Hey sorry for the lack of posts lately, I'm kind of adjusting to some rather seismic life changes right now. Stay tuned for more hilarity!
Howzitgoin. Just wanted to stretch my legs a bit and figured hey Deck 14 sounds good. Don't get down below Deck 18 much. Nice deck. I was just taking a break from logging some stuff. Into my log. I'm supposed to log every day, but sometimes I let it slide and then WHAM reports are due and it's like, "you like being Captain, you better get to loggin'!" Log, log, log. Yeah. So let me ask you something, ensign...Flaherty. Thanks. Remember that nebula incident thingy last week? With the cloud thing that we couldn't shake and then we were like holy shit, it's alive? And it was controlling Lieutenant Zmmm like a puppet and we had to eject him through the air lock? You remember that? Yeah. So anyway, I'm logging about that incident right now, and I can't decide on what to call that...cloud thingy. Entity? Nice. I like that. Entity. How about I go with Cloud Entity. I like the sound of that. Alright ensign! Flaherty. Well I'll tell ya what. I was going to have you investigate another one of those weird slime trails we've been having lately, you know, the ones that lead from that egg thing we picked up down into the bowels of the ship, but instead how about you and me go play some Hover Pong? Entity. Awesome.
(whistling to myself as I avert my gaze)
Here's a very rough draft of a second installment of video game reviews. Let me know which ones should stay, and which ones should go.
TURBO TAXXX
This variation on the popular software package brings some completely unnecessary spice to the annual ritual of last-minute tax preparation. I tried to use it on multiple occasions, but each time I wound up feeling groggily satisfied after 15-20 minutes, and then neglected to finish doing my taxes.
IT'S OKAY BECAUSE SHE'S A ROBOT
After a brief opening sequence in which a panel on the back of the head of a voluptuous, bikini-clad woman is opened to reveal glowing circuitry, this game entreats the user to "Go to town! It's okay because she's a robot!"
TOM CLANCY'S AGENT PALE CYCLOPS II: THE M.I.L.F. IMPERATIVE
Once again, elite secret agent Pale Cyclops must enter the fray of global espionage, this time in an attempt to solve the mysterious disappearance of the world's hot moms.
HUGH JACKMAN'S PRANCE MASTERS
Who knew he had it in him? After "X-Men" star Hugh Jackman's fabu-riffic turn on Broadway as Peter Allen, an interactive dance instruction video game was the next logical step. It even comes with a "dance pad" on which to practice your moves!
HOT TUB WOLFENSTEIN
The year is 1942. Hitler's inner circle is relaxing at a secret lodge high in the Alps. You'll need all your stealth, savvy, weaponry, and a good pair of swim trunks to unlock the mysteries of "Hot Tub Wolfenstein!" Whose hand is that on your knee? Oh, you frisky genocidal maniac, you!
MARATHON RUNNER
This game can get a bit tedious, especially around mile 15. I did enjoy the "Patented Real-Time 3D Cramp Vision", though.
POOL IN WHICH THE BALLS ARE FAMOUS HEADS
I've often found video pool to be a bit boring, but in this game, the balls are the heads of famous people! Complete with stunned expressions of dismay and spattering blood effects. George Clooney's noggin, corner pocket!
SPECIALSOFT PRESENTS: "EVERYBODY WINS" BALL-SHOVE
The object of this game? Shove the ball. It doesn't matter how far or in what direction. What matters is that everyone is special, and everybody wins. I wouldn't recommend this game for anyone without certain mental roadblocks. The constant confetti and fanfare everytime the ball is shoved gets old very quickly.
DOUCHEBAG TETRIS
This is no different than classic Tetris, except every time you eliminate a row, the computer sarcastically intones "Nice move, douchebag."
