The Healing Powers of Hog Feces

THIS IS THE KIND OF PERSON I AM. When I see the headline "Police find suspect neck-deep in liquid manure pit," I read the story.



The pit was filled with a combination of hog and dog feces, and the suspect had been there for at least an hour. Now, I'm sure this guy thought, "the cops will never look for me here." I'm sure he thought he was being an amazing criminal mastermind. Which only makes him more fantastic in my mind.

But what you really have to admire about this guy, other than his crippling meth addiction naturally, is his tenacity. After the cops found him in the feces pit [new band name alert!], he still became combative with them and had to be shocked twice with a stun gun. Twice.

So after an hour soaking in a pool of hog and dog feces, this guy's will was so indomitable he still fought back. That hour in the poo didn't dampen his spirit at all.

I have to think that there's a Trading Places type of movie that starts with this guy's story, then a modern day Don Ameche and Ralph Bellamy give each other a knowing look. And one of them says, "That's exactly the type of spirit we're missing at the executive level!" They clean up the meth addict and teach him how to manage the company, in a montage set to Fountains of Wayne's "Bright Future in Sales." For some reason Hector Elizondo is there tutoring him.

Our hero succeeds. (Of course!) But there's something missing, an emptiness he feels. And despite the fancy clothes, expensive cars and scads of money, he still spends nights in his penthouse apartment staring out the window and sighing deeply.

"What is it, baby?" asks one of his many prostitutes.

"Nothing," he says, forcing a smile. "Nothing at all. Now remind me, how much for a rusty trombone?"

"Usually $200," she smiles. "But you seem so sad tonight, how about this one's on me?"

He touches her face. "Thank you."

Then, the night of the big board meeting, the guy bolts from the room, in the middle of his presentation. He rushes out of the room, down the elevator and to his waiting limo.

"Take me to this address!" he shouts as he gives his driver a slip of paper.

"Yessir! Immediately, sir!" comes the reply.

Back in the boardroom it is chaos. The oldest, stodgiest board member harangues Don Ameche and Ralph Bellamy. "What have you gotten us into? We trusted this crazy experiment of yours! If he isn't back here in thirty minutes, I will have no recourse but to remove you both from the board of directors!"

"But our father started this company!" Don Ameche says.

Now it's a car chase! Don Ameche and Ralph Bellamy's limo chasing our hero's limo! But where are they going? Out of the city? What could possibly be way out here in the country?

"Oh no," Ralph Bellamy says. "He couldn't. He wouldn't."

But he is. Our hero's limo stops at a hog farm and he gets out, breathes deeply and smiles, for the first time in a long time.

The limo driver flinches a little at the smell, then asks, "Do you want me wait for you, sir?"

"No, you're free to go, Jenkin-Jeeves. Thank you for being such a good friend."

Our hero then walks, head held high, toward the feces pit. He strips off his tailored suit as he walks. He's smiling. A tear of joy in the corner of one eye.

Don Ameche and Ralph Bellamy's limo pulls up and they both get out and cover their noses and mouths with fancy silk handkerchiefs. "Why didn't you stop him?" they ask the limo driver.

"I don't know," Jenkin-Jeeves says. "He just looked so happy.

David Bowie's "Heroes" plays on the soundtrack as our hero, now stripped naked, marches into the feces pit. He stops once he's buried up to his neck. The camera pushes in on his face.

We know he's finally home.

The End.

Then, of course, the hilarious and obligatory outtakes as the credits run.

Their Flippers Feel So Slippery!

SO YOU GUYS NEVER ANSWERED MY EVITE... Are you or aren't you going to come to my animal rave? It's BYOSP...bring your own seal pacifier.

Wait, This Is Illegal Now?

Ladies, You Know It's Right!

DON'T KNOW WHY they don't run these ads any longer. All the ad claims is that YOUR GUY is your NUMBER ONE reason for using Midol. It seems totally reasonable to me. Certainly every lady knows that in order to be a proper lady you HAVE TO put your guy ahead of your own happiness and comfort. The ad also reminds ladies of the inherent duality of their nature, that the less than perfect version of you is UNACCEPTABLE UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES. "Be the you he likes," the ad says. "Good to be around, any day of the week."

Because, ladies, he doesn't like you unless you're perfect. And look at him. He's obviously perfect, with his groovy patchwork shirt and magnificently feathered hair. What girl wouldn't want to be with this awesome guy. He wears his gold medallion OUTSIDE of his shirt, just like they show you in the fashion magazines!

