Jen R: everybody's trying to get into their own royal family.
me: yeah.
Jen: how you feeling?
me: bad. overtired. everyone i know is out of reach. no connections. a lifetime of intelligence and creativity squandered.
Jen: there's a twinkle in your eye.
me: no those are tears. i'm waiting for my pills to be delivered. it always brings a tear to my eye when i see a couple of boxes of Vanquish on my doorstep.
Jen: it's like a good drug deal.
me: hey can you put ravioli in the air fryer?
Jen: toast them in the toaster oven instead, TOASTED RAVIOLI!!!
Toasty from Mortal Kombat: TOASTY!!! simpler times. times when you didn't worry because you always had another life. why didn't Chef Boyardee have toasted ravioli in a can?
me: the Forest Library, what are you waiting for?
Jen: i've seen the brochure, that park next to it, it's like Central Park but fun-size. the last book i ever checked out from a library was Goodnight Moon for my 2-year-old. the book had a padlock on it.
me: and then take your daughter to Shrek at the Forest Theatre.
Jen: nah, that outdoor seating sucks, it's just a pile of logs.
me: in my dream i'm the kicker for Ohio State, the field-goal kicker for the Ohio State college football team. i'm surly, i dart around campus with a suspicious look, my eye is distrusting, i have a perma-scowl on my face. but when it comes to the Big Game i always kick the ball over the pole.
Jen: wait so it's like the Limbo pole?
me: the next scenes are hazy. i'm explaining at an Ancient Greek powwow sesh with other twigged students that i got the inspiration to kick from a library book i checked out in the '80s. LeVar Burton came out of the TV and wrote down for me the Dewey Decimal System number of the book to get.
LeVar Burton: and i let you borrow my library card.
me: How to Get into Ohio State was the name of the book. at this point the students soften towards me, we all in a kumbaya moment realize that we are all at college because of one man: LeVar Burton.
Jen: i had the exact same dream, except i was the kicker for Notre Dame so i was already loved.
Martin Yan, crying: SO MUCH FOND LEFT in the wok that goes to waste, washed out with the tide because the hot pot is too hot for you.
Santa Claus: blame Dan Casagrande that you're getting coal in your Christmas stocking this year.
Julie Patzwald: at least put charcoal soap in everyone's stocking.
Mr. Furley: only i can say SMOOTH like i'm gargling.
Jen R: there is no greater feeling in the world than writing the grocery list knowing a $100 bill will be slipped into your shirtpocket soon.
Oprah: i obviously have to run on the Democratic Ticket next time. my running mate will be Pee-wee Herman.
Pee-wee Herman: for the Amish vote.
Pati Jinich: you're off me now, you've soured on me like a Teotihuacan lime. i've become a GRIND. watching me is a grind. like a grey Aztec mortar-and-pestle stone grind.
Jen R: A Christmas Story takes place during World War II, that's mindblowing to think about.
me: we thank your uncle for his service.
American Pop.
it's that outdoor wedding scene from the Tears for Fears "Advice for the Young at Heart" music video.
Benny: i'm an introvert, pops.
Zalmie: what the hell is that?
Benny: what do you want out of this marriage?
wife with a scared awkward smile: for you to smile.
Benny: I KNEW IT!!! you and mama wanted me to be a DENTIST!!! NOT a jazz pianist.
Ralph Bakshi: i mean look at this boy's TEETH!!!
Lili Marlene: it's best if you don't know the words. don't hum a few bars.
Lili Estefan: not even in Spanish.
Palumbo: i let you marry a man who sells George Jetson refrigerators.
Stan Laurel: you never thought you'd see me as a mob boss. but i made it, baby.
The Cure: ...
the Predator's naked wife and Mary Tyler Moore are gyrating in a weird trance at the Allen Ginsberg poetry slam.
Bakshi: that's not stoned dancing, kid, that's my Rotoscope.
Bakshi: it's Rotoscope, not Gyroscope. you like how all my characters gyrate even when they're not dancing?
Bakshi: it's Rotoscope, but it isn't cheating, i know how to draw. my stuff isn't fluid art, it's not splash painting. neither is it shock art nor transgressive art. my art is life.
Tony: they're so many generations here, i can't keep up, i'm losing track. KANSAS?!!! Kansas is the WORST state, the only two cool guys from Kansas are Kitschensyngk and Superman.
manager, both music and of the diner: elbow room?
