FAQ 169 Miami
Warren entered Cheesequake airport and scouted around for a NetZero Terminal. He spotted one and headed toward it, whistling an off key version of Riders on The Storm. The terminal was fairly crowded, and easily half the people were on cell phones. Warren sat down at the terminal and logged onto F.A.Q…Advice For the 21st Century.
Dear Warloaf,
I have a job baking bread. I bake it at the crossroads of the commuting world, Penn Station, New York. I own my own shop in Brooklyn, but I come here three days a week as an hourly worker to bake bread and people watch.
It’s amazing!
I’ve followed my muse and began making bread in shapes. I can turn out a nice pumpernickel loaf in the shape of Marissa Torma’s head in twenty minutes. My Russell Crowe, complete with a three day stubble made of poppy seeds, has proved very popular.
But, I’ve started to have headaches in the midst of making my bread art. They are excruciating, and during them I can’t see well or hear clearly. My head pounds, but I continue to work. When I come out of the pain induced trance, the loaf I’ve made is in the shape of a women’s breast, a D cup set. The loaf is actually more like a doughnut, because there is creme filling, and the nipples are made of chocolate topped by oversized raisins. Anyway, after these episodes there is a big crowd looking in the bakery window, which looks out on the main corridor of Penn Station. My manager says I’m doin’ a great job, and has even given me a raise. We’re starting to get special orders for this particular bread, and that’s all fine. I’ve managed to make a deal where I can sell three out of ten loaves I make in this fashion at my Brooklyn bakery.
Now I come to last week. My husband stopped by to see me on the job. I had one of my headache moments while he was there, and when I came out of it he showed me a DV video he’d made of me baking while I was in the throes of the pain. I was shocked.
Apparently, the breasts I’m baking are mine!
I saw myself begin to rub my temple with one hand while I kneaded the bread with the other. Then, in short order, I unbuttoned my blouse, took off my bra, rubbed butter all over my breast, leaned over, and spent five minutes shaping the dough around my rack in a very erotic fashion. Then I picked up the pan and walked topless to the oven, inserted the bread, and went to the sink, where I spent another five minutes washing my self with soap, again looking like something out of a Russ Meyer movie. At least the toweling off was quick, and redressing seemed to dissipate the crowd.
My problem is this: I’ve gotten an offer from a Soho bakery to take my act to their place. They’re offering top dollar. I’m just worried I won’t be able to get the headaches without the diesel fumes from the Long Island Railroad’s old school engines, which just happen to park under the location of my current bakery/topless bar. Can you advise?”
Dear Breadwinner,
Is all this legal? I’m thinking, can’t you get busted, so to speak, for taking your clothes off in public? My advice to you would be get a good lawyer, because when the police department has a slow day they just might decide it’s time to put your buns, so to speak, in jail.
I tried to go to convection.com. but made a typo and went to conviction.com instead. There was no information about baking there, but I did see some pretty creative caricatures of Mia Hamm in her sports bra posted by the artists group of San Quentin.
I e-mailed the man who seemed to be the leader of the group, and in his reply, in between invitations to come dance with him during visitors hours at the prison, I gleaned a good piece of advice for you.
When you’re in the role of the exotic baker, wear a St. Anthony medallion. That way all the loaves will have the image of St. Anthony embedded in them, which under most state statutes (this advice from the lawyers group at Attica), will classify your work as religious art, that is until somebody takes a bite out of it.
I’ve UPS’d you a canister of diesel fumes. I suggest you try inhaling them at home first, to get the mixture right. You don’t want you’re headache induced activities to progress any further, or you might have to begin a regularly scheduled penicillin program. Good luck. See you (a lot of you) in Soho.
Dear Waritch,
I am a wealthy European heir. I have a lady friend in every county of every major European country, most of them in short skirts and born after 1975. My money comes from my mother’s and father’s family. That’s right, I’m a double inheritor. I’ve been smiling since the day I was born.
At the age of thirty two, I have my first major personal crisis. It’s the new money. It’s got me all turned around backwards, and I don’t know what to do.
Apparently, according to my dermatologist, who doubles as a bartender for my outdoor summer parties in the south of France, I’m allergic to the amount of nickel in the new money. It causes my hands to swell. I touch my face after handling the money, and it takes five hours for my face to come back together.
I’ve had to throw out several expensive gold trimmed smoking jackets because the nickel rubbed into the fabric, and my cleaner said the nickel could not be removed (I’ve wondered about that since my cleaner has ordered several boxes of Cubans from my supplier).
I went on a mountain climbing expedition to Sweden. I was having a great time, had brought along only old money, things were going great. Then I got into a conversation with a shapely waitress at a Swedish ski resort. I met her after work, we went to her place, and la de da. I didn’t think about the fact she’d been handling money all day. She put her hands all over me, and, you guessed it, I swelled up all over.
This was not a totally bad thing.
Now my problem is this: I need the name of a good group of scientists who would be interested in discovering what is in my system that makes me swell when I’m exposed to nickel. Then we could package the virus and the nickel together in a creme.
Hello next Viagra. No surgery, no pills, for a bigger big man!
Can you help?
Swollen 24/7 and loving it,
Gerard D’pardoo.
Hey Gerry,
I bet you’re a real popular guy now. Money AND a secret elixir! Damn!
I called a scientific cooker I know, and he is freeing up his schedule to work with you. I’ve faxed you a packet which contains the blueprints for a lab he’ll need built, a list of equipment, a projection of expenses for the six months he believes it will take him to finish the project, relief from liability agreements, explosion insurance, and the resumes of four assistants he’ll need to hire, along with a list of dances they are best at, just in case you feel like a party. I’ll take my usual fee, plus .05 percent of the gross from the first two years of production.
