FAQ 181 New Jersey
The Gulfstream VS-P reached cruising altitude. The crew gathered around the Panasonic Video Screen.
Louie said, “Hi guys. Yasmine and I are doing well. I’ve got high hopes for tonight’s games. Tell Theotis I made my bets during the times he recommended. Yasmine has a message for Mad Wolf.”
“Hi everyone, Wolf, I had a dream about you last night. Have you ever worn fishnet stockings when you dress up like a woman and go to that special part of Houston?”
Jamal said, “Dissed!”
Mad Wolf said, “I’m not awake yet, but I think I like that girl a lot more every day.”
Louie said, “We’ll be in touch.”
Warren moved to a leather lounge chair by the window and opened his laptop.
Minnesota Woodies Dial V for Vacation
The ZBA playoffs cause players to wear plastic masks, get new tattoos, dye their hair blonde, anything for an advantage. Regardless, the combination of an outside shooter, an inside presence and a great defensive scheme are still the only way to open the playoff vault. A good bench and hot shooting role players don’t hurt either.
San Antonio Rhinestone foward Davey Trauler: ”We’ve been riding the backs of Tan Toucan and Goliath ‘The Maytag’ Robertson all season. I felt it was time for other guys on the team to step up and take some shots. We want to get mentioned in the media guide next year, too, you know.”
San Antonio Center Tan Toucan: “We love playing the Minnesota Woodies during the first round every year. We can say it doesn’t matter who we play, but it really does. The Woodies seem to be waiting for the starting tip for the duration of the first half, and the second half they shoot like they’re part of a group study involving the relationship between missed baskets in the playoffs and the effectiveness of Xanax on a coaches playoff stress. Have ya’ll seen my tongue ring? Check this out!”
Minnesota Woodies guard Tyco Branding: “The Minnesota fans want something else besides us getting bounced in the first round. I know five years getting in is pretty good, but so was Eminim’s first album. You can play it and play it, but eventually you want the next album, or you’ll move on to Kid Rock. We don’t want our fans listening to Kid Rock, so we have to make some changes in the off-season. Meanwhile it’s off to Tahiti, where I’ll be referring soccer games by day and giving the local ladies lots of hands on experience with a real ZBA player by night. Ya’ll excuse me, I have to go get my vaccinations.”
San Antonio Rhinestones aging Center Goliath ‘The Maytag’ Robertson: “When Woodies Tyco Branding and Ray Irwin hit a couple of threes with six minutes left in the third quarter, I felt my time had come. I went to the sideline, downed six Advil with a quart of Gatorade, got some quick back stim, and hit the floor. Unfortunately, all that juice made me have to go to the bathroom, so I had to leave the game and go to the locker-room. Then coach had no timeouts, so I had to sneak back into the game during a scrum under our basket, and then by that time my back had stiffened up again, but hey, I was in there when the buzzer sounded, and that was my goal! Next round!”
Neither San Antonio coach Gary Olivevino nor Minnesota coach Fritz Flop could be reached for comment, as they were in the referee’s room playing rock paper scissors.
The San Antonio Rhinestones move to the second round of the ZBA playoffs to face the winner of the Utah Jacuzzi Dallas Plowhorse first round series.
Last night the Houston Crocketts continued their playoff watch in Biodome Two just outside of Tucson, Arizona.
Power foward Glen Northern: “We’ve got E-Trade accounts all around now, so when we finish with practice on our new hardwood floor we can kick back, sell short, buy on margin, and build portfolios King Tut would be jealous of. Wait! I didn’t want 1000 shares of Expedia! That’s a loser! I take that back! Coach!!!”
Houston Crockett Coach Rudy Tomjohnabitch: “The biosphere kids created a cool thunderstorm in the Savannah biome. The team got together with the kids under an awning and talked about kickboxing and it’s application on a drive to the basket. It was a special moment with the team and the kids from Columbia University. I think a couple of the girls even got official ZBA tattoos, if you now what I mean.”
The playoffs resume tonight.
Frank,
Here’s the column. Only one game last night, so I guess you’ll just have to run my picture three times it’s normal size, or you could use the shot of Lily in a nice coconut shell bikini I’m sending you in a JPEG. Things appear calm as we head to the great Northeast. You should pad your expense account and join us for a few rounds of horse. Later.
Warren Piece
Dave ‘The Riddler’ Kroft walked by Warren, trailed by Albie and Lily. They had black silk handkerchiefs tied around their heads as blindfolds, and were walking with their arms straight out in front of them chanting, “It’s all about The Riddler. We are ready to listen to the Penis Monologues. Tell us how to become the ultimate women! Work us Rid!”
