When Will Jesus Bring the Pork Chops?

  SEEMS LIKE OLD TIMES: A DIALOGUE

  KEVIN: Boy, a lot has changed in twenty years.

  RAY: Yeah.

  KEVIN: Is Naughton still around?

  RAY: Frankie?

  KEVIN: No, Jimmy.

  RAY: Jimmy’s dead. And Frankie died at the funeral. They’re both dead.

  KEVIN: What about Bobby? How’s he?

  RAY: He’s dead, too. A lot of ’em are dead.

  KEVIN: What was the other Naughton kid’s name? Tommy? Is he dead?

  RAY: No. Tommy’s not dead.

  KEVIN: Thank God for that.

  RAY: He’s dying.

  KEVIN: Jeez! The mother must be heartbroken.

  RAY: The mother was killed in a boiler explosion. Blown to pieces.

  KEVIN: Jeez. I’ll never forget that house the Naughtons lived in. Kind of a cute little place with green shutters.

  RAY: Hit by lightning fifteen years ago. Burned to the ground. All the pets were killed.

  KEVIN: Jeez. That’s too bad. I remember the Naughtons always liked that house because it was so close to the church.

  RAY: Our Lady of Perpetual Suffering?

  KEVIN: Yeah.

  RAY: The church is gone. Condemned by the city last year and demolished on Good Friday.

  KEVIN: So where do the neighborhood kids go to school?

  RAY: Most of the neighborhood kids were killed a few years ago by a rapist who worked at the grocery store.

  KEVIN: Dorian’s?

  RAY: No, Babington’s.

  KEVIN: I liked Dorian’s. They always had good produce.

  RAY: Dorian’s collapsed ten years ago and killed nineteen customers. The entire Halloran family was decapitated at the butcher counter while they were pickin’ out meat.

  KEVIN: Jeez. Times really change.

  RAY: Well, life goes on.

  REAL REALISM FOR REALISTS

  DRINK UP

  I think the warning labels on alcoholic beverages are too bland. They should be more vivid. Here are a few I would suggest:

  “Alcohol will turn you into the same asshole your father was.”

  “Drinking will significantly improve your chances of murdering a loved one.”

  “If you drink long enough, at some point you will vomit up the lining of your stomach.”

  “Use this product and you may wake up in Morocco wearing a cowboy suit and tongue-kissing a transmission salesman.”

  “Men: When emptying your pockets after a night of using this product, you may come across a human finger, a wad of Turkish money and a snapshot of a naked ex-convict named Dogmeat. The photo will be inscribed, ‘To Dave, my new old lady.’ ”

  “Women: Drink enough of this and you will spend the rest of your life raising malnourished children in a rusting trailer with a man who sleeps all day. Except for the rapes.”

  GOD REST HIS SOUL

  Newspaper death notices could also be written more honestly. Have you seen the lies they print? “Cherished and beloved husband of Kathleen, devoted and esteemed father of Thomas; loving brother of Edward”? Bullshit. Let’s be realistic:

  “Ryan, James D.; jealous and abusive husband of Kate; lustful, wanton father of Maureen; controlling and manipulative father of Matthew; cruel, envious and conniving brother of Thomas, died yesterday to the great relief of the family. May he burn a long time in the worst parts of the deepest pits of the hottest precincts of hell. It is good to have him out of our lives.

  “Funeral at the Church of the Holy Bleeding Wounds, burial in Crown of Thorns Cemetery. No flowers; donations should be made in cash directly to the family for purposes of celebration.”

  ON BENDED KNEE

  This idea could spread. It might even inspire young men to make more realistic marriage proposals: “Honey, let’s get married. I realize I’m asking you to take a chance on a proven loser—I don’t have any money or stuff like that—but maybe—hear me out—maybe we could find a cheap, unclean apartment in a dangerous neighborhood and have more kids than we can afford. If we’re lucky, maybe a few of them won’t be born sickly and disfigured, in spite of our genetic histories. Meanwhile, I could find a dehumanizing, low-paying, dead-end job with no benefits, while you stay home watching TV and gaining weight.

  “And if things get bad—like if I get paralyzed, and you get raped by Mexican sailors and lose your mind and start crying all the time—we can always move in with my parents. They love kids, and their incest counseling is almost complete. And I’ve noticed Dad’s ‘episodes’ are starting to result in far less property damage than before. What do you say, honey? You want to give it a shot? Maybe our second set of HIV tests will turn up negative.”

  EARLY BOARDING: Children

  If I may renew a theme found elsewhere in the book, I have a bit more to say about early boarding on the airlines. It’s not just favoritism to the “disabled” that bothers me; that’s unfair enough. But! Immediately after the various cripples, limpers and wheelchair jockeys have been unfairly allowed to board early, the airline then has the nerve to allow people with children to get on the plane. Once again, at the expense of the rest of us. I do not understand this policy at all.