Remember, even Genghis Khan took an occasional break from stomping every civilization in sight. Try collecting seashells during your down time.
Hey Warload,
I’m an ex-football player who loves to work outdoors. I recently bought a step van, the kind that carries three tons worth of stuff in the back, about a fifth the size of a tractor trailer. I’ve hauled trees for friends landscaping their yards, acres of sod, even roofing, siding, one time I took seventy five azaleas across state lines, no problem.
Life was free and easy.
Then one day I got pulled over. I didn’t think the cops could search my truck, but I guess that Dallas P.D. cap and the seventeen PBA stickers on my windshield can only work so many times.
One of the cops actually got my autograph and thanked me after the search and subsequent arrest. Apparently he only needed one more bust to make some bonus money and get another cool looking medal for his dress uniform.
I love making the fans happy!
The judge didn’t think hauling a ton of good grade weed was a jailable offense, plus I bought him a yearlong subscription to ESPN Classic, so everybody was happy.
Then I got caught again.
Then again.
Then again.
These fans are starting to get on my nerves.
I mean, how do they expect the professional athletes of Texas to concentrate if they can’t relax with a little herb?
And the college players? Who’s going to take care of them if I can’t deliver?
I went to Denny’s and ordered a Grand Slam Breakfast to help me think. On my sixteenth sausage I had an inspiration.
I could plant fireworks and an incendiary device in my next haul. If they fans get after me again, I could light the stash, jump out of the truck, enjoy the fireworks display, collect on my insurance, and live to see another day!
My problem is this: I need to find a reliable munitions guy. All the ones I know either got religion, lost too many digits and had to find another line of work, or are booked up until next Christmas.
Thank in advance for your help.
Nate ‘Tractor’ Issacs.
Yo Trac,
You ever had the Quadruple Cheeseburger with ranch dressing at Denny’s? That thing will lay you up for a few days, let me tell ya.
I contacted a jeweler friend of mine who doubles as a dynamite guy when his brother needs a special job done on a construction site that the union won’t touch with a ten foot detonator.
He’s turned his shop over to his wife’s third cousin for a week, and is headed your way (I got your address from the website, Smokinggun.com)
When a man looking like Andre Aggasi shows up at your door carrying a small leather satchel and a dozen bananas (he has a potassium deficiency) that would be Rafael.
Good luck, and as usual the secretary will disavow any knowledge of your records.
A rumbling sound caused Warren to spin and reach for the Colt Python in the shoulder holster Mad Wolf had sold him the night before.
“Hi!”
The Riddler flew by, followed by Lynn and Albie, all dressed in pink leotards and aqua tank tops.
“Buenos deos, amigo. We go to Little Havana, no?”
Warren laughed out loud as he clicked the safety back on the Python. A security guard approached from Warren’s blind side and tapped him on the shoulder. Warren jumped and leveled the python at the man’s face.
“Yo, bro, take a chill. I have a phone call for you.”
“I’m so sorry, a thousand pardons, it’s just that airports have been a little too active for me lately.”
“It’s OK, I was warned by Mr. Louie. He said you were basically a pacifist, and I believe a man who pays me two hundred dollars just to deliver a phone call.”
“What is the message, if you please.”
“I see you’re headed to Miami. These nice manners will serve you well down there.”
The security guard extended a white Motorola phone to Warren. He pulled the antenna up, and pressed the green button.
“Hello.”
“BABE! This is Louie. Listen, you’ll have to hit Miami without me. I’ve found Harrisburg very agreeable. The governor and I had a nice swim last night at the concrete beach, I’ve set up Jimbo and his dad with a fifty percent stake in The Louie Lair, a new hotel we’ll be building with a bond issue I outlined to the governor along with that guy who called in to your show yesterday, that Woody character, who by the way, makes a mean Cheesesteak. Jimbo’s dad thinks it would be wonderful for him to be away from home for a while. Apparently he has some cousins that aren’t much interested in sleeping or doing the ground up stuff, and Daddy-o is worried about Jimmy being within their sphere of influence.
The governor’s wife took an instant liking to Yasmine, I think because of her suntan oil application technique. She says Yasmine is going to be a breath of fresh air on the Pennsylvania political social party circuit, and the Gov thinks I’m a natural fundraiser. We’ve stumbled onto a full plate. You still there?”
Warren said, “Like Yorma Kakanon of Hot Tuna, I’m still here.”
“Let me stand next to your fire!”
Warren said, “Yasmine?”
“Hi, baby. I wrestled the phone from my newly muscled Texas sweetheart. I wanted to tell you good-bye myself. I’m so gonna miss ya’ll.”
Warren said. “Oh, Theotis says we’ll met again.”
“I hope so sweetie. Kisses and hugs to everyone. Here’s Louie.”
Louie said, “Warren, she’s crying! I can’t believe it. Listen babe, I’ve instructed my Gulfstream crew to stick with you threw the duration of the tour. I owe you a lot, brother.”
“Louie, let’s hang up before I get emotional and have to start drinkin’ early.”
“Love ya’ babe. We’ll be listening on the satellite.”
The connection terminated, and Warren packed up and headed for the private jet tarmac, dialing Albie as he walked.
The Gulfstream V-SP jetted southward. Albie played a game of Backgammon in the rear lounge with Jamal and Theotis. Lily and Lynn were getting instructions on weapons care and maintenance from Mad Wolf. The Riddler was chopping carrots in the galley to the sounds of Gloria Estafan’s greatest hits. Warren opened his Powerbook.
