I'm Going to Have to Start Charging You for our Sexual Relations

Hey baby. So, as you already know, I'm runnin' pretty low on cash these days, and now things have taken another bad turn. Mr. Jerkinks - oh I mean "Jenkins" - fired me from Cactus Outlet. Stupid old shit. Maybe he could have explained to me before he fired me that I was supposed to water the cactuses. Don't cactuses usually live in the desert? I don't see why it's my fault that he never told me that he got pussy, water-needing cactuses.

Anyways, the point is that I'm strapped for cash babe. Now you know how much I care about you - how much I care about us. And I want there to always be an "us." So I've thought it over, and I think in order for me to be able to afford going out with you, I'm going to have to start charging you for our sexual relations.

Think about it, baby: I'd be able to pay my bills, afford rent, and have the means to treat you like the princess you are. And you get to keep having sex with me.

The thing is, if I don't have some kind of revenue, I fear our relationship could suffer. Gas ain't cheap these days, and my mom's '91 Caravan just guzzles that shit. Without a job, I can't afford gas. Without gas, in order to get to your apartment I'd have to catch the Blue Seven busline, which would not only take an extra fifteen minutes to get to your neighborhood, but wouldn't get me any closer than FIVE blocks from your apartment. All said, this adds another 25-30 minutes going to your apartment, and then ANOTHER 25-30 minutes going back! At this stage in our lives, baby, do we really want a long distance relationship?

What about the future? Are we ever going to be able to afford that red-brick house with the white-pickett fence if you're the only one earning money? Think about it.

I'm pretty sure I've demonstrated in the past that I'm regularly willing to supply "product" (i.e., having sex with you). And as my beautiful, lovely, girlfriend, you are entitled to top-notch customer service. I have three guarantees to ensure maximum customer satisfaction:

Sex Guarantee #1: Great rates. Other men who charge women for sex will charge $100, maybe even $150 for a night of sex. $150?!? Not for my baby. You get to have sex with me for merely $50 a night. But wait! I'm also offering a special daytime rate of $15 for any sex between 8AM and 8PM. Still not good enough? How about this: for every five times you have sex with me, you earn thirty minutes of sex with me - free of charge.

Sex Guarantee #2: "The customer is always right." You want me to perform oral sex on you (or if you want to perform it on me), consider it done. Making love to you in your rear? You got it. Want to invite one of your girlfriends over so both of you can have your way with me? She gets in for HALF price. Whatever it is you want*, you get.

*No queer stuff with other dudes - company policy.

Sex Guarantee #3: As the old saying goes, the customer always comes first. (I promise, I'll try real hard to make that more of a habit in the future.)

Operators are standing by. (I told my roommate, Rodney, about the idea, so he can help you reach me when you want to have sex with me.) Call within the next ten minutes, and save half-off on post-sex snuggling charges.

I've Noticed an Attitude Shift in my Ten Year-old Daugther Since Telling Her Santa isn't Real

Around other kids in the neighborhood:

Okay, I'll play House with you guys. I'll be an attorney from New York in her early 30s, but I don't want any kids. Aside from lying to me for my whole life, the cruelest thing my parents ever did to me was bringing me into this world in the first place. So no kids for me. Sam, you can play my husband, but don't think into this designation too much. It's solely for the sake of the game. Maybe there was a time when I could have loved you Sam, a time when I truly would have loved you with my whole heart. But that was a different me, when my heart still had some warmth. There is no love in this life.

Who wants to be Sam and my neighbors?


Around her younger siblings:

John, you've really got to stop whining about going to Grandma's. Going to Grandma's isn't the most exciting way to spend an afternoon - OK, not only do we all know that, but you know what else? We all agree with you. But when Mom says, "It's really important that we go," she's really saying, "Grandma's going to die soon and I want us to see her while we still can." Grandma's not getting any younger, John, and neither is mother. Grandma getting so close to death - and Mom, stop me on this if I'm off at all - Grandma getting so close to death is not only going to be a great loss for Mom, but a harsh reminder of her own mortality. We're all going to die, John. And in this wretched world, we all die alone. There is no hope. There is no rescue. Anything you ever thought was good in this life is an illusion. The only thing you can rely on being certain is that one day you will be consumed by the inescapable void of non-existence.

Oh, did I make you cry? Maybe you'll feel better when "Santa Claus" delivers your Legos to you next week. Simpleton.


Around me:

Father, I know you're in the middle of enjoying this episode of CSI: New York, a show that really sums up how lofty your aesthetic sensibilities are, but it has been 38 minutes since you promised me that you would help me with my history report. Is that another thing you've chosen to lie to me about? Can I trust anything you tell me ever again? Well, maybe I'm being a little too hard on you. After all, this is Gary Sinese we're talking about here. Why wouldn't a shitty show with a washed up actor be more important to you than you're own daughter? I know why: you're a terrible father.


Around her basketball coach:

So let me get this straight: all we need to be champions is practice, hustle, and determination? Gee, that sounds simple. Is that the same winning formula you followed to become the fifth grade girls basketball coach that you are today? Don't lie to these girls, Coach. We're average at best. The last thing they need is someone lying to them and allowing them to believe in dreams. The longer they believe in dreams, the more crushed they'll be when they learn that no one ever gets what they want in life.

