Well, like, when there’s two runners on and the smasher clops up so it don’t even clear the podooshkas, and the millicent raises his rooker like, well, then the smasher is loveted automatic then. But not automatic-like because it ain’t automatic. The merzky millicent has to decide that the ball is “catchable,” or “could easily be caught,” because if not the skvater could drop it and then it’s as sure as you’re sitting there that we’ve got a double play, yeah? So some vecks would drop it on purpose so as to give themselves an extra chance, and that’s not fair-like so that’s why they made the rule. And of course this is only in a force play. When the hitter’s loveted, the runners would have to tag the podooshka before running same as ever.

But it’s all bollocks, innit? Because now we’ve got some millicant deciding for a place that should go untouched and always be horrorshow forever, yeah? All just for fairness. Who’s to say what’s “catchable” and what isn’t, viddy well? Never mind fair. No fairness in worldly eegra, but let the most horrorshow moodge win. Not let’s all hold hands until some doomsday kind of thing.

I say when the bloody rule comes into effect the orange between the dva runners and the smasher drat right there, hand to hand, like, in bloody ultraviolence. Let that decide. Yeah, the smasher’s armed with a shlaga, that’s right. But the orange between the dva podoshkas got the sharry, ain’t he? That’s if the millicent was right and the sharry was indeed “catchable” and all that. Let the orange between the dva podoshkas brosay the sharry at full speed right at the smasher’s gloopy gulliver. That would solve the contest right quick. Let the smasher hurl the shlaga end over end at the orange between the dva podoskas, bean him in the litso. Then we’d know who should be taking his podooshka, and who should be limping away to apply ice liberally to the bruised areas.

Not like there’s any lack of oranges in the world, is there? Course not. Maybe if you’re Derek Jeter or someone real famous-like, he could hire a moodge with some real yarbles to stay on retainer-like, someone to storm the bitva and shive away for him. And if it happens just so, please, Mr. Jeter, I offer my services. Could be a right poleszny moodge, right well bean a bollocker who can’t even tolchock it far enough a starry bodoochka could spit her ivories out so far, yeah?

Message #1 – Saturday, 10:14PM: Robbie, Robbie. Darryl. Everyone’s here… Lame that you couldn’t make it. All I have to say is fuck fucking law school. Um, anyway, Rachel says hi and that Janet girl’s been asking about you. Oh, and ha! Some old guy in a cardigan just showed up saying he knows you and—

Message #2 – Saturday, 11:02PM: Okay, Rob? You need to come down here and get Mr. Belvedere or whoever the fuck… How do you know this guy? He’s, like, fifty? Gray hair? He said his name. Sounds Spanish, but he doesn’t look Spanish. I can’t say “Spanish,” because I’m drunk. Anyway, he broke the knob on my stereo and he’s bumming everyone out with his stories. This is Darryl.

Message #3 – Sunday, 12:40AM: Hey. Darryl again. I suppose you’re sleeping or whatever, but if you get this message tonight, call me back… I’m freaking out. One of John’s friends. Aaron or Allen or somebody. He was all drunkenly hitting on Rachel. Just drooling all over her and like touching her shoulders, right? Fucking… And she was just trying not to be mean but, like, shooting looks at John and me. Like, “Help!” And then, all of a sudden there were, like, these horse sounds and this guy with long, curly hair and Shakespeare clothes… Eric! That’s right. The guy’s name was Eric. But anyway, the Shakespeare Guy just…appeared and, like, made some kind of proclamation reading from this old-timey looking paper. And then some other Shakespeare guys came and carried him off! Everyone thought it was a prank until they chained him up and put him in the horsecart with the bars. I mean, yeah, that Eric guy was annoying, but what the fuck? Rachel was pretty upset, but then we did some shots in his honor and— You feel better, right Rachel?! She feels better. Oh, and Cardigan Guy puked on the couch. This is some Twilight Zone shit.