Gifted and Talented Class is forming in L.A.
Portland Goes Remedial
by
Warren Piece
The L.A.Clampetts took one more step toward the ring sizing appointment in July when they batted the Portland Fire Trails around The House of Thorns in Portland, eliminating them from the playoffs in a sweep of their five game series.
L.A. Clampett center Baba O’Reilly: “We’re all drinking from the same bottle now. We’re all reading from the same menu. We’re all sleeping with the same woman. Now, we’re a true team. We’re ready for the rest of this ping pong tournament.”
Portland foward and former Chicago Snorts superstar Scampy Dickens: “We had too many hurdles to jump. Our legs got tired, and a couple of our guys wound up face down on the track. Drugs, injuries, penis envy, shoot we were lucky nobody choked nobody.”
L.A. Clampett guard Eric Testament: “We all take a lot of ginseng, and we caught a team that has a coach who spends a lot of time listening to Neil Young and Crazy Horse. It’s hard to ask your players to box out when ‘Sugar Mountain’ is running through your head.”
ZBA referee Jack Barnes: “We felt good about handing out suspensions to Portland Fire Trails guard Tracy Drimmel and power foward Roy Rogers. One was throwing elbows and the other left the bench. You would think they could hold it together, I mean this is the playoffs! There’s extra money to be made! Highlight shows to be on! Sneaker deals on the horizon! And that’s just for the cheerleaders!”
L.A. Clampett guard Cory Tropicana: “I get a better game out of my blow up doll. Or maybe last year’s success showed us how to win, how to close out a game, how to grab a team by the throat, kick it in the crotch, set it’s hair on fire, challenge it to a duel, cheat on the ten count and shoot ‘em in the back. Now if I could only figure out how to snap those plastic rings a six back of Colt 45 comes in, my life would be complete.”
L.A. Clampetts coach Pill Colorado: “Portland European center Arbamac Labania had Baba’s number in the first half, so we changed his jersey for the second half and he got loose, got funky, made Arbamac wish he was in a Danish hostel playing Parcheesi with the girl from the circus who rode the unicycle, anywhere but in the paint with Baba.”
L.A. Clampett center Baba O’Reilly: “We took the lead in the final period and it was nothin’ but a house party after that. Roooooooxxxxxaannnnee!”
The Clampetts next play a series with the winner of the Sacramento Queen/Phoenix Stungun first round playoff.
The Sacramento Queens left the kneepads and elbow guards in the locker room and crunched out a win over the surprised Phoenix Stunguns.
Sacramento Queens coach Rack Addlebrain: “I applaud our media department. They spent a lot of time using computer animation to doctor the game tapes we exchanged with the Phoenix coaches. The fact is, the Stunguns have never seen us play! That was a team from Mother Mary’s Girl’s Jr. College in our uniforms!”
Queens star foward Chuck Warbler: “I had a good case of nerves tonight. The kind Elvis had just before he shot that TV. I followed the King’s example, and threw a can of right guard through guard Jody Willies Playstation monitor. It worked! I felt better! Before the next game, I might detonate a microwave!”
Phoenix Stunguns coach Scamp Scuttle: “Defense, rebounding, free throw shooting, and a coupla beers at the half…that’s the key to winning these games. Tonight the Queens glassed us to death. That is, they got every rebound, offensive and defensive. I don’t think we got one stinkin’ rebound. Ok, maybe a few in garbage time. But we got glassed tonight. You guys like that phrase? I’m thinking of using it as the title of my next instructional video, which should be available by August. Check your local video stores!”
Phoenix All Star guard Gerard Joker: “Their back up center Doc Scotti was their main man tonight. He glassed us good. We got the lead with some pretty fun, damn near balletic shooting, but then we got lazy, and Doc glasses us good. Ya’ll like that saying? I’m thinking of copywriting it before coach Scuttle uses it for a training video title or some damn thing.”
Sacramento Queen foward Chuck Warbler: “The best was, when we got behind by seventeen, Coach Addlebrain called a timeout, and looked us in the eye and said, ‘I’ve bet my house on this game, so unless you guys want me moving in with one of you the front office will select at random, I suggest you pick it up a little.’ I swear, our center Pajama Stolivic knees nearly buckled. He’s got half of Croatia staying with him already. I think that’s why he got aggressive and fouled out of the game so early. He needed to go home and prepare the West Wing for Coach Addlebrain, just in case.”
The Sacremento Queens lead the Phoenix Stunguns 2-1 in the best of five series.
The New York Bling Bling played short their tallest player and still managed to flex enough Eastern conference muscle to whack the Toronto Rappers.
New York Bling Bling guard Clark Johnson: “We love it when things don’t go our way. That gives us an excuse to exercise our naturally nasty disposition. You try keeping a good attitude after spending three and a half hours a day on the BQE, the Brooklyn Queens Expressway. I sucked up enough gas fumes from high priced European luxury cars to be a carcinogen, for Christ sake. When someone even gives me a hint of an excuse, I’m more than happy to put my religion aside, forget about Thanksgiving and Christmas, and push Vinnie Carson into the photographer with the steel toed construction boots. Basketball in New York has a good left hook!”
New York Bling Bling shooting guard Alan Ives: “Going up to Toronto on the plane, I looked into everybody’s eyes. Although most of them were bloodshot, and the team’s breath really smelled, I managed to discern a look of determination. We’re pissed about the situation with Brutus Petty, his sister, and the nut that has taken this team hostage. We’re even having conversations with Coach Nutter Butter, which we only do under the most extreme circumstances. All the ‘uhs’ he uses in what passes for a verbal exchange just do anybody with a normal brain wave pattern in.”
