The Note

INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT

A man and woman are lying in bed, they are in pajamas facing each other having a conversation.
Vicky, 20 something typical broad, good looking, she likes having things her way.

Kevin, 20 something, a husk filled with quirks. He looks as if he might deserve the broad lying next to him.

KEVIN
Was it good for you?

VICKY
Can’t you tell?

KEVIN
I don’t know, you could always
be faking for my sake.

VICKY
I wouldn’t do that, I would just tell you
if there was a problem.

Kevin leans over and gives her a kiss on the cheek.

KEVIN
You don’t mind if I stay the night do you?

VICKY
No, but I have to work early tomorrow,
so you might just wake up alone.

KEVIN
To be honest, I’d prefer it.

Vicky smacks his chest.

VICKY
Shut your mouth.

She goes for another strike, he grabs her hand, they are smiling. They ease back into relaxed positions.

VICKY (CONT’D)
Do you know how many calories we just burned?

KEVIN
Just a second ago?

VICKY
No, you dummy, when we had sex.

KEVIN
I don’t know, a hundred?

VICKY
More like two-hundred, I think I’m
going to cancel my gym membership.

KEVIN
Don’t cancel your gym membership.

VICKY
Why not, are you saying I’m fat?

Vicky rolls onto her side away from Kevin.

VICKY (CONT’D)
You don’t find me attractive anymore, do you?

KEVIN
Of course I still find you attractive.

Vicky rolls back facing Kevin.

VICKY
Do you think about me when you masturbate?

KEVIN
I don’t masturbate.

VICKY
I mean when you do masturbate?

KEVIN
I have never masturbated.

VICKY
Yes you have, everyone does.

KEVIN
Not me, I don’t need it that bad.
I vowed to never masturbate.

VICKY
Your serious?

KEVIN
It just seems like such a waste of time.

VICKY
What if I asked you really nice, would you do it for me?

KEVIN
No! I pledged an oath woman.

VICKY
Pfft. Your no fun, I’m going to sleep.

They turn their separate ways and pull the covers up. Kevin closes his eyes, Vicky looks as if she is plotting and then sneers.

INT. VICKY’S BEDROOM - MORNING

Kevin is sleeping by himself. The covers are half way off and he has a note pinned to his crotch.
He is restless in his slumber and moves one of his hands on to the piece of paper. He gropes around with his eyes closed. Fondling the paper, a revelation strikes him “This should not be here.” He sits up and brings the paper to his face.

KEVIN
Fuck me!

Kevin runs to a phone frantic. He dials a number and puts the phone to his ear.

KEVIN (CONT’D)
Pick up, pick up.
(beat)
Mike! I need you to come to Vicky’s place, stat!
(beat)
The Animals got out of the fucking zoo!
(Beat)
Just get the fuck over here!

INT. MIKE’S APARTMENT -MORNING

A close up on the side of Mike’s face dropping the phone.

The Phone is dangling off the cradle.

EXT. MIKE’S CAR -MORNING

A key turning in the ignition.

The tire’s of a car are given locomotion.

INT. VICKY’S LIVING ROOM -MORNING

Kevin is in his PJ’s sitting in a chair. Mike is holding the note pacing.

MIKE
So Vicky poisoned your semen, and if
you don’t ejaculate by noon you’ll die.

KEVIN
Yes.

MIKE
But you vowed to never masturbate.

KEVIN
That is precisely the problem.

MIKE
Alright, It’s 9:45. That gives us exactly two
hours and fifteen minutes to get you laid.
Have you considered going to a hooker?

KEVIN
I would rather die.

MIKE
There is no problem here. This
is going to be easy. Lets get you pimped up.

A short montage with stuff like, hair getting combed back. Spraying really cheap cologne, brushing teeth, Mike using a hair dryer on Kevin, putting slightly nicer clothes on.

KEVIN
Where are we going to go?

MIKE
There aren’t many places to get laid this early
in the morning, but it seems to me that I
know one spot that always has a abundance of bush.

KEVIN
And where is that?

Mike points out the door, as he proclaims where they are going.

MIKE
To the dollar theatre!

EXT. DOLLAR THEATRE

The pair pull up in Mike’s car. There are almost no cars in the parking lot. Deserted with the exception of a young girl standing outside, seemingly waiting for a ride.

MIKE
Kevin, ask her man.

KEVIN
I don’t know she looks a little young.

MIKE
Just do it!

KEVIN
I don’t know if I can.

MIKE
Just roll down the window and say what I say.

KEVIN
Alright, alright.

Kevin rolls down the car window.

MIKE
Say. Do you need a ride.

KEVIN
Do you need a ride?

MIKE
On the pony express.

KEVIN
On the po-
(Whispers)
What does that even mean?

MIKE
Just say it!

KEVIN
I can’t.

MIKE
You are going to die!

The girl walks towards the car.

MIKE (CONT’D)
She’s coming over, don’t fuck this up.

Mike leans back so as to play it cool.

The girl walks to the passenger window.

THE GIRL
My dad dropped me off to watch the
Lion King last night then he forgot to
pick me up. So uh yeah, if that’s cool
I kinda live on the other side of town.

MIKE
Of course we’ll give you a ride.

Mike snickers to himself, and maniacally folds his hands.

She gets in the back and they drive off.

EXT. MIKE’S CAR

Mike is driving, Kevin is looking back talking to the girl.

THE GIRL
So your girlfriend injected poison into your.....
and if you don’t do it in the next hour, you’ll die?

KEVIN
Uh Huh.

THE GIRL
Wait, you don’t mean to.....

Mike locks the doors.

The Girl tries the door handle.

THE GIRL (CONT’D)
Oh god. If you don’t let me out of
this car right now I'm going to scream.

The Girl’s crying.

THE GIRL (CONT’D)
This can’t be happening. I was
waiting for my wedding night.

KEVIN
Relax, Relax, nothing is going to
happen, I don’t want to have sex with you.

The Girl's expression changes from sad to angry. She hits Kevin.

THE GIRL
You asshole, that's a horrible thing to say to a girl.

KEVIN
I just mean that your too young for me.
Your a very pretty girl, I’m sure there are lots
of guys that want to have sex with you.

This relaxes her.

THE GIRL
Well, what are you going to do then?

KEVIN
I’ll think of something.
(beat)
Mike, where else is there to go.

MIKE
I don’t know, it’s 11 A.M., I guess we
could check out the gas station.

KEVIN
The gas station? This is pointless.
I have never even gotten close to scoring
at a gas station before.

MIKE
That’s defeatist, from this moment on
you need to do exactly what I tell you to do.

THE GIRL
I think Kevin’s right.

MIKE
What do you know?

THE GIRL
I know that I wouldn’t wait
around a gas station looking for men.

MIKE
Then what? Just let the poor fool die?

THE GIRL
I was just thinking there is a pool hall
that’s close to my house that seems
to have “desperate woman” written all over it.

MIKE
Of course, the pool hall, why
didn’t I think of it sooner.