Dave turned around and Albie ran into him first, about chest high. Lily sensed contact, but too late. They all went down in a heap. Jamal emerged from the galley and poured Hershey’s syrup over their heads before removing the blindfolds.
Mad Wolf leaned out of his leather recliner, folded his edition of Smith and Wesson confidential, and said, “Can’t we ever approach an airport without some group on the floor of the aircraft?”
Albie said from her position under Lily, “Attention everyone! We’ll be staying in Point Pleasant Harbor House, at Point Pleasant Beach New Jersey. They are across the street from, you guessed it, Point Pleasant Beach. There is boardwalk, arcades, and a wonderful place to have fried shrimp on the beach. A fleet of Toyota Camry’s at Midswamp Airport’ll pick us up. We’ll leave the beach for Revolutionary Airlines Arena, which will be deserted except for the sound of traffic from the New Jersey Turnpike. Now, does anybody have any ice cream? I want to make a Sunday on the Riddler’s Abs.”
The Gulfstream VS-P began it’s decent into Midswamp airport as the crew prepared for landing.
“Welcome to A Piece of the Afternoon Sports Talk Radio Show on WFAT, New York, and KSPORT Houston. We’re broadcasting from the Revolutionary Airlines Arena and Mausoleum. Albie, where did we send our gracious afternoon team of WFAT, Whacked and the Mad Dog?”
“Well, Warren, they opted for an afternoon in Central Park watching the Bethesda fountain. They are taking bets on the actual height the fountain will reach in any fifteen minute period. After two hours of doing this, they will then take any girls they’ve managed to pick up to Sidewalkers on 72nd street for Crabs. Then they are going to the 79th street boat basin, where they will board a cigarette, sans girls, for a speed run down the Hudson River, winding up at the South Street Seaport, where they will hold an open debate at Willy’s clam shell restaurant on the merits of a civilian beaning Roger Clemons the next time a Met fan spots him on the streets of New York. Whacked told me in confidence, so of course I can share it with everyone, they hope to pick up a fresh set of groupies, ah, I mean sports fans, and take them to The Dog’s mansion on Block Island for some Bob Marley and a midnight swim on the beach, sans official ZBA jerseys.”
Mad Wolf said, “These New York guys like to stay busy.”
Warren said, “Jerome from Manhattan, you on WFAT and KSPORT.”
“Good afternoon. Welcome to New York. Now go home.”
The line went dead.
Warren said, “OK, Mad Wolf, you pick one.”
Mad Wolf said, “Lily from Matawan, you’re on WFAT and KSPORT.”
“Hi guys, don’t pay any attention to Jerome. He’s just mad because he finally bought a full length mirror and realized the Slim Fast isn’t working.”
Jamal said, “Damn, feel the love brothers!”
Lily said, “Doris from Newark, you’re on WFAT and KSPORT.”
“Good afternoon. Next year the New Jersey Longshots need to get a guard to compliment ball hog John Goodman. Somebody whose got quick hands, because the only way any of the Longshot player is going to get their hands on the rock near the basket is to steal it from Goodman.”
Warren said, “Jimmy Dale from Houston. You’re on WFAT and KSPORT.”
“Hey boys, ya’ll had your bagels and cream cheese yet today? Sounds like the people up there got cream cheese up their butt.”
Warren said, “Debbie from the upper East Side, you’re on WFAT and KSPORT.”
“Welcome to civilization. Or at least welcome to the satellite orbiting civilization that is New Jersey. The Museum of Modern Art has a great Monet exhibition if you fell like taking in a little culture on a break from your little sports show, which I only found by accident because the maid left my Bose wave radio tuned to WFAT, which I would fire her for except my husband and son seem attached to her for some unknown reason.”
Mad Wolf said, “That no Manhattan mystery. I saw the exact situation on an episode of Law and Order once.”
Warren said, “Ladies and Gentleman, please welcome Don Bush, former big time ZBA power broker and now president of the New Jersey Longshots. Good afternoon Mr. Bush.”
“Good afternoon Warren. I’ve been following your road show with rapt attention. Putt Roadkill has balls, doesn’t he?”
“You mean because he practically faxed a contract to Jamal?”
“Yeah. Hey, the Longshots are out of the playoffs too. Jamal, look out over the arena there and imagine it filled with fans chanting your name.”
Jamal said, “We’d have to get the lights turned on first.”
Don said, “I’ll call you back.”
Warren said, “We’ll return, hopefully with better lighting, right after this for Studson hats.”
Albie took the show to break.