New York Bling Bling Coach Jif Nutter Butter: “Look, I have to account for my employees sick days just like any other executive. I don’t question that Brutus Petty has a family situation, I mean, there seems to be those reports on TV, and that would be hard to fake, I think, I’m having my friend Bo Diddle look into that. Meanwhile, what is the team supposed to do? Postpone everything? This is the playoffs! I’ve got to go apply some face creme and eyebrow remover.”
Toronto Rappers high flying star Vinnie Carson: “So we got our asses handed to us in New York. That was game one. We won game two. What does the ZBA want from us? I’ve got a life! I can’t be asked to spend all my time trying to carry this team on my back! What’s in the post game buffet? Where are the cheerleaders? Can anybody give me twenty ones for this ten.”
New York Bling Bling coach Jif Nutter Butter: “I played the shortest guys we had, because I thought, along with the ZBA Commissioner Goliath Revelation, the Toronto Rappers needed a challenge and the league wants these middle rounds to play out as long as possible. We wound up beating the crap out of them, and our big guys are rested for the next game. Bonus, and as an executive, I love bonuses!”
The New York Bling Bling lead the Toronto Rappers 2-1 in the best of five round one playoff series.
Last night in the Biodome the Houston Crockett team spent the night spelunking.
Coach Rudy Tomjohnabitch: “The guys loved the pith helmets and the custom cave picks. The cave ceilings were little low, Aheem kept bumping his head on the stalactites, and the bat guano was a little too realistic for Stan Franks, but overall, spending the night in a damp dark place kept the teams spirits up.”
Crockett guard Stan Franks: “Me and my shadow, straight up and narrow, me and my shadow, me and my shadow, me and my shadow. OW! Who’s poking me in my ass with a stalactite?”
The playoffs resume tonight in San Antonio.
Warren felt a tap on his arm.
The Riddler said, “Hey, big guy, time for your sit ups. You don’t want to lose your chance to look your best on South Beach.”
Warren pulled off his shirt and hit the isle. Lily walked up and dumped a bucket of sand on Warren’s back as the Riddler counted “Five six seven, get that butt down…”
Theotis said, “I did 56 push ups this morning, and my sun wasn’t even in Saturn.” Theotis then dumped a bucket of sand on Warren’s head.
The Riddler continued to count.
Mad Wolf approached and fired up his metal detector. Eying the reading he said, “I guess you don’t have a metal plate in your head. Oh, well, if you don’t mind, we’ll leave that posting on the web site for a few more days anyway. Metal in people’s heads is interesting.”
Jamal lay down on the isle and turned his head so he could be eyeball to eyeball with Warren on the downstroke. He watched Warren for ten pushups, he stood up and said, “I think he could use more sand.”
Lynn pulled some seashells out of her supply bag and arranged them on Warren’s back to spell Miami.
She turned on the DV and shot Warren in the sand with the seashells.
Albie addressed the crew.
“We are approaching El Duque International airport in Miami. We’ll go by moped to The Pelican. I’ve booked us all to stay in the “Me Tarzan, You Vain’, and the ‘Best Whorehouse’ suites. The Pelican is on South Beach. We leave in a moped motorcade for the United Eagles Arena at One O’Clock. Helmets are required by local ordinances, but strangely enough, clothes are not.”
Lily said, “Why is everybody looking at me?”
She dumped another bucket of sand on Warren as he collapsed on the isle. “Seventy!”
“Good job,” said the Riddler. “You are one sandy bastard!”
“Welcome to a Piece of the Afternoon show on WPIC, The Pickle, Miami Sports talk radio, and KSPORT, Houston, sports talk in the big town. With me are Mad Wolf Sherman, Our Astrologer Theotis Holland, sports reporter Lily Creamer, basketball marginal talent Jamal Deadburn, and our lovely producer, Albie Darling. We’d like to thank Miquel and the Mad Dog for giving us their afternoon drive slot for the day. Albie, where have the boys taken their baba louie’s?”
Albie said, “They’ve taken Miguel’s wife’s Cigarette boat to Key Largo. Miquel has been telling the Mad Dog for weeks he read about bottomless babes giving tours of the John Pennecamp Coral Reef State Park. He proved it with a brochure, which I got my hands on. There’s some pretty darned good cut and paste work there.”
Mad Wolf said, “That’s a good job by Miquel. A bottomless boat to bottomless babes requires some cool tools.”
Albie said, “Well, Miquel is going to make it up to the Dog, He got Miami Crepe Suzette coach Putt Roadkill to agree to meet him at the Holiday Isle Beach Resort. He’s promised to break down the remaining playoff games for the Mad Dog while putting the Crepe Suzette cheerleaders through post season workouts.”
Warren said, “A masterful multi-tasker!”
Jamal said, “Tell those cheerleaders to watch out for their knees!”
Warren said, “Diane from the Fairchild Tropical Garden, you’re on WPIC Miami and KSPORT Houston.”
“Good afternoon. Hot enough for you?”
“Very pleasant, thanks. It cost Mad Wolf a collectable Remington skeet gun to get them to turn the air on here at the United Eagles arena.”
“I wonder what you think Coach Putt Roadkill is going to do for the Miami fans next year? I’ve already dumped three effigies of him in the Piranha pond in the African tropical environment area. Trades involving everybody on the team except the mascot? Practices so hard he blows out the knee of one of the single most prolific shooters South Florida’s ever seen? I think it’s time Putt packed his sports utility vehicle and drove into Biscayne Bay without a supply of oxygen!”
