Newsgroups: alt.butt.harp Subject: RICHH: LOST IN TV HELL--PART 6 Message-ID: <1992May6.221244.8287@tigger.jvnc.net> From: richh@tigger.jvnc.net (RICHH) Date: Wed, 6 May 1992 22:12:44 GMT Sender: news@tigger.jvnc.net (Zee News Genie) Organization: JvNCnet, Princeton University, NJ Originator: richh@tigger.jvnc.net Lines: 124 Lost in tv hell. episode 6 So the guys say to me, "Annie, is it true that you can pop a kernel of popcorn just by holding it between your thighs and thinking about soccer players?" I say, "This is an unusual question for an AA meeting but you've got my attention. Actually, I can not only pop the kernel but can douse it with melted--" "We've heard more than enough, Annie. Thank you." So the guys say to me, "Annie is it true that if I stick my finger into your bellybutton you'll giggle and squirm like a schoolgirl?" I say, "This is an unusual question but since I'm not wearing any underwear, I'll ignore it." So I'm walking down the street when this huge, disembodied head appears before me and in this deep, bellowing voice says, "These are the Halls of Medicine." I say, "Wrong, asswipe, this is Locust Walk. Now get out of my way; I'm just not in the mood." But he says it again. "These are the Halls of Medicine. I look around. Apparently no one sees this stupid thing but me. Great, I think, Jimmy Stewart gets Harvey, a cuddly, lovable bunny and I get this 30-foot tall turban-wearing asshole with a sinus problem. Well, I'm just not having it. I mean, my grandfather bought Polaroid at eight and a half. I don't need this shit. So I sneak off the walk and catch a cab on Walnut Street. The guy says, "Where to?" and I say, "Just drive, I'll let you know when we're they're." So the driver takes this great big nasty, drool-slimed cigar out of his mouth, puts it in his pocket, hits the gas and turns around to face me. It's Buster Fucking Poindexter. And he wants his fare 'up front'. I'm like, I don't think so, so as we pass a Pizza Hut I open the door and jump out, trying to flip him the bird at the same time. I go in to the Pizza Hut and there's that girl on the phone with this infuriating knowitall grin on her face. And I hear her say, "Regular price, four bucks, four bucks, half a million bucks, four bucks." So I'm like, no fucking way. I walk around towards the rest rooms, get on a pay phone and, still in earshot of the girl, call up the Pizza Hut. "All right," I say, "how much for two Super Supremes, a Beta Version of "Cool as Ice, and another Super Supreme?" "Regular price, four bucks, six cents, four bucks." Damn, she IS good. "All right, how much for three Super Supremes, you to get down on your knees and work it like a champ, and two more Super Supremes for afterwards, cause I'll be hungry." Without missing a beat, she says, "Thirty bucks, and the pie's on me." I find this ambiguous, so I hang up, and go home and meet my brother, who's bored and looking to get out. He suggests we go to our favorite local bar. I remind him of the ugly Sports Illustrated incident of a few weeks ago. He says he's got a foolproof plan, so we go. So we're at the bar and Ed the bartender is dripping butane from a refill canister into a shot glass for me--because he's a friend. I put my cigarette out, do the shot, wipe the blood from my ears, and he pours another. My brother's drinking mugs of Bacardi 151, cause like, he's a lightweight. And sure enough, in walks the Sports Illustrated guy and his camera crew, this time with some stupid "I'll get you guys *this* time" look on his face. And he pulls up a seat and Ed asks him what he wants and he looks at my shot and says, "What he's having, only with a dash of Tabasco (only he doesn't say Tabasco, he says Tabasky, trying to be colloquial, which causes my brother to begin fingering the business end of the linoleum knife he carries with him at all times, just in case someone says Tabasky.) I clear my throat, hoping my brother will recall that ugly incident in Albany with the Jesuit priest who called him 'homey' once too often. Well, my brother got the hint and put the knife away. Then something strange happened. This babe at the bar started making goo-goo eyes at the videotape moron. I did my shot and looked at my brother, who had begun caressing his knife again. Well, the chick walked over to the jukebox, and the videotape guy got up and gave my brother a "Watch a pro in action, son" look, at which point I had to hold my brother's wrist to stop him from carving this guy into spaghetti-splattered stucco. Well, the guy walked over to the jukebox and started talking to the babe, this knockout brunette with a tight, squirmy body that you just know could to the French Butterfly trick without even warming up first. So my brother just looks into his drink and shakes his head. Ed says, "I've seen it happen hundred times. Some moron walks in with a camera crew and the chicks fall all over him." So my brother says, "Well, not this time," and gets up and goes to the jukebox, where the moron and the chick are looking for some tunes to play. He puts in his dollar and my brother tries to distract the girl. This he does by putting his hand in the small of the brunette's back. She, mistaking him for part of the moron's film crew, slides it down to her ass, at which point he starts walking the back of her skirt up. By this time I have already picked the guy's first selection on the jukebox for him--"Rough Boys" by Pete "Huh?" Townshend. Before it comes on, the guy makes his selections and kicks the machine, saying "Hey, you're supposed to get three for a buck. I want my third." Ed doesn't go for this sort of behavior and sets up an old- fashioned gattling gun on the bar, the kind with long ribbons of bullets you have to feed into it. He says, "Hey, back off, asswipe," and starts adjusting the sights. The video guy throws his hands up and says, "Take it easy.I--I just--I--" The babe takes the moron by his arm and coos into his ear, "Let's sit down and relax. Did I tell you I'm a dancer?" My brother is now behind the bar, cranking up the volume on the jukebox, which we can hear setting itself up to play the moron's first selection. And then it's, "Rough boys, out on the streets. . ." And the video guy, instead of playing it off, starts singing along, looking straight at the babe and saying, "I want to bite and kiss you." Well, a couple guys from the back of the bar who thought the moron was singing to them walk over and sit down at his table. My brother laughs, because they're both wearing leather everything and one of the guys has an airbrushed picture on the back of Pete Townshend boning Keith Moon, kind of a bad visual pun. So the babe gets up and the guy starts to get up, but one of the leather guys puts his hand on the moron's thigh and sits him back down. The leather guy says, "Don't be ashamed of what you are. As long as you're true to yourself." My brother says to the moron's camera crew, "Hey, you guys want a raise? Keep your camera on your boss's table over there." And now I guess maybe Tuesdays aren't so bad after all.