Unless, of course, it's always been your dream to be a fifth grade girls coach. In which case, I feel so bad for you that I hope you die in your sleep tonight.


50 feet away from the mall Santa:

WHAT'S YOUR DEAL? CAN'T GET OFF LIKE A NORMAL HUMAN BEING? GOTTA GET YOUR JOLLIES LIKE THIS? BURN IN HELL! BURN IN HELL!

First Date: Special Edition

Hi Stacy! George here. Hope that this e-mail finds you well this Sunday morning. I wanted to write and let you know how much fun I had last night. And also, I wanted to check in and make sure that you had an okay time too. Have you decided yet whether you'd like to go on a second date with me? I sensed at times last night you might not have been crazy about how the date was going. If you were to decide to chance a second rendezvous with yours truly, I promise a dazzling, even more spectacular evening than last night.

I will pick you up in a limousine again, only this time it will be a color-changing limousine (think Wizard of Oz horse). We will ride this "limousine of a different color" to Le Petit Chateau, where we dined last night. I have arranged to change the candle lighting inside (which I thought was just a little outdated) to laser lighting. Lasers are hip, and kids love them. I think this will be much better than the lighting on the first date.

I've already reserved us the same booth we sat in last night. By next weekend, though, it will have hovercraft technology installed in it and will be capable of mid-air suspension ten feet off the ground. (Should be safe by Saturday night. Think you'll be free then?)

Our waiter (who will serve us by jetpack) will now have an Italian accent. When I was planning the first date, I decided on Le Petit Chateau because I remember you saying that you like French food. If I had also known that you had lived in Italy for a year, then I would have arranged for Sergio to be on the job last night. But details like this can always be fixed on a second run.

For my part, I will learn enough Italian to order your meal for you. (Also, I will opt for mashed potatoes this time instead of garlic bread. And I will remember chewing gum.) Over dinner, the conversation will be less focused on my ex-wife, and more directed at your interests and background. I will also be funnier.

In addition to enhancing aspects of last night's date, I have plans for new material as well:

1) In this date edition, I will call over the house string-quartet to play Chopin for you. After they finish, I will say, "Not bad. Care if I give it a whirl?" Sergio will jetpack the violin up to me so I can play you "Ewok Celebration Suite."

2) When we can eat no more, we will leave the restaurant arm in arm. Steps away from my color-changing limo, a gun-wielding mugger will emerge from the shadows and demand your purse. Positioning myself between you and harm's way, I will wave my hand and say, "You don't need to have her purse." He will say (to you), "I don't need to have your purse." I will say, "She can leave and have a pleasant evening," and he will say (to you again), "You can leave. And have a pleasant evening." While you are still shocked, I will offer you champagne from my color-changing limousine.

3) Same mugger situation, only this time the mugger will shoot at me before I say a word. I will very quickly shift my entire body to the left in one jerky, near impossible motion to avoid the bullet. After shooting him in the chest (with a gun I kept hidden all night), I will offer you champagne from my color-changing limousine.

As you can tell, this date improves in so many ways upon the original. I really hope that you – not the CGI you – will be joining me for it.

<3
George

Austrian Comic Relief

Hi. This is me, The Very Mathias. Sorry about being lazy with postings this week. Unfortunately this trend has to continue for the time being, as I am soon to depart on a week-long school field trip to Vienna.

In the meantime, I invite you to enjoy a comedy skit written by a real life Austrian. It's real, it's uncut, and it might change the way you look at Austrian humorists.


Characters:

TV-Reporter (Male or Female)
Noel Mitzi Unterfranzenberger/Leo/Commodus/Jack
4 Zombies(male or female)/4 Pirates/Green-Matrix/Orange-Guy/Blue-Guy
Fish-Girl/ Liz
German(male or female)
Fish-Guy/Lord Vader/Will
Arnie

TV-Reporter: Hello and welcome to our weekly cinema preview, today live from the “Walk of Shame”-Boulevard here in Pollywood. I am standing here right in front of the Canon-Theatre, where tonight are going to be the 28th Annual Anthony Awards. We’ll have a very special guest today, who has the best chances of winning the Award tonight. But at first we take a short look at three new films, which will come soon to your cinemas. The first one is a sequel to one of the best movies ever. Some thought, how could you make a sequel to this movie, it’s not possible, but our Pollywood stars, made the impossible possible! Prepare to see as the first people on earth the first scenes of the new Blockbuster: Titanic II!

(Leo (gay) to the middle of the stage, waiting and shouting)

Leo: I am the king of the world!!!

(in the background 4 people walk like Zombies from one side of the stage to the other)

Zombie Nr.1: Captain, Iceberg ahead!

Zombie Nr.2, 3, 4: Mine! Mine! Mine! (go to the other side; off)

Leo: (dancing) I am the king of the world!!!

(a guy and a girl come to him, moving their mouths like a fish)

Girl: He sorry, dude!

Leo: I am the king of the world!!! (saying it to them)

(both look wondered)

Guy: Well, have you seen my son, he is orange with white stripes?

Leo: I am the king of the world!!!