Theotis said, “Your Mars is obviously opposite your Mercury, uh, ah, Diane.”
Diane said, “I’ve got to plant some ferns. I’ll hang up and listen.”
Jamal said, “We’ll Diane, Putt Roadkill has always been an in your face coach. He has an impressive resume, but I’ll admit the longer he hangs around the Miracle Mile without bringing home the golden ball the more his boys want to introduce him to their cousin Bobby who just got out of maximum security at San Quentin.”
Mad Wolf said, “I’m afraid Putt has too much power around here to be displaced easily. He’s in his own personal fourth quarter and calling lots of time outs. Only divine intervention can keep this guy from knocking the Crepe Suzzettes into the sand trap of the ZBA for seasons to come.”
Warren said, “Danny from the Venetian Pool, you’re on WPIC, The Pickle, Miami’s sports talk radio, and KSPORT, Houston.”
“Hi! I’m on my extended lunch break, listening to you guys on the poolside p.a. Hey Mad Wolf. As long as you’re giving weapons away for personal comfort, my sister’s not busy today, and we could use a snub nosed .38”
Mad Wolf said, “Thanks, but I haven’t had my shots!”
Danny said, “I like Putt Roadkill. It’s not his fault Fonzie Cloaking came down with a chronic kidney condition. That’s essentially what sent the season to the Wrecker’s Museum. I still attended every home game, mainly because I know the location of the cheerleader’s dressing room peephole. Plus, Tonio Bryant lobes me his mouthpiece after every game, which I sell on E-Bay for a nice profit, enabling me to spend a lot of time here at the Venetian Pool. In this way, Putt contributes to the local economy, and I love him for it.”
Mad Wolf said, “You gotta love E-Bay!”
“Jack from Houston, you’re on the Pickle and KSPORT.”
“In reference to Guard Tom Easybean’s knees, he profited greatly from Putt’s conditioning programs. When he was in Golden State, guess what? He was headed toward becoming a fat, sloppy loudmouth with a pretty good outside shot. Putt turned him into a man, a terrifically conditioned ZBA Player who looked great on TV.”
Lily said, “Looking good on TV is what it’s all about.”
Mad Wolf said, “The fans of Miami are the best looking fans in the ZBA. I think it’s the Stone Crab Claws and the star fruits.”
Jamal said, “I have seen a lot of fruits in my short time here.”
Warren said, “Jack, thanks for the call. We’ll be back with Jamal Deadburn’s take on the ZBA’s Miami Crepe Suzettes, right after this for Studson hats.”
Albie put down her latest copy of Mademoiselle and took the show to break.
“You’re listening to a Piece of the Afternoon show on WPIC, The Pickle, and KSPORT, Houston. Now, Jamal Deadburn, Houston Crockett soon to be second year guard, gives us his take on the Miami Crepe Suzettes. Jamal.”
“Thank you Mr. Piece, and hello again everyone. Well, this is a fresh post mortem. Only three nights ago the Miami Crepe Suzettes turned in their jocks to the equipment managers and adjourned to the strip clubs for the remainder of the playoffs. I feel for the brothers. You know, Putt has his methods. He has a problem maybe Theotis could address later.
My man Putt Roadkill seems to have cloaked himself in bad Karma. When he packed his Butch Wax and his Armani suits in New York and took a one way flight to South Beach, something serious happened in the fourth dimension.
Fonzie Cloaking, the all-star center, has seen the last of his rebounding the occasional three point miss by Tom Easybean.
Tom Easybean himself was gone this season. Seattle import Foward Bumper Crop continued his great charity work, but it seems like the last time he had a good game, Tupac Shakur was still making rap records.
Former New York foward Paulie Smuckers is finally dating women over fifteen and going to bed before 4 am, but he still thinks he should be the go to guy. Yo, Paulie, either start to rebound or shave loser into your head and be done with it.
Charlotte’s trade with Putt Roadkill last year brought guard Bruce Clemmons to the Crepe Suzettes, ostensibly to replace Tom Easybean. His play has been softer than Hugh Heifner without Viagra.
Tonio Bryant is only a year or so ahead of me, so I can identify with the brother’s struggles to get heard from around the league. He may be Roadkill’s salvation because he’s young enough to survive Putt’s boot camp.
I’m going to steal a line from W.C.Fields. Overall, I’d rather be in Philadelphia.”
Warren said, “We’ll be back with your calls, after this break.”
“You’re listening to a Piece of the Afternoon show on WPIC, Miami’s Pickle, and KSPORT, Houston. I’m Warren Piece. Phoebe from Crandon Park Beach, what’s the latest?”
“I just finished boiling King Crab claws and grilling some shrimp. It’s a glorious day. I can’t believe you guys are spending it inside.”
Mad Wolf said, “It’s a career.”
Phoebe said, “How do you feel about the rumor that Putt Roadkill is gay, and has a lover on the active roster of the Miami Crepe Suzettes.”
Jamal said, “I Knew IT! Kidney ailment my ass!”
Lily said, “I can call a guy who knows a guy who could ask a guy if this is true.”
Warren said, “I’m handing Lily my cell phone.”
Theotis said, “If his uh, ah, North Node is in his seventh house, it is possible.”
Jamal aid, “Theo, my man, we’re talking about something else being in his seventh house, if you know what I’m sayin’”.
Lily said, “My friend of a friend of a friend reports Putt is currently in the shower with a Miami socialite and her biker sister. Phoebe, it’s time to get out of the sun.”
Warren said, “Theotis, what do you see in the stars for the Crepe Suzettes?”