Warren said, “Albie, did we get Don Bush back on the phone?”
Albie said, “Lily is talking to him.”
Warren said, “Jamal, why don’t we get an analysis concerning your future team, the New Jersey Longshots.”
Jamal put down his Lime PowerAid and began. “Well Warren, Mad Wolf, Theotis, and Lily who’s still on the phone, the New Jersey Longshots had a season that could use a case of air freshener and a few shots of Tequila. I mean Damn, son! Point guard John Goodman sometimes dribbled like he was waiting on the Q bus to Jamaica, Queens. The team could have traded jock straps during his execution of offensive sets. The brother can score, but he don’t like to run much. In the ZBA, this is not good for a guard with a Showtime wannabe coach.
The players of the Longshots are daily testing the limits of the Players Union medical coverage. Rookie foward Thomas Congo breaks a leg, foward Keith Van Fectman breaks a leg, Karoom Bits spends his second season perusing pamphlets offering knee replacement surgery to men 28 and younger, what the DAMN!?
The healthy guys on the team are competing on the level of the Sixth Avenue and Eighth Street playground games in New York. Those guys are good, but they don’t expect to do well against ZBA caliber talent.
I hope the General Manager Don Bush has a plan for this franchise, cause I like this arena, now that they have put the lights on and I can see it. New York’s shadow is long and pervasive. Good luck Longshots, and don’t bother sending me housing options.”
Warren said, “Thank you Jamal, we’ll be back with your calls after this.”
“Albie, has Don Bush come up for air, yet?”
Albie spun her index finger in the air.
“Mr. Bush, welcome back to a Piece of the Afternoon show on WFAT and KSPORT.”
“Hello again! The heart and soul of the New Jersey franchise is on the way. That’s all I can say.”
Jamal said, “You mean there’s a trade in the works? Ya’ll gonna get somebody to help out my man John Goodman?”
“Let’s just say we’re moving on up. I’m sending our head of PR over to the Revolutionary Airlines Arena with some high quality snacks for you guys. The floor show should start in about forth-five minutes.”
Mad Wolf said, “The floor show?”
Don said, “Hey, you can’t come to the greater New York Metropolitan region without seeing a show. Now put that charming Lily back on the line.”
Warren said, “Dale from Addiction, Wyoming, you’re on WFAT and KSPORT.”
“I’ve got you on the satellite radio in my truck. I have a comment about the New Jersey Longshots. I’m hauling Longerberger baskets to L.A. They go crazy for this crap. Use it to decorate the living room movie sets or some damn thing.”
Jamal said, “Does Don Bush collect baskets?”
Theotis said, “A uh, ah, Libra with five planets in retrograde at once would be good at making baskets.”
Mad Wolf said, “If the Longshots made more baskets he wouldn’t be reduced to trying to pick up sports reporters.”
Lily shouted “Insulsion!” and went back to the phone.
Dale said, “My point being, I have an olfactory affection for that team. I love the smell of the Turnpike as you roll past Rev Arena. It reminds me of some great times I’ve had a truck stops across the country. Go Longshots!”
“James from Bristol, you’re on WFAT and KSPORT.”
“Hi. I’m cooking a nice Penne with grilled Italian sausage and enjoying a cool breeze off the ceiling fans. Before I start tossing the salad and rummaging around the wine seller for an 84 Cablais I thought I’d offer you my insights into the moribund New Jersey franchise. They can bite me!”
Lily said, “See, they start out sounding like something, but in the end, they all want the same thing.”
Mad Wolf said, “So, you’re off the phone with the general Manager of the New Jersey Longshots. How did that go?”
“Like I said, they all want the same thing.”
Theotis said, “Especially when the sun moves into Scorpio.”
Warren said, “Ladies, gentlemen, and team mascots, here is Lily Creamer, A Piece of the Afternoon’s sports talk show sports reporter, with her take on the sex appeal of the New Jersey Longshots.”
“I tried to download the injury report of the Longshots, but the file was too large for the remaining space on my hard drive, and I wasn’t going to delete those JPEGS of myself, because I need those to show guys I’m trying to get dates with. Kind of like a demo, if you know what I’m saying.”
Mad Wolf said, “Stop drooling Jamal.”
Lily said, “The New Jersey Longshots is a team that looks like they came straight out of the chain gang of Cool Hand Luke. This has to be by design. They’re not like a lot of teams we’ve seen so far. Muscle beach types in Miami or the strong European contingent in Sacramento or the classic bodies in Cleveland, with the exception of ex-Seattle superstar Smitty Lynn, who has an extra chin for each illegitimate kid.”