  Why should people board early simply because they have children? What’s so special about having kids? After all, a lot of kids are accidents; many people wind up with children simply because they’re unlucky. Is that something we should be rewarding? I don’t think being careless in bed should qualify someone for special treatment on an airplane.

  And by the way, as with the devious methods of the cane-and-crutch crowd mentioned earlier, I think there are some couples who bring their kids along on a trip for the sole purpose of early boarding. What other reason would you have for including kids on a trip? Enjoyment? Hardly.

  In fact—and this may seem extreme to some—it’s my conviction that there are some couples who have intentionally gotten married and had families specifically for the purpose of getting on the plane early. I know it sounds unlikely to you, but don’t forget, these are cold, pragmatic, striving yuppie-boomers; unsentimental people who largely regard children as props and commodities, anyway: “Honey, let’s have a kid, so we can board planes early.” “Great idea, Scott! You start making a list of good preschools, and I’ll get the lubricating jelly.” Believe me, it happens more than you may think.

  So, during this preflight, pre-boarding fiasco, after the crippled and the maimed have been safely strapped in, the airline people tell us they will now “preboard passengers traveling with small children.” Well, that’s fine as far as it goes, but what about passengers traveling with large children? Suppose you have a six-month-old son with a growth-hormone disorder? One of those seven-foot infants with oversized heads that you see in the National Enquirer. Actually, with a kid like that I think you’re better off checking him in at the curb, don’t you? He’d probably enjoy it in the luggage compartment. It’s dark in there, and I would imagine he’s used to that.

  But I digress. Forgive me for indulging my weakness for flights of colorful narration. Back to the real problem: people with children on airplanes. Here’s how you solve this. You make the following announcement:

  “Ladies and gentlemen, this is a pre-boarding announcement only. We would like to address those of you who, both today and in your lives generally, find yourselves burdened with needy and annoying children. We sympathize with you, but as long as you’ve decided to drag them along with you to Pittsburgh, we wish to minimize the inconvenience of their presence to the rest of us. Here is what is going to happen:

  “First of all, you’re getting on last—if there’s room. Before that, we’re going to board the full-grown humans and allow them to settle in, get comfortable and have a drink or two. You may be standing out here for an hour or more. Then, you and your children will be swiftly escorted onto the aircraft and placed in a special, soundproof, walled-off area in the rear of the plane. There will be standing room only. For safety purposes, you will be tethered to one another and
secured to the wall with leashes and straps.

  “More than likely, there will not be any food left for you, but your children will be allowed to scavenge the trays of those passengers who did not finish their meals. Aside from that food service, you will be left alone and expected to keep the children quiet.

  “And now, we ask that you please gather your precious creatures around you, and, when you hear the whistle, see to it that they move smartly and swiftly onto the plane, remaining quiet and avoiding any eye contact with grown-ups. Thank you for flying the friendly skies of Sensible Airlines.”

  TRAFFIC ACCIDENTS

  NEVER HANG AROUND

  I don’t often write about my own experiences; it’s not my style. But I had a recent incident in traffic that I’d like to tell you about. And before I begin, there are a couple of things you ought to know about me: I drive kind of recklessly, I take a lot of chances, I never maintain my vehicles and I don’t believe in traffic laws. And so, because of these practices, I tend to have what a picky person would probably refer to as a lot of traffic accidents.

  And wouldn’t you know, last week I ran over a sheep.

  Or, possibly, I ran over a small man wearing a sheepskin coat. I’m not sure, really, because I didn’t stop. That’s another rule of mine: I never stop when I have a traffic accident. Do you? No. You can’t. Who has time? Not me.

  If I hit something, or I run somebody over, I keep moving! Especially if I’ve injured someone. I refuse to involve myself in other people’s injuries. I’m not a doctor, I’ve had no medical training; I’m just another guy, out, driving around looking for a little fun. And I can’t be stopping for everything.

  Listen, folks. Let’s be logical about it. If you stop at the scene of the accident, all you do is add to the confusion. These people you ran over have enough troubles of their own without you stopping and making things worse. Think about it—they’ve just been involved in a major traffic accident! The last thing they need is for you to stop, get out of your car, go over to the wreckage and start bothering them with stupid questions: “Are you hurt?”

  Well, of course they’re hurt. Look at all the blood! You just hit them with a ton and a half of steel—of course they’re hurt. Leave these people alone. Haven’t you done enough? For once in your life do the decent thing—don’t get involved.

  Look at it this way, it’s none of your business in the first place; the whole thing took place outside of your car. Legally speaking, these people were not even on your property at the time you ran them over. They were standing in the street; that’s city property. You are not responsible! If they don’t like it, let ’em sue the mayor.

  And besides, the whole thing is over now; it happened back there, behind you! For God’s sake, stop living in the past. Do yourself a favor, count your blessings, be glad it wasn’t you. As it is, there’s probably a substantial dent in your fender. So be satisfied, my friend, you got off easy.