“Well uh, ah, Warren, I’ve discovered Putt Roadkill has a tendency to make big decisions when the moon is void of course. His roster moves involving legendary guard Tom Easybean, bad boy foward Paulie Smuckers, and Northwestern transplant power foward Bumper Crop are all the earthly evidence you need.
This tendency, combined with Putt’s insistence on acting when Mercury is in retrograde, undermine what should be a classic franchise with a sign of Leo and a Grand Trine in the fire sign.
Mars will be opposite Neptune for this franchise through the next season. Putt’s efforts to recast his program and revert to a past motion offense he had success with in another life back in L.A. will go haywire in the next year.
Mars will eventually move into Leo by the beginning of the next off-season, and Putt may yet may make one last push to save his reputation and enable him to hold the golden ball one more time, probably over his head, as this is typical behavior of a flamboyant Leo.”
Jamal said, “It sounds like Putt’s got his head up his birth sign.”
Warren said, “Please welcome to WPIC and KSPORT coach of the Miami Crepe Suzettes, Putt Roadkill. Good afternoon Mr. Roadkill.”
Putt said, “Good afternoon, welcome to Miami. Theotis doesn’t mind smacking the coach around does he? How many rings does he have?”
Theotis said, “I uh, have a gold band from my great great grandfather, a replica of Tutankhamen pinky ring, and a nice sapphire I bought in Little Havana on the way to United Eagles Arena today.”
Putt said, “You guys are thinking about this team all wrong. Yes, I know we are out of the playoffs already. Yes, I know we haven’t survived past the first round since the invention of the modern aircraft. Yes, I know people say without superstar retired guard Henning Copperfield I’m just a good coach with a penchant for killing my players’ knees. Yes, when I eat bananas, I get gas. Next question.”
Warren said, “Putt, is it true you don’t see eye to eye with your franchise center?”
Putt said, “Yes, I don’t see eye to eye with my franchise player. He’s seven three in the media guide. Next question.”
Mad Wolf said, “Putt, It’s no secret you’ve taken on several project players this year and plan to take on several more project players next year. Is that a ploy to keep the payroll down and suck up to the owner, perhaps keep that beach house on Biscayne Bay?”
Putt said, “CAUGHT!”
Jamal said, “Coach, what are the side effects of trading most of your favorite players?”
Putt said, “Watch you ass, kid, I might trade for you. If you were a little faster up the floor on D, you’d have been gone out of Houston by the end of last season. I told Mickey, we could use that Deadburn Kid, but you’d taken some little blue pills or some damn thing the one game I managed to convince him to watch with you on the floor.”
Jamal said, “Chicago, and those were give to me by the trainer for a sore quadriceps. He didn’t know I was allergic.”
“OK. Well, you might want to take some speed boat driving lessons this summer.”
Mad Wolf said, “Wouldn’t this be considered tampering?”
Putt said, “CAUGHT!”
Warren said, “If you could have any player in the ZBA today, who would you take?”
Putt said, “I’d sign Yo Ming today.”
Mad Wolf said, “The Chinese center.”
Putt said, “Yeah, then I’d harvest one of his kidneys and give it to Fonzie Cloaking. I’ve already checked. They’re a match! I’ve got to go. I’m running a bit late for the dogtrack. Welcome to Miami!”
Warren said, “We’ll be back after this for Studson Hats.”
“Jeanine from Las Vegas listening on XM Satellite radio, you’re on WPIC, the Pickle of Miami and KSPORT Houston.”
“Hi! I’m trying to figure out the long shot for next season. If I can pick next year’s ZBA Champions at this early date, I could make a fortune. No more buffet breakfasts!”
Mad Wolf said, “That’s a high percentage score you’re after there Jeanine.”
Jamal said, “Put it on Houston!”
Theotis said, “Be sure and check you’re astrological calendar!”
“Donnie, also listening on XM Satellite radio and listening from Vermont, you’re on WPIC and KSPORT.”
Donnie said, “I’m trying to pick up some local college school girls, but I’ve just found out they don’t dig older guys in Saabs. Do you think an official ZBA Jersey would help? And which team? And do they come in extra extra large? And can I get one treated with Scotchguard so the tomato sauce doesn’t make permanent stains?”
Jamal said, “Vermont? You should get a Bling Bling jersey with a some Boston Pelvic shorts and a pair of red Baba O’Reilly sneakers.”
“Derek from Little Havana, you’re on The Pickle and KSPORT.”
“I’m second generation Cuban. I’ve used my charms to marry a six foot brainy brunette who is attracted to my Mambo dancing and the banana plantation fortune I managed to smuggle out of the motherland. I’m trying to cross breed my family line with her family line and create a male heir that can play in the ZBA. My second son is already three four feet tall and he’s only ten. Could you give me the name of some the GM’s kids? It’s never too early to network!”
Mad Wolf said, “No, but I could fix you up with a nice commemorative canon from the Spanish American War.”
Jamal said. “Albie, put this man’s number on a piece of paper. We’ll bury it in a time capsule outside the Johnson space center. In ten years I’ll dig it up and we’ll see where we are.”
Derek said, “I’ll take that deal.”
Warren said, “Back with Lily Creamer’s evaluation of the sex appeal of the Miami Crepe Suzzettes, after this.”
“Jimmy from Vienna, you’re on WPIC, Miami’s pickle, and KSPORT, Houston.”
“Hi. I’m sitting in traffic on Bullride Boulevard just this side of the exit for the Houston Zoo with my Great Dane Mozart. I was wondering if you knew if anyone had ever swum from Galveston to Miami? I’ll hang up and listen.”