Jamal said, “Lily is showing her mean streak.”
Lily said, “If I was on a desert island, and I could take one New Jersey Longshot with me, I’d consider point guard John Goodman, cause he’s got good hands. But he has such an ego, he’d probably only use them on himself.
I’d consider center Joey Bergan, because at seven feet one he could keep me in coconuts, but his work ethic is questionable so I’d be sore all the time from giving him motivation.
I’d consider foward Karoom Bits, because he’s had so many major knee surgeries over the last two years he’s bound to have a major supply of great drugs laid in, but with his track record he’d be non-ambulatory and morose within a week and I’d wind up talking to a soccer ball with bamboo shoots for hair.
I’d consider rookie foward Thomas Congo, but he is a rookie after all, and they can be clumsy and make errors at critical junctures. On an island, you wouldn’t have time to bring someone along slowly.
I’d consider foward Ken Von Fectman, but that hair!
A rough bunch, to be sure.
They are ZBA players, however, and that means they have great jewelry and have had all their shots. I’d rate them a movie, a burger, and maybe we can be friends.”
Warren said, “We’ll be back with your calls after this.”
Albie took the show to break. Warren stood and watched the action on the floor of the Revolutionary Airlines Arena.
“Denise from Queens, you’re on WFAT and KSPORT.”
“Hi. I think the Longshots have a problem with motivation. They probably need more raw meat in their diet. Then, during the most tense moments in the game, they would give off an order of superiority, a top of the food chain type of smell. That might be good for seven or eight crucial fourth quarter points a contest.”
Jamal said, “I don’t think the Longshots have too many crucial moments in the fourth quarter.”
Mad Wolf said, “Seven or eight points is great, but you need to find another ten or so to win any of the Longshot games I’ve been a witness to.”
Warren said, “Ray from Staten Island, you’re on WFAT and KSPORT.”
“Yo, boyos and girlyos. The Longshots have a great coach in former L.A.Clampett great Turk Header. He never gets brainlock, and he didn’t wear a bad tie all season. We have to give Don Bush a chance at changing this team over the off-season. The future could be very bright for the Longshots. Much better than across the river, where they are in salary cap hell.”
Jamal said, “I think Ray is referring to the New York Bling Bling ZBA franchise.”
Mad Wolf said, “The batteries on their calculators couldn’t have all gone out at once, could they?’
Theotis said, “It’s very difficulty to make, ah, uh, good financial decisions when your moon is in Uranus.”
Lily said, “I think New York Bling-Bling Gm Bernie Onenutt has his head up his Uranus.”
Warren said, “Ladies and Gentleman, Theotis Holland has his astrological reading for the New Jersey Longshots. Theotis.”
“Well, ah, uh, Warren, and everyone, I see some unbelievable thing for the New Jersey Longshots next season. They are fortunate to have a general manager who has Saturn in his sixth house. I wish this man had been on my polo team when I visited the queen last year! He has some strong aspects in Neptune, which causes him to be a dreamer, a planner of big events, and a pretty darn good bongo player.”
Mad Wolf said, “Theotis, you may save the world yet, my friend.”
“I have calculated the part of fortune for this franchise based on the strength of Mars in conjunction with Pluto. I love that combination, because when I encounter an individual with those characteristics in their charts I usually have a huge payday! Look for something in the Longshots game to undergo a sudden and tremendous positive change next year. I see the franchises north node in the third house, which adds to the power of the stars which will influence their year.”
Warren said, “Thanks Theotis. Can somebody get this man a ham sandwich? I don’t think Theotis has expended that much energy on a reading since he predicted Sgt. Peppers would be a hit for the Beatles in 1969. We’ll be back, after this.”
“Sammy from Oceanside, you’re on WFAT and KSPORT.”
“Hi. Guys, how’s your little adventure in fantasyland going?”
Lily said, “What do you mean, Sammy from Oceanside?”
“The Longshots have as good of a chance of making the ZBA Finals as John Lennon has of making a comeback.”
Warren said, “Betty from Greenwich Village, you’re on WFAT and KSPORT.”
“I’ve composed a poem in tribute to the New Jersey Longshots. The ball. The Ball. Who wants the ball?
Ken Von Fectman? Break a leg! Oh wait, you did!
Tomas Congo for a flying tomahawk jam? Break a leg! Oh, you did!
Karoom Bits? Whoops, there goes another knee implant.
No, No, John Goodman, you keep the ball. Our bones are too brittle! Thank god for direct deposit and Direct TV. Somebody pass me an ace bandage.”