With the recent launch of Air America Radio, we can now choose to listen to inaccurately reported news with a left wing slant as well as inaccurately reported news with a right wing slant. Yippee. Am I the only person who finds Bill O'Reilly and Michael Moore repulsive? Am I the only person who thinks Rush Limbaugh and Al Franken are annoying windbags? Am I the only one who thinks that both Uma Thurman and Janeane Garofolo should be findings ways to invent a time machine so that they can travel back in time and convince themselves not to make "The Truth About Cats And Dogs"? I shouldn't drag Uma into this. She's never cornered me in a green room and babbled her political beliefs at me for TWO HOURS. My point is, I have no point. No wait. Yes. There's a point coming...and here it is. What about a radio network for the rest of us? What about WTVR AM? I call it "Whatever" radio. Reporting news and opinion with neither a lefty or righty perspective, but rather a general, forlorn shrug? WTVR's mission statement would be: "Humanity has been shitting on itself for the entirety of recorded history, and it shall continue to do so. Nothing anyone does really matters, and eventually we all die. Whatever."
SQUACK
You're listening to Squack and the Fuckman, it's 7:32am and you're probably heading to work, give us a call and tell us what's on your mind!
CALLER
Yeah, hey Squack and the Fuckman, firsttime longtime!
THE FUCKMAN
Hoo! Honk honk.
SQUACK
What's on your mind?
CALLER
I just want to say that I am OUTRAGED!
THE FUCKMAN
Honk.
SQUACK
Outraged at what?
CALLER
Damned if I know.
SQUACK
Yeah, tell me about it.
I've been getting some hits from a video game site's message board, so I thought I'd re-post some old video game "reviews" I wrote for Jest a couple of years ago, in which I was sort of commenting on but mostly just reveling in how violent and sexual games have become:
Hitler Golf
This is your basic golf game. Play on any one of 12 famous courses, as any of 12 famous golfers. Or Hitler! The graphics are amazingly detailed, right down to the wind rippling through the little monster's mustache.
Yoda Fucks Stuff
The amazing imagineers over at Lucasarts have done it again! Combining the Star Wars universe with a Leisure Suit Larry M.O., they have created an addictive game in which you play Yoda. And you totally fuck all sorts of stuff!
John Madden's 'The Whore Deserved It' 2K3
Upon first glance, this game is identical to the popular Madden football simulation. However, seconds into a contest between the 49ers and Vikings, I realized that in lieu of a football, the kicker had just belted a photorealistic depiction of a well-dressed, attractive woman down the field. As the 49er kick returner caught her and proceeded to get absolutely crushed by several of the Vikings, an mp3 of Madden's voice chimed: "BOOM! That whore totally deserved it! First down Niners at the 22 yard line!" Disturbing.
Star Trek: Masseuse Cadet
Is your client a Ferengi? Rub those earlobes! Is it Captain Picard? Go for the scalp! Watch out for Riker's wandering hands and his penchant for demanding "full release".
Endangered Species Hunter: Cagematch!
In this first-person shooter, the objective is to slay as many different endangered species as possible within a certain time limit. I found this game a tad too easy, considering the animals were all locked in cages. Take THAT, Pyrenean Ibex!
Girls Gone Wild 'n' Postal!: Mardi Gras Expansion Pack
Based on the popular series of videos, and licensed out to the good people of ID software, this game involves shooting at hot college girls until they agree to expose themselves. "Watch out, though! Some of the saucy co-eds have guns of their own, and they've decided to be uppity bitches!" Just quoting the copy on the game box. Very disturbing.
Edusoft Presents: Representational Sex Education Through The Use of Bazookas and Mink-Upholstered Truck Tires
Billed as "sensible sex education for your pre-teen using imagery they can understand", I'm not so sure the authors of this multimedia package had the right idea. As far as I can tell after watching this rapid-fire maelstrom of images, a young man and woman interested in trying sex for the first time should wear earplugs and shatter-proof visors.
Tom Clancy's X-treme Objectivication and Desensitization Force II - Codename: "Titsplosion"
You play agent Pale Cyclops. In this espionage thriller, you must seek out and disarm a nuclear device that has been smuggled into the U.S. inside the left silicone breast of exotic supermodel Sexualica Bonertaster*, unbeknownst to her. Suffice it to say, you'll need to disarm Sexualica before she'll let you disarm the bomb! You are armed with nothing but a pistol, some piano-wire and your own nuclear bomb!
Martha Stewart Spread Eagle Pinball
I couldn't bring myself to play this one.
Frodomy!
Any fan of the Lord Of The Rings books and films will either be overjoyed or repulsed by this one. Good taste prevents me from going into too much detail, but let's just say that this game gives "the Cracks of Doom" a "hole" new meaning!