Theotis said, “A ah, huh, nautical question. The lunar cycle indicated we would be getting these at this particular time.”
Jamal said, “If I was going to swim anywhere from Galveston, I’d swim to Daytona Beach. During spring break. With my Club Med pass in my teeth.”
Lily said, “Aren’t there sharks in the Gulf of Mexico?’
Mad Wolf said, “I know there are sharks in the National Hockey League.”
Warren said, “Thanks for the call Jimmy. Albie, what do we know about long distance swimming in the Gulf.”
Albie said, “Not jack.”
Warren said, “Jimmy, I’m Asking Jeeves. While I look it up, Lily…”
Lily said, “Thank you Warren. The Miami Crepe Suzettes locker room security foiled my attempts to install surveillance cameras, so I split their feed, with the help of Lynn, and unbeknownst to them got some great shots of places I never would have dreamed of putting a camera.
Like the rotating camera in the trainers room, or the fish eye lens in the specially built wind sprint wind tunnel, or the wide-angle lens in the rehab room.
The Crepe Suzzettes seem to have accommodations for non-athletic personnel in the locker room. I spent some time investigating this by putting microscopic Lavolier mikes on the legs of the Flamingos they keep by the locker room wishing well and pond. The Crepe Suzettes were in the locker room to get their stuff and have close out the year meetings. I picked up Tom Easybean, who has already been traded, limping by with replacement guard Bruce Clemons. I overheard him say Putt was looking foward to getting rid of all the medical personnel as soon as Fonzie Cloaking retired. Bruce said he didn’t mind getting dressed with nurses in every corner of the player’s clubhouse, but he resented the anal thermometers just before game time.
The team has always taken it’s cue from Fonzie, and now that he is ailing, apparently they are taking their locker room identity from him too. They all sleep at least twelve hours a day, only drink vegetable shakes, and have medical checkups once a week. Those shakes make them smell funny, they always seem to be a bit catatonic, but the not surprising aspect is when they are awake, they do have plenty of energy. They can hold a french kiss longer than any of the teams out west, and their massive amount of R.E.M. time makes them a bit philosophical in the rack, from all reports. The kind of guys who lean up on one elbow and listen you pour your heart out about how your first boyfriend really screwed you over, and your uncle always had a funny look in his eye after the eggnog at Christmas, stuff like that.
I’d rate the Miami Crepe Suzettes a dozen roses, a set of flannel pajamas, and two grand Mariners with coffee beans by the fireplace on a bearskin rug, naked at last.”
Warren said, “We’ll take a few more phone calls, after this.”
“Albie, what did we find out about the last man or woman to attempt the swim from Galveston to Miami?”
“The attempts to swim from Galveston to Miami usually involved green grass, high tides, and a desire to unload some Mexican product in a market hot for mental recreational supplements. I did find one example, which fits in perfectly with the kivitzing life theme of our little jaunt through the cities of the ZBA. A group of a baker’s dozen short haired Boston Terriers and their Texan mixed breed masters took three cigarette boats and a week and a half to relay swim from Galveston to Miami for the benefit of the Galveston hurricane relief fund. That was in the 80’s.”
Jamal said, “Back in the day. I’ve got some old George Clinton records my brother gave me from back then.”
Warren said, “Glen from Miami River, you’re on The Pickle, Miami Sports Talk, and KSPORT, Houston.”
Hi, guys. I run a water ferry around Miami. How would you guys like to hook up later? I could take you anywhere from Central Miami Beach to Coconut Grove. We could throw eggs at Putt Roadkill’s house and have fresh lobster right here on the boat.”
Warren said, “Albie, get this man’s cell number. Thanks everyone for listening, and good luck to the Crepe Suzette fans next year. See you in Houston for the Finals if our knees hold out and nobody steals the playbook.”
Albie took the stations back to their regular programming and Warren walked out into the Miami Heat with the crew.
Warren entered the private jet terminal at El Duque International airport. The terminal was hot pink, turquoise and extremely cool. The NetZero terminal near the newsstand was empty. Warren nodded to the Cuban man sorting his morning papers. The man smiled around his unlit stub of a cigar, and offered Warren a Miami Herald. There was a small picture of Lily Creamer wearing a coconut bathing suit and a caption which read, ‘Putt Roadkill the subject of impromptu rally and mamba party in Coral Gables. Details in sports.”
Warren smiled, gave the Cuban a dollar, sat down at the terminal and signed on to F.A.Q., Advice for the 21st Century.
Dear Warsmoke,
I hate being chastised! I just hate it! I don’t like it one bit!
I grew up with a bunch of characters that played sports and were good at it. We overstated our case every day of the week and twice on Sunday. Several of us went on to careers in professional sports. I myself became a bigtime football player. Three Super Bowls, six time pro bowl, and thousands of after game buffets.
I now go at around six two, four hundred fifty pounds.
I try to remain active, and do a lot of heavy lifting and hauling.
Last week, I was hauling my usual goods across town after lunch, and yeah I might have stopped off at G-String Lily’s for a coupla pops to brighten up the day, but I wasn’t swerving too bad, and that railroad whistle is really loud, especially when you’re half asleep, and I might have swerved just a bit when that thing blasted, but anyway, I wasn’t bothering anybody, just doing my thing, and I got busted.
10,000 pounds of high grade marijuana, now the property of the Dallas police department.
That makes 30,000 pounds of grass I’ve had confiscated in the last three months!
And I thought the line judges in the NFL had a burr up their butt!