Mike steps on the gas.

EXT. POOL HALL -MORNING

The Car parks, all three of them get out.

THE GIRL
I’ll just walk to my house from here, thanks guys.

She walks away, but after a few steps turns around.

THE GIRL (CONT’D)
Oh Kevin, one more thing.
(beat)
Hakuna Matata
(Beat)
It means no worries. Just go in there
and be yourself, you’ll be okay.

Mike and Kevin walk to the pool hall’s entrance pause take a deep breath, fix their hair, then enter.

INT. POOL HALL

It is deserted apart from two trashy ladies in their late thirties wearing cocktail dresses.

KEVIN
Which gas station were you thinking?

MIKE
You have 45 minutes left, this is your
last chance. Now which one do you want?

KEVIN
I don’t want either.

MIKE
In that case, I call the pretty one.

KEVIN
Which ones the pretty one?

MIKE
Lets go!

They walk across the room to the ladies table, joining them in the middle of a conversation.

GINGER
Then I says to him, the problem with
herpes is there is no cure.

Mike clears his throat to get their attention.

MIKE
Hey ladies, mind if we take a seat?

GINGER
Sure thing sweets.

MIKE
You girls come here often?

The girls giggle at this

GINGER
You could say that.

Mike puts his hand on Kevin’s shoulder.

MIKE
This is Kevin, and my names Antonio.

Ginger points to her self.

GINGER
Ginger.

Pointing to her friend.

GINGER (CONT’D)
And Maryanne.

MIKE
How about we get you gir-ladies
another round. What’s your drink?

Mike points to Ginger and then Maryanne.

GINGER
I could go for another fuzzy ass-hole.

MARYANNE
Tequila sunrise.

MIKE
I’ll be back in a split. Keep it classy you three.

Mike walks to the bar, leaving Kevin alone. Both of them are staring at Kevin waiting for him to say something.

KEVIN
Ummm, so uh, you ladies like uh, baseball?

MARYANNE
Is that what they call it now a day’s?

Both Ginger and Maryanne think this is hilarious.

KEVIN
I have a girlfriend.

GINGER
Your secret's safe with us.

KEVIN
I don’t have a secret.

GINGER
What I meant ta say is, me and
Maryanne aren’t going to tell yer girl.

KEVIN
Tell her what?

GINGER
How should I say, the early morning festivities.

Kevin gulps. Ginger and Maryanne continue to find everything funny. Kevin closes his eyes and whispers a mantra to himself.

KEVIN
You can do this.

MARYANNE
What you say, hun?

KEVIN
Nothing, it’s nothing. W-Where’s Mike?

GINGER
Mike?

KEVIN
I-I mean Antonio.

GINGER
You know there’s a perfectly clean bathroom
in this place, the stall doors shut and everything.

Ginger forces her way onto Kevin’s lap.

KEVIN
(Shouts)
Mike!

Kevin turns to see Mike returning with a few drinks.

MIKE
I see you guys started without me.

Mike puts the drinks down, leans into Kevin’s ear and whispers.

MIKE (CONT’D)
What’s the big idea man, I called that one.

Kevin and Mike look over to Maryanne who picks up the tequila sunrise and slams the whole thing.

MIKE (CONT’D)
Never mind.

Mike takes a seat next to Maryanne putting his arm around her.

MIKE (CONT’D)
So what do you do?

Maryanne whispers in Mike’s ear. Mike giggles, and stands up

KEVIN
What’s going on?

MIKE
Have you ever heard the expression,
"it’s on like Donkey Kong?"

KEVIN
I think I ha-

MIKE
Gotta go.

Mike and Maryanne hand in hand walk into the girl’s bathroom. Kevin looks at the clock, 11:15. He wipes the sweat off his forehead.

KEVIN
So, uh, you wanna do something?

GINGER
What type of woman do you think I am,
you didn’t even buy me a drink first.

KEVIN
I’ll pay for that one.

GINGER
Go for the gold sailor.

Kevin and Ginger enter the girls bathroom.

CUT TO:

EXT. POOL HALL -MORNING

Kevin is pulling Mike out the door. Mike’s shirt is unbuttoned, and he is zipping up his pants. As they are making their way back to the car.

MIKE
What the fuck man, Steve Weibe would roll
over in his grave if he saw the way your acting.

KEVIN
This has nothing to do with Donkey Kong!
(beat)
Also, Steve Weibe isn’t dead.

MIKE
Come on man, those ladies were seasoned pros.

KEVIN
Yeah, a little to seasoned if you ask me.

MIKE
What’s that supposed to mean?
Maryanne’s a sweet girl.

KEVIN
Look, I just couldn’t do it,
we gotta find somewhere else fast.

MIKE
Where?

KEVIN
I don’t know.

MIKE
I’m all out of idea’s.

KEVIN
Lets just drive around and see
if there's anyone else to fuck.

EXT. STREET CORNER -MORNING

The pair are driving down the street.

MIKE
Sometimes I wish Jesus could
have died twice for our sins.

KEVIN
What are you saying, are you getting soft on me?

MIKE
No, I was just thinking that one crucifixion
couldn’t have bought an infinite amount
of sins. There has to be a limit.

KEVIN
Christ, are you done?

MIKE
My point is this, if brutally killing Jesus
buys us sins, if he ever comes back again,
I think it would be my duty to pelt
him to death with babies.

An attractive girl is walking down the street.

KEVIN
How much time do I have left?

MIKE
Twenty-five minutes.

KEVIN
Shit.

Kevin Jumps up through the sun roof, and points to the young woman walking down the street.

KEVIN (CONT’D)
Hey you! wanna fuck?

The girl looks around like he couldn’t possibly be talking to her, then she points to herself to make sure.

KEVIN (CONT’D)
Yeah, you.
(Beat)
No, well okay. Have a nice day.
He drops back into the cabin.

Fuck, Just go back to Vicky’s, I have a plan.

INT. VICKY’S LIVING ROOM -DAY

MIKE
Alright, we’ve got fifteen minutes left, what’s the big plan?

KEVIN
Mike, I vowed I would never masturbate.

MIKE
Yeah.

KEVIN
And getting jerked off isn’t masturbating is it?

MIKE
No, I guess not.

KEVIN
There are some dish washing gloves in the kitchen.

The realization of Kevin’s implications suddenly hits Mike at light speed.

MIKE
Oh, fuck!

Mike goes for the door, but Kevin gets in his way.

KEVIN
Come on Mike, you're my best friend.
I wouldn’t ask for this if it weren’t life or death.

MIKE
I just can’t do it.

KEVIN
Remember that time, when you were sick,
and I brought you chicken noodle soup
because no one else would?

MIKE
This is different man.

KEVIN
Remember the time, that girl kicked you in
the nuts, and I drove you to the hospital
because you thought you were dying?

MIKE
It’s just not the same thing.

KEVIN
Remember the time, when your girlfriend
dumped you, and I helped you T-P her house?

MIKE
Alright. You win.