AH YEAH! WOO! Dirty made-up video games in da howz!!
Belch. I'll have a new round of video game reviews in a day or two.
*Yeah, I've used this name before. I promise never to use it again, or my name's not Rod Pornocopter.**
** Yeah, I've used that name before too.
I recently saw Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind, and it got me thinking. What would be the one memory from my life that I would choose to erase? I would have to say it would be the time I was in a drunken four-way with Sandra Bernhardt, Greta Van Susteren, and a caiman. The worst part of the whole experience? Greta's repeated insistence that the sordid encounter be "Fair and balanced." That and the presence of a reptile with a giant, slavering, toothy maw. Oh, and dealing with the CAIMAN was no picnic either!! zoing.
Q: What do you call 500 lawyers at the bottom of the ocean?
Brief prologue: I'm sauced.
Now then. For years now, I've noticed a certain phenomenon. A thing. I've noticed this thing. Whenever I'm at a social event co-mingling with my fellow comics, especially after a show, I always find myself talking to the single most boring person in the room. Always. Unfailingly. I'll get my drink, situate myself, and then BLAM, before I know it, I'll be discussing not much with Mr. or Ms. "(sad and disappointing fart sound effect here)". And then I'll stand there, listening. And nodding. And listening. And I'll think to myself - "AGAIN, it's happening AGAIN!" But I'll be too polite to do anything about it. I'll simply wonder why it's always the case that I get stuck with Mister Blando. Or Ms. Snooooze. And today it hit me. I finally figured it out. It's not because I'm too polite. It's not because I have poor judgement. It's because...I'M ONE OF THEM. I'm the boring weird guy other people want to avoid. It's true. I acknowledge it. I am pathetically bad at party-time hooha conversation. Suck at it. So therefore, through natural selection, I wind up talking to other people who are cursed with the same affliction. Well then. The game is afoot, my friends. Now I know. Avoid me at bars after comedy shows all you want. I'll be talking to my good friends THE DULL. We'll be doing fine. Nodding and listening to each other and wondering why. But we'll be fine. Hey - how about that Miguel Cabrera! He's on my fantasy baseball team...
I like my rear-ends the way I like to pitch to right-handed power hitters when I'm ahead in the count.
GTN has been nominated for best variety show by the ECNY awards. I've also been nominated for best host of a variety show. It's not a huge deal, but it is gratifying to know that GTN is being recognized among the squazillion shows in this city. Wow. First the NY Press review and now this. I really, really, really feel that big time success is only 5-10 years away now! Maybe 15. My salt & pepper hair will look great by then, and my middle-aged mailman personality will finally match my actual age. Calling all casting agents in the year 2019! LOL! Ha. eh. ugh.
Time to go look for more temp work.
My weekly comedy show is reviewed here in the new issue of New York Press, and I'm pleased to say that we're given a more positive notice than the big Broadway play listed directly above us, starring Richard Dreyfus and Eric Stoltz. The price of their show? $71.25 - $91.25. The price of our show? $5.
UPDATE: Again, because of link expiration paranoia, here's the text of the review:
EVERY TUES.
GIANT TUESDAY NIGHT OF AMAZING INVENTIONS AND ALSO THERE IS A GAME
Giant Tuesday Night of Amazing Inventions and Also There Is a Game is not your typical stand-up/variety show. The musical guests are a pair of panhandling bums, Rappin' Stan and Mr. Shakes, clad in trenchcoats, fur hats and garbage bags, who sing, rap and teach homeless yoga. Other guests (which rotate week to week) include a Christopher Walken look-a-like poet and an inventor (Michael Reisman) who goes back in time to find his wallet and tells the audience that the skit they're about to see is no good (a Charlie Kaufman spin that actually works). And, yes, there is a game: contestants must guess whether questions are drawn from real game shows or rhetorical ones plucked from the host's (Jamie Greenberg) failed relationship—a unique premise on a tired skit. The rest of the show is predictable territory: a string of local comics doing five-minute versions of their regular routines.
What's most entertaining about this show is not the stand-ups but the host, Francisco Guglioni (played by Andres du Bouchet). Guglioni, who bears a resemblance to Puddy from Seinfeld, is the show's lifeblood, a Latin-American Jay Leno whose baritone, accented voice and good-natured quips are unfailingly on cue.