Mad Wolf said, “I’ve got tears in my eyes.”
Lily said, “If I could get a boner, I would have one.”
Warren said, “Lonnie from Waco, you’re on WFAT and KSPORT.”
“Sometimes I wonder if you guys are going to have a problem readjusting to Texas.”
Lily said, “Texas has lots of great poets!”
Lonnie said, “And the only one who doesn’t live in fear of his life is Lyle Lovett. We love Lyle!”
“Donnie from Vermont, you’re on WFAT and KSPORT.”
“You guys need to get your head out of New Jersey while there is still time. By the way I sell a mean mail order syrup.”
“Donnie is clairvoyant, because it is indeed time to bid a tearful goodbye to the Revolutionary Airlines Arena and take a stroll on the boardwalk of Point Pleasant beach. To all the New Jersey Longshot fans, good luck in the off-season! Here’s to the kivitzing life.”
Jamal said, “See you in Houston or Miami, Longshot fans!”
Mad Wolf said, “A Swedish massage is a good thing.”
Lily said, “See you in the congregation.”
Warren said, “Take us home, Albie.”
Albie went to work returning the stations to their programming.
Warren approached the crew, “How about The Blue Note and some Thompson street falafel after our stroll on the boardwalk?”
He got nods and claps on the back.
Lily said, “I’ll call Lynn and the Riddler.”
Albie said, “I’ll take a rain check. I’ve got a date with a general manager.”
Lily said, “Falafel, Don Bush, they’re both going to give you heartburn, only the falafel tastes better going down.”
Theotis said, “Especially when the moon is full.”
Jamal said, “Let’s hurry, I want go for a night swim in the ocean before dinner.”
“The crew walked to the white limo, headed for the Jersey Shore.
Warren approached Midswamp airport, sipping a double Lunar Latté, and whistling I Love Rock and Roll by Joan Jett.
He spun trough the revolving doors under the watchful eyes of the unoccupied baggage handlers. The Colonial Airlines Terminal was cool and quiet. Warren found the NetZero Terminals, signed on to F.A.Q….Advice For the 21st Century, and went to work.
Dearest Warfur,
As I write this I am rubbing my hands across the most exquisite chinchilla fur in my vault. The temperature here is twenty five degrees, and the humidity is 2.3.
Perfect storage conditions for the most beautiful fur coats that exist on the East Coast.
I have given my most important clients my home phone number. I rarely get calls from them, because these are the types of people who have their people call your people.
We’ve installed additional security to deal with the threat of those who protest the raising and harvesting of animals for their fur, They can do some real damage with Krylon spray paint, and while I do real well, I wouldn’t have much business left if even one of my furs got damaged by a fringe lunatic with a Home Depot charge account.
My problem is this: I’ve fallen in love with a man who is half my size. I’m a big woman, which is why I love fur. Fur can make even the most plain looking, overweight woman appear glamorous, especially if when wears a push up bra and a nice set of pearls.
The subject of my desire is very thin. The last time we made love I sneezed in the middle of the act and he flew halfway across the room.
I’ve come to the vault to compose a good-bye speech to my new found love, because I just can’t spend my life worrying the next Entenmanns’s cake I devour in one sitting will be the extra two pounds that pancakes my guy during some midnight rollover. I thought the fur would comfort me, but I find it only makes me want to have a bowl of chocolate pudding with a can of whipped cream on top.
How do I say goodbye and get back to my life of fur and ice cream cakes?
signed
Geraldine Lopes
Hey Gerry,
You need to get away! I’ve enclosed tickets (I’m assuming you need two seats) to Alpine, Colorado, the home of one of America’s premier fat farms. This place doesn’t try to change your weight, on the contrary, they help you learn to deal with it. They have fed all their horses special Creatine laced diets and put them on a rigorous exercise program so they can support women of bulk without injuring themselves.
Their masseurs are all Triathlon trainers, which prepares them for the rigor of a three hour massage (the amount of time estimated to massage every part of a three hundred pound woman.)
The chefs are all high fat cooking experts.
The counselor’s motto is ‘Somebody fry me a chicken and serve me a cake.’
Good times for everyone! No Guilt! No skinny people!
Have a Mars bar and a glass of heavy cream for me
Hey Warnet,
I have a website that features me in various states of undress. I get a lot of hits a day, and my popularity is increasing as I post more and more outrageous photographs of my ‘friends’ and me.
I love the sun, and I love to take my clothes off, and I have a real technical mind, so I’ve actually designed the site myself.
No overhead, no clothes, no worries.
My problem is this.
Now the people in the mid sized Arizona town where I live are hip to my website. I’m now getting hits in person.