Girl: (parroting) Well, yeah King of the world! So have you seen his son ….. Kenny?

Guy: Nemo!

Leo: (angry) I am the king of the world!!!

Girl: Tell you what, Water is sure not good for humans!

(lights to the Reporter)

TV-Reporter: Well! Woow! (takes deep breath) Okay, let’s move to the next one. It’s another movie in the style of Alien vs. Predator, but if you ask me, what in fact you have to do,… I would not even watch it if I had to! Wait, I had to! Oh, fuck! Well,….hm.. Look for yourself. Here is Lord Vader vs. Commodus – (subtitle) with special appearance by the Green Matrix. Of course it’s rated PG!

(lord vader with lightsaber from one side, commodus with sword from other side; both have glasses; lord vader should be small maybe on his knees; commodus)

Lord Vader: You have got my best education-General captive and I want HER back now, or you will feel the power of the force.

Commodus: Hey small one! You will do as I, Commodus the Merciful…..

Lord Vader: Merciful? (laughs)

Commodus: Am I not Merciful?

Lord Vader: No!

Commodus: (goes close to him; shouts) AM I NOT MERCIFUL?

(both start to fight, when suddenly a green guy with a cigarette in the mouth comes on stage, maybe with black glasses, while the others are fighting, he steps in front)

Green: Why, Mr. Anderson? Why, Mr. Fischer? (takes a breath from the cigarette and goes off)

Commodus: I am merciful!

Lord Vader: No your not! (while fighting)

(a person comes on stage and speaks in german)

German: Es tut mir leid, ich bin nicht von hier. Könnten sie mir sagen, wie ich zu einem Studienplatz kommen kann, den ich einem Einheimischen wegnehmen kann?

(an orange and a blue guy come on stage an shout)

Orange, Blue: Foreigners OUT!!!

(German leaves sad, others off with a big smile)

(Commodus pushes Lord Vader away from him to the ground, takes sword)

Commodus: Now you will die! One last wish, blackie?

Lord Vader: Well, yes! What about a grandson?

Commodus: What??

Lord Vader: I AM YOUR FATHER!

Commodus: It seems to me, that I knew it all the time!

Lord Vader: Sure, that’s because you grew up in my house!

(they hug, lights back to Reporter)

TV-Reporter: uuhhh! Well that’s finished, but not for everyone! (nasty laugh) So now we come to the last movie for today. It’s the spin-off from a this year summer blockbuster and the most important fact for us here in lovely bilingual Carinthia is, that it was filmed here. So please enjoy Pirates of the Lake Wörther – At the Ice Ages End.

(Jack, on stage, with bottle, Will enters)

Will: Jack!

Jack: Captain! Captain! Savvy?

Will: Well, (steps on table) Oh Captain, my captain!

Jack: What’s your problem, eunuch?

Will: It’s snowing again!

Jack: aaahhh, why didn’t you say so! (runs crazy around) Hide the rum! – And where the hell are we?

Will: (looking to the landscape) There I see a sign! We are in Celovec. No, no wait, there is a second line. I think it’s Klagenfurt. Yeah, Klagenfurt.

Jack: Wow! I didn’t know, they had bilingual town names the 18th century!

(Liz comes on stage)

Liz: They are coming!

Jack: Who?

Liz: Those bloody pirates!

Jack: But honey, don’t worry, old Jack is with you.(puts arm around her)

(she hits him in the face; Jack running around as he is searching for something)

Will (getting down on the floor again): Why mustn’t she say Captain?

(Jack wants to go off, but at the same time 4 pirates come on stage and he walk backwards to Will and Liz)

Pirate 1: Well, well look what we’ve got here!

Pirate 2: What? (Pirate 1 hits Pirate 2 on the head)

Pirate 3 to Pirate 4: But I still don’t see, how do we know it’s an Ice Age?

Pirate 4: Because of all the ICE!!!!!!!

(Pirate 1 goes to Jack)

Pirate 1: This time you won’t escape, Jack.

Jack: Parley?

(Pirate 1 wants to grasp for his sword, but he has no sword)

Pirate 1: Sword, a kingdom for a sword!

(Will, Liz and Jack run past Pirate 1; Pirate 2 is still holding his head, Pirate 3 and 4 are discussing about the ice; Will and Liz off, Jack turns around)

Jack: Gents, this is the day, that you will always remember, as the day that you AGAIN almost caught Captain Jack…(a hand grasps his mouth and pulls him off)

TV-Reporter: Finally, and here is our special guest, the star of all three movies you just saw, Noel-Mitzi Unterfranzenberger! (Noel comes on stage, like on the red carpet, smiling, waving to fans, shake hands with reporter) Hello Noel, I am allowed to say Noel to you, am I not?*laughs* How are you?

Noel: Thanks!

TV-Reporter: (look confused) Ja. Are you excited that you are nominated three times as best leading actor?

Noel: Yeah, sure! You know, I am just a young actor, who had luck. It’s just great to be here with all the stars. I am absolutely thrilled…

TV-Reporter: Yes, (interrupted)

Noel: wooow….

TV-Reporter: Okay, (interrupted)

Noel: It’s crazy. You know, I never would have dreamed of standing here and…

TV-Reporter: Great, (interrupted)

Noel: and … you know…and……

TV-Reporter: Well, could we just go on?