Message #4 – Sunday, 1:11AM: Darryl again. I can’t believe you’re missing this. Do you remember that guy from high school, Jimmy Fetterly? You remember, the guy with the really big overbite and the bald spot on the side of his head… Well, he was just here! Fetterly, in the flesh! He just came in and walked right up to Rachel and went into this long speech, like, basically proclaiming his love for her. And the music stopped and everyone was watching. And she just totally… I don’t know how or why, but she just wrapped her arms around him and started crying, saying, like, she’d always felt the same way about him and everything. I was just fucking floored. Everyone started clapping. Well, first, it was just one guy clapping, that asshole Billy Crispin. The guy who used to like, dip kids’ heads in the rancid puddle water? Yeah, clapping all slow and dramatic-like, with his bottom lip all quivery. And then, one by one, everyone else did too, until they were all cheering. Fetterly! Fetterly! Fucking unreal. I have to admit I was really pretty caught up in it, until I looked over and that Spanish Guy was doing some kind of freaky rain-dance off by himself. All shirtless, and, like thrusting his body around. I don’t think any music was playing either. People started to notice him and stopped clapping one by one. His grunting was pretty loud. Like, moment over! This is the best party EVER.

Message #5 – Sunday, 2:52AM: Well, Operation Fuck Everything Up is apparently all systems go. Pretty much everyone just bailed, because this bearded guy with glasses decided it was time to pop up out of nowhere and tell some girl she’s got…are you ready? Cancer! Yeah, step one: Talk to a random girl. Check. Step two: “Hi, you’ve got brain cancer.” Had her medical records and everything. Then her parents are somehow standing there. Like, what? I mean, when the fuck did I get a fucking underground railroad for old people leading into my living room? Right? But anyway, so everyone’s all crying and shit. “Tonya, tonya. I’m so sorry you got cancer!” That’s the girl’s name. Tonya. And all I can think is, too bad for Tonya that she’s in front of her parents wearing a tee shirt smaller than a handkerchief. Oh…and she’s got fucking cancer! Yeah, then that song “Wind Beneath my Wings” starts playing from my stereo… Rob, I don’t own that song in any form, okay? If I sound lucid, it’s only because fear has sobered me. I’m deeply, deeply horrified right now… Oh, Jesus. Cardigan Guy’s talking to Rachel. I gotta go.

Message #6 – Sunday 4:02: Hey, it’s me again. So I’m stranded in the laundry room. Rachel and Cardigan Guy are making out on the couch. They’re the only ones still here. Anyone still around left after the cops showed up, I guess. Oh, right. The office building across the street exploded a bunch of times. I may have to crash at your place tomorrow night, because it looks like the F.B.I’s cordoning off the neighborhood. Fuck the poliiiiiccceee!

Message #7 – Sunday, 11:43AM: Hey, Man. This is Darryl. Sorry about all those calls last night. Just disregard. John texted me, and I guess someone put some weird shit in my drink. Like, Portugese acid or something? So I guess all that was just a dream or in my head or whatever. I know, right? See you at work tomorrow.

Hey Jerry,

 

I know I’m probably the last person on the planet you’re wanting to hear from right now. And I certainly wouldn’t blame you if you just told me to fuck off and let that be that. But if you’ll hear me out, I’d just like to explain myself. You were always such a nice guy and a great landlord, and I hate to think that you might think ill of me or that I was taking advantage of your niceness. Because that’s just not me. I’m not a user and really can’t stand people who are, so I just want to set the record straight about a few things.

Okay, so let me start off by saying the mess left in the apartment, while embarrassing for me, was totally not my fault. All that was completely Kenny’s thing. You know that I would totally take responsibility for it, if I really felt that I should. But I can unequivocally say that Kenny was 100%  behind the mess. I mean, getting you involved with Kenny was my fault, sure. But he’s really just a very toxic person that I’m sorry I ever even met, much less was roommates with.