KEVIN
I’ll get the gloves.

MIKE
Fuck!

KEVIN
I don’t like this anymore than you do.

Mike almost in tears.

MIKE
Where are we going to do the deed?

KEVIN
I was thinking, the bathtub.

CUT TO:

INT. VICKY’S APARTMENT -DAY

Camera enters the apartment, then makes it’s way to an open door leading into the bathroom. Strange noises coming from the bathroom, stop the camera from wanting to enter. Mostly whimpering, and the sound of lubricated rubber gloves going to work.

The camera finally walks in. Mike is leaning into the bath tub wearing a rubber glove, apron, hard-hat, and swimming goggles. In his other hand is a bottle of hand lotion.

Mike has his eyes closed, his jaw clenched, and tears running down his cheeks.

Kevin is apparently naked in the tub, but it’s hard to tell with the shower curtain in the way.

Kevin, through tears:

KEVIN
J-just a little faster.

MIKE
Is that better?

KEVIN
Awwwww...yes.

After a moment of this, the camera turns around to a shot of Vicky in the doorway holding a pie with words written in whip cream on the top of it, “Just Kidding”

The pie drops to the ground.

Splat!

Vicky runs away.

An Interview With God

I Wrote this last year, I hope someone can enjoy it.

Jason Young: For the record, would you please tell us who you are?

God Almighty: Yes, (clears his throat) I’m everyone’s heavenly father, God Almighty.

JY: And what is it you do exactly?

GA: Well first off I created the world, and everything on it. I make sure…….

JY: Okay, whatever. Next question. What is Heaven?

GA: Well there's clouds and all that jazz, but mostly it’s the place good people go when they die to spend all eternity.

JY: That doesn’t sound so great to me. Eternity is a scary word.

GA: I didn’t say it was great, simply what happens.

JY: What “happens” to the bad people?

GA: Well they go to hell to spend all eternity.

JY: That doesn’t sound much different from heaven.

GA: Well notice I didn’t mention the clouds. (Giggles to himself)

JY: God, this is a serious subject if you please.

GA: Okay, okay. Continue.

JY: What is the meaning of life?

GA: Jason, I’m not going to lie to you. I put people down their to test them, see if their ready for Heaven.

JY: I see, so would it be fair to say there is no meaning to life?

GA: I guess you could say that.

JY: Okay I will, there is no meaning to life. Next question.

GA: Shoot.

JY: What is your favorite creation?

GA: Why human beings of course, and puppies. (Takes a sip of water)

JY: Good answer. Where do babies go when they die before they are properly “Tested?”

GA: (Spits out water) I love all babies.

JY: (Wipes water off face) That hardly answers the question sir.

GA: I’m just saying, I love all babies, and it would be a very difficult decision to send one to hell.

JY: Fair enough, next question. In Heaven is everyone really my brother and sister?

GA: Yes.

JY: Even my wife?

GA: Yes.

JY: So your telling me once I cross over, I will immediately have to deal with the fact that I’ve had sex with my sister?

GA: I guess……….It sounds bad when you put it like that.

JY: What gives you the right to create conscience?

GA: Well nothing I suppose, to be honest it was sort of an accident.

JY: Are their other consciences alive in the universe?

GA: Yes.

JY: Were they also your creations?

GA: No.

JY: Do you know how they came about?

GA: Science mostly, are you familiar with the big bang?

JY:….

GA: Well there was a lot of stuff happening back then, and there were some other planets that didn’t need ol’ God to look over them, it’s actually quite a miracle.

JY: I’m surprised to see you use that word “miracle” are their other Gods in the universe?

GA: I don’t really want to get into that with you.

JY: I’m going to take that as a yes. Were you also created?

GA: I’d like to think so, and that after this life I’ll go to a better place.

JY: Oh, brother.

GA: (Wags his finger) Father.

JY: Lets continue. It’s said that we’re all created in your image, is this true?

GA: Well for the most part yes, but as you can see I moved the genitals down off the forehead, but other than that, our anatomy is basically the same.

JY: If you’re so powerful, couldn’t you just fix all of our problems and make everyone’s lives a lot better?

GA: Yes.

JY: Why don’t you then?

GA: Wait, wait, wait. Let me ask you a question. Why are you putting me on the spot like this? I just want everyone to be happy.

JY: Isn’t it you that’s putting us on the spot our whole lives? What did you call them “tests”?

GA: Jason, can we take a break? I would like to get some more water.

JY: No. Next question. Is it important for us to worship you?

GA: Yes, I think so. I created you; you can’t give up one day a week for your creator?

JY: But if it’s so important that we worship you, why do you keep yourself such a secret? Why don’t you tell us what the right church is? What’s the harm in us knowing the real you, can’t we be properly tested without faith?

GA: Of course it matters! Can you imagine how crowded it would be in heaven if we didn’t filter out the skeptics? I’d be ass deep in losers faster then Jesus can scarf down a chilidog!

JY: Wow, ummm…… Next question, do people really have souls?

GA: Nothing attached, what the soul actually is, is a document I keep in my office for every person that’s born.

JY: please explain.

GA: All right, so we print you up a soul. You start out with twenty points. I take away points for everything you do that I don’t like. Once you run out of points I just throw it away, hence “Losing your soul.” There are some things you can do for bonus points, but once I throw it away, it’s gone.

JY: What are some of the things you lose points for?

GA: Well it’s different from case to case; I once took away all twenty points because someone fell asleep in church.

JY: So not everyone is held to the same standards?

GA: All I’m going to say about that is a lot more women make it to heaven since they invented breast implants. (Winks.)

JY: Moving on, can you actually sell your soul?

GA: It’s not even that hard a process. I once honored the purchase of a five year olds soul to Ronald McDonald; I just change the name on the soul and move along.

JY: So people can actually buy and sell their way in and out of heaven?

GA: Free market capitalism at it’s finest!

JY: Science has improved drastically since the time when the bible was authored; many of the events can be disproved without question. Take Adam and Eve, we know that evolution happened, turning their tale into a fairytale. How can you expect people to believe in you when you are surrounded by blatant fiction?

GA: Jason, people are going to believe what they want to believe, no matter what you or I tell them. Most people seek out belief in me for a relief from the reality of life. If you go around telling people that they’re going to rot in the ground after they die and never love, touch, or think again. You’re going to turn more of them to me then away from me. Is it so selfish to be a little ignorant and save your self a lot of pain? Most of these people are just trying to live good lives.

JY: So we should just embrace ignorance and not live in reality?

GA: What’s the difference if they think they’re going to go somewhere better after they die or not? Whatever’s going to happen is going to happen. If someone believing in me saves them from being scared their whole life, do you really want to take that away from them?

JY: No, but….

GA: No, but what?

JY: What I’m trying to say is, don’t you think it’s a little naïve to say ignorance is bliss, what about all the horrible things that take place in the name of religion? The Holocaust, the Salem witch trials, suicide bombers. Every war I can think of is fought in your name.