Tony: i play the accordion.
manager: now you listen good to me. i knew Pasqually, i worked with Pasqually, and you, boy, are NO Pasqually.
Tony: great, now you're gonna lose the election. my elbows need room to collect more grease on the tips of the elbows so they can wash more dishes, i am a Greaser after all.
manager: i think the Palmolive Lady is hot.
Tony: holy shit i'm gonna fuck the hippie version of Carol Burnett!!!
Tony: i'm really looking like Jack Tripper here.
Suzy Lu: what i meant was i can't have kids NOW...
Trinity the cat: when i snore i sound like Q*bert.
NoizeBoy: to be or not to be, is that still the question?...
Jillian Clare: see? see, NoizeBoy? you can do it if you want to. my shy guy.
NoizeBoy: can i join your Shakespeare class? not as a cameraman but as a student?
Ms. Krause: i teach the class so yes, i could use another boy toy, my previous didn't develop.
Jillian: NoizeBoy, i want you to come out of your shell and be a booming leading-man stage Hamlet.
Hamlet: a histrionic Hamlet.
NoizeBoy: only if there are Taco Bell shells.
Julie Patzwald: our new goth-band name? Egret Regret.
Muenster: the Cheetos cheese.
Solitaire: tragically starting the whole "it's okay to be alone" movement.
Ingmar Bergman: i would have cast Gale Sondergaard as the Wicked Witch of the West, in an absurd sense.
Hugh Grant: just grilling some Nathan's hot dogs on my tiny barbecue on my tiny front lawn outside my flat.
Nigella Lawson: this Twiglet looks like my ex's cock.
Talia at Hugh Grant's flat beside the cat bowl: the old cat food is dried-on like cement.
woman on Instagram: hey don't post my videos on your Instagram Stories.
Dirg: sorry.
Trent Reznor: Where Is Everybody?.........Fermi paradox.
Thomas Merton: put on this robe.
Robert Frost: now what?
Thomas Merton: you look like me if i had lived.
Jen R: so what should we do for Thanksgiving? turkey pizza?
JUST THEN Jackie Fitzgerald knocks on our door with a LOUD thud.
Jackie Fitzgerald: hello, sunshines. i brought over some turkey pot pie i cooked for you two lovebirds.
Jen: we're not really together but we're together all the time, it's complicated. you BAKED babe!!!
me: this is GENIUS, Jackie!!! TURKEY POT PIE!!! Thanksgiving-style!!!
Jackie: yeah, with all the trimmings. the peas, the carrots, the potatoes, the turkey pieces, all drowning in gravy inside the shell. that fucking FLAKY crust tho.
me: i can see why all the young men chase you around the yard. you feed them.
Jen: yeah, boys in this new Republican world will not know how to cook.
Jackie: i'm 70 but i look 30.
Jen: like your latest boy toy, i finally caught a glimpse of him under the fence as he was beating up a leaf blower.
me: he looks like a tall skinny He-Man.
Jen: black leather motorcycle battle jacket, mute, he looks like he's fresh off a prison chain gang.
Jackie: his name is Gunther but he's not Swedish.
Jen: i love that your front-porchlight is a pink lightbulb, turned on when you're fucking, that is so like a brothel.
Jackie: turned on when i'm turned on.
me: the entire neighborhood sees the orange glow coming from your bedroom.
Jen: do you have a pink motorcycle parked in your back lawn?
Jackie: yes, leaning on a kickstand. the Soundgarden song "Kickstand" playing in the background.
Jen: you're so Barbiecore.
me: you almost hit me with your pink Mazda Miata on my way back from my morning walk!!! as i sauntered past your property. i can smell the mawk of your combined cum emanating from your house in the morning, it's like hot waffles. when your front wood gate slides open, WATCH OUT!!! like a bullet. speed kills, ma'am.
Jen: Jackie was channeling her inner Dusty Springfield.
Jackie: sorry. i must've been distracted from all the fucking i was doing last night that a woman my age really shouldn't be getting up to.
Jen: let's cuddle.
me: your cuddle is my hope.
Jen: save the spooning for us, not that big-ass heavy PEWTER soup-spoon ladle in the Thanksgiving turkey soup.
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