Ever notice that there’s a lot of guys named Tony in New Jersey?
I noticed. I asked around.
It’s because of the forms they fill out for birth certificates.
Instead of there being a line for First Name, it’s two checkboxes next to Tony.
The first box is Yo, the other box is Fuggedaboudit.
And there’s no space to write in a name if you check No, so most people say fuggedaboutit and just go ahead and check Yes.
Okay, so some guys are called Anthony, and the chicks get called Toni, but it’s all the same.
Right, Tony?
Right.
Category: My stories
The Crooked Tree
Tom Waits used to tell the story of a forest full of tall, perfect trees, and one fucked-up crooked tree among them.
The perfect trees all got on the crooked tree’s case.
“Be like us!” they said. “Grow tall and straight and perfect like us.”
The crooked tree laughed, and just got more twisted.
Eventually, the perfect trees were all chopped down for lumber.
Tom said that the lumberjacks left that crooked tree alone, but we all know that Tom’s a liar.
That tree got chopped up for firewood, and popped and hissed as it burned in the logger’s camp.
Quit smoking
I tried to quit smoking.
My friend gave me some gum. Whenever I felt like smoking, I’d chew the gum.
After three days, I threatened to throw a crying baby in front of a train.
My friend suggested that I carry a baby doll, and when I felt like throwing a crying baby in front of a train, throw the doll instead.
It worked, but after three days, I wanted to brain my neighbor with a meat axe for playing his records so loud at night.
My friend handed me a meat axe.
“Go ahead. It’s pissing me off too.”
Newjerseytology
If Egyptology is the study of ancient Egyptian history, does that mean there’s a Newjerseytology that studies ancient history in Jersey?
My cousin Vinnie from Red Bank keeps saying “Oh, that’s ancient history!” so I asked him if he had a degree in Newjerseytology.
“From the School Of Hard Knocks,” said Vinnie, and he lifted his shirt to show me a scar he got at a Giants game.
Okay, so exploring pyramids isn’t exactly the same as winning tickets at skeeball, but my Aunt Rita knows this guy who can get us tires on the cheap, so don’t knock it.
Stages
Stage one cancer is localized.
Stage two is locally advanced.
Stage three has spread throughout that organ.
Stage four has metastasized to other organs and systems.
Stage five spreads to your family and loved ones.
Stage six goes after your neighbors, the mailman, and the guy who reads the gas meter.
Stage seven will steal your car and rob a bank.
Stage eight is when it spreads across the city. It may even run for mayor.
Stage nine rots the country, ten infects the planet, and eleven the entire universe.
For the sake of existence, turn your head and cough.
Splatter
I met this girl at a bar. She said she was an artist.
“What kind of art do you make?” I asked.
She invited me back to her studio and she showed me.
“It’s called splatter art,” she said, picking up a brush and carelessly slopping it on a canvas.
I hadn’t gotten laid in weeks, so I said I liked it.
The next morning, I offered to cook breakfast.
“I’m a chef,” I said.
Then I proceeded to randomly grab stuff out of her fridge and toss it on the stove.
“I call it splatter cuisine,” I said, laughing.
Gravy
IT is important. IT connects people with each other and to the resources they need.
Without IT, you’re not an organization or connected.
Heck, without IT, Sir Isaac Newton would have discovered gravy, not gravity.
As much as I love gravy, it would be really messy with all that gravy, floating out of its gravy boat and getting all over everything in sticky delicious blobs.
Thank goodness it was an apple that fell on Newton’s head, and not a gravy boat.
Those things are expensive, not to mention the brain damage one could cause such a fertile mind as Newton.
The Scapegoat
God watched Abraham carry his son Isaac up the mountain.
“Seriously?” mumbled Jesus. “You going to let him to this?”
God tried to stifle a laugh. “Nah, I’m just testing him.”
“Dad,” said Jesus. “You’re a dick.”
God scowled. “Oh, shut up. I’ll stop him before he stabs the kid.”
“Would you do this kind of thing to me?” asked Jesus.
“Of course not,” growled God.
Abraham put down his son and felt around for his knife.
Shit. Left it at home.
So, he picked up the kid and dashed his brains out on the rocks.
“Oh fuck,” said God.
Spare keyboard
Once, I spilled coffee in my computer keyboard, and I couldn’t wash it out. The keyboard was ruined.
I didn’t have access to an office to borrow a replacement keyboard.
It was over Thanksgiving weekend, back before the Black Friday phenomenon, so stores were closed for two whole days.
Ever since, I’ve kept a spare keyboard and mouse on my closet shelf.
And spare ammunition.
And meals ready to eat.
And…
I’d better not say more. Someone might hear and want to steal my emergency supplies.
I’d better shut down the generator. Fuel’s scarce these days.
Do you hear zombies?
Imaginary
Do imaginary children worry their imaginary parents when they have real friends?
I tried to ask my imaginary friend Steve, but he kept insisting that he was real.
“Oh, come on, you’re not real,” I said. “My parents don’t let me have real friends because I bite them.”
Steve insisted that he was real. “They tell you I’m not because my parents don’t want you biting me.”
“Aha! I’m right! They do worry!”
Steve shook his head, and went back to playing with his Tinkertoys.
I reached for the Tinkertoys… but my tentacles passed through them.
I hate being imaginary.