GA: Who’s being naïve now? Do you really think there wouldn’t be any wars simply because everyone was an atheist? Get your head out of your ass.

JY: I’m not suggesting that the worlds problems would be solved simply because people stopped believing in you. But if everyone were living in reality and believed in what they saw instead of what they were told to see, maybe they would make civic-minded decisions on their own.

GA: Your way will never work. People aren’t going to be good just because it’s the right thing to do. If you take me out of the picture murders will go up twenty fold, not to mention suicides, people won’t be afraid of being what they really are. I’m the only thing that keeps the sick’o’s in check. How many pedophiles do you think resist their urges on account of me?

JY: I…..I don’t know.

GA: It’s a rhetorical question douche bag.

JY: I still don’t think ignorance is the answer.

GA: What’s the alternative? You don’t have any answers! You don’t even know the questions! You’re just as ignorant and blind as they are. The earth has been around for sixty billion years; Humans have been around for almost two hundred thousand of them and what do you know? Nothing! And you never will! I teach people to believe in something, a void you are never going to fill, unless you start lying to them like I do. In fact I’ve got a proposition for you; I’ll give you five minutes to prove to me there is no afterlife. Go!

JY: I hardly think that’s fair. I could just do the same thing to you. Prove there is an afterlife. Go!

(God looks at his watch)

JY: This is stupid, neither one of us is going to change, can’t we just declare some sort of truce.

GA: Never!

JY: What If I told you that I don’t think you are completely wrong, and I think you’ve have made some excellent points?

GA: You………..You really think so?

JY: Sure I do. How about this, you start letting gay people back into more of your churches, be more tolerant about things that don’t really matter like masturbation and pre-marital sex and I’ll stop telling people you don’t exist?

GA: What? And let the fudge packers win?

JY: Is it really that bad?

GA: I’ll see what I can do, but the popes not going to like it.

JY: Your telling me the pope hasn’t packed his share of fudge?

GA: I am definitely not saying that.

JY: So were agreed then or what?

GA: Aren’t you afraid that letting this go is going to eventually cause another massacre?

JY: I don’t know what to believe. It seems to me that fanatics are going to use religion as a scapegoat no matter what. But maybe if you aren’t getting caught up in such petty shit, and more openly teaching tolerance then maybe people can be happier without such a downside.

GA: I can see the wisdom in that. I’ll get to work on that immediately. Is that all, can I go now?

JY: Just one more thing, can you stop telling people the world is going to end soon, it makes it really hard to get people to care about anything if they think it’s all going to end next year.

GA: Heh. You don’t want ol’God to have any fun at all do ya? I guess that isn’t completely unreasonable. GOD OUT!

JY: I guess that means good-bye.

GA: It sure does. (Stands up)

(Jason stands up then shakes hands with God)

-Fin

To Hell and Back Again

This is a story about Memorial Day weekend, when I went to my father’s house with my little sister, and he threw a party for his friends. It is also a story describing how and what my father is. He thinks farts are funny but he’s upset by people talking with their mouth full. It is rare that you have a conversation with him where he doesn’t interrupt it with a burp but talking on a cell phone at the dinner table is an atrocity. I talked to a friend, and told him some things about my father and he said that I gave him a completely different impression of him then my brother had. His impressions based on what he heard from my brother made him sound like a red neck. The impression I gave was of an upper-middle classed jackass who wears ridiculously expensive, stupid-looking shirts going through a mid-life crisis. I am telling this story based on my point of view, of real events. Some might ask, “Are you worried your dad might read this story?”

The answer to that question is, “Not in the least.”

If my dad were to read this story, his only response might be, “Yeah I did that. I said those things.”

Also he is such a colossal jackass that he might just think that he comes out of it looking good.

* * *

Today, I got on a plane with my little sister Kimberley going to Los Angeles. I read a book the duration of the flight and there were almost no incidents, except for the fact that I got my toothpaste confiscated. I was told that it might be made into a bomb.

My dad picked us up from the airport with his cyclopean wife. My dad is 5'8” weighs about 200 pounds and, as far as I can tell, wears almost exclusively Hawaiian shirts and short-shorts. His wife’s proper name is Connie, but for the rest of this story I will refer to her only as Cyclops. She is 5'10” and weighs about 300 pounds. She works at a bank as a vice-president, and has only one living eye.

We got into their S.U.V. whose license plate number is “CON N ME” that has only four seats. We started driving towards the city of Orange. (In my dad and Cyclops’ defense apparently there S.U.V. can have six seats, but 98% of the time there is only one passenger.)

We got to his house around 9 o’clock. He gave us a short tour of what was new. First on the tour were his cars: he has a red 1971 steel muscle car, my guess is that it gets 10 mpg, and a huge truck. Next he showed us his pool and then his new ping pong table that he had in his garage.

He asked if I wanted to try out the new table.

“Sure,” I said.

So we hit the ball back and forth for a while. He then started to hit the ball to the Far left and right side of the table every shot. Not that these are hard to get, they’re just annoying because I'm wearing sandals and they make you move for every ball. After a few of these I go to get one that he hits far to the right, and I slip on the garage floor because my sandals can’t get any traction. I slide three feet and hit my foot on a crate. My foot feels like it’s broken and I am bellowing obscenities under my breath like “God damn it” and “holy fucking Christ.”

It takes me two minutes to get back up and walk around. This is when he asks if I want to play a tournament.

“Whatever.”

Then we begin to play a game, all he is doing is sending them way off to the right or way off to the left, even on his serves tries to make me go after them.

I told him, “You know, the rules we play, the serve is just to get the game started. So trick serves aren’t aloud because, what fun is that?”

He said, “Anything that hits both sides of the table is fair.” In other words, “This is war!”

For some reason I tried to go for these stupid shots for the first two games, after that I gave up because my foot was hurting so bad I could barely walk.

This takes me back to my childhood.

We continue playing and I completely stop trying to go after these. I don’t even look like I’ll go after his side shots and trick serves. I just stood there squinting and nodding. He still continued playing this way for a half an hour.

I just got injured going after one of these, why even hit one more like that?

So we play three more games. He’s hitting them off toward Mount Vesuvius and I’m still not going after them.

What’s the point?

He never stopped and, in fact, started bragging and goading me. For example: He would hit one way off to the right where I would have to take two steps to get it. Instead I stand completely still without swinging my paddle and he says, “Ewww, I love it when they do that.”

Then he hits the next one way off to the left and says, “Yeah! That’s my favorite shot.”

Then another to the right, “That’s my second favorite shot.”

I was trying to make it painfully obvious that I would not be going after any that he would make me run for and, when I did go after them, it should have been painfully obvious to an orangutan that it hurt my injured foot.

To my amazement it never stopped.

How fun is this for anyone?

We finally stopped playing and he had me help him move the ping pong table so he could move his muscle car into the garage. While he pulled into the garage he revved the engine loudly and peeled out the tires so that he left a black rubber streak on the pavement. I believe he was trying to say, “This is what I have in common with high school children.”

