Man Martin's Blog, page 142

Template for Annual Christmas Letter

Fluffy lived a full life,
and it was time for her to goGeneric salutation: "Friends and Family," "Loved Ones," "Occupant."

Remark on the passage of time: "Can you believe it's been a whole year since...?"  "I can hardly believe it's been a whole year since..." "It seems like only yesterday when..." or "December already???  Yeesh!!!"

Capsule update on current or extremely recent development of minor importance concerning self, significant other, or family pet: "I'm typing this with a broken wrist after a bowling accident," "Bill's getting over a bad cold," or "We're still cleaning up after Fluffy's diarrhea."  

Transitional phrase.  Major event from previous twelve months, if applicable, concerning self, significant other, or offspring: "Cathy got married last spring to a wonderful woman," "I got a fantastic new promotion," "We took a marvelous cruise along the Mediterranean," or "We got a fantastic cash settlement thanks to our wonderful attorneys."

Transitional phrase.  Acknowledgement of sad or distressing news from previous twelve months, if applicable: "Sadly, the doctors say I may never bowl again," "Unfortunately, Bill lost his job in the munitions factory," "Tragically, Bill backed over Fluffy in the Kia."  Followed by upbeat observation, "but at least I can still enjoy skeet-shooting," "but Bill was ready to make a change anyway," or "but Fluffy lived a full life, and it was time for her to go."

Transitional phrase.  Update on personal spiritual, philosophical, or political belief and practice, if applicable: "I've found a new Yoga instructor," "I'm in love!" "I think the Zoloft is helping," "I've earned another sobriety chip," "I'm convinced America will never be set straight until we impeach that bastard Secretary of Agriculture," or "Ever since we went vegan, Fluffy's really been enjoying her all-bran diet."

Transitional phrase.  Wishes for a prosperous, happy new year to recipient.

Sign off: "Me and Bill," "The Braddocks," "Bill and Mary," "You Know Who."

Pseudo-jocular parenthetic asides may be placed throughout letter at writer's discretion, "(You know who you are!)" "(Kidding!)"  "(Cats will be cats.)"

Not to Worry

Artist's Conception of a Meeting between Periplaneta Japonica
and Periplaneta AmericanaPeriplaneta japonica, a cockroach originating in Asia, is the latest invasive species to grab the headlines, having been discovered in New York.  What makes periplaneta japonica's presence alarming is that it's freeze-resistant.  Manhattanites understandably bemoan the arrival of the little pest, fearing it will supplant their own beloved periplaneta americana, the familiar brown roach, which endears itself to natives and tourists alike, scampering amid tenement buildings and garbage scows.  

But not to worry.

Everyone's who's been wringing their hands over this so-called "catastrophe" can just un-wring them.  Thanks to Global Warming, being able to endure freezing temperatures isn't going to make a hill of beans' worth of difference, survival-of-the-species-wise.  When the ice caps melt, periplaneta japonica won't be any better off the periplaneta americana, in addition to which, they won't know where all the good garbage is heading.  No, New Yorkers don't need to worry about freeze-resistant cockroaches.  

They need to worry about drown-resistant ones.

Annual Naughty Report

To the Attention of: Kris Kringle, North Pole
From: Barnaby Twinkletoes, CEO

Mr. Kringle,

We have finished re-checking our spreadsheets and confirmed a record-breaking number of naughties, and a concomitant shortage in lumps of coal.  As you are no doubt aware, Mr. Mandela died last week, reducing our "nice" list by one, a list already perilously short.  At this rate, you may want to consider disbanding our toy production facilities altogether, and devoting all resources to the mining of coal.

Meanwhile, the naughty list has grown by leaps and bounds.  Virtually the entire US Congress, although this is nothing new, will be getting coal in their stocking, along with all the citizens of any state whose highest-paid public official is a football or basketball coach.  This means virtually no one in the US is entitled to an actual gift except in New England where most people will be disqualified due to insufferable smugness and condescension.

This will result in a massive demand for coal this Christmas, which brings up another issue.  Mountaintop removal.  For this reason, Santa, you yourself will not receive any present this year.  I suggest in future switching to organic compost as a more sustainable and environmentally-friendly alternative to coal given the need to protect reindeer habitat and the number of people who have fallen into the naughty category.