Noel: (ignoring him)Being nominated three times. (starting to cry) It’s so wonderful.

TV-Reporter: May I? Well, (sigh) let’s talk about your parts in your three new films. How was it to play so different characters in such a short time?

Noel: It was hard (pause)

TV-Reporter: and?

Noel: No, I won’t answer any questions about my private life.

TV-Reporter: I did not ask you…(interrupted)

Noel: I won’t tell you that I have a new girlfriend.

TV-Reporter: I don’t mind!

Noel: (secretly)We met on the Titanic set.

TV-Reporter: (angry) Can’t you just give bloody answers to my bloody questions??

Noel: Sure! Calm down, buddy! (put arm around him)

TV-Reporter: (put arm down again) I’m not your buddy! (deep breath) One last question. Tell me, what role did you always want to play?

Noel: Well……. you know……. I don’t know…..

TV-Reporter: Okay, forget it!

Noel: No, no, I got it!

TV-Reporter: WOOW!

Noel: (dramatically)I always thought that I would be a better Terminator. Maybe one day….. (interrupted by Arnie, with a gun)

(Reporter falls to the floor)

TV-Reporter: Why me?? Bloody actors!!!

Arnie: Nobody plays the Terminator except for the Governator! Hasta La Vista Baby!!!

(lights off)

Der Urlacher ißt Den Tiki!

If it's the middle of a Sunday night and you're watching network television in America, chances are you're watching infomercials for knives that cut steel or all the 60s folk ballads you've ever wanted on nineteen limited edition CDs. (Unless you're watching FOX, in which case you're watching really tempting phone sex ads.)

But if you're watching TV at 3AM on Austrian network television, you're watching NFL Sunday Night Football. You're also probably not Austrian.

Mix a six-hour time difference with a concern for that crucial insomniac-American-sports-fan demographic and you've got Sunday (Late, Late) Night Football as put on by ÖRF 1 – the first of Austria's two network channels.

For this past Sunday's installment of SNF: ÖRF style, my Chicago Bears were playing the New York Giants in a game to decide who the dominate force in the NFC is. Of course, I watched. This is how it went...

1:45
Alarm goes off. I've been sleeping for the past four hours so I can make it through the whole game, which I figure will probably go until about 5:30 or so. (I have work at 7:45 in the morning.)

I brew a pot of coffee and down the first two cups in a flash. About six cups left – plenty to keep me up.

2:00
I cozy up real intimate like to my friend's borrowed TV and keep the volume low so as not to wake my roommates. I flick on ÖRF 1 to discover that the game isn't going to start until 2:30AM. You know what that means: Austrian pregame show.

The announcers introduce themselves. They're speaking exclusively in German (and continue to do so throughout the broadcast). The play-by-play man is Bernhard Rusch, and the color commentator is Christian Mairitsch. Rusch and Mairitsch get into a Holmes/Watson routine, with Rusch asking basic questions and Mairitsch playing expert.

RUSCH: How many minutes do the football men play for?

MAIRITSCH: Sixty.

RUSCH: Who are the zebra men?

MAIRITSCH: Officials. They enforce the rules.

RUSCH: What is the ball made of?

MAIRITSCH: The skin of a pig, I believe.

2:05
Cut from a shot of the announcers to a map of the continental U.S. map that stays on screen for ten straight minutes. Rusch and Mairitsch discuss where Chicago is and where New York is. Both announcers agree that America is entirely too large.

Still a shot of the map. Mairitsch points out that the Bears want to win this game to prove that Chicago is not the "second city." The Giants, however, are determined to prove that New York is a superior place to live.

Two minutes of silence.

Rusch chips in that the Chicago players play for the pride of Bears, while the New York players fight for Giants.

Three minutes of silence.

2:15
Finally a new shot. This one's a faraway angle shot of the field. Unfortunately, this particular shot doesn't change for five minutes. In between long gaps of silence, Rusch and Mairitsch discuss the players' uniforms.

RUSCH: The Chicago players are wearing white, yes?

MAIRITSCH: Yes.

RUSCH: And so tonight they play for polar bears?

MAIRITSCH: I believe so.

RUSCH: The New Yorks are blue giants?

MAIRITSCH: It appears that way. They cannot be green giants, because there is a green giant American vegetable company.

RUSCH: We will see tonight if these blue giants ate their vegetables!

MAIRITSCH: Yes, for if they haven't, the polar bears may eat the blue giants! (Bellowing laughter.)

RUSCH: (Screetchy, child-like laughter.)

2:20
Cut to an American-made special interest piece on Tiki Barber. In it he reads from his children's book to New York school kids. Commentators agree Tiki is one of the most caring people in the huge country that is America.

2:25
An uneasiness swells inside my stomach. Too much coffee? No. I just watched the Sunday Night Football music intro featuring Pink. Pink???!!! Where the hell is the cowboy who repeatedly enquires as to whether I am ready for some football? Is this what's happened to football since my departure? I do some push-ups to make myself better about what I've just seen. And I finish another cup of coffee.