We went inside where he decided he wanted to play cards. We played a game called “Hand and Foot”. It’s a game played with four decks and two partnerships. Partners compete to match their cards in sets of seven.

He decided it would be girls versus guys so Cyclops and Kimberley were our opponents. As we played, I began small-talking about people who drive hummers and consume excessive amounts of gas to get around. He admitted to me that he pays at least $700 dollars a month in gas in his vehicles, but that this was justified to him because he needs to drive that much for work.

Team Cyclops was ahead before the last hand by about two thousand points, so it was very unlikely for us to win at that point. He was being a very sore loser and wanted to quit before the last round.

“Don’t be mad, just because you’re losing,” Cyclops told him,

His reply? “I’m just grumpy because I’m tired.”

Q: You know who else is grumpy when they're tired?

A: Two year old children.

We played the last round. We caught up quite a bit, but still lost.

Everyone went to bed at that point but I wasn’t really tired. I thought perhaps I might want to watch a movie so I decided to check out my dad’s movie collection. He must have a thousand movies, including two copies of “Ballistic: Ecks vs. Sever”.

So I went to bed instead.

Did you know that “Ballistic: Ecks vs. Sever” is hailed as the worst movie of all time by critics?

They have me staying in a guest bedroom decorated with jazz musician wall paper. A futon serves as a bed. The only other furniture in the room is a chair and a piano that no one in his house can play.

The only reason I assume that no one can play it is because the only book sitting on the piano was “Piano for Dummies”.

The other decoration on the piano was a framed piece of paper that said “Connie’s Song”. I have committed never to read the lyrics. Six inches above that and twelve inches to the right there is a giant picture frame with a picture of my dad cheek to cheek with the Cyclops. This was the room I was being told to sleep in?
I awoke around ten in the morning. But I didn't get up at this time, even though I could hear everyone else moving about the house, getting ready. I could hear voices outside my door, “Is Jason awake yet?”

“Where’s Jason?”

And so on.

I laid in the room for the next twenty minutes pretending to sleep, not because I was tired, but because I was afraid that if I did wake up that my dad would start blaring seventies music through the house. You see, he has a stereo system wired with speakers into every room in the house and unless someone is sleeping, he’ll turn on his system and set it to play bad seventies music for the rest of the day.

Eventually, I got up and took a shower. The second I left the room, the seventies music began. Obviously, he assumed that I would want to sing along to “We Are the Champions” while I washed behind my ears. When I got out of the bathroom he suggested that we go to Denny’s for breakfast.

I said that this was okay by me.

We drove his S.U.V. less than a mile to Denny’s.

We walked in and my dad said to the maitre d’, “We have three people, and him.” He then pointed to me.

I then pointed out that he just butchered one of my childhood jokes that goes, “We have two people and two women.” Sexist as it may be, it’s still my material.

We got to our table and ordered our breakfast. My dad ordered a Grand Slam breakfast with over easy eggs. Cyclops ordered a meat lovers breakfast and that prompted me to talk about the problem with obesity in America. “I watched a documentary the other day where there was a hospital filled with fat people and there was even one guy that was so fat that he had narcolepsy.”

She said, “Yeah. That is a big problem”

Apparently, ignorance is bliss, even when you’re a 300 pound, one-eyed creature.

The breakfast came and my dad had scrambled eggs on his plate instead of over-easy. He didn’t notice when they first brought the food. Mid-way through our feast, he mentioned that the eggs were scrambled instead of over easy and began to tell a story about something that he felt was a very similar situation to what was going on with his eggs.

He went out with a group of friends to a nice restaurant. One of his lady friends ordered a steak, and when they brought it, it was, in fact, overcooked. They told the waiter that the steak was unacceptable and that he would have to get them a new one. The waiter forgot to get a new steak cooked and when she asked where it was several minutes later, he said that he would go tell the chef right then.

“It’s too late now!” They said. The entire party finished eating and they were brought the bill. As a courtesy, their meal was left off the bill but they asked to speak to a manager all the same.

“My experience is ruined here, and everyone that came with me had their experience ruined as well. We came here to eat together, and I did not get to eat at all. I demand that not only is my meal free but everyone that was trying to eat with me should eat free as well. Not only that but I should get a certificate to come here again”

The manager agreed to these demands and that was the end of the story.

My dad said that this story made perfect sense to him, that eating out was not just about the food but the service, “After all,” he said, “I could cook a steak at my house.”

We were getting done eating at this point my dad ate at least half the eggs, and offered me the rest.

I declined.

The waitress came to the table to fill the coffee and my dad mentioned that his eggs were scrambled and not over easy. She said she would bring him some over easy eggs and left. She came back just a minute later and had the bill, and she wanted to confirm that he still wanted her to bring him the eggs.

“It’s too late now!” he said smugly as he grabbed the bill. He went to the cash register and demanded to see a manager.

We left shortly after without having paying the bill.

We went back to his house listened to some seventies music for a while and then we left once again.

This time, we left in his red muscle car without Cyclops. We were heading to Costco. It was a ten-minute drive on the freeway.

We started a conversation about car air conditioning. “I hardly use mine I just roll the windows down,” I said.

He told me that he absolutely always uses his because it gets more efficient gas mileage than driving with the windows rolled down.

I told him that I watched an episode of “Mythbusters” that actually explored that myth and cars with their windows down were getting better gas mileage.

He then asked me “What type of cars did they test them on”

“I believe they were testing them on S.U.V.’s.”

He had an epiphany “AH HA! I was talking about cars!”

“Well, I still think that the air takes more gas, but it’s probably not all that much.”

For some reason, he got really defensive, “Well in some cars you can’t roll the windows down while you’re driving because of the harmonics damage your ears.”

I ended the conversation, “I see.”

We got to Costco and proceeded to walk down every aisle in the store. He slowed down near the racks were they sell shorts and said, “These shorts would be nice if they weren’t so damn long. This is your fault. Your generation is what makes them make shorts so long now a day.”

“A fact I am very proud of,” I replied.

We were there for about thirty minutes longer and then left without buying anything.

As we walked back to the car, I asked, “Why did we go to Costco?”

“I wanted to see how much Gatorade was.”

We got back to his place and when I asked what we were going to do next the answer was “swim.”

Little did I know he meant for the next four hours. I also want to mention at this time that he also has seventies music speakers at the pool, in the bathroom and also on the front porch. Even the postman has to listen to seventies music while he delivers mail.

Most the time while I was swimming I would think of places that I could go to get away from the speakers, the only answer I could come up with was underwater, but I could only stay there for 30 seconds. That won’t even get me around one monster ballad.

After we finished swimming, my dad suggested that we go out for lunch. He quickly decided on Red Robin because it’s right across the street from his house so he suggested that we walk.

I agreed.

We began to walk, but he spotted his S.U.V. on the corner on our way out. He stopped in the middle of the street and said, “Lets just drive instead.” He walked back into the house for his keys and we made our way across the street.