B Twinkletoes
Chief Elf Officer

The NSA Elf on a Shelf

The NSA Elf on the Shelf is a special elf sent from the National Security Agency to help intelligence agencies manage their naughty and nice lists.  When a family is assigned an elf - and every family is! - the elf receives its magic and can fly every night to Langley, Virginia or the J Edgar Hoover Building in Washington, DC, or just to your local sheriff, to tell all about the day's adventures, telephone calls, and - whenever possible - private thoughts.  Each morning, it returns to its family and hides in a different place to observe.  (Of course, in reality, the elf doesn't fly anywhere but is in constant radio communication with intelligence and law enforcement, and it doesn't hide just one place, but everywhere!  Look under your bed, it may be there right now!)

There are two rules every child knows about the NSA Elf on the Shelf.  (And if the child doesn't know them, ignorance is no excuse.)  First of all, the elf cannot be touched, not even with a court injunction, so don't even bother trying.  Secondly, the elf is forbidden by NSA magic from leaving its post or speaking directly with its family.  So there's no use shouting, "I know you're watching, why don't you show yourselves?" or "Leave me alone, for God's sake, leave me alone!  I haven't done anything!"  When you say things like this, you just make the elf laugh.  Ha-ha-ha.  Then he reports your remarks to Washington.

Christmas Gifts

Nancy and I divide up the Christmas shopping equally: I buy a present for her, and she buys one for everyone else.  This may not sound equal, but what my list lacks in sheer numbers, it makes up for in overwhelming difficulty.

Part of the problem is, we have so much crap already, it's impossible to add anything to the pile.  The other problem is that when it gets right down to it, Nancy doesn't like surprises.  This poses certain challenges Christmas-gift-giving-wise.  Admittedly, some of my "surprises" could be more accurately defined as "shocks" or "ghastly disappointments," but whatever the case, Nancy doesn't care for them.

The one time, the one time, I recall her being genuinely pleased with a gift was when I got her a nail gun and air compressor.  Before you start muttering what a doofus I am, you need to know Nancy asked for that gift.  And when she opened it up Christmas morning, she was as happy as a kid on... well, a kid on Christmas morning.

I've gotten her jewelry - that she specifically asked for - but it turned out to be "not quite right" and she'd return it for something else.  When I bought her an iPad - this was when they were relatively new - she was unimpressed.  Later, she came to really like it, but when I bought her a new case for it the next year - at her request - it turned out not to be quite the one she'd wanted.  Once I got us dance lessons - she said she'd always wanted dance lessons - but we never used them, and the certificate expired.  Coupled with the anxiety of disappointing her, is the guilt I feel because she buys me such wonderful presents.

So I've given up trying to please her on Christmas; I'm satisfied if I give her something she doesn't return.  I'm thinking of getting her a boomerang.

Life Has a Way of Working Out

Life has a way of working out.  Don't believe me?  Well, for example there's an old lady, and she's really, really poor.  She doesn't have enough to pay for medicine or insurance or anything.  She's wondering how she's going to be able to buy groceries.  And then... just when she least expects it... there's a cold snap and she freezes to death in her apartment because she didn't pay the heat bill.  See what I mean about life working out?  She didn't need to worry about groceries after all.

Or there's someone who desperately wants children.  She's tried everything, and she just can't get pregnant: doctors, medications, surgery.  She's even tried sex.  She still can't get pregnant.  She prays to God, "Please, Lord, send me a baby."  And sure enough, the next day in the park - she sees a baby!  It's in its own little carriage and everything!  So she takes it home fast before anybody can see, and she showers that baby with love and attention right up until the cops come.

Still don't believe life has a way of working out?  Take the case of someone who's really bad.  Like a mob boss or something.  He says to the mob, "Do this," and the mob has to do it, or "Do that," and the mob has to do it, because he's the boss.  Anyway, he's really, really evil.  He sells crack to kindergartners, he deals in kitty porn (like kiddie porn, only with kittens.)  He buys a McDonalds, just so he can pay people minimum wage.  You get the idea.  E. V. I. L.  He lives in luxury in a big house, with a series of trophy wives, and a bunch of yes men around who will do whatever he wants.  He has a Play Station 3.  But guess what?  When he's 95, he gets cancer and it hurts like a bitch, I mean awful.  They have to give him morphine to manage the pain.  And then he dies.  So there.