2:30
Finally: kick-off. Giants get possession and just march straight down the field, only for Jay Feely to blow a makeable field goal. Instead of cutting to commercial for the change of possession, ÖRF stays with the game. Why? Because Austrians don't do commercials. As a result, the camera stays on Feely for about two minutes longer than what I get back home. Rusch and Mairitsch are quick to analyze:

RUSCH: He appears to be full of shame.

MAIRITSCH: I agree. It is likely he feels terrible.

RUSCH: Disgraceful.

The game returns, and the rest of the first quarter is painful and slow. Rex Grossman throws a "Who was that to?" interception that brings a more intense discomfort to my stomach than the one brought on by Pink. Giants score a touchdown. Bears manage a field goal out of the first quarter, thank God.

The first quarter takes an hour. In the one Bears game I'm trying to watch in my life in the middle of the night, the first quarter lasts unspeakably long. Despite all the coffee, it's 3:30 and I'm starting to fade. I pour myself another cup during a should-be commercial break.

I miss commercials. The hour-long first quarter would've gone by twice as fast if I had some commercials trying to get me to buy stuff. If you're watching a sitcom, or an hour-long drama, then the no-commercials rule is great. But for sporting events, and especially for football, not having commercials is downright cruel. At the start of the second quarter, both announcers are pretty comfortable with the fact that they have run out of things to say. My eyelids are getting heavy. The coffee I brewed earlier is starting to get lukewarm. Just the right temperature for chugging.

3:47
The Giants tackle Bears running back Thomas Jones behind the line for a four-yard loss. Rusch calls it the first sack of the game, but Mairitsch corrects him, saying it only counts as a sack when the defense tackles the passer. Rusch apologizes and then says nothing for the next two minutes while plays are happening. Mairitsch also says nothing for these two minutes.

3:55
Giant offensive lineman Luke Petitgout gets hurt when a Bears D-lineman falls and rolls on his ankle. The injury is shown in slow motion, then shown in reverse slow motion, and then shown again in slow motion. It is then reversed in slow motion, after which it is shown in forward slow motion. All in all I saw the injury happen eleven times, six times forwards and five times backwards. After a while ÖRF has convinced me that shit must've hurt.

4:02
Near the end of the first half. Bears score a big touchdown that cuts the lead to three before the half. I pump my fist quietly (so as not to disturb my roommates), but also weakly because of the exhaustion. This makes no sense. I have had seven, SEVEN cups of coffee in two hours – I should be more jacked up than Howard Dean at a campaign rally.

4:03
I fall asleep. Just like that.

5:27
My bladder whispers to me, "Hey, um, you might want to make a trip to the restroom." I shift, slightly, and fall back asleep.

5:28
My bladder marches down to my groin, grabs the family jewels, and yells, "I WASN'T @$&%ING AROUND. GET UP. NOW." I sprint to the bathroom and manage to find the light just in time to avoid disaster.

I trudge back to the TV and do a double take when I see the score: Bears 38, Giants 20. There's five minutes left in the game, and the Bears have the ball and are just killing the clock. I missed the best part of the game. I mumble obscenities and retreat to bed.

GERMAN LANGUAGE LESSON OF THE DAY:

"Koffenfrei" does not, as I thought, mean "coffin free". It means "decaf".

Selected Moments in the Life of Johnny K. Murlee. Volume One: Years 17-26

Age 17 JOHNNY's invitation to take a girl to homecoming is rejected:

So "no" then? Alright. Of course I'm not upset. After all, the three girls before you said no, so why shouldn't you? I'm sorry, that was out of line. It's just that...it's just I can't help but feel you're all saying no to me because of my condition. Well I guess I'm sorry. I can't [tears well up] I can't help that. I never asked to be born prematurely, it just happened! [Turns and runs out of girls' restroom.]


Age 18 JOHNNY responds to a Harvard University undergraduate application essay prompt:

All of us everywhere see demonstrations of courage everyday: the fireman rushing into a burning building; the police officer risking her life to save a complete stranger; the premature birth survivor who defies all odds and makes the high school varsity lacrosse team. It is these types of people and not a dictionary that define courage. I should know. I happen to know someone who is a premature birth survivor. His name is Johnny K. Murlee, and he is me. And he/I has/have played two seasons of varsity lacrosse for the Broadview West High School three-time state champion lacrosse team.


Age 22 JOHNNY in the final stages of an interview with CHESTER HOWARD of Grizzly, Howard, & Parsons law firm:

HOWARD: Mr. Murlee, it is clear to me that you have had all of the experience required to work for Grizzly, Howard, & Parsons. In fact, everything you've said up to this point has impressed me very much. But tell me, Mr. Murlee, what is it about you that makes you special? That separates you from all the other people who want to work for G.H.P.?

MURLEE: You know sir, the first person who ever told me I was special was my very own mother. As I've already mentioned to you a few times now, I was born prematurely. My mother, sir, always used to tell me, "Johnny, you know why you were born so early? It was because God just couldn't wait around any longer to get you into the world." So Mr. Howard, what you gotta just understand [tears well up] is that's how I approach life: one month and fourteen days before everybody else who was born on November 13th.