The Red Robin is attached to a mall, so we walked through it to get there. My dad, kept a decent pace and when he got to Red Robin he didn’t slow down at all. He opened the front door of the restaurant and proceeded right past the sign that said, “Please Wait to be Seated”.

Maybe he didn’t see it.

The maitre d’, menus in her hand, threw her arms up, expecting him to stop so that he could tell her how many of us there were. He avoided her gaze and walked straight past her. I was a few steps behind him and saw that the maitre d’ didn’t know what was going on,

I gave her the “sorry, my dads an asshole,” look, shrugging my shoulders on my way by. He found his table that he always sits at and sat down.

Embarrassed, I asked, “Do we need to tell someone we are here or something?”

He didn’t even answer the question. After a few minutes someone that was waiting tables around that area came to the table and asked if we needed menus.

In a vain attempt to be funny, my dad said, “They do,” implying that he knew the menu so well he would never have to look at another one again.

He giggled at himself slightly while the waitress went to get the maitre d’. This was the same maitre d’ that he would not acknowledge on the way in. She was now at our table, offering us menus a second time. “We only need two menus. I know what I’m getting.”

This comment also seemed to be funny to him. She gave us menus and went back to her position at the front. The waitress came to take our orders a moment later, I ordered The Garden Burger®, Kimberley got a grilled cheese sandwich, my dad ordered something called the “Asshole Salad.”

No, really. That’s what he called it. The reason he called it that was simple, it was a salad off the menu, but he changed every thing that was on the salad into a different ingredient.

We ate.

He left a four dollar tip. Which begs the following questions: Does my dad own this place? Do the servers think it is worth four dollars to put up with him? How many licks does it take to get to the center of a tootsie pop?

The world will never know.

When we got back to his house, Kimberly decided that she wanted to play a game called “Doodle Tales.” It’s fairly simple, there are cards with pictures on them and in the picture there are blank spaces. One player is designated the judge and everyone else draws in a secret pad what he thinks should go in that blank space. After everyone draws a picture you trade pads randomly and everyone makes up a caption for that picture. After this is done you give all the pictures to the judge and they decide which one they think is best, you get points if they choose yours.

My dad lost the game.

We immediately stopped playing.

He pulled out another game called “Pictionary”. In “Pictionary,” you draw pictures based on what a card tells you to draw. You have a partner, and if your partner guesses the object on the card before time runs out you proceed on the board, first one to the end wins. We switched the teams every round.

How my dad plays Pictionary:

1. Watches what the other team is drawing.

2. Listens to how the other team is guessing.

3. When he hears something that sounds like a correct answer coming from the opponent he will try and say what they were about to say faster then them.

4. Defend his talking faster ways until you give up and let him move his piece.

He would play in this horrible manner even if his opponent were Shirley Temple in the 1930’s.

Another house rule of his is that you are allowed to write words down after the person says them provided that they are part of the answer. I don’t like this rule but agreed to play by it. Problems arose when my dad started doing it with syllables instead of full words. I told him that I thought it was lame that he is doing it with syllables.

“There’s a little something called a house rule, and that’s how we play,” he said, “it’s perfectly fair.”

So be it.

After playing a few rounds he ended up ordering some pizza for dinner. I had a few slices of pizza but there was a lot leftover.

He asked, “Do you think that it would be okay if you ate pizza for breakfast tomorrow?”

I replied, “I'm not eating pizza for breakfast.”

He said, “Not much of a pizza breakfast person, huh?”

I said, “Not much of a pizza person at all.”

He said, “You have to learn that when you get older, you get to the point where you should just eat what you want.”

I said, “I don’t see any need to eat unhealthy.”

He said, “I don’t want to live forever anyway.”

I explained to him that It's not about living forever but to live life in less pain and maybe to die with less problems as well. I used my grandma as an example, who now has diabetes and can barely eat anything at all. She also can’t leave her house without help. I told him a story about how my brother Bryan was on a business trip in California and went to visit her a few months back and no one had helped her get food for a few weeks. All the food she had in her house was rotten. Luckily she has a service for old people called “meals on wheels” and they bring her one meal a day. She was surviving on these alone for at least a week. My brother took her to the store and got rid of all the rotten food for her.

My dad’s reply to this story was, “She could just call and have her groceries delivered.”

“But she didn’t and she wasn’t going to, and the point is that she now has to depend on other people.”

Fact: My dads cranium is made out of a futuristic super space aged solid alloy that prevents the escape of alpha brainwaves.

After dinner we played more “Pictionary.” I was informed that it was my turn to play on team Cyclops.

Fact: Cyclops is a mythological creature of brutish proportions with only one optic nerve. They have been known to swallow men whole.

Fact: I would rather spend eternity in the great pit of Tartarus than to play on team Cyclops.

Fact: I would rather swan dive into the river Styx with lead boots on than to spend another night in this house, but here we are. So let's get started.

Mid-way through the game Cyclops leaned back on her chair too far, she was in front of a wall and she had a look of horror on her face as she was leaning further and further back. Soon, she fell all the way down and hit her head on the back wall. I watched all of this as if it were in slow motion.

I thought it might be a heart attack.

My dad rushed to her side and tried to help her up. I looked away for the next three minutes. Once she was up again, I pretended to forget that she had even fallen, “So are we playing again, or what?”

We finished playing and went to sleep.

I woke up the next day, ate breakfast, took a shower and got ready. This was the day of the party and it apparently was suppose to be an all day event. I went into the guest bedroom to read my book in solitude.

My dad, with some sort of “asshole” spider-sense, knew that I was relaxing, so he start yelling over the seventies music, “Jason! Where are you, Jason?”

I put the book down, went into the kitchen and asked what he wanted. He asked if I could put the coolers outside, he showed me where they were and I did it. Then I went back into the guest room to read.

The door bell rang.

It was a man delivering groceries for the party. Apparently, my dad knows all about being so helpless that you require someone to deliver groceries for you. The man dropped them off and my dad start calling me again, “Jason, where did you go?!”

Reluctantly, I went out to see what he wanted this time.

“Fill the coolers with soda, beer, and ice.”

I said, “okay,” and then he gave me a warning that he was going to need a lot of help and that I shouldn’t sit down to read again until everything was done. I filled the coolers, and then helped him move some tables around.

After that, I went into his living room and start reading my book for the next few hours. Seventies music blared the whole time.

Soon, the first guests arrived. Apparently they were some of my dad’s clients. My dad gave them a tour of the house while I went into the backyard to read some more.

Eventually there were a lot of guests there and they took over the backyard including fifteen kids swimming in his pool. One of my dad’s friends, Fred, approached me because he recognized me from years back and began a conversation with me. Fred is a bald 54 year old man that brought a personnel cooler that he carried around his neck. In it was at least a six-pack of beer. We were talking about politics and about religion for a while when another one of my dad’s friends approached and joined in the conversation.