And just in case you weren't paying attention 45 words earlier, the ad wraps up with, "When you feel good, you're good to be around. So use Midol. You've got a beautiful reason." The beautiful reason has NOTHING to do with you, of course (because you couldn't possibly be the agent of your own happiness). The beautiful thing is THIS GUY, the only thing in this world that can make you feel complete. Sure, he just fucked some chick he met in acting class, but that didn't mean anything. Besides, YOU were having your period, and, as a result, you were NOT "good to be around." It's really your fault that he ended up with that chick from his acting class. Oh yeah, and also that girl from the bookstore the day before.

Shit, does he have to tell you EVERYTHING? Get off his back already and work on being "good to be around." Wow!

You know what would really make you awesome? If you took Midol from the '60s. Yeah, that's more like it. Take some Midol and get totally gay. That'd be awesome. Then maybe you and that actress and the chick from the bookstore could, you know, get together and whatever. Just relax, right? Maybe have a pillow fight or something? Shit, I don't know what girls like. I may not even really like girls. I'm too busy making sure my part is straight and that my medallion didn't accidentally slip inside my shirt. I'm beautiful. Don't ever forget that. Now excuse me, I've got to grow a mustache. Because I'm a man. A beautiful, beautiful man.

We Need To Talk

IT'S REALLY UNCOMFORTABLE TO HAVE THIS TALK, but I feel like we need to. Just you and me. I think you should break up with your abusive boyfriend. I'm talking to you, America, because I'm really really concerned. I just don't think it's healthy anymore, this relationship. And, frankly, I think your boyfriend, China, is trying to kill you.

First he tried to poison your pets with melamine-laced food. Then he put poison in your toothpaste. And then he put lead paint all over the toys you buy for your kids.

Those three things in themselves seem sorta crazy, don't you think?

I know, I know, you still think he's great, and he's got such great potential, and I probably just don't "get him" like you do. I know that's how you feel. I totally understand. And no, I'm not jealous. I don't wish I was in a relationship with China. I really don't. I'm just trying to talk to you as a friend.

Because now China's coming for your kids again, wanting to smother them with adorable toy shelves. And if that doesn't work -- and I know this will sound totally crazy, but I'm really not making it up -- China wants to date rape your kids.

Yes, I realize this sounds crazy. But I am not making it up.

Ok, ok, fine. Don't believe me. And just keep believing that China is still good for you and believing how great this relationship could be. But don't say I didn't warn you.

You're Bearly in the Black!

JUST SAW THIS CURIOUS AD while on The Futon Critic. Which really helped me understand my credit score.

But what I don't understand is why all of the bears are smiling. Even the Poor Credit Bear is smiling in that "what's up?" sort of way. He's green, the color of "go", the color of money, and for some reason that's bad. Okay, whatever. But why the smile, dude? Isn't it bad enough that my credit is total suck-town? What the fuck does that guy know that I don't?

Also, why's his smile exactly the same as the Good Credit Bear and the Fair Credit Bear? Shouldn't the various bears' expressions tell me something about my credit? Or are they all just smiling because they've had unfettered access to my personal information and now they've totally got me by the balls. Maybe they're also drunk. The more I look at those guys, the less I trust them. And the more I think they're probably high, not drunk. They do look a little like the Grateful Dead bears. Oh yeah, they're fuckin' high, man. Probably trippin' too.

A final question: Why is red the color of Excellent Credit? Red, the color of warning -- as in "a red flag", "code red" or "my spending is out of control; I'm always in the red." So, red is excellent now? I'm not sure that makes much sense. I guess it shouldn't surprise me though. Of course a bunch of stoned bears think red is a good color, they're stoned!

Mr. Million's Millions

THE STORY BROKE EARLY YESTERDAY, and is only in its early stages of exploding. In case you missed it, you may as well get on board the Controversy Train early: best-selling author James Frey may have completely fabricated large portions of A Million Little Pieces. The investigative website The Smoking Gun published a six-page story on Sunday that called into question the "creative license" Frey took with his supposedly autobiographical tale -- and, by extension, its sequel, Mr Friend Leonard. This morning, the AP picked the story up and ran with it. And in the coming days, I can guarantee you, more and more media outlets will want a piece of Frey. Luckily for him though he's made up of a million of 'em, so there will be plenty to go around. What makes this whole thing so salacious to me -- and I haven't even read the book -- is how many people have gotten on Frey's bandwagon. And now, if he's a big fat liar, how many people will feel betrayed, because they bought his tall tale of harrowing drug addiction and redemption. Top of the list: Oprah Winfrey.