Where can I get one of those charge card machines that take debit cards? The only ones I’ve been able to find only take MasterCard, and most of the requests I handle only want to give me cash using one of those prepaid untraceable cards.
signed,
business for my boomers is booming,
Margaret Cossola.
Hey Maggie,
I’m sending you an electronic scanner I picked up at a discount from the Sharper Image. Try to take it easy, will you. The DeVris School still offers computer courses. You could learn to program something besides a natural spasm. Or, baring that, you could undergo hypnotic therapy. I just hate to see someone getting sucked on and prodded for money. Normally I wouldn’t mention it, but since Ann Landers died I sense a void in that heartfelt sort of advice.
Hey Warfeeder,
I have a thriving business as a catfish farmer in Indianola, Mississippi. I have forty five ponds where my daddy raised cotton. We flooded it on purpose, since the Army Corps of Engineers figured out how to stop the Mighty Mississippi from doing it naturally. Fuck them, they ruined our Delta flow and ebb. Without the flooding, the topsoil doesn’t get replenished, and we nearly passed away there for a generation. My brother Bill, smarter than your average bear, figured out this catfish angle, and we’ve moved on from cotton. But now, we have these fucking Vietnamese farmers chanting weird shit at us at the markets and claiming they are selling catfish as good as ours. When we fried a couple of those motherfuckers up we realized they were raising striped bass over there. They didn’t know the difference, and since they were selling it cheaper than our catfish, restaurants are buying the strippers and seasoning it to taste like the real deal. There are no winners in this scenario. Only losers. The Vietnamese are losers, the restaurants that buy from them are losers, and we’re losers.
I just need you to tell me one thing: We plan to drain our ponds and go on welfare. Before we do, my brainy brother Bill has figured out a way to get a government subsidy to build a statue of the late Reverend Martin Luther King. Should we use black lacquer, or black marble? The government will pay for either, and at this point we don’t give a fuck.
Youch!
I’m sending down a team of market experts I’m paying for out of my funds from some Internet stocks I made out on when there still was such a thing as an Internet stock. Don’t drain those ponds Buckwheat. Nixon is dead and we have a chance to beat the Vietcong on this one! The statue should be scaled back, and built in Black marble at the entrance to your catfish pond empire. Black marble is so elegant. The inscription should read, ‘in every garage a Buick, on every plate a Mississippi fried catfish, amen, Ray Charles take us home.”
YeeeHaaaa,
Warren
Hey Warfavor,
I had the best bachelorette party last night! The girls there were all my friends, except this one bitch I just can’t stand which it turns out they invited hoping I’d beat the shit out of her. Even my rabbi showed up. He stayed just long enough to say the Shiva over the box of rubbers my friend Cynthia gave me for my wedding night. It was a nice touch. I felt so privileged.
My problem is this:
I’m supposed to get married Thursday, and I haven’t decided on the music for my wedding yet. I wanted a sitar player, because when I was in the Foreign Legion my lover there played a mean sitar, but my fiancée objects on principle. He wants a drum solo from Van Halen’s 1984 album. This could be a deal breaker.
If I can’t manipulate my future husband now, what will it be like when I’m 64?
Worried with my wedding dress half off (a pose I look great in by the way), Victoria.
Hey Vicky,
Take the wedding dress the rest of the way off, put on old pair of jeans, take a Polaroid photograph of yourself, watch it develop. Then scan it into Photoshop. Add a few wrinkles, some bags under your eyes, a double chin. Print this out, show it to you fiancée, and then grab him by the crotch and say, “Viva la France! Take me NOW!”
If he responds, go ahead with the wedding. If he throws up on your shoes, knee him in the balls, call his parents to come pick him up, and find yourself a real man.
Albie stopped rubbing Warren’s back and reading over his shoulder.
“I think the Northeast makes you tense.”
“Do you think?”
The Riddler approached from the direction of the breakfast bar.
“Who wants to have a Bloody Mary for breakfast? NO ONE!”
Warren rolled his eyes and laughed.
Albie took her sweatshirt off, wearing nothing but a well filled out sports bra underneath. Warren signed off F.A.Q. Advice for the 21st Century, and laced up his Air Jardans. The three of them jogged toward the private jet terminal.
Warren relaxed in the front most black leather reclining chair. Lynn approached, walking behind the DV Camera.
“So, as we wing toward bean town, Warren Piece contemplates how much he misses the rodeo.”
Warren watched as Jamal approached Lynn from the rear.