I met Kenny through a mutual friend and, in retrospect, I know now that I should have gotten to know him much better before I let him move in. It was The Mummy who introduced me to him, actually, who you met that time in the laundry room… Real nice guy. I met The Mummy through the Creature from the Black Lagoon, who of course you know. So anyway, I figured that whatever the Mummy said about Kenny was cool, because the Mummy was friends with the TCFTBL… And yeah, I should know better by this point in my life, this trusting thing I have. This transitive property I have about people, like, if a person is friends with someone cool then that person automatically is cool, too, which clearly is not the case.

But anyway, the point of all this is to say that while the Creature from the Black Lagoon was living there with me, before this whole Kenny fiasco, we were MODEL TENANTS. Never any trouble, rent on the 1st of the month, no noise, nothing. And I mean, that’s the difference between Kenny and the Creature. The Creature from the Black Lagoon is just a great guy and was a great roommate, while Kenny just wasn’t. But then the Creature had business out of town and had to move, and I was left in a bind, so then The Mummy vouched for Kenny, and I was getting my hours cut at work, and it was just one thing after another. So really that’s how the whole Kenny thing started. But I can only imagine what your reaction was to the mess and then to how suddenly we moved out, especially considering how long I lived there and our previous good relationship. Anyone would feel a little cheated.

I mean, yes, just to be clear… The dismembered cow WAS technically mine. Yes, I was the one who killed it and dragged it home and feasted on its entrails, which explains the blood all over the carpets and curtains. But my condition is well-documented. I mean, not that it means anything to you at this point, but Wolfmanism is a real thing, and I gave you notes from my doctors before I even moved in. And if you remember, when the Creature was living there with me, I never had even one incident. Not one.

But anyway, the story behind what happened is (if you’re at all interested): I made Kenny agree before he moved in not to mess with my cage on my Cycle nights. But he has some story that he wanted to borrow my copy of OK Computer and “might have, uh, knocked the lock, uh, off the latch, while I was sleeping or whatever.” (He’s really just such an asshole.) And as paranoid as it sounds, there’s a lot else that had been going around at the time that makes me think he might have undone the latch on my cage on purpose. Anyway, we have our own drama the details of which I won’t bore you with except to say that some people in this world are just very immature and have a lot of growing up to do.

Anyway, so the point of all this is that, while I totally take responsibility for letting Kenny move in, I can’t help but feel like it’s unfair that I didn’t get back my half of the security deposit. Because during the two years the Creature From the Black Lagoon and I were living there, everything was cool and this last incident is, I feel, not representative of the overall tenor of our tenant/landlord relationship. I understand that kind of sounds like bullshit and I would totally understand if you decided to just keep that $150, but times are tight right now, and I really could use that money. Really. So if you find it in my heart to take mercy on what was a kind of fucked up situation, I would be forever grateful.

But whatever you decide I hope things are good with you and all that. And again, sorry. I can give you the name of a really good carpet guy, if you need it. Alright, thanks again Jerry,

 

The Wolfman

Monday 9/19/10 09:30AM
FROM: “John Polcheck” <[email protected]>
TO: “Daniel Baird” <[email protected]>

Daniel Baird
Deputy Director of Records,
Department of Limbic Involvement

Chuck Pierce, Deputy Liason of Auditory Cortex has noted that Audio Artifact 9443 (A.K.A. Madonna‘s hit song “Ray of Light”) has officially exceeded the Prescribed Number of Auditory Samplings (P.N.A.S.). The violation occurred on 9/16/10, 14:26 in Berkeley, CA in the check-out line at the Safeway on Shattuck Avenue, when A.A. 9443 played over the P.A. This being the 611th sampling, all enjoyment of A.A. 9443 was officially exhausted. No enjoyment shall heretofore be derived from the artifact in question. For details concerning the variability of P.N.A.S., please see Appendix C as attached to the handbook for cerebral function. The ruling of the Department of Prefrontal Involvement that the brain at large has become sick of A.A. 9443 takes effect immediately.

John H. Polcheck
Quality Control Representative,
Department of Prefrontal Involvement
a.d.t. Undersecretary to the Dept.

