Fear Its Self

Posted By:	The Boneman
Posted On:	Mon Dec 8th, 2008

Okay, whatever you do, don't look now, just be cool and keep walking, but I think somebody's following us...I dunno, just chill, walk a little faster, we'll be alright...Dude I told you not to look...ssshhh...I know he's a big white dude - and unless he's a big blind dude he just saw you turn around and squeak like a puppy-toy......Not right now, it's too dark to see anything and I don't wanna keep looking over our shoulder...How do 'I' know? Some big fat guy with long hair and a beard - it might be the 'Boneman'...Whoa, seriously get ahold of yourself, he's gonna hear ya crying like that...I know, I know - don't believe everything you hear...Now come on, you're not gonna die before you get your driver's license...The guy writes jokes...I know, I've heard all the same crap, I'm sure it's mostly rumors, somebody told me he goes to Church now - total mega-Mo...Besides what are the odds it's him, it's probably just a Psycho-Biker or an Escaped Convict...Oh Shiest, he's right behind us now...That's not great, he's not only huge but he can zip around like one of those Church-approved vampires!...Maybe he'll take pity on us and turn us into one of those Twilight blood-studs...Well obviously there's a down side, but it might clear up your acne...I'm sorry I know this aint funny, I say we either run for it, try to make it to Kinkos, or just let him catch up and if it is the Boneman we pretend like we're HUGE fans - can you handle that?...I've never read any of it either - just don't worry about it - play along, I'll do all/Dude - are you kiddin' me - when did you vomit?...well you should have 'kept' it in your mouth...I wonder if he'll smell the fear now?...Okay - wait hold up, that's weird, I think he's wearing some kind of outfit, probably one of those religious freaks or - you're kidding me - be ready to bolt when you hear me say Ho ho ho." How's it going Santa? Seasons Greetings. Yea we've been pretty good. Good boys. Comin' to town, right that's what I hear."

So I thought up this most unlikely scenario when I noticed that the stores already had their Christmas merch up, when I was shopping for my kids Halloween costumes. I was tempted to go trick-r-treating as Santa. Alas it's just too easy for me to put on a trench coat, turn my baseball cap around - and SNAP "Silent Bob." With me simplicity and ease always wins out over complicated statements that require explanation. How about this? This year every American just takes the money they would ordinarily spend on Christmas and give it to the banks. Eliminate the middle man. You have to chuckle at these congressmen bumbling their way through this bail-out charade. I've never seen politicians so governmentally retarded – calling press conferences to proudly announce they've acquired Baltic Ave and are in negotiations with the owners of Water Works. Obviously rescuing the global economy from certain doom was not part of the job description. Mostly, Congress is a pretty harmless place to keep a bunch of lawyers, but you gotta feel for these guys they're obviously running scared - it's like "okay gentlemen here's 70 Billion dollars (we may, or may not have) now go save the world - you knuckleheads, get outta here, I mean it?" Now the big three auto manufactures want in on the hand out - why not? While you're doling out the Monopoly money? The irony is that they're asking for a hand-out from the self-same bad-libs who punched all the holes in their pockets in the first place. The Big 3 would still 'be' the Big 3 if the red-feds wouldn't have regulated them into submission and the Unions wouldn't have squeezed out any life-blood they had left. It seems to me that someday someone needs to decide once and for all if it's best for our world to go green, or to go $reen.

So 70 Billion, how did they arrive at this figure? Surely we don't have that kind of money layin' around do we? Or we wouldn't be in such a fix. I suppose it's play-like money, that we'll borrow from China or print up against future taxes. Here's some fun math facts for you. If you were to divvy up the 70 Bill equally among every single American irregardless of age, gender, looks, sense of humor and smoldering sensuality, everybody would get $233 Smacks. Actually for all you numerology nuts (which I sort of am) the number is 233.33333333333 with the threes stretching on ad infinitum. A little something to stick in your pi hole. Those who know their numerology understand that the number 23 is rife with historical portent. And those who know their English understand that historical portent is rife with semantic incongruity. As historic denotes the past and portent implies future. The gist of which in case you were confused is that we've stumbled onto the likelihood that I'm a pedantic jackass. Still no blood no foul.

My jackassitude not withstanding it does suck that so many people are losing their houses, but still it's like, did they not understand that the payments go up after a few years? It's like thinking you can win a game of Monopoly by putting a house on Boardwalk then refusing to shake the dice when it's your turn. What was the plan? "Hell in three years we'll probably be rich or dead or President. You never can tell in this day and age. I should confess that before the big collapse, I was totally jealous of people who had the balls to build and buy nice houses - while I sat on my thumbs and played it safe. So I can afford to come off all wise and provident - now. The reason, I've lost my nerve is because 18 years ago I bought a house in Anaheim for $170,000 two years before the market took the worst dump in California history. The great Cal-lapse of '92. Two years into my first foray as a homo-ner it struck like a thief in the night and the value of my $170,000 home plummeted to $130,000 right after we'd taken out a second to do some fix'em-upping. After the dust had settled on my house of cards my beautiful wife whom I adored made it all seem quite insignificant really as she almost immediately took up adultery. Just to make my American bad dream all the more bizarrely ironic and surreal was the fact that the home itself was by no means a mansion on the hill. It was a mega-modest one story, three bedroom tract house built in the 50s just a hair over a mile away from Disneyland. Despite its humble dimensions I was in love with it. Tricked out in all the art deco furniture I'd been collection for ten years. The backyard was a magic kingdom with - grape vines, bougainvillea, jasmine and wisteria clinging to the back porch trellis, a little basketball court in the dooryard and tall Scarlet Oleander around the walls for plenty of privacy. I didn't even need a fig-leaf - more like two or three if we were entertaining. Faced with such a disheartening twist of fate soon the nightly fireworks at Disneyland that had been such a cool bonus began to sound more like incoming mortar fire. "Bam bam bam. "Hit the dirt." Actually I made it through with a lot of courage, and the help of a brilliant psychologist you may be familiar with - Dr. Smirnoff.