"Our show is a takeoff of Sabado Gigante, a famous, long-running, pull-out-all-the-stops Latin American variety show," says Guglioni's doppelganger, du Bouchet, also the show's creator. Du Bouchet has been writing and performing comedy around New York since 1997. A mainstay at Luna Lounge's Eating It and regular contributor to Jest magazine (not to mention an incessant blogger), du Bouchet is a natural, easy-going emcee, self-deprecating and affable. The show, provided you avoid sitting on the Posturepedic bench seats, is a fast and enjoyable 90 minutes, with an endless array of ad libs, surprise sketches and quirky bits.
Under St. Marks, 94 St. Marks Pl. (betw. 1st Ave. & Ave. A), 212-868-4444, 8, $5.
Lionel Beehner
Check out my answer to the above question in the current issue of the ONION a.v. club.
Those of you who have reached this site via the link in the Onion probably don't want to click on the above link. Instead, try THIS LINK.
Hey, welcome back! Couldn't stay away, huh? I haven't really had time to update the site since the last time you visited, so you may want to just go visit THIS SITE instead. Enjoy!
Alright this is getting weird. Dude, I only update this thing once every couple of days or so, so there's no point in coming back every few minutes. I'd really appreciate it if you just gave me some breathing room. Thanks.
UPDATE: I think that Onion link we'll expire within another week or so, so here's the text of my piece:
The Onion: What is funny?
Andres du Bouchet: These pugs are funny. All 28 of them. I'm begging you, Mr. Carlyle, give my Precision Pug Comedy Revue a spot in your show tonight, and you won't be disappointed. Down, Frodo! Skeptical? What if I said "Pug In A Dress"? What then? What about "Pug-a-Pult?" I can see your anger swiftly turning into curiosity. They also do skits. You have not laughed until you've seen a pug in a Santa hat riding a sled being pulled by eight other pugs with plush antlers strapped to their heads, being pursued by 19 more pugs for no discernible reason. The pugs' enthusiasm is like their heartworm. Infectious! Wait. I'm only seeing 27 pugs here. Oh, ha ha! Look at my right upper thigh! There is a mischievous pug at work, scurrying around inside my comically baggy pants! He or she is giving you a preview of the Precision Pug hilarity that I guarantee we'll provide to your captive audience of senior-capable tenants tonight! Oopsy. How ironic that upon my mention of senior citizens, this mischievous, trouser-probing pug has decided to test the stain resistance of my carefree khakis. What? The word "Pug-a-Pult" concerns you? Do not fret. Pugs are lightweight, and are of a durable, beanbag-like consistency. Invariably, their flight is followed by a brief, stunned snort, and then a frisky return to formation. Pugnacious-D, heel! Here's our reel. In the earlier clips, there are far more pugs. Do not let that bother you. We'll be in the van. Onward, pugs!
The following is a transcript of a brief snippet from day 4 of testimony in the "Where The Fuck Are My Balls" inquiry.
FABULOUS
Mr. Shadow Of The Fern On The Wall, thus far your silence has been, dare I say, deafening. I ask you one last time - do you deny, that in the days and weeks leading up to the sudden and mysterious disappearance of my balls, you were privy to overhearing things from Mr. du Bouchet such as "lick 'em while you got 'em, Fab", and "it's either the claws or the balls, Rebecca, I'm not turning my cat into a tribble", and "I can't believe that as of next Wednesday my cat won't have testicles", and "I hope Fab doesn't hold it against me that I'm taking him in to get his testicles removed", and "I'm going to have my cat fixed next week", and I QUOTE: "TOMORROW WE'RE DROPPIN' THE BARKER ON YA, FAB!" As a side note, Mr. Shadow Of The Fern On The Wall, it is the consensus among myself, Ms. Vase and Mr. Tchotchke of the Commission, that "Droppin' the Barker On Ya" is somehow a rather poorly thought-out reference to that gentleman from The Price Is Right and his campaign of testicular pet jihad. Now then. Allow me to complete my question - do you deny that in the days and weeks leading up to the aforementioned disappearance of my balls, you heard all these things yet somehow, you inexplicably maintain that there were no 'credible or specific threats' mentioned? Do you? Gently sway and flicker in place all you want, Mr. Shadow Of The Fern On The Wall, I can stare at you as long as is necessary to get my answer. Hiss. Hiss and Ffffft, I say.