His name is Mark. He is 6’5”, a high school history teacher and is also 54 years of age. I was talking to them for a while when I made an observation that my dads dogs where being fed and eating vast amounts of cheese and potato chips. So I excused myself from the conversation and walked over to the pool, where my dad was, to report that his dogs were eating what seemed to be too much garbage. He told me that there was no way to stop them, and that was that.

I went back to where I was sitting when my uncle Steven showed up, I have not seen him in about 10 years, and in fact didn’t even recognize him. He might have turned into a Republican.

I had an awkward conversation with him about not seeing each other in a long time. My dad’s dogs saved me from the conversation by both throwing up, one after the other in the center of the backyard. The dogs traded vomit piles and started sniffing and licking them.

Dogs will be dogs.

Mark decided to play the role of the hero and grabbed paper towels and began to clean it up. He got everything but the little chunks.

I was disgusted by the dog vomit and went inside.

My dad found me and said to me, “I’ll give you ten dollars to clean up the rest of that…”

I told him that I would, but that it was not about the money, he said that he just wanted it clean so that it wouldn’t ruin anyone’s time at the party. My time at the party was immaterial.

I got some rags and cleaned up the chunks.

When I finished I sat down near the barbeque, put my book down and started talking to Fred again. He was clearly inebriated at this point.

A man named Pierre, whom I have never seen before, walked right behind me and grabbed my book. I gave him a look that said, “What the fuck are you doing with my book?”

He asked me, “Good book?” with an accent that you would have to assume a man named Pierre would have.

“So far, I like it”

And without another word, he walked away with my book. I have never seen Pierre again.

I asked Fred, “Do you know who that is?”

“Pierre”

Another one of my dad’s friends showed up at his party, this time it was a gypsy woman named Heidi. I think she thinks that she has psychic powers. I also think that she has a mustache.

She started talking to me about life, apparently she is wealthy, I told her that I didn’t care for money and she went into a psychic tantrum.

This is the woman that complained about the steak.

What she does is actually quite funny, she gives you gypsy tests to tell if you are lying or not, she has you put your thumb and pinky together, and she pulls on them, if she wants you to be lying she will pull them apart, if she wants you to be telling the truth she will say, “Hold them as tight as you can,” and not be able to pull them apart.

She said to me, “Do you really think that money is evil?”

I put my thumb and pinky together. She said, “Money is evil,” and she could not pull them apart.

Then she said, “Money can help people as well, don’t you think so?”

I said I did.

Then she had me put my thumb and pinky back together and said the same thing again, “Money is evil,” then she easily pulls my fingers apart.

She explained that the reason that I thought money was evil is because I had never considered that money could be used for good.

Now I'm cured!

Next, she told me that there is a certain gene in your body that makes it so you can have cancer. “If you lack this gene,” she said, “you can not get any form of cancer. Ever.”

So she asked me to put my thumb and pinky together, then said the magic words, “Do you have the cancer gene?”

I said, “No.”

She pulled my fingers apart, proving that I could still get cancer by my enemy the sun, or so I thought.

She asked me if I wanted to get rid of the cancer gene, and I was forced to beg, “Please?”

Then she explained to me that she could simply get rid of this gene by meditating it out of my body. She gave me a warning, “I will be in a meditative state for the next five minutes or so, so if anyone is wondering what I am doing, tell them.”

For the next five minutes I stood by her while she had her head bowed and her eyes closed. The meditation seemed to make the seventies music louder.

After a ballad and a half she popped out of her trance and said, “Put your thumb and pinky together!”

Immediately I did so.

“Do you have the cancer gene,” she continued.

I said, “No,” and she could not pull my fingers apart.

I declared that the first chance I get I would go fake baking with a tuft of chewing tobacco.

She was telling me more about the gypsy stuff, apparently she has patients and they pay her $100 an hour, she said that she gets at least $500 a week. She said that I should learn to be a gypsy and rake in the cash as well.

As soon as I could break off my conversation with her, I went looking for my book.

I found it on a table in the house, Pierre was nowhere in sight. They started to barbeque the food and so I ate dinner in the kitchen, where my dad was having a conversation with his friends.

He was defending Oil Companies, saying things like, “We’ll never run out of oil. It’s a myth that it’s even possible to run out of oil.”

I decided to make a point about corrupt oil companies I told him that there was a battery company that keeps making batteries better and better. There was one created that can go 300 miles at 70mph on a single charge. Texaco bought this company and shut it down.

He could not find anything wrong with this.

His reply? “That’s how it should be, free market capitalism!”

He raised his glass for a toast and I left the room.

What a dick face.

After dinner I went into the guest bedroom to get away and read for a while. Shortly after I started reading, Fred opened the door stumbled in, said he was drunk, and then sat down at the piano. He started trying to play but I paid him no mind and continued to read. After a few minutes he started talking to himself, “Come on, you can do this, Fred.”

After talking to himself for a minute, he stood up and said, “Jason, I'm so drunk, this is the drunkest I have been for a really long time.”

“Are you going to be sick?”

“No.”

“Do you need some water?”

“No. I just want to go home but my wife won’t let me leave for a while longer.”

I got back to my book. He just stared at the piano again for five full minutes wavering, to the point I thought he was going to fall. He sat back down and tried playing some more.

I left the room after that.

It was almost 10 o’clock and the party had died down considerably. Most the children had been taken home, so I asked my dad if he could start the hot-tub up for me so that I could take a soak.

He did, I got into swimming attire waited for the hot-tub to heat up then got in. There were still two children in the pool, one my little sister and the other one of my dads friends rapscallions. The little ragamuffin in the pool started to have a little girl talk with me about the circle of life.

“Every sister has a brother and brothers and sisters have brothers and sisters, and when they grow up they have boyfriends and girlfriends, then they get married, and have more brothers and sisters.”

My sister got out of the pool, followed by the little girl.

The only people left at the party were a few drunk guys sitting around the barbeque smoking cigars, and a few women left in the kitchen. It would have been nice, relaxing and quiet in the hot-tub except for the speaker right behind my head disguised as a rock, blaring Kenny Rogers music and the colored pool light that kept rotating, GREEN-BLUE-RED-PURPLE-YELLOW-GREEN off into infinity.

I got out of the hot-tub and dried myself with a towel. The next few hours consisted of a board game and drunk ping-pong

Everyone eventually left and I went to bed.

I awoke the next day, ate breakfast then played password until lunch. I brought a camera on the trip just in case there was something to take a picture of worth remembering. I didn’t even take the camera out of the bag. Looking back I wish I had snapped at least a few photos just to offer some proof of these events.

We left for the airport which was quite a relief since I’d been held captive at the house since we’d got back from Red Robin.

We traveled in his S.U.V. towards L.A.X.

We got about half way there when they got a call from the airport and said that our flight was delayed until 10 o’clock. They made some quick calls and they got us on a plane from Orange County direct to Salt Lake City, but we had to hurry to the other airport.

It was a little stuffy in the car so I rolled down the window. The wind passing through the window made a noise that sounded like a child gently blowing on the top of an empty root beer bottle.