My problem is this: I need a good diet, because I look like a Chunky candybar in these prison clothes, and I don’t think I’ll be getting a new wardrobe for a year or so.
signed,
Slate Issacs, former football great
Hey pigskin head,
I called my old college newspaper editor, even though it was two in the morning his time. He lives in Bangkok, currently in hiding from Merrill Lynch, who according to him, have a misguided set of rules for collecting money owed to them because a margin call or twelve came due at an unfortunate time. He faxed me a few dishes popular in his part of the world. Most of them only need a wok, rice, and some form of meat (they use pure bred Persians, but they’re an eclectic bunch. You might want to stick with flank steak.)
Good luck, and if you need someone to check the mini-storage facility from time to time until you once again become a long hauler, let me know. My fees are reasonable, and I haven’t smoked any dope since that incident with the Korean handmaiden and the Krazy Glue.
Dear Warclock,
I have this great part time job! I am the buzzer operator at a famous arena in the ZBA. I have a great reputation for accuracy, especially in the close games. There is a certain warm quality I get when I am in dead sync with the clock on the scoreboard. When I leave a game I know a fair shake was given to both teams, unlike in some arenas, where a homer jumps the clock at critical moments in the game to give his guys an unfair advantage, sometimes, dare I say it, for monetary compensation!
I have no proof of this, but some of those clowns drive Chrysler concept cars to their day jobs, so you tell me.
The last month I’ve began to experience problems, which I trace to my stringent standards with the buzzer.
I jump red lights in my white Honda Civic.
I start piling my groceries on the belt before the cashier is done with the person if front of me, without using the separator advertising Maxi-Pads.
I get up in the morning five minutes before my alarm goes off.
My problem is this.
What am I going to do when this problem of jumping the gun extends into other areas of my life? I’ve already loaded up on Viagra and have sent off for technique booklets from Dr. Ruth Weizenheimer in a preemptive strike on problems with my altogether, but the clock is ticking I just know it!
signed,
Homer Greenwald
Hey you Homer,
An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure. I’ve gone to youaregettingsleepy.com and ordered a self-hypnosis kit for you. It should be arriving UPS ground the latter part of next week. I’ve also called my personal hypnotist, Theotis Holland, for some special instructions. He was reluctant to give them to me, but I put the charge on your AMEX card (my webmaster Gery Cummings hacked into your account…we charged over a thousand dollars, so you’ll be able to pay it off a little at a time on the special AmEx time payment program!) and he laid out explicit instructions.
To complete the cure, you’ll have to buy some ceremonial robes, convince a lady friend to give you several drops of her blood and conduct the ceremony that brings you out of your trance.
Good luck, and here’s to personal improvement!
Dear Warbucks,
I love money! My goal in life is to make enough money to by a small island, then not buy the island!
I dream of having enough cash to purchase the entire wine output of the Smothers Brothers winery, and backing out at the last minute!
My goal is to have so many greenbacks I could finance an expansion franchise in the NFL, yet I put it all in several FICA insured savings accounts at 2 percent interest.
In real life, I manage a conservative pension fund that is a bitch to get money from.
You can imagine my perplexity when I discovered documents indicating I had released funds to several plan participants, just because they had asked for them! I asked my assistant if she had noticed any unusual behavior. She adjusted her wig, pulled a lipstick from her purse, looked at me over her cheaters, and said, “I’m on lunch.”
I spent an afternoon combing documents and validating signatures. I could find no holes in the paperwork.
I then set up a videotape camera in my office, inserted a two day cassette on super duper extra slo slo mo.
I reviewed the tape over this last weekend in my finished basement between shots of Johnny Walker Red and bites of Cheetos. I can’t believe it.
I am a schizophrenic.
Between the hours of twelve and twelve forty five and again at two until two forty five, I part my hair on the other side, put on sunglasses, take off my tie, and start writing checks.
Once the 45 minute window shuts, the tie goes back on, the sunglasses come off, I restore my hairdo, and cap my pen, totally unaware of any shenanigans by my fiscally irresponsible half.
My problem is this: Those sunglasses look really out of date. Where can I get some designer frames at below cost? I don’t trust my other half to buy them. He’d have them imported from France overnight, costing me a fortune in shipping alone.
Yo Foster Grant,
I think you’re instincts are exactly backwards. You should let the outsider pick your frames, do your job, and run your life. That way the planet would have one less anal retentive accountant who thinks the world revolves around a spreadsheet and whose only contribution to the planet is the solar powered calculator he uses to add up how much his take is.
No sympathy.
Go pound salt up your ass.
Warren jumped as a hand touched his head. He turned to find Albie reading over his shoulder. She handed him her Panasonic CD player. He put on the headphones and listened to the Grateful Dead’s ‘Unbroken Chain.” Warren retuned to the website as Albie rubbed his shoulders.
Hey Foster Grant,
You’re doing the best you can for a man in your position. I suggest taking guitar lessons. The sunglasses will be unnecessary if you learn to knock off a few Aerosmith riffs and rap like Kid Rock.
An alternative treatment is buying the entire David Bowie collection and inviting all your friends to a Bowie listening party while you recite the exact length of each cut during the guitar solo of Suffragette City. Your mind is your friend.
Warren
Albie said, “That’s a bit more positive,”
Warren leaned his head foward and said, “I guess I miss Louie and Yasmine more than I thought.”
Albie said, “Once we get out of this heat you’ll get your vibe back.”
“Thanks Albie. A little to the left?”
Albie kissed the back of Warren’s neck.
“Let’s go get a Double Lunar Latté before takeoff, shall we?”
Waldo Dalee
January 29, 2017
I couldn’t resist commenting 🙂