Barry Bonds has finally hit his 660th career homerun, tying his Godfather Willie Mays for third on the all-time homerun list, and once again giving rise to the question as to whether or not steroids have had anything to do with his career's late power surge. It's hard to say. Many an eyebrow were certainly raised this afternoon. After he hit #660 and began his trot, he paused briefly at each base in order to pick it up and rip it completely in half with his bare hands. Then, upon reaching homeplate, Bonds pointed to his crotch and screamed "My dick! My dick don't work no more! MY DICK DON'T WORK NO MORE AAAAAAIIIIIIIIGGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!"
It was weird.
I can't stop thinking about American Idol. For years, I have pondered how it is possible to know you are a legitimately talented person, and not one of the many self-deluded freaks who, for some reason, despite little or no positive feedback*, is convinced that they have something to offer as an artist. American Idol is overflowing with such people. Poor bastard freaks who, for a good portion of their lives, have existed under the staggering delusion that they don't SUCK ASS. In fact, they are so devoid of any self-awareness, that when Simon Whatshisface tells them that they are terrible TO THEIR FACE, they get mad and insist he's wrong. Now, I'm all for perservering in the face of cold hard truth and all, and I'd wager that a tiny percentage of those "bastard freaks" as I've dubbed them, actually do eventually get their shit together and prove themselves to be talented, BUT, I get the feeling that the majority of these wasteholes would suck unto the end of time and never, ever, ever even catch a whiff of the vast disapproval of all who encounter the vacuums that are they. No time to edit that sentence. In fact, they would probably behave similarly even if they were to appear on Basic Addition Idol!
SIMON
And what will you be adding for us, Tonique?
TONIQUE
I will be adding 2 and 4.
RANDY
Whoah dog, now you must be good.
TONIQUE
Yeah, yeah. I know that.
PAULA
Okay knock us out!
TONIQUE
Yeah. Well 2 and 4 is 8.
SIMON
That was, without a doubt, the worst job of adding 2 and 4 that I've ever seen.
TONIQUE
Yeah that's your opinion.
SIMON
Two and four is clearly six!
TONIQUE
That's your opinion! I got talent!
and. scene.
*Aha! I suddenly felt better halfway through this sentence.
If you're like me, you've recently finalized your bankruptcy, and now you're looking for ways to curtail spending. I don't blame you. After canceling my gym membership, I've had to find new ways to stay in shape. Here's the schedule I've been using to great effect:
MONDAYS
Morning - Walk to work!
Evening - Dash into ultra-exclusive Reebok Sports Club without presenting I.D. Hop onto the nearest exercise machine and do as many reps as possible before being forcibly removed from the premises.
Bonus: Resist being forcibly removed.
Expert-level bonus: Antagonize those forcibly removing me with racist humor.
TUESDAYS
Morning - Right out of bed, stand in center of bedroom with knuckles pressed into my eyes, until glowing spots appear. Box the glowing spots for 30 minutes.
Evening - 50 push-ups and 50 sit-ups!
Bonus: Chase the glowing spots to work.
Expert-level bonus: When confronted by a Greenpeace lackey on the street, pick them up and carry them to the nearest hot dog cart. Dunk their head in the hot dog water while screaming "thar she blows!"
WEDNESDAYS
Morning - While walking to work, pick out the best dressed, most athletically built, smuggest looking businessman I can find. Somehow, using whatever means necessary...make him cry.
Evening - Watch the The West Wing. Every time one of the characters says something just a little too pithy, lift my dresser. Don't put it down until President Bartlett says something omniscient, or until I see Toby's beard.
Bonus: Whenever Mary Louise Parker appears on the screen, pleasure self to the point of exhaustion.
Expert-level Bonus: Whenever Lilly Tomlin appears on the screen, pleasure self to the point of exhaustion.
THURSDAYS
Morning - Place coffee table on curb. Watch from window. When someone tries to take it, run outside, tackle them, and do whatever is necessary to get the table back into my apartment.
Evening - 50 push-ups & 50 sit-ups!