* * *

Monday 9/19/10 12:14PM
FROM: “Barry Steinberg” <[email protected]>
TO: “Daniel Baird” <[email protected]>

Hey Dan,

I just heard about the “Ray of Light” ruling… But don’t fret. I’ve got some pull with the Prefrontals. The Deputy-Director owes me from when I fudged a review. Remember when their department forgot to set the alarm clock and the brain overslept last week? When the body missed that meeting? Let’s just say the Guilt Review for that got postponed indefinitely… Whatever. Catholicism, Shmatholicism. And I’ll just pile it on when the Prefrontals decide we’re in a big hurry and park in a handicapped space again.

Anyway, I’ll see if I can’t bend Polcheck’s ear about the ruling. But go ahead and file an appeal just to be sure.

Barry

* * *

Tuesday 9/20/10 11:12AM
FROM: “Jennifer Sherwood” <[email protected]>
TO: “Daniel Baird” <[email protected]>

Danny,

So not fair about “Ray of Light!” Boo! Have you opened the file yet? Make sure you label everything correctly. That baby’s gonna fly out of there on Nostalgia Review. Look what happened with all those Tears for Fears songs!

Love, Jenny

* * *

Monday 9/26/10 9:30AM
FROM: “John Polcheck” <[email protected]>
TO: “Daniel Baird” <[email protected]>

Daniel Baird
Deputy Secretary of Records
Department of Prefrontal Involvement

The recently filed appeal request, RE: A.A. 9443 has been denied. Artifact will be filed in Subconscious Memory Database (S.M.D.) as scheduled, based on cerebral bylaw no. 1187, which states that P.N.A.S. violations are subject to appeal only after petitions for continuation of enjoyment have been filed with the Department of Prefrontal Involvement.

Please refer to Appeals F.A.Q. in the handbook for further questions, or contact your Director.

Thank you,

John H. Polcheck
Quality Control Representative,
Department of Prefrontal Involvement
a.d.t. Undersecretary to the Dept.

* * *

Monday 9/26/10 11:24AM
FROM: “Barry Steinberg” <[email protected]>
TO: “Daniel Baird” <[email protected]>

Danny Boy,

Well, my so-called friends in the Prefrontal System have bailed on me about the “Ray of Light” ruling. But I am not deterred. But it’s especially lame that this is being handed down now, of all times, right when vacation’s coming up. AND we just got that Post-“Vogue” Madonna mixtape. Don’t think I haven’t thought about that. I’m gonna see about filing a petition. Do you think we can get the signatures in time for vaca?

Laters,

Barry

* * *

Tuesday 9/27/10 2:44PM
FROM: “Jennifer Sherwood” <[email protected]>
TO: “Daniel Baird” <[email protected]>

Dan,

I heard about Barry’s petition against the “Ray of Light” ruling! I am soooo signing, and I’m getting all my girls to sign, too. You guys are the coolest for doing this! Fight the power! Speaking of which, you guys should look into petitioning for “Fight the Power,” too. Can you believe the P.N.A.S. on that one? Those Prefrontals are slipping.

Kisses,

Jenny

* * *

Wednesday 9/28/10 10:22AM
FROM: “Sherman Georen” <[email protected]>
TO: “Daniel Baird” <[email protected]>

Dan the Man! Good on you and Barry’s petition! You coming to Gina’s party on Saturday? Peace, Sherm

* * *

Wednesday 9/28/10 12:03PM
FROM: [email protected]
TO: “Daniel Baird” <[email protected]>

Ray of Liiiiiight!!! Nice job fellas! Just signed the petition!

* * *

Wednesday 9/28/10 12:53PM
FROM: “Blake Harring” <[email protected]>
TO: “Daniel Baird” <[email protected]>

Really? Madonna? What happened when, “Radio, Radio” got the ax last week? I seem to recall “My Funny Valentine” going not too long before that. If you’re going to challenge the Prefrontals, you could at least pick something decent to fight over. Blake

* * *

Wednesday 9/28/10 12:58PM
FROM: “Matt Ortt” <[email protected]>

And I feeeeeeel! Like I just got home! And I feeeeeel! Did you move your cubicle? I was walking around like an asshole for like ten minutes at lunch. Matt

* * *

Wednesday 9/28/10 1:23PM
FROM: “Barry Steinberg” <[email protected]>
TO: “Daniel Baird” <[email protected]>

Danny,

Dude, there’s like fifty people filing past my desk right now signing our petition! It’s totally happening. And by “people,” I mean hot assistants. But really, you should come down here.

