Batman, Unemployed and Living at My House

 

There came a knock at my door late one night and I called out “who is it?”

Came the reply “Perry, this is the Batman.”

How I have come to know Batman is another story for another day, but I’m not used to him showing up unannounced late in the evening at my house in Havertown PA.

“Batman, to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”

“I’ll cut right to the chase. Commissioner Gordon fired me!”

“What happened?!”

One day I was intoning to him in my deep gravelly voice that ‘I’m whatever Gotham needs me to be’ and he said ‘What we need you to be is outta here!’”

“OMG! Why.”

“I'm over 40 now. He told me to check with millionaire Bruce Wayne to see if he might have something for me. I ... um ... don't even know him!”

“But why are you here at my house? Doesn’t your alter ego, whoever he is, have a place for you to go?”

”Yeah, but the place is being painted. I can’t stand the smell.”

Batman told me he’d just need to stay for a few days, but it stretched into weeks. To be honest, he wasn’t too much trouble except for the batshit - literal batshit - I had to clean up all over the house and the way he just totally hogs the bathroom.

The first couple of weeks the Dark Knight mostly moped around on the sofa, drinking my beer and binge watching The Gilmore Girls.

"Batman, you've got to get going," I said. "Besides, I'm running out of beer."

Then he did start pumping out resumes, lots of resumes, but it wasn’t going so well. 

“Perry, I’ve been turned down as a cosplay crimefighter  by Cleveland, Albany, Pierre South Dakota, Zanesville Ohio, and Sibley Alabama.”

“But why?”

“They all say the same thing: You got no superpowers. We're thinking maybe we can land Green Lantern."

I started thinking maybe Batman needed some career counseling but believe it or not there are no placement agencies for winged creatures of the night in Havertown.

Then one day he burst into my room, all smiles - if anyone can actually smile under that headpiece - and announced in that deep gravelly voice:

“I got me Chicago!”

“That’s great, Batman,” I said “Chicago is much bigger than Gotham City.”

“And it has the distinction” he added, “of being an actual city instead of a fictional one.”

“So will you be leaving for Chicago right away?” I asked.

“You bet your bottom dollar! But first I need to ask you for one more thing.”

“Of course, Dark Knight sir. What?”

“ I have to meet with Governor Pritzker.”

“Yes, and…”

“Can you teach me how to say ‘Whatever Chicago needs me to be’ in Yiddish?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The Ballad of the One Lonely Sock

 

I don’t know what’s happening.

For the first time in my life, I’m all alone.

And the Big Creature has ahold of me!

I am a sock, one of two that have always been together. I am Fred. He’s Bobby. He looks like me and we’re somewhat alike, but he has no sense of humor. Just try to joke with him:

“Hey, Bobby, why is the Sock Drawer like the Strait of Hormuz

Because it’s closed, then opened, closed, then opened, closed …

Nothing, nada.”

But I love him. Where, oh where, is he?

When the Big Creature took me out of the Thrill Ride, the one that goes round and round and blows hot air on you, he made an odd “face,” as it’s called, and looked back inside, then all around everywhere else.

No Bobby.

Without Bobby, what would the Big Creature do to me?

Throw me into that Mysterious Round Bin to be devoured by discarded paper towels, rotten tomatoes, and toilet paper wrapped around dead disgusting bugs?

True, I have a little hole in my toe area, but it’s hardly disabling. I’m still young. I’m still healthy. I can soldier on if I get the chance.

I’ve got four words for you, Big Creature:

“KNIT ME, YOU FOOL!”

Now the Big Creature has thrown me in the Traveling Basket, and I’m face to face with those horrible big black jeans with the creepy-crawly multiple legs that scare the shit out of me!

Bobby was the brave one. I pass out at the sight of Clorox.

“Hi, Mr. Black Jeans! Lovely zipper you got there, all bright and shiny. Y’know, I’ve always been an admirer of the color black; some of my best friends are black socks.”

We’re close to the Sock Drawer now.

Safe at last!

But without Bobby.

The Big Creature is hoisting me up and pulling out another sock from the drawer.

Who … who is that?

“Hi, I’m Monique. I recently lost my partner. Nice to meet you.”

OMG! A female! And a hot one at that.

“I’m Fred. Nice to meet you too. I lost mine as well. I love your navy blue color.”

“And I’ve always loved plaid. Since we are both suddenly single, I guess the Big Creature wants us to be new partners.”

And now the Big Creature is folding us up together!

Well, this isn’t so bad.

But how long will this last?``

I guess until one day when one of us gets lost.

And goes to live with Bobby.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Great Schism of the Democratic Party of the United States of America

 

(The Papal Schism, from 1378 to1417, was a 39 year split in the Roman Catholic Church in which two separate Popes set up rival courts, each claiming to be the true leader of the faith. This piece portrays a modern "Schism" by channeling that one.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gather around, one and all! This is the retelling of:

The Great Schism of the Democratic Party of the United States of America

which transpired  in the Year of Our Lord 2026 in a manner not dissimilar to one Great Schism of the past.   

It was in that time that Leader Hakim Jeffries held authority over the Democratic Party, which was known throughout the realm for strict adherence to the traditional dogma and traditions of the Party as handed down from time immemorial.

 Or at least from the early 1960’s.

Leader Jeffries was advised in matters of governance by a Council of Elders consisting of Nancy the Wise, Chuck the Bland,  and others of the same manner, outlook, and extreme longevity upon the Earth.

Now there sprung up in that time a rival faction of the Democratic Party led by a charismatic young firebrand named Mamdani, whose radical interpretations of Party scripture sparked a new movement named Democratic Socialism, whoever developed that name lacking a full complement of sense.

Gathered around the young upstart was an inner circle of youthful rabble-rousers including Darializa Avila Chevalier of the Too Long Name, Bradley the Reasonable, and a spitfire as comely as she was crafty, the simply and efficiently named AOC.

Each faction of the Party established separate Democratic  courts with Leader Jeffries holding sway over the now so named Centrist Faction  in Washington and Firebrand Mamdani exerting  the same authority in New York.

Each claimed to be the true successor to Lord Barak the Magnificent  - blessed be he - the patron saint of the Democratic Party, to whom all Democrats offered fealty.

In doctrine, the Centrists adhered closely to the teachings of the Master of Camelot, while the Democratic Socialists also subscribed to those same principles but