Life works out.

The Ten Commandments of DOG

1. I AM ZOE, YOUR DOG, and you shall have no others DOGS before ME.

2. THOU SHALT NOT BRING INTO THE HOUSE anything from Heaven Above, the Earth Beneath, or the Waters Below.  For example no PARAKEETS, HAMSTERS, or TROPICAL FISH.  The TROPICAL FISH are okay if thou absolutely must, but no PARAKEETS or HAMSTERS.  And absolutely no CATS under any circumstances.  Thou already hast the CHICKEN, which I guess I can't do anything about, but at least she stays outside, so as long as thou leavest it at THAT, I guess we're okay.

3. THOU SHALT NOT USE THE NAME OF THY DOG in VAIN.  For example, thou shalt not say, "Zoe, dost thou want to go for a walk?" unless thou really meanst it."  It driveth ME crazy when thou offerest a walk, and thou dost not follow through.

4. REMEMBER WALK TIME, to keep it holy.  Eight hours shalt thou labor, and that's enough.  On the ninth hour, shalt thou take THY DOG for a walk, for I have been in the house all day, and I don't have opposable thumbs to flush with.  And rush me not when I am sniffing, for this is an important matter thou knowest not of.

5.  HONOR THEY FATHER AND THY MOTHER.  For they LOVE DOGS and whenever they are here, they always seest to it I get BACON.  Think about it.

6. THOU SHALT NOT KILL, nor do anything as bad as killing, such as throwing out the leftover pot roast without even offering any to the DOG, which, the way I see it, is basically cold-blooded murder.

7. THOU SHALT NOT lock thy DOG out of the room when thou choosest to climb in the bed and do that thing together, when the bed shakes, which I'm not sure what it is, but it sounds like you're chasing rabbits, for if thou lockest ME out, I will only whine and scratch the door for I AM lonely, but if thou lettest me in, I'll lie quietly on MY own bed, nor get into bed with THEE to see what thou dost up there that is so interesting, nor will I make any noise until thou art finished.

8. THOU SHALT NOT STEAL for example by throwing out pot roast, which is a SUBJECT I've already covered under KILLING, but this is also STEALING, so it's really, really bad, and thou shouldst never do it ever.

9. THOU SHALT NOT bear false witness against the DOG.  For example, if thou expellest gas, thou shalt not say, "I think the DOG did it," for I am BLAMELESS, and in any case, thou foolest nobody but thine own self.

10. THOU SHALT NOT covet thy neighbor's CAT, nor thy neighbor's DACHSHUND, nor thy neighbor's RETICULATED BALL PYTHON, nor any PET thy neighbor hast.  For thou hast ME and that is PLENTY.

I Want to Be Photoshopped

You know all those uber-sexy models you see on magazine covers and what-not?  Ever wonder why you never run into women like that in real life?  The reason is, there are no women like that in real life.  No one's thighs could possibly be that slim, boobs that large, skin that flawless.  It's all photo-shop.  Someone goes into the digital image, blurs here, sharpens there, narrows, widens, and voila!  Lubricious perfection.

What you've been lusting after all these years is a technician.  Forget Heidi What's-her-name or that woman who wore a topless bikini to the Arctic Circle for the cover of Sports Illustrated.  You need to find whoever's doing the photo-shop work, and lick him all over.   Tie him to a big brass bed and tickle him with peacock feathers.  Coat him in baby oil and play Naked Twister.  Not that I've ever imagined doing any of these things with anyone.  But you probably have.

But forget supermodels, what about you?  Have you looked in a mirror lately?  I have, and I can tell you, the experience isn't a pleasant one.  This goes double-plus-ditto for photographs.  In a mirror, I have a nanosecond to suck in my stomach, straighten my shoulders, close my stupidly-gaping mouth.  In a photograph I see myself as I really look.  All the time.

Excuse me a moment while I weep.

Surely in this age of twitter-weets, holography, flying drones, and three-d printing, it's possible for someone to be photo-shopped all the time.   I can scarcely leave the house without spilling coffee on my shirt.  With a holographic image beamed down from a hovering drone, nothing could be simpler than to photo-shop that right out, and you'd have no way of knowing what a doofus I was, unless you touched my muscular chest (also photo-shopped) and found it unexpectedly damp and sticky.  And flabby.