“While the chuck wagon and some Willie Nelson are quite attractive options on a hot summer day, Warren must come to grips with fried calamari and a penchant for parquet floors.”
Jamal reached for Lynn’s bra strap, grabbed it, pulled, and let go.
“Ow! Bastard!”
Lynn threw the DV camera at Warren, spun, and leapt toward Jamal, who was backing up and cracking up.
“I’m going to rub two sticks together under your crotch and see if we can set fire to that tootsie roll you call your manhood!”
Theotis said, “Jamal is uh, ah, not a fire sign, but there is something about his chart and fire this month.”
Mad Wolf said, “I predict Jamal loses his balance in the near future.”
Mad Wolf stuck his foot out behind Jamal and he fell backward with a thud, Lynn on top of him.
Lily came out of the bathroom wearing a Paul Pot Boston Pelvic jersey.
“Jamal, get up and get the oil. My back is cramping and I need those strong hands of yours to rub out the kinks.”
Lynn said, “You’re lucky I like Lily, and am concerned for her health.”
She rolled over, Jamal stood up and followed Lily to the back of the Gulfstream VS-P, Lynn stood up and walked back to Warren. He handed her camera back to her and said, “I think I got some great action shots.”
Lynn said, “I think I need some rest before Boston, or at least some stretching with the Riddler.”
Lynn turned and walked toward the rear of the jet to work with The Riddler, and Warren pulled out his Powerbook.
Greatbuns Send Tricks to the Cheap Seats
Plowhorses Pound Jacuzzis, But Not Quite Into Submission
by
Warren Piece
The Orlando Tricks traded in their perennial loser label for a brand new winner’s type of deal in game three, then returned to Orlando for game four to find the ghost of playoffs past waiting for them with a shroud for their season.
There will be no wake, only a party at Coach Babbling Brook’s mansion in the exclusive suburb of Raritan Streams. The players will get free lobster, buckets of light beer, some new tattoos, and lots of attention from the two hundred special fans, 150 of them female, invited through a phone blitz during the Tricks miserable fourth quarter last night.
Coach Babbling Brook: “We had a great season. Trekkie McSanford’s trade value is up, Freebie Mole got hurt again, but we can still spin that. How much mileage can a player have when he spends the better part of two seasons on the sideline? Our experienced aging stars, Ex-New York Crip Center Puttrod Kewpie and Chicago Snorts Los Angeles Clampett power foward Harold Asner, have been deposited at the dog track. Jay Moral, Dale Earnhardt Jr., and Billy Kidd all distinguished themselves enough for us to trade up in the draft and get a high school phenom, or maybe one of those sporty European models. I can’t wait to rebuild this team next year, but first I had to say good-bye to this years’ squad. Losers!”
Orlando Trick ex-New York Crip Puttrod Kewpie: “I wanted to end my career in New York. Then I wanted to get a ring here in Orlando. Neither happened. Maybe I can get one more season with Putt in Miami, that is if he lives through the off-season without someone blowing up his boat. I think I could still contribute. Pass out pretzels in the locker room, hand out towels in the timeouts, and once a quarter run the floor and knock the opposing team’s center on his ass.
I’m going to go take a dive now. Babbling has a special pool with a deep end of sixteen feet, so the big guys like me can get a good jackknife going. Plus he’s painted the bottom with a picture of ZBA Commissioner Goliath Revelation in drag. It’s a hoot! A dozen dives off Babbling’s board, a few underwater laugh out louds, and I’m ready for another imported beer and a Orlando Trick City Dancer!”
Milwaukee Coach George Paul: “Orlando scared me the other night with their intensity. When the entire first squad removed their mouthpieces, I knew we were in for a battle. I heard Babbling Brook gave out medals after the game to symbolize the heroic efforts of some guys he’s paying pretty well to perform. I hear now the whole team is up for a dishonorable discharge. I love a franchise in turmoil. I feel so good, I might even go get high and listen to The Birdland bootleg tapes with Gay Adam tonight.”
Orlando Trick Trekkie McSanford: “I just nailed the coaches wife! Sweet!”
The Milwaukee Greatbuns advance to round two of the ZBA playoffs to face the Charlotte Crumpetts.
Meanwhile, in a place the ZBA season hasn’t become the territory of historians, the Dallas Plowhorses kicked the old man when he was down, beating the Salt Lake based Utah Jacuzzis 108-78.
Dallas foward Dork Novancanski: “I enjoyed the third quarter the most. I was able to pump up so many shots I nearly forgot about that nasty rash in my groin area.”
Dallas guard Don Johnson: “I think we showed in the third quarter this team has arrived. We’ve come of age. I think I even noticed some pubic hairs on our second year guy, Hokmon Rockmon.”