Barry

* * *

Monday 10/2/10 9:30AM
FROM: “John Polcheck” <[email protected]>
TO: “Daniel Baird” <[email protected]>

Daniel Baird
Deputy Director of Records,
Department of Limbic Involvement

The ruling that A.A. 9443 be filed into Subconscious Memory Database has been officially overturned, due to a successful petition and appeals process by several junior employees in the D.L.I. The P.N.A.S. requirements for A.A. 9443 are under review and will be issued next quarter.

John H. Polcheck
Quality Control Representative,
Department of Prefrontal Involvement
a.d.t. Undersecretary to the Dept.

* * *

Monday 10/2/10 9:54AM
FROM: “Barry Steinberg” <[email protected]>
TO: “Daniel Baird” <[email protected]>

TO: “Daniel Baird” [email protected]>

U-S-A! U-S-A! Dude, if we don’t leverage this to get back some of those Springsteen songs, we’re not men. Are we not men, Danny Boy? And that Sherry chick asked about you. She’s a Madonna fan, that one.

* * *

Monday 10/2/10 12:37PM
FROM: “Matt Ortt” <[email protected]>
TO: “Daniel Baird” <[email protected]>

She’s got herself a universe! And I feeeeeeeeeeeeel! Nice work, Man.

 

1. If we had so much juice that we couldn’t open the door and get into the apartment anymore, that would be too much juice.

2. If we had so much juice that the bottles of juice were stacked in a big column and the column fell over and killed everyone, that would be too much juice.

3. If we had so much juice that the amount of juice was enough to make the world like Waterworld, except with juice, that would be too much juice.

4. If the juice become sentient and started to take over the planet, that would be too much juice. The quantity of juice, of course, would never make the juice sentient. But if juice was sentient and wanted to take over the planet, ANY amount of juice would be too much juice.

5. If we had so much juice that there was nothing else in the kitchen, that would be too much. Because then what would you put on cereal? Also, no cereal.

6. If we had so much juice that ravenous killer-bees came and swarmed our kitchen and ate our flesh, like flesh-eating ants, that would be too much juice. Also, substitute “flesh-eating ants” for “ravenous killer-bees” in the above statement.

7. If we had so much juice that everything in the world was juice, and the word “juice” meant only “that which exists,” that would be too much juice.

8. If we had so much juice that we started to think saying the word “juice” was funny, and we said it all the time to ourselves, “juice, juice, juice,” even in public, and some Jewish people thought that we were chanting “Jews, Jews, Jews” at them, that would be too much juice.

9. If we had so much juice that there was none left for Robert Downey, Jr. (who supposedly loves juice) and he started wandering the streets, crying, because he had no juice, and a homeless person punched him in the face and said, “Stop crying, Sissy!” that would be too much juice.

10. If we had so much juice that when Gallagher smashed a watermelon, all that came out was dust, that would be too much juice.

11. If we had so much juice that the “Sex and the City” girls couldn’t make Cosmopolitans anymore, that would be too much juice.

12. If we had so much juice that that guy who landed the plane in the Hudson River couldn’t have any juice, that would be too much juice. He should really get juice if he wants.

13. If we had so much juice that someone decided to create an alternative fuel out of juice, and then Toyota manufactued a hybrid that ran on this alternative fuel, but then the Juice Hybrids’ brakes failed and a bunch of people got in accidents, that would be too much juice.

14. If we had so much juice that “Jamba Juice” had to change its name to just “Jamba,” that would be too much juice.

15. If we had so much juice that we had to build a huge refrigerator for the juice, like Scrooge McDuck’s vault, that would be too much juice.