Some of you may remember about ten years ago when the tech boom first hit, and all these nerdy-somethings woke up one morning so ridiculously rich that they didn't know how act, let alone what to do with their newfound fortunes. Of course they were quick to coin the term "Sudden Wealth Syndrome, as the handle for the agonizing new condition." Poor buggers, suddenly saddled with all that wealth. You want to meet a dozen hotties? Hit the support group meeting for those unfortunates. These days we've definitely gravitated back to a far more familiar affliction - which is, of course "Sudden Poverty Syndrome." SPS is a baffling nightmare of a disease that can strike anywhere at any time. My wife, for example, falls prey to this silent menace, and it's onset is as frightening and sudden as a bolt of lightning. Everything can be going along just fine, "la dee da," then BOOM it strikes - just like papparazi on Lyndsay Lolife. "Hey honey--whaddaya say we call a sitter for the kids and go out for dinner and a movie," I'll innocently suggest. "Oh my goodness kids look who's here - take a picture because no one will believe that Bill Gates was right here in our very living room. Criminently - have you been hittin' the sauce, are you some kind of freakin' imbecile?" (this is the disease talking). "Have you looked at the checkbook, lately - there Rockefeller? Follow the bouncing ball - Can you say "fi-nan-cial ruin." I hope you like Top Raman, Mr. Breadwinner, 'cause that's what we'll be having for dinner for the next three months. In the mood for a movie huh? I got one for ya', it's called the Lion King. We'll just watch that again and make believe everything is just Hakoona Matada.' (This is where she goes into her crazy jungle dance.) "Hakoona Matada, We're ruined with Nada." Who knows maybe you're right. Our kids are way too hung up on food anyway. And whatever you do, don't feel guilty about that new CD you bought--we'll crank it up and listen to it while we're foraging in the woods for supper. Rock and Roll--wheeooo. Maybe if we turn it up loud enough you won't be able to hear the anguished cries of your starving children?"

Sudden Poverty Syndrome could strike anyone at any moment and leave a path of tears and savaged feelings in it's wake. Once it hits, it snowballs until there's nothing to do but dive out of its way. Especially if it hit dear old mom and dad. You'd best just 'Duck and Cover' because there's no stopping the horrific onslaught of SPS if it strikes the folks. "Excuse me, what did you say--you want a bicycle for your birthday? No problem, I'll just get a night job and your mother can take in laundry. That way you can peddle your happy little ass around the neighborhood without a care in the world, eh pal? 'Happy Birthday dear selfish-worthless-bastard, Happy Birthday to you.' You wanna know what, Evel Kneivel--when I was a boy, nobody had a bicycle. As a matter of fact there was only twenty seven dollars in the whole damn country. The only kid who had a bike when I was your age, made it himself out of sheep bones and barbed wire, and he got run over by a tractor. Is that what you want, Birthday boy? You want to fertilize the soil--would that make you happy, Easy Rider?"

For the rest of this masterpiece visit zboneman.com - what have you got to lose?

Oh boy Thanksgiving huh? I love it, because say what you will this is a holiday that totally revolves around men. We sleep in, maybe run to the market for one or two last minute items, watch the ball game. Then we poke around the kitchen complain about how hungry we are - grab a couple sticks of celery with Cheez Whiz or pop a few black olives on the tips of our fingers. Then we sit down before a blessed feast and dine like royalty. Then when you're just about besotted to the point of unconsciousness, we graciously step out of the women's way (they got cleaning up to do) go back to the game make sure the Lions are too far behind to ever catch up and doze off into a blissful two hour nap. I heard a couple sportscasters complaining about why the we always have to watch the lowly Detroit Lions on Thanksgiving. It seems obvious enough to me, after we've eaten all that tryptophan-loaded turkey and enough stuffing and pie to knock-out an ox it's only a matter of minutes before we're going to succomb to an acute couch-coma, the last thing we want to do is miss a good game. The Detroit Lions are just another part of a perfect tradition. Once in a while you'll hear some knothead talking about how Thanksgiving food is so totally awesome wondering how come if it's so great why do we only eat it once a year? If you ever hear some numbnuts yammering on like that, grab him by the scruff, lead him into a private corner and straighten him out. "Wake up my good Bro, get a whiff of the java - you're point is well taken, but if we let it happen more than once a year, women would take over the world. Hello Hillary! They apologize, you regret the unpleasantness and we move forward.