  And I’ll give you a truly practical reason not to stop. If you do stop, sooner or later the police are going to show up. Is that what you want? To waste even more of your time, standing around with a bunch of worthless civil servants, filling out forms, answering a lot of foolish questions . . . lying to the authorities?

  And one more thing: Didn’t anyone else see this accident? Are you the only one who can provide information? Surely the people you ran over caught a glimpse of it at the last moment. So, let them tell the police what happened. They certainly had a better view of it than you did.

  There’s just no sense in having two conflicting stories floating around about the same dumb-ass traffic accident. Things are bad enough: People are dead, families have been destroyed, it’s time to get moving! Chances are you’re late for dinner as it is.

  EXCEPTION TO THE RULE

  Now, folks. There are two sides to this. Helping people by leaving them alone when they’re injured is one thing, that’s my altruistic side; people need to be self-reliant, and I want to do what I can to foster that. But it’s often hard for me to drive away from a nice fiery accident scene, because I have a self-indulgent side, and that needs to be honored too.

  And so, on the other hand, if I’m out driving, enjoying a lovely day, and I see a traffic accident—one I’m not involved in—I stop immediately! I wanna get a good look at what’s goin’ on. I enjoy that sort of thing. If people are injured, I wanna take a look! I am Curious George.

  Of course, the police don’t like that. They say you’re rubbernecking and blockin’ traffic. I tell ’em, “Never mind that rubberneckin’ shit, I wanna take a look!” My philosophy: I’m never too busy that I can’t stop to enjoy someone else’s suffering. I’m looking for a little entertainment. To me, traffic accidents are one more form of entertainment.

  You want to hear my dream accident? Two buses and a chicken truck gettin’ hit by a circus train in front of a flea market. Entertainment! I’m lookin’ for an antique lamp stickin’ out of a clown’s ass. If I’m gonna take the time to stop, I expect a couple of fuckin’ laughs.

  And if the traffic situation is such that I can’t quite see what’s going on—can’t get a good enough look—I’m not the least bit shy about asking the police to bring the bodies over a little closer to the car.

  “Pardon me, Officer. Would you fellows mind dragging that twisted-looking chap over here a little closer to the car? My wife has never seen anyone shaped quite like that. Look at that, Sugarlips! Those are his testicles hanging from the rearview mirror. Thank you, Officer, that will be all now, you can throw him back on the pile. We’ll be moving along.”

  And off we go, out onto the highway looking for a little fun. Perhaps a flatbed truck loaded with human cadavers will explode in front of a Star Trek reunion. One can only dream and hope.

  A CRY FOR HELP

  Dear Friend:

  Your name has been provided to us, because we have discovered that, in spite of America’s recent economic problems, you may still have a few dollars tucked away that you are saving for a future financial emergency. Well, that emergency is here. We’re hoping you will be sympathetic to our effort and express it with your generosity.

  Stated quite simply, we’re raising money to help the rich and powerful. These hard-driving people continue to require large amounts of money, and most of them are far too busy to attend to this sort of direct appeal for themselves. We are here to help.

  The rich and powerful need your financial support in order to increase their wealth and power, so they can exercise even greater influence over national events, and, of course, over your lives. Remember, these people are small in number and, therefore, inadequately represented in our system of proportional government. They consequently lack influence and suffer the fate of many minorities, i.e., being ignored by the very government they have helped elect. It is for these reasons they have decided to band together to better present their ideas and especially to expand their influence with elected officials. But first they need your help. They need money.

  In the first stage, your money is needed for basics: stationery, office supplies, postage, phones and rent (first month, last month, security deposit). The rich and powerful need to set up a headquarters so they can start really raising money in order to live properly. But once they reach that level that doesn’t mean your job is done. Not at all.

  In fact, once things are running smoothly there’ll be a continuing and even greater need for more and more of your money in order to provide all of the expensive clothing, imported cars, fine jewelry, gourmet foods and exotic pets that these people require. That’s when your dollars will really count, helping provide the lifestyle to which the rich and powerful are not only accustomed but entitled.

  In addition to these considerable personal expenses, there will, of course, be a need for large amounts of money to persuade and influence the many politicians and government officials who, after all, have financial obligations of their own. Most of these dedicated public servants are underpaid and must find ways of supp
lementing their income without taking time off from work. Your money, funneled through the rich and powerful, can go a long way toward solving their financial problems. And you will have the satisfaction of knowing you have helped advance the selfless agenda the rich and powerful have laid out in their effort to improve our country.

  Can we count on you? Will you help? Will you give yourself the opportunity to say you helped the rich and powerful when they really needed it? Do it now. Do it for yourself and for your children. Sit down and write out a check for a substantial amount, maybe even more than you can afford. Make it payable to The Fund for the Rich and Powerful. You’ll take satisfaction knowing you have done your part. And you’ll be secure in the knowledge that whenever you have a problem, the rich and powerful will always be there to help.

  Sincerely,

  Esterbrook Winslow

  Somewhere Offshore

  P.S. Your canceled check is your receipt.

  BOB CALLING