16. If we had so much juice that we were tempted to swim in juice in our Scrooge McDuck refriegerator just like how Scrooge McDuck swims in money in his big vault, and then we got all sticky from the juice and then fell down in the laundry room (which we haven’t swept for weeks), and we got a bunch of dirt and stuff stuck to us, that would be too much juice.

17. If we had so much juice that when a Fatcat Businessman named Chester J. Juicefeller lifted his glass to make a toast to his very important guest, an investor named J.P. Juiceington, nothing came out of his glass, and Juiceington threw down his napkin on the table and said, “What is the meaning of this… No juice? The important business deal is off!” and then because of the soured deal, the economy subsequently went into a tailspin, and everyone had to eat rotten potatoes for dinner, except for us, that is, because we had enough juice to have juice with our rotten potatoes, and our neighbors started to resent us because we had a lot of juice and they didn’t, and we tried to give juice to them, but they were all, “We don’t want your charity juice!” (because even though they really wanted juice, they were also very proud), so we left baskets of juice on their doorsteps, but street urchins saw the juice and tried to steal the juice, but a rival gang of street urchins saw the juice too, and the two street urchin gangs fought each other over the juice, and one of the street urchins was killed in the melee, and his body was left on our neighbors’ doorstep, and our neighbors found the dead street urchin there, and the dead street urchin ended up being our neighbors’ long lost son, that would be too much juice.

18. If we had so much juice that we didn’t have enough room in the cupboard for all the juice, that would be too much juice.

1) Working as a caddy in a country club does not entitle one to liberalities of sexual congress with fellow caddies or with the beautiful daughters of influential club members. Also, you are worthless, and no one will ever love you.

2) Well-to-do businessmen do not wear plaid polyester golf pants with yellow golf shirts and still hope to maintain their spheres of influence. That you don’t know this already may stem from the fact that your own sphere of influence is negligible.

3) Bill Murray does not have a funny speech impediment. Speech impediments are not funny. What is the point of your even existing? This is not a rhetorical question. There is no point.

4) Rodney Dangerfield does not insert himself into awkward social situations with his trademark boorish remarks and make light of country club members’ stuffy, patrician lifestyles. Rodney Dangerfield is dead, and you still haven’t learned the importance of fiscal responsibility.

5) Chevy Chase is not a rakish playboy dropping one-liners for the entertainment of all. However, he does have nice teeth, nicer teeth than you, in fact. How hard is it to get to the dentist every once in a while? Everyone thinks you’re a dimwit who can’t go to the trouble to use proper oral hygiene.

6) Caddy scholarships do not exist. But if they did, you would never get one, because that would involve carrying a golf bag for an extended period of time. This is much too hard a task for you and your feeble body.

7) Leering at the legs of young women is not considered charming, but, in fact, makes you a sexist and therefore someone who doesn’t understand what it is to live in a civilized society. Do that society a favor and isolate yourself.

8) When a teenaged boy is found out by his Irish girlfriend to be cheating, she does not roll her eyes and make sarcastic remarks. She cries and says that she hates him over and over. Likewise, when this girl relates to her boyfriend that she is pregnant by another man, the boyfriend does not propose marriage but sinks into a deep depression, all of which would be perfectly fitting for someone like you, since you don’t deserve happiness.

9) Baby Ruth candy bars are not mistaken for feces, nor are country club swimming pools drained and sterilized, even when contaminated by real feces. But as a side note, suicide is a perfectly reasonable answer to the absurd conundrum that is your existence.

10) Let’s say that large amounts of money are being wagered on the outcome of a game of golf. When during said game, the field of play is destroyed by a lunatic setting of explosive charges, the tournament is postponed of canceled. By no means does such interference benefit the person who had been losing the game before the explosions happened. Such wanton flouting of rules and basic safety is not funny. Society benefits nothing by the depiction of this kind of reckless behavior and pretending otherwise only reinforces the banal absurdity of everything you think or say.

11) Kenny Loggins does not write music that anyone wants to hear. Why can’t you read a book or something?

12) Stuffed animals do not dance, and your life has no meaning.