HOWARD: [Looks down.] Mr. Murlee, I want you to know that very few people are able to get a job at Grizzly, Howard, & Parsons. You...are one of them. Congratulations, you're our new receptionist.


Age 23 JOHNNY meets a woman at a club:

Say, you're not a bad dancer. I might be half as good a dancer as you are if I could have had all nine months to develop in my mother's womb - instead I got stuck with no rhythm and those then-tiny organs! Haha, I'm just kidding. Scientists still haven't made any connections between fetus gestation length and dancing skill. Anyways, what's your name? Well Stacy, think maybe I could get your number and call you up sometime? Yeah I'm serious, haha, why wouldn't I be? You're funny. But really, can I get that number? Well, if you ask me [tears well up], your heart could have used some more time in the womb! [Turns and runs out of Lollipops Gentlemen's Club.]


Age 24 JOHNNY goes to the dentist:

DENTIST: So pretty crummy weather we've been havin', huh?

MURLEE: Huh hehuhr hoehh hahuhr hee. Hehrehay eh ha hoo hay hwhe hoo har ha hreehahure hirh hurhighhur.

DENTIST: [Retracts tooth mirror from MURLEE'S mouth.] Sorry, what?

MURLEE: Oh, I just said, "The weather doesn't bother me. Everyday is a good day when you are a premature birth survivor."


Age 25 JOHNNY discusses membership details over the phone with a representative of Better Fitness Gym:

$125 a month sounds fair. And I really like that you guys have racquetball courts. Tell me, does all of your strength training equipment pass P.M.B.S. standards? Uh, P.M.B.S. "Premature birth survivor." What? You don't have those standards? You've never heard of them? In that case maybe I'll just give Body Balance Gym a call. [Tears well up.] Good...goodbye. [Turns and runs out of kitchen.]

[Re-enters kitchen and hangs up phone.]


Age 26 JOHNNY converses with MICHAEL QUINCY, a copyright lawyer at G.H.P., in the G.H.P. break room:

QUINCY: Hey man, so I hear it's your birthday in a couple weeks.

MURLEE: Ugh. Yep.

QUINCY: Haha, I hear ya. I hate birthdays too: the unwanted attention, all the fuss, having a bunch of people who aren't really your friends pretending to like you when you pretty much can't stand them. Man it's a headache more than anything.

MURLEE: That's all true, but I especially don't like birthdays because they remind me of that time in my life when I was an infant who had just been born a month and fourteen days early. Going from one day to the next and not knowing if my underdeveloped organs were going to hold up. Every day was a fight for my life. Sure, I survived. But how much of myself did I lose along the way?

QUINCY: ...

MURLEE: Birthdays. Boy, they sure are the pits.

Retirement

Doorbell.

– Hello.

– Oh of course! At the old Welbury's house by the corner.

– Great people indeed. I hope they love Florida. Well, welcome to the neighborhood.

– You're welcome. I trust you've enjoyed the neighborhood so far.

– You don't say. Vandalism? That really doesn't happen often here.

– Oh, so an "egging." Yeah, I did that once or twice when I was a teenager.

– No, yes I agree – it's not funny. I regret it entirely. Did you happen to catch who did it?

– Ah, the Timmins boy. Roger's his name. Well, he used to be friends with my boy, Eric. I know he's a good kid. He just does stupid things like this from time to time. Some boys have to go through that phase, don't they?

– Um, well actually, I doubt that the next phase is terrorism. Don't you think that's a little–

– Yes, Eric was friends with Roger. They don't really see much of each other any more. Why do you–

– No, I really don't consider my son a "known unknown." I actually have no idea what you even mean by that.

– Search my house? For what?

– What difference does it make if we have eggs?

– A "breakfast of mass destruction"?

– I'm not aiding and abetting anybody, friend. I just don't want you rummaging through my kitchen for eggs.

– I seriously doubt you have a warrant.

– OK then, let me see it.

– That's handwritten. In crayon. And it's signed, "A judge."

– Hey! Get your hands off of me!

– (Grunting.) Are you...are you trying to spit in my mouth?

– (Panting.) Just…just get up and get off of my property.

– What? No, you can't have any Crisco. Is that what this was all about?

Specific, Pertinent Advice From Your Close Friend, Mathias

Not a day goes by without someone suggesting to me that making friends with a Leprechaun is one of the best things you can do in life.

"The pot of gold," they say. "The source of good luck. The constant companionship and deeply rooted camaraderie. Yes Mathias, on all accounts a Leprechaun is a fine friend to have indeed."

All correct and valid points. However, these positives hardly make up for the reality that there will be times when your Leprechaun friend takes his shirt off. This will happen – I assure you. The ramifications are drastic.

You probably wouldn't think that anything about a Leprechaun's image could be offensive. Picture a Leprechaun as they are typically portrayed in movies, in commercials, or on the news: the green topcoat and old-fashioned pipe, the buckled shoes and yellow stockings, the twinkling eyes and full red beard. A charming image, to be sure.

But underneath the snappy green blazer and ornate four-button vest hides a bulbous white canvas, decorated with unruly red hair and freckles the size of deer hoof prints. Imagine the sensation of staring directly at the sun, only the sun is two feet away from you and the sun's armpits smell of cabbage and corn beef.