Oprah became Frey's champion when she made A Million Little Pieces an official selection of her Book Club. She had him on her show as her sole guest and successfully elevated, as with nearly every other author she has ever chosen, to rock star status. Frey has taken this fame graciously and gracefully, proclaiming himself "the greatest literary writer of his generation" and "the new Staggering Genius."


Bravo, sir. Bravo.


But that behavior, while highly douchebaggish, isn't cause for anything more than a shrug of "eh, so he's full of himself, so what?" What raises this whole incident to epic proportions is that his own heartbreaking work of autobiographical genius might be more than a little made up. It may just be, as Frey has put it, embellished for "obvious dramatic reasons." On the other hand, if The Smoking Gun is right, it might be a big fat lie. In which case, there might be a few million people who feel cheated and betrayed. And I'm not just talking about Oprah...or my fiance, who read Frey's first book and then got his second book as a gift for Christmas. The funny thing is, late last week, she finally picked up My Friend Leonard and started reading it. And when I walked into the room, I saw that she was flipping through to the end of it -- not a normal practice of hers.


"So you're skipping to the end?" I said.


"Something doesn't feel right about this," she answered. "It seems made up." A couple of days later, the story broke on The Smoking Gun.


So if I haven't even read A Million Little Pieces and therefore can't count myself in with the potetially duped masses, why do I have a bone to pick with James Frey? Well, I don't really have anything against the guy personally. I'm just fascinated with the story. One side is bending the truth. If it's The Smoking Gun, then they're just another celebrity-hater who loves tearing the icons down. But if Frey is bending the truth...wow.


I don't know about you, but I'm just gonna settle back and enjoy the show.

Top Ten Sitcom Episodes

In no particular order

The Mary Tyler Moore Show, Chuckles Bites the Dust
Seinfeld, The Contest
Barney Miller, Hash Brownies
Fawlty Towers, The Germans
Arrested Development, Good Grief!
The Dick Van Dyke Show, It May Look Like a Walnut
The Simpsons, A Streetcar Named Marge
Taxi, Elegant Iggy
Malcolm in the Middle, Mini-Bike
The Office, The Injury

For All the Dads

EVERY YEAR, WHEN FATHER'S DAY ROLLS AROUND, I'm reminded of that classic anti-drug commercial from the late '80s or early '90s. You remember the one: Where the dad confronts the son about the stash of pot he found. (In a cigar box, as I recall. How obvious! No wonder he got busted!) And the dad says, "Where did you learn how to do this?" And the kid breaks and says, angrily, "I learned it from YOU, Dad! I learned it from you!"

Oh, the hilarity!

Anyway, instead of spending my time figuring out what to get my dad (a mind-bending process I must go through twice in two months, since his birthday is at the beginning of August), I've cobbled together this roundup of ideas for celebrating Father's Day, this Sunday (June 16). Be warned, however, that while these suggestions may not pack the poignant punch of the climactic scene of Field of Dreams, where Kevin Costner finally gets in a game of catch with dear old Dad, they're at least as warm and cuddly as the better moments Harrison Ford and Sean Connery spend together in Indiana Jones & the Last Crusade.

If you can't be with your dad, make sure to celebrate him (or any dad, really) in some way this weekend. Put on the tuneful stylings of Gay Dad (doubly perfect as June is also Gay Pride Month), the harder edge of Papa Roach or the folky fiddlin' of Papa John Creach.

If you're not all that fond of your Dad, you might take a moment to learn about the Haitian despot "Papa" Doc Duvalier. Compare. Contrast. Discuss.

If foreign policy isn't your bag, you could get all misty-eyed remembering the drag-racing career of Big Daddy Don Garlits (and visit his website while you're at it) or get teary-eyed at the droll Catholic comedy of Father Guido Sarducci. If you're feelin' all literary 'n shit, pick up a copy of Arthur Kopit's play Oh Dad, Poor Dad, Mama's Hung You in the Closet and I'm Feeling so Sad, or anything by Ernest Hemingway.

Even though you can no longer enjoy the sitcoms Make Room for Daddy, Father Knows Best or even Daddio, don't forget there are plenty of patriarchally themed flicks to rent, from Adam Sandler's Big Daddy to Bill Cosby's Ghost Dad. There are also good films, such as the classic Cary Grant-Leslie Caron comedy Father Goose or Father of the Bride (either the Spencer Tracy version or the Steve Martin update).

Whatever you do, give a shoutout to Pops. He deserves it at least once a year.

And never let him forget where you learned it.