Bonus: Do all of the above while "acting" as if it really wasn't my table to begin with.
Expert-level Bonus: Insist on helping said stranger home with their new table. Once I've helped them get the table into their apartment, DO WHATEVER IS NECESSARY TO GET THE TABLE BACK INTO MY APARTMENT.
FRIDAYS
Morning - Find a frequently used revolving door. After someone has completed a half-turn within it, enter from the other side and shove the door in the opposite direction until they are forced back from whence they came. Run away from building security and find another revolving door. Repeat.
Evening - Go to a bar. Drink until violent. Wrestle nearest barstool. Drink until weeping. Undress.
Bonus: While nude & weeping, lift nearest cigarette machine or jukebox.
Expert-level bonus: While nude, weeping, and lifting nearest cigarette machine or jukebox, challenge the best soccer player in the bar to a game of "Scrotal Kerbangers."
SATURDAYS
Off!
SUNDAYS
Morning - Sneak up behind my apartment superintendent's untethered Doberman with a 'Marvin The Martian' novelty motorized lollipop holder. Activate the lollipop holder and ever-so-gently tap the Doberman's anus with it. Elude.
Evening - 50 push-ups and 50 sit-ups!
Bonus: Soak my jeans in beef broth prior to anally tapping the Doberman.
Expert-level bonus: An additional 10 push-ups and 10 sit-ups!
NEW YORK (Reuters) -- Leprechauns that won't stop jerking-off users have been known to complain about poor service, but one New York man's leprechaun that won't stop jerking-off literally went down the donkey's pee-hole.
The man was on a suburban train from Grand Central Station on Wednesday night when he went to the bathroom to make a leprechaun that won't stop jerking-off call, dropped the leprechaun that won't stop jerking-off into the donkey's pee-hole bowl and then his hand and arm became stuck trying to retrieve it, officials said.
Metro-North Railroad staff could not help the man, so they stopped the train and called police officers and firefighters to extricate him, a process that took 90 minutes using "jaws of life" rescue equipment.
"The donkey's pee-holes are made of aluminum so I imagine he was down on hands and knees with his shirt rolled up and hand and arm down inside, trying to flush out his leprechaun that won't stop jerking-off," said Jim Cameron of the Connecticut Metro-North commuter council.
He said that because of the design of the train donkey's pee-hole, the leprechaun that won't stop jerking-off probably ended up in a chemical holding tank.
A spokesman for the railroad that serves the northern suburbs of New York and Connecticut identified the man as Edwin Gallard, 41, of New York, who suffered a minor injury to his arm as firefighters cut the donkey's pee-hole apart.
The track was closed and thousands of commuters were delayed during the evening rush hour.
The leprechaun that won't stop jerking-off has not yet been recovered.
What does it mean to have your "Beer Googles" on? It's when you meet someone at a bar, and you're soooo wasted that no matter how ugly the person is, you still want to go home...
...and jerk off to a pdf file of their college thesis.
As an attempt to re-energize this blog and give myself an incentive to start posting on a much more frequent basis again, I'm going to make the next 4 posts re-posts of some of my favorite entries from the past few months. Enjoy!
My latest ATM receipt was hurtfully sarcastic.
AVAIL BAL: LOL!
Any slickification of andresdubouchet.com is going to have to wait, as I simply can't afford to pay anyone to design it. Therefore, I have decided to embrace the bloggishness of this site, and have been tinkering with the formatting along those lines. I'm also going to try to update it more frequently. One cool new feature - I've added nifty little titles. For example, this post is entitled "On Second Thought." Awesome.
As I further contemplate how this site's going to look, and what its content will be, once I make the switch from charming, sloppy little blog to ultra-impressive branding and marketing tool for Andres du Bouchet, purveyor of comedic brilliance, you'll be noticing a certain streamlining of things around here:
1. Fewer links, and all of them of a purely self-serving nature.
2. Only one post up on the main page. To read previous posts, you're going to have to click on the various Archive links. Bingo - I've just upped my PVQ*.
