You Know Who You Are

I cannot claim credit for finding this. I can't even claim credit for blogging about this first. This comes courtesy of my college roommate and another former housemate of ours from the days when we lived on Duke Street in Nueva Brunswick, which is in Nueva Jersey. If you didn't ever stay up late enough to see NJN sign off at like 2:30 in the morning, chances are you haven't seen this. But for those other owls who were sitting awake on their living room couches, contemplating actually doing homework for once or just masturbating and then heading to bed, all while going into their fourth straight hour of channel-flipping, you know what I'm bloggin' about...

I'm blogging about this "movie."

On this subject, I can't write anything more sublime than this, which was written by our good friend Squawking VFR. Mr. VFR and I were roommates for more than four years. And rather than try to tack my thoughts onto his gorgeous testimonial to Garden State pride, allow me instead to present for you a fun fact about Mr. VFR.

Mr. VFR's favorite movie is (or at least was) none other than the 1987 box office juggernaut, Planes, Trains & Automobiles. (Directed by John Hughes, starring John Candy and Steve Martin, runtime: 93 minutes.) Who wouldn't love it, right? But VFR was a quirky dude, and his relevant quirk was that he would only watch this movie on Thanksgiving.

Understandable. It's a holiday thing, a tradtion thing, whatever. Except that we never celebrated holidays together, and we certainly never celebrated them at our college places of residence. (To some extent you could argue that at college, every Friday and Saturday night is a holiday, but again, whatever.) So why the hell did he bring the tape to school with him?

I think I know why. It was to tempt me into the embarrassing predicament, late in our sophomore year, of having to explain to a room full of my friends why my roommate had just interrupted us, 45 minutes into Plains, Trains & Automobiles, and angrily demanded that we eject the tape from the VCR immediately. And in so doing, Mr. VFR had generously also given me this very story that you're reading. And stories are the rarest gift of all, kids.

I have no shadowy psychological idiosyncrasies to share about the other housemate involved in the finding of this fine piece of Jerseyana. But if he's out there reading this, I hope he knows that he has my sincere gratitude for its discovery. Good job, man.

How I Imagine the Inaugural Ball Will Go: A Play in Less Than One Act

[SMOKEY slides up to SCARLETT JOHANSSON]

SMOKEY: Hey, Scar-Yo. Wasssaaaaaaaaa...? Are you enjoying the Inaugural Ball? Hey, remember just before I asked if you were enjoying the Inaugural Ball when I said, wassaaaaaaa...?

SCARLETT JOHANSSON: Ew. Who are you?

SMOKEY: I'm Smokey Robinson, baby. [sings "ONE HEARTBEAT - THE JESUS VERSION"]

SCARLETT JOHANSSON: Sorry, Smokebag or whatever, I only like guys with vaguely Middle Eastern middle names. 

[SMOKEY stares blankly.]

SCARLETT JOHANSSON: Middle name, Middle East. Middle, middle. It's about the symmetry.

SMOKEY: Do you have someone writing your dialogue or something?

SCARLETT JOHANSSON: Yes. You, stupid.

SMOKEY: Right.

SCARLETT JOHANSSON: I gotta go.

SMOKEY: No, wait. 

SCARLETT JOHANSSON: No, you wait, Mister... what did you say your name was?

SMOKEY: Smokey Falafel Robinson.

SCARLETT JOHANSSON: Oh. [This next one should be read VERY SWEETLY.] Oh! Hiya, Smokey. Wanna come back to my place?

SMOKEY: You mean, ditch out of the Inaugural Ball to go have sex with Scarlett Johannson?

SCARLETT JOHANSSON: Hey, back off, pal, who said anything about sex? I just wanted to snort cocaine off your ass and break some shit in my hotel room.

SMOKEY: You know, you really are a lot more freaky than you seem like you would be, Scarlett Johansson.

SCARLETT JOHANSSON: A girl's gotta eat.

SMOKEY: Fair point. Although I don't really see how that's related to anything we just talked about. 