Utah legend and point guard John Shocky: “I don’t have anything to say.”
Dallas coach Don Bellboy: “We got on a roll there in the third quarter. We were unstoppable. The Utah guys were so psyched out I could have put Charlie the Tuna in to play center and we still would have kicked their ass. These boys are gonna find out what Texas is all about in game five. Write that down. Now where’s my cellphone? I need to call Putt Roadkill and ask him what time HIS next game is, putz!”
Utah coach Terry Market: “These are the kinds of games that make you want to call it a career. I see the Dallas Plowhorses in a fast paced up and down the court offensive surge in the third quarter and I’m thinking, ‘Even andro can’t help us now.’ My men are panting like Old Yeller just before he took the bullet. I’m going to ask commissioner Goliath Revelation if we can postpone game five for a couple of weeks so I can give my guys hormone injections and ninja training. We’ll bulk up and drop kick these guys through the basket from beyond the three point line. Second round, here we come!”
Utah Jacuzzi legendary foward/pro wrestler Karl Cornpone: “Ok, look, they shot the ball well, that’s true. But sometimes we weren’t even close to them when they shot, and you can’t win in the ZBA playoffs if you don’t contest shots.
The Plowhorses did everything they could to win the game. They won. We lost, as a team. Pardon me, I‘m going to go put a killer headlock on Jim Sutton. He may be a former star of the New York Bling Bling, and he may only have one ball left, but somebody has to pay for me getting dunked on by some European import. Sutton! I’m comin’ for ya’!”
Dallas Center Ascot Bentley: “We know these guys play well on their home floor. Hell, I’m from Utah, I’m a Mormon for Christ’s sake, and I don’t even feel comfortable being a visitor there. It’s like, if you don’t have at least three wives, you’re a nobody.
But I’ll still be there to block Cornpone’s weak attempts to replicate his inside the paint moves of his youth.
I’ll be there to deny John Shocky the lane.
I’ll be there to trash talk to Jim Sutton about his recent surgery.
I’ll be there to try and get coach Terry Market to start drinkin’ again.
And after the game, I’m going to look for an additional wife. Did I mention I was a Mormon?”
Utah all-star guard John Shocky: “I really have no comment.”
The Dallas Plowhorses have come back from two down. The Plowhorses and Jacuzzis are now tied at two each in the first round best of five series.
Last night at the Biosphere just outside of Tucson, the Houston Crocketts spent the night staging blackout drills.
Houston Crockett legend and star center Aheem Parthenon: “I have excellent night vision from my years hunting elk in the jungles of the motherland. With Stan Franks, our most excellent franchise guard, I was able to demonstrate the flying one handed lights out halfcourt pass to a guard flying through the darkness trusting no on has set an in the dark pick two feet from the basket. We would be giving the owners heart attacks if they saw the chances we were taking, especially with the speargun and last years free agent acquisition foward Glen Northern.”
Houston free agent acquisition foward Glen Northern: “I’m allright! The biosphere doctor put seventeen stitches in my abdomen, and it only hurts when I laugh. These boys from Texas need to spend some time reading Rod McKuen and listening to some soothing music. Speargunned at the free throw line in the Biosphere? Damn!”
The playoffs resume tomorrow.
Note to Frank W. Coleman: We’ve managed to escape fantasyland, move through Jersey, and are now headed toward the East coast hotbed of Irishness, Boston. We haven’t seen Dole in a few days, and this worries me, as much as anything worries me. I hope your toe fungus is clearing up. Love and kisses (from our videographer Lynn).
Warren Piece.
Albie stood at the front the Gulfstream VS-P, topless. “Aheem, I realize I may have had a few too many in flight margaritas and listened to my Bread’s greatest hits CD in direct violation of any musical good taste statutes that exist, thank you Mad Wolf, you’re a gentleman for giving me your shirt, I seem to have lost mine in a soul searching session in the loo…”
Lily shouted, “Too much information girl!”
Albie snorted. “We’ll be staying at former Bill Clinton’s favorite Boston Hotel, The Boston Park Plaza. Mad Wolf?”
Mad Wolf began passing out cigars while humming U-2’s Desire.
“We’ll be taking a fleet of Volkswagen Jettas to the radio station at 12 noon, stopping for lunch in Quincy Market at the height of their busiest time to get a feel for the people. That is all.”
Albie ripped Mad Wolf’s shirt off and threw it on the isle floor of the VS-P.
“I’m going in search of my clothing now.”
Molinaronuh
January 19, 2017
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