3. My "Save It For The Stage" policy shall be enforced even more stringently than in the past. But not just in terms of humor content on this site. Oh make no mistake, this site shall indeed become less humorous and more of an Andres du Bouchet information flashpoint, but so shall my very presence. If you thought I was awkward, dull, or even surly before, you ain't seen nothing yet. To catch even a glimpse, a taste, a WHIFF of anything even remotely funny or entertaining from me, you're going to have to wait until I hit the stage. I'll make an exception for published material. So I guess my motto is more like "Save It For The Stage And/Or Published Humorous Written Pieces."**
4. No more references to porn.***
5. I reserve the right to not actually mean any of this in the event that I decide to not actually mean it. If I so desire not to.
*Page View Quotient
**Or submissions to potentially lucrative writing jobs for tv.
***Above and beyond the two existing links to my impressions of Italian porn star Rocco Siffredi trying to recite different meatfood-related jingles without ejaculating.
(I think these rules will last all of not at all)
OFFICER
Mr. du Bouchet, do you wish to change your story again?
ME
Nah, that's pretty much it. I was abducted at knife-point, and then led to that marshy area, where my abductor tied me up with electrical tape, forced me to drink cough syrup, and threatened me with the aforementioned knife. And a gun.
OFFICER
A gun?
ME
No, just the knife.
OFFICER
So there was no gun?
ME
Oh, okay.
OFFICER
Yeah. Well here's the thing. We have video footage showing you leaving your apartment of your own free will.
ME
I'm sure that's what it looked like. My abductor was extremely stealthy.
OFFICER
We also have eyewitness testimony of several people who claim to have seen you walking down the street freely during the days you were supposedly missing.
ME
My abductor was watching me from a distance. If I had tried to run, he would have shot me.
OFFICER
With...
ME
The gun.
OFFICER
Yes. I see. We also have footage of you buying the tape and cough syrup you claim the abductor used on you.
ME
That's a coincidence.
OFFICER
And we have this footage of you on television as a contestant on Wheel of Fortune during the days in question.
ME
My abductor demanded cash and prizes from me, so...
OFFICER
He demanded cash and prizes?
ME
Yeah, so I was like - "cash I can get you, but PRIZES? You want prizes? How am I..." and then I was like "hey where'd you go?" Because he was so stealthy.
OFFICER
Hmmm.
ME
And then I was like "There you are!" So then I had the Wheel of Fortune idea.
OFFICER
We contacted Wheel of Fortune, and they informed us that the contestant-selection process takes weeks.
ME
They made an exception for me, since I was abducted and needed the prizes fast.
OFFICER
So they knew you were an abductee, yet said nothing to authorities?
ME
Well. I'm glad you're coming around to my side. You're going to arrest them, right?
OFFICER
Who?
ME
The Wheel of Fortune people!
OFFICER
No.
ME
What's that?!?!?
OFFICER
Where?
ME
There!
OFFICER
I don't see anything. Hey, get back here!
ME
Ow. Fuck. Ow.
OFFICER
Why'd you dive headfirst onto the floor like that?
ME
I was trying to escape through this hole.
OFFICER
That's not a hole, it's a circular piece of black oaktag that you just put down there.
ME
And scene?
OFFICER
What?
ME
I'd like to say "and scene" now, since the Final Four will be on in a few minutes and I need to stop typing and make my snack.
OFFICER
Oh alright. And scene.
You need me, but you detest me. I understand. My methods are loathsome, the purest example of "ends justify the means". My breeding facilities - picketed and vandalized daily. My photo - plastered across the media landscape for the sole purpose of illiciting scowls, hisses. Ratings. Sales. You need me. My name - the first to be called out in a hopeless situation. My silhouette - a husky, stooped man, his spare tire blossoming out to one side in a shifting, mewling lump. What is that? Is that guy carrying a sack of...oh no. Is it him? Oh dear God I've picked the wrong night to mug someone. It's him.
When that first terrified kitten hits him in the face...digs its claws in. He knows. He'll never commit another crime. And shaving will be a tedious, painful luxury for many months to come. The next two or three kittens will probably hit his face and neck as well. I aim for the eyes and mouth. The kittens' instincts force them to latch onto the perpetrator with their tiny claws. As he clutches at the squirming mass of feline digging into his head, that's when I dart in close and begin stuffing terrified kittens into his pants.
I could go on, but my story's already been told. I am the man who will save you. For the cost of a few cute lives. I am the one with the sack of screaming kittens. They call me the Fur Flinger.