Maybe you have a particularly strong stomach and can handle this ghastly sight – what about your loved ones? Let's say your Leprechaun friend accompanies you and your non-Leprechaun friends to a movie. How will you console your friends when your Leprechaun whispers across the aisle, "Is there anyone prettier these days than Scarlett Johansen? She's so pretty I could just take my shirt off." And he does. And your friends look to you with appalled, blaming eyes. What will you say?

Or imagine if you invited your Leprechaun friend to a family dinner. Surely, before the meal is served, the Leprechaun will regale everyone with his accent and Irish folk stories. But when the meal starts, the Leprechaun (as per Leprechaun custom) will remove his jacket and shirt to eat his meal half-nude. With the dinner candlelight illuminating his clammy, bright-white skin, everyone notices whenever a half-eaten potato scallop trails from his mouth and gets caught in his chest hair. Will your new friend reflect as poorly on you as the candlelight reflects on his zombie-white torso?

The discomfort that comes from either you or your loved ones will be enough to require a breaking up of sorts. This will be a most painful and pitiful separation. On the day you have decided to part ways, you will come home from work to find the Leprechaun (topless, of course) swaying back and forth in a rocking chair as a half-eaten bucket of fried chicken rests upon his protruding stomach. He will probably be watching an episode of CSI. The Leprechaun will know something is wrong when you somberly ask him to turn off the television and put down the three quarters-eaten bucket of chicken. (Leprechauns eat quickly.) There will be pleading and promises coming from him. "Ye can't do thes tah me! Pleaese! Me shirt'll never come off a-gain!" The pleas will pull at your heartstrings, but with the chest in plain sight, you will do what must be done. And before the night is through, your topless Leprechaun's beard will be soaked with tears and mucus.

He may return to your apartment with a mashed potato pie and the director's cut of Boondock Saints. "Raymember weht whey had? Raymember?" For a second, you might just consider letting him back into your life. But before you have time to respond, he will unconsciously be unbuttoning his shirt and sliding off the sleeves. And then you will raymember why you couldn't be friends with him anymore.

How do you spare yourself all this grief? Just deny friendship with a Leprechaun the next time one you meet one at work, church, or the mall.

We Probably Should Have Noticed Lynne Cheney's Writing Style Sooner

Excerpt from When Washington Crossed the Delaware: A Wintertime Story for Young Patriots

The night was dark and the river was cold, but General Washington and his men carried on. They had lost twice to the British in New York. They marched for days and days with too many holes in their clothes and not enough food in their stomachs. Yet somehow, these soldiers followed Washington for yet another battle with the British.

What was it that kept these men going? Maybe it was an alleigance to General Washington. Maybe it was survival instinct. Or maybe it was something closer to heart: the thought of their wives back home left to fend for themselves. These men must have felt reinvigorated when they imagined their wives huddling with other soldiers' wives, embracing one another tightly and calling out the names of their warbound husbands. Perhaps many of their wives were consoling each other at the same time. The men could only imagine how late these grieving sessions lasted - for all they knew, their wives would be up all night helping each other cope with the absence of their husbands.

Excerpt from the "Thank You" section of America: A Patriotic Primer

I would also like to thank a woman whom I have had the pleasure of getting to know professionally and personally over the last five years: Laura Bush. Laura, when I look at you, I see everything that a First Lady should be. You're not content with just being the President's attractive wife – you involve yourself in the political scene, and this country is better off for it. So much of this country's future rests upon your strong, taut shoulders, but on the power of your long, firm legs you carry our nation forward. Under your naturally highlighted hair rests one of the sharpest political minds we have today, and just behind your clavicle beats a heart brimming with compassion and pure, pure love. Thank you for encouraging me with this book; thank you for always knowing how to make me smile; thank you, thank you, thank you for being you.

Special thanks also to my husband!

Excerpt from Our 50 States: A Family Adventure Across America

Historic and gorgeous Providence is a must see for any family visiting Rhode Island.

For the kids: Like ice cream? If so, you're in for a real treat at Jessie's Dessert Bar, where you'll find some of the best ice cream in the country! And when your parents are making rounds at the museums, make a visit to the Westminster Arcade – the country's oldest (and still the hippest) mall.

For the parents: Providence offers much in the way of museums, including the famous Providence Bridge Museum where you can find everything you've ever wanted to know about load-bearing cables and…OK, kids gone yet? Parents, listen to me carefully: unless you want your kids to catch the gay, keep them in the car when you get to Providence. It is the gayest place in the world. You're just going to have to trust me on this one. I have a girlfriend – that is, a grownup woman who is my friend – who took a family vacation there, and sure enough, one of her daughters ended up gay. Poor little thing didn't have a chance. How could she when the family tries to enjoy a relaxing walk in the park, only to come across two college-aged girls tasting each other's kiss (possibly for the first time) in broad daylight for everyone to see? What thoughts went through that poor young girl's mind when she observed the taller of the two lesbians wrap her arms around her partner and pull her in to enjoy the closeness of their breasts? Could my grownup woman friend's daughter have possibly understood what was going on that sweltering July day when both blonde girls began kissing with their tongues – slowly, heavy with breath, and eyes shut?