Panicked, my dad instantly grabbed his ears and shouted, “ROLL THE WINDOW UP, THE HARMONICS ARE HURTING MY EARS!”

He was not kidding.

We got to the airport with plenty of time before the flight departed. We were walking to the line to get through security. There was a man that was rudely trying to get around us that caught his bag on a stanchion and dropped it. We got to the back of the line, he got behind us.

There were a few Asian ladies that were in front of us in line, they had a pile of kids with them and a giant stroller.

Eventually, it got to be their turn at security and the staff told them they needed to get the stroller through the x-ray machine. Kimberly and I got our bags ready to push through the machine while we waited for them to finish. The bald, old man behind us walked in front of me scooted our bins back and threw his in front of ours.

I said “What do you think you’re doing?”

He said, “I’m in a hurry.”

I said, “This is a line, and those ladies are in front of us. We ‘re waiting for them.”

He said, “Those ladies don’t know what they're doing.”

As he said that he began shoving all the bins through the x-ray really fast, the woman that was running the machine gave him a squinty nod. The ladies were still getting their stroller ready but the kids had already walked through the metal detector.

One of them put the stroller on the conveyor belt and walked through the metal detector. The man ran to the metal detector and tried to cross as she was mid-way through.

Security finally stepped in.

A security guard pushed him back through the metal detector and said, “It’s these ladies turns to go through. You will wait behind this red line until it’s your turn.”

The man said, “I’m in a hurry.”

“You’ll have to wait for them to finish.”

The man said, “These ladies don’t know what they're doing.”

“Sir, do you need to talk to a supervisor about this?”

The man got louder, “I would talk to a supervisor, but I'm in a hurry.”

Then he asked for the security guards name and told him that he needs it so that he could complain.

The security guard said, “What’s your name, sir?”

He said, “I don’t have to give you my name.”

“So, you’re going to write a complaint and not give me your name, so that I don’t have a chance to rebuke?”

The man said, “I don’t have time for this,” and went through the metal detector and is undoubtedly being a jerk somewhere else in the world even now.

The security guard gave me a mean look after he passed through and I said, “I don’t even know that asshole.”

He immediately lightened up and said, “That’s a good thing.”

We got on the plane made like a tree and got out of there. Ever since I got back from California I have been seriously thinking about changing my last name back to my mom’s maiden name.

It’s Caponigro.

POSTSCRIPT:

This short story was written for a selected audience Picked by Jason, to make them laugh. I feel as though it would take spies to find this and read it without me telling them too. I have posted other short stories on the internet, that were not about my father, and I would bet that he has not read them, although I am sure a friend of his has worded through them to make sure that it doesn’t contain any Cyclops heavy materiel.

I did not write this piece for my dad or his wife to read, and I had no intention of anyone that even knew him or would ever have contact with him to read it. The hits on the web page before my dad got a hold of it, were a few people from Utah, then one person from Hunington Beach, whom I name as my dad’s spy.

I admit in this story that it focuses on negative or funny events, and not on anything that didn’t go wrong. I will not apologize for anything that is written in the short story because it had no intention of hurting anyone’s feelings, coupled with the fact that if my dad didn’t have a spy looking at someone’s personal Myspace page without their knowledge, he would have never known about it in the first place. I would also like to add that upon reading any of it, it should have been clear that it was not my intention for them to read it, and they could have thought of my privacy at any point past that.

With that said. I should also say that if my dad thinks that the worst part of the story is that I called his wife, whom in fact only has one eye, a Cyclops, He should read a little closer.

I think that the worst part is that he had me fly down to California, where the only condition I said that I would go is if he took me or let me go see a movie called Angel-A, which we didn’t do. I was locked in his house for the whole trip and the only times we left were to go out to eat, which was embarrassing.

Who else has an expectation of denny’s so high that they would even talk to a manager about eggs being cooked wrong. I left out of the story that they left the girl a horrible tip. I think it was a mere dollar, and then complained to the manager, and didn’t pay for the meal.

Red robin was also very embarrassing for me, He ignored a human being. I’m sure she would have let him sit anywhere he wanted, she looked nice enough. Why is he so important?

It is a fact that he always has to win at games, and he is a baby when he is not winning them, and he cheats to win them. Sometimes when we were kids if we would win him at something he would get violent.

Cyclops is a joke, get over it.

My brother went to live with my dad for an entire summer before my dad and mom got divorced, he said that Cyclops and my dad were more then friends at that time, and he made him live with him and watch it. I think that's a horrible thing.

I had nothing to do the entire time I was out there on the trip just read and write, most of the short-story was written while out there. If he would have kept me busy, then I'm confident that this story would have never been made. I have nothing against my uncle Steven. I also have nothing against my dad or his wife, they are who they are.

I don’t think things like references to him listening to seventies music all the time is a bad thing, it is just annoying to me.

Someone watched the episode of “Mythbusters” I was talking about in the story and said that the car with the windows rolled down went something like 30 miles farther, and then they stopped the myth because it was obvious that it was better to have the windows rolled down.

I trust the Mythbusters with my life!

I think that my dad should not be surprised by anything in the short story, because I gave him sufficient warnings that I disagreed with him almost all the time.

As an example, when he was cheating at Pictionary, I told him that I thought he was cheating. When he was being a baby playing hand and foot, I told him that losing isn’t the end of the world. When we went to Red Robin, I asked if we needed to ask a waitress if she could help us where we sat. When he ordered the “asshole salad,” I did not laugh. I clearly told him that I oppose his views on global warming and oil.

I never indicated that I was having a fun time there, and why would anyone assume that it would be fun to stay at his house for a few days without leaving?

He believes that shutting down a company that is trying to better technology to help make the earth a better place is okay. That doesn’t make any sense to me. Why would you not care about the earth that your grandkids will grow up in? Let alone your own kid’s personal health.

When his dogs vomited, right after I warned him about them eating too much, he asked me to clean it up because he didn’t want anyone at the party’s time ruined. I flew in from another state, and stayed there a few days without anything to look forward other then this party, well and of course leaving.

I was not trying to make my dad’s friends look bad at all. Fred, Mark, and Heidi are all right by me. With the exception that Mark tried to drive home drunk, which I omitted from the story. As far as Fred goes, I think he thinks for himself, puts thought into what he says. I can respect that.

Heidi is really nice, and entertaining. I don’t have anything against her. She said I can’t get cancer anymore, and I believe her. Maybe some people would think she's a little crazy. Who isn’t?

This story was not meant to hurt even one persons feelings, except for the jerk at the airport.

Maybe some of you will think that I am a hypocrite because I am saying that I try to treat people with dignity and respect, but the short story obviously says some hurtful things. These are all realities or jokes, for the purpose of entertainment. I would also like to reiterate that this was not meant to be read by anyone that would be harmed by it. I am proud of this short story, and would love to hear anybody’s objective opinion about it. Leave a comment.

I will not apologize for this piece of art. If anything my father should apologize to me.

“Moralists have no place in an art gallery.” –Han Suyin