And those male models who always have a three-day growth of beard, outlining their rugged, chiseled jaw.  My own jaw seems to be chiseled out of play-doh, and as for the three-day beard growth, I have it, but only in patches, being a somewhat carefree and lackadaisical shaver.  My face looks like a lawn mowed by a teenager who wasn't paid enough.  But with 24-7 Three-D Photo-Shop, grooming worries would be a thing of the past.  If I chose, I could always have a three-day growth of beard on my chin.  Hell, I'd settle for a three-day growth of beard on my scalp.  Nancy would be happy so long as I didn't have a three-day growth of beard coming out of my nostrils.

And with 24-7 3-D P-S (notice the brand slowly morphing into an acronym) Nancy and I would both be transformed into prefect simulacrums of physical beauty.  We'd just sit across the room from each other, panting and drooling, in a feverish state of mutual animal lust, nothing to mar the illusion.

So long as we didn't actually touch.

A Dog Explains Things People Don't Know About Dogs

Yes, I Really Do Have to Bark: I'll admit, I love letting loose with a good series of really loud barks, and who doesn't?  But that doesn't mean I can stop barking just because you don't like it or you're trying to watch a TV show.  You know when you have to cough, and no matter how hard to try to hold it back, it just comes out, like the cough is going to happen whether you want to or not?  That's how it is with barking.  Like an uncontrollable cough.  Only I do it at mailmen.  So lighten up.

I Understand a Lot More Than You Think I Do: There's a Gary Larson cartoon where a man is verbally abusing a dog named Rex, and all Rex hears is "Blah blah blah blah Rex blah blah blah blah Rex."  Well, that's real funny, Larson, yeah, but we're a lot smarter than you give us credit for.  For example, we can read you lame cartoon, you never knew that, did you?  That's right, we understand everything you're saying, except sometimes when you talk about what colors go together.  We really don't understand conversations like that.  The reason we don't seem to be paying attention is most of it doesn't have anything to do with us, and almost all of it is so boring.  But yes, we overheard that conversation about your in-laws.  So watch it.

Yes, I Really Do Have to Lick Myself Down There: You have no idea how much it itches sometimes.  You have no idea.

This Food You Give Me Sucks: You know those longing looks I give you when you're frying bacon or roasting a chicken?  Of course you do.  And you just laugh and say, "No human food for you, Zoe."  And then you give me shlopp out of a can and a handful of dry pellets from a bag.  For the love of God, if someone fed you that crap day after day after day, you'd be whining at the smell of chicken, too.

A Dogs Explains Things People Don't Know About Dogs

Yes, I Really Do Have to Bark: I'll admit, I love letting loose with a good series of really loud barks, and who doesn't?  But that doesn't mean I can stop barking just because you don't like it or you're trying to watch a TV show.  You know when you have to cough, and no matter how hard to try to hold it back, it just comes out, like the cough is going to happen whether you want to or not?  That's how it is with barking.  Like an uncontrollable cough.  Only I do it at mailmen.  So lighten up.

I Understand a Lot More Than You Think I Do: There's a Gary Larson cartoon where a man is verbally abusing a dog named Rex, and all Rex hears is "Blah blah blah blah Rex blah blah blah blah Rex."  Well, that's real funny, Larson, yeah, but we're a lot smarter than you give us credit for.  For example, we can read you lame cartoon, you never knew that, did you?  That's right, we understand everything you're saying, except sometimes when you talk about what colors go together.  We really don't understand conversations like that.  The reason we don't seem to be paying attention is most of it doesn't have anything to do with us, and almost all of it is so boring.  But yes, we overheard that conversation about your in-laws.  So watch it.

Yes, I Really Do Have to Lick Myself Down There: You have no idea how much it itches sometimes.  You have no idea.

This Food You Give Me Sucks: You know those longing looks I give you when you're frying bacon or roasting a chicken?  Of course you do.  And you just laugh and say, "No human food for you, Zoe."  And then you give me shlopp out of a can and a handful of dry pellets from a bag.  For the love of God, if someone fed you that crap day after day after day, you'd be whining at the smell of chicken, too.