Tread carefully. Do go to Jessie's Dessert Bar, though. I wasn't kidding about that ice cream.

The First Ten Days in Europe

DAY ONE – ARRIVAL IN VIENNA

Whew…I made it to Europe! Took 22 years (including a ten-hour flight from Chicago to Vienna), but I'm finally here. And boy, are things off to a good start: Vienna is gorgeous, Austrians are friendly, and my grumbling stomach has just been satisfied by probably the tastiest lasagna I've ever had. (Besides yours, Mom!) Thank goodness I found that quaint Italian eatery when I did.

How do I feel on my first night in Europe? Well, I guess you could say I feel a lot like that lasagna I was just talking about. Lasagna is a mix of pasta, cheese, spinach, meat, onions, tomato sauce, cottage cheese, and garlic. Right now, I'm a mix of excitement, awe, anxiousness, isolation, exhilaration, wonder, trepidation, and loneliness. You can't have a lasagna without pasta, cheese, spinach, meat, onions, tomato sauce, cottage cheese, and garlic, and you can't be an American arriving in Europe for the first time ever without feeling excitement, awe, anxiousness, isolation, exhilaration, wonder, trepidation, and loneliness.

Today marks the start of a nine-month journey. Throughout this journey, I'm certain I'll experience more excitement, awe, anxiousness, isolation, exhilaration, wonder, trepidation, and loneliness – each to varying degrees and at different times. But just as I greedily inhaled the lasagna earlier tonight, so do I resolve to consume every morsel of the metaphoric pasta, cheese, spinach, meat, onions, tomato sauce, cottage cheese, and garlic that comes my way in the next nine months.

DAY FIVE – SOMEWHERE BETWEEN SALZBURG AND MUNICH

Looking out the train window, this lifelong Chicago boy gets a special treat: mountains. Not just any mountain either. It's the Alps. Chicago skyscrapers are great, but it's something else to see this long row of mountain peaks crammed together like helpings of rocky lasagna.

Not bad scenery for the trip to my first ever Oktoberfest!

DAY FIVE – MUNICH

Lederhosen, lederhosen, lederhosen: everybody's wearing lederhosen. (Except of course for the Fraulines, who are looking pretty good in their dimdis.) All the Germans are jolly, despite that fact it's a cloudy day. Well, not exactly "cloudy". In Germany, when the sky is blue, it is entirely blue – literally, not a cloud in the sky. But when the sky turns grey like it is today, it's all grey – good luck trying to find even a hint of blue. It's as though God is spreading a giant sheet of aluminum foil over a tray of leftover lasagna, in hopes of sealing in its freshness so that it may be enjoyed on another night. (Or possibly for a future lunch if there is not enough for another whole meal.)

Needless to say, I look forward to going to the festival later tonight. I have never been in a beer tent or a lasagna tent before. Can't wait for either.

DAY TEN – MUNICH

Oktoberfest has been a blast, but I had an embarrassing moment at lunch today. When I was ready for the bill, I called out to the waiter and said, "Zählen, bitte." What I should have said was "Zahlen, bitte," because instead of asking him if I could pay, I asked him to count for me. And he did! "Eins, zwei, drei, vier," he said, "ja, ich kann zählen!"

How embarrassing. This has been happening a lot, all because my German at the moment is not very good. Every once in a while when I speak, it is as if a stream of golden lasagna flows from my mouth. But for as often as that happens, there'll be nine other times when I open my mouth and nothing comes out but globs of lasagna.

Also, today is my last day in Munich – work starts next week. After all, life can't be all games and lasagna – somebody's gotta put lasagna on the table.

Please do throw your hands up!

As you would Jay-Z, please "allow me to re-introduce myself":

My name is Mathias
(Mathias!)
J. to the [LAST NAME DELETED FOR PRIVACY].
And you will find
Reading this blog is crucial!

Truth be told, I am not actually a professional rapper. But much like Jigger, I have the "hottest chick in the game wearing my chain":


That is Angie, my lover, and Frank, her ex-husband. I took this picture when the three of us were out window-shopping in Kenosha this past summer. The three of us hang out sometimes. Sometimes just the two of them hang out - I do not mind. Well, actually Angie pointed out to me that it's not my place to mind, because the two of us are on "heyatus" at the moment. Technically then, I don't have "the hottest chick in the game wearing my chain." Instead, "the hottest chick in the game [was] wearing my chain." Maybe one day, the "hottest chick in the game [will be] wearing my chain [once again]."

While Angie and Frank are splitting rent in an apartment in Milwaukee (I do not mind), I am halfway around the world in Austria. I live in a small city/big town called Klagenfurt, where I teach English and American culture to high school kids. The students and the teachers in these schools are friendly, even if they do talk funny.

Work is less than intense, so I've decided to use some of my free time to do some writing. This blog exists so that I can have somewhere to relay stories of being a teacher and of being abroad. This blog also exists to write about things that have absolutely nothing to do with Austria. Or teaching. Or good taste.

In general, this blog exists to entertain - not to whine about crummy weather or an irksome boss. Admittedly, it is possible that this blog also exists in order to impress Angie and ultimately win her back. But I'm not quite certain whether she and Frank have internet in their new apartment yet.