[Enter JESUS CHRIST, Our Lord and Savior.]

JESUS: [interrupting] Excuse me, have either of you seen a Yellow Lab puppy? Looks like Old Yeller, only smaller? Like two months old maybe?

SCARLETT JOHANSSON: I saw a Golden Retriever once.

[JESUS and SMOKEY stare at her.]

JESUS: Man, the Obamas are gonna kill Me. I was supposed to be puppysitting but then I saw Kate Moss over by the ice sculpture, talking to Bill Ayers and some dude in a turban. I mean, Kate Moss. I had to try and tap that, man, she's a supermodel. I'm only human. Plus, I'm like Her Hugest Fan. Now what the fuck am I gonna do about the Obamas' dog?

SMOKEY: You know, Jesus, You seem like a lot more of a Douchebag Fuckup than I thought You would be.

JESUS: Dude, not now, okay? Like I don't have enough to fucking deal with just from the Parental disappointment. You think your dad is a ballbuster? Fuck, I gotta find that dog. Sparkles!

[JESUS exits.]

SMOKEY: Did Jesus just say the Obamas were going to kill Him?

SCARLETT JOHANSSON: Do you have any cocaine, Falafel?

SMOKEY: Indeed I do. [SMOKEY winks at audience and smiles expansively, that liar.]

[SMOKEY and SCARLETT JOHANSSON exit. Later, SCARLETT JOHANSSON finds out that SMOKEY doesn't have an exotic middle name, and that the song "ONE HEARTBEAT" is cheesy as hell, and also that SMOKEY has a pretty obvious crush on JESUS. Meanwhile, Jesus flees the country when He's unable to find the OBAMAS' NEW DOG, which they were going to take with them to the WHITE HOUSE.]

Welcome to the Future, America. Population: You (as long as you are not teh gay).

Boy, oh boy, America. You sure do know how to pick 'em. At least, 52.3% of you do.

For me personally, this is a pretty dark day, because Barack Obama still owes me the measly $32 he borrowed from me three years ago at a restaurant in Georgetown, and now there is virtually no chance I will be able to get him to pay up. Seriously, do you have any idea how difficult it is to get close enough to yell threats at a U.S. President if he doesn't give you your money?

Well, I'll tell you. It's very difficult.

It's a dark day for other reasons too. In picking the more sober, serious, intelligent, energetic, pragmatic, and progressive candidate, I think we've pretty much spelled the end of comedy for the forseeable future. Saturday Night Live is probably going to have to go back to forcefeeding us unbearable tripe like "Unfrozen Caveman Lawyer" and "Mr. Bill." I gagged a little just writing that last sentence.

Worse still (as if there could be anything worse than an Obama presidency) is the apparent passage of several bills that outlaw teh gay marriage. (Does anyone else smell a revival of "Church Chat?") As long as gays are facing this kind of institutional rejection, there is almost no chance that I will live to see a President who is truly teh gay and mock him/her for being a President and First Lady rolled into one. I was really looking forward to that.

Then again, up until yesterday, I never thought I'd live to make fun of a black President either, so I suppose you never know.

Here's a Nickel's Worth of Free Advice

Just because two people say things does not mean that they both made valid points. Much more often, one person is just speaking nonsense, and should consequently be punished for their insolent behavior.

For example, if I say something and you disagree with it, you are wrong and should be ostracized from society.

Therefore, ergo, and henceforth, you shall all be on notice, people. No more Mister Nice Smokey. And do you want to know why? Because not ONE of you sent me a Guy Fawkes Day card. Not one.

Disappointed, America. Very disappointed. [SMOKEY shakes head.]

And don't be all like, "oh, I was busy," because I know you fucking found time to vote. Jerk.

This was SO going to be Oscar the Grouch's last-minute Get Out The Vote message!

Curse you, Barack O'Bama. You've outflanked me for the last time. I hope you nearly choke on a pretzel during the Super Bowl - even if you don't win.