker swims over to the edge of the pool and throws her hair back and smiles that amazing smile. She keeps looking and smiling. The water sparkles around her. Michaels puts some small chicken bones down on my shoe to see if I will notice.
"That's where we are all headed," I say.
"No, " he says "I'm supposed to be in New York in two days."
"Yeah, but eventually you will be just bones."
"You're a drag sometimes...a guy can't just have chicken and a coke and watch people with three names swim?"
"What's your middle name and your center?" I ask again.
"I don't have a middle name and I am lost," Michael's says sadly. "But did I ever tell you about McCovey in 1977?"
"No, you didn't" I said smiling. "Tell me that one, again."
Dreams Fly When Freed by the Sea...
Nicole Ari Parker.
"Phone calls Mr. Malraux," the receptionist announces.
"Nicole Ari Parker line one, Mary Louise Parker line two...Philip Seymour Hoffman line three."
I punch the buttons.
"Nicole...how are you?" I ask.
"I am pregnant," she says weakly.
"How far along?" I ask.
"7 months" she replies. "I'll be right down."
"Who is the father?"
"Philip Seymour Hoffman"
"Figures," I say. "He's sitting right here.
"I thought he was on line three" she says.
"No he just showed up next to me...but it doesn't mean he also is not on line three. Let me check."
I put Nicole Ari Parker on hold and push down the button for Philip Seymour Hoffman. "You there?"
"Yes..I'm here," he says.
"But you realize you are also sitting quietly next to me, right?"
"Yes, I realize that," he says.
"How do you account for that?"
"I don't have to," he says. "I've been studying Zen for three weeks."
"How's that working for ya?"
"I'm talking with you, on the phone, and sitting next to you in your dream," he says.
"Yeah, I've lost twelve pounds."
I hang up and turn to him.
Philip Seymour Hoffman
He looked at me with his glasses down his nose, and smiled.
"I had a date with her," I said.
Then NAP was there all plump and out of breath.
"I'll leave you two," I said and then I walked over to the large aquarium window and put my hand up to the window and Mary Louise Parker swam up and put her hand up to mine and smiled.
"I'll get back to you," I mouthed.
Al Michael's walked up. he had a patch of barbeque sauce on the corner of his mouth a a bit of chicken.
I didn't mention it.
"I thought about what you said," Michaels said.
"And what did you conclude?"
"I'm gonna be Al Franklin Michaels" he said.
"I'm not sure that is a good idea."
"My name is Franklin," said the man in the blue suit reappearing.
"See, it's taken," I said , "And...well...I'd find another."
I turned and was in a strange room. Very nice and they were dishing up squab. I really like squab but wanted lobster instead. Michaels show up again and sat down in the corner and began to cry. I walked over and sat down next to him and poured him some cold water.
"It's gonna be okay," I assured him. "I'm here if you need anything, just let me know.." He quieted down and I smiled at him to reassure him. "It's not wrong not to know if you are open," I said. Then I stood up and walked to the window.
Lobster with butter and lemon...
I turned around and saw a table filled with lobster tails and white plates and ramikins of butter sauce and lemon.
"Hey Michaels," I yelled, "Over here!"
"I love lobster!" he exclaimed and he laughed as I tied the lobster bib around his neck.
I did not need one. As we sat down and ate and we grabbed the hunks of sweet lobster meat and dipped them in the warm slaty lemon butter and ate I made sure every drop of residual butter flew his way and splatted on his bib.
He glowered at me at one point.
"This one's on me Al" I said. Spack, spack, twick!
"It's good lobster isn't it?" I asked as a big glob of yellow goo started to drip off.
"Oops! I missed."
"Very funny," as he wiped his cheek off.
"So what is your beef with God Al?"
"Don't have one Maugam," he said. "Rather have lobster."
A waitress brought over the phone and I hit line two.
"The baby was just delivered and Mr. Hoffman wanted you to know."
"What did they name him?"
"How do you know it's a him?"
"The name please?"
"Stanley Ari Nicole Seymour Philip Parker Hoffman?"
"Stanley Simon Sarah Seymour Jessica Mary Louis Ari Nicole Philip Parker Parker Parker Bowles Hoffman ala Antoine."
"Oh this is a stupid dream."
I hung up and went for another plate of lobster, They had also brought a tray of very large scampi. I was very hopeful I would not wake up anytime soon.
Which was a mistake.
Michael Clarke Duncan. The Big Man.
I was on my way to go and wash my face when I met her in the hall. Her hair was wet and sexy. Mary Louise Parker.
She smiled and kissed me on the mouth and said "you are damned sexy."
I love dreams like this. Then she said "Go wash up and meet me upstairs Big Man."
"Big Man?" I thought. I guess I am on the tall side...but it was an unusual reference.
I went into the bathroom of the hotel and washed my face. When I looked up I jumped back. I was Michael Clarke Duncan. Or I looked just like him.
Handsome devil, but a bit imposing. I scared the living crap out of me.
Then Anthony Michael Hall walked in and smiled and used the urinal. I almost stepped on Rodney Allen Rippey on the way out. There was no sign of Fred Dalton Thompson to the right or Tommy Lee Jones to the left.
I crept upstairs to room 333 and entered. Al Michael's was sitting in a comfortible chair and MLP was sitting on the bed nervous.
"It's not my fault!" she said nervously and looking away.
"Hey!" I said "This is my dream and it'll do what I say."
Then Michaels got up and said, "How do you feel Big Man?" I looked down at my huge dark hands and said "I feel really good Al. How are you?"
"I found out my center and my last name Maug." he said cool as placid ice. But there was a hint of menace.
The man in the blue suit showed up in the doorway.
"Should I take him now?" he said.
"Yeah, take him now." Michaels said, and the man hustled me out the door.
On the way down in the elevator he quoted Sartre, Henry Miller, and Miguel de Unamuno.
When he started whispered passages from Hemingway's A Clean Well Lighted Place, I turned and tried to punch him in the mouth. But he had turned into Rodney Allen Rippey and my large hand splintered harmlessly over him into the elevator wall with a crash. He simply gave me a swift kick to the nuts and I fell like a huge stack of newspapers on a New York street corner.
"It was the lobster, idiot," little RAR said. "He would have let you off easy but you had to get cute."
I groaned and the doors slided open on the bottom floor and there was Anthony Michael Hall and Gabriel García Márquez. I looked up half dazed and said to GGM "You're not an actor...what are you doing here?"
"This idiot doesn't know how to tie an animal to a tree," he said. "I do." They dragged me out, still in pain.
They tied me to a tree. Well GGM did. AMH just watched and giggled.
"The wolves will be along shortly," AMH said and GGM said it would be easier to let me go mad.
"Get a beer?" AMH said to GGM.
"Sure," he said. "Can we get nachos too?"
Okay so it wasn't the end...but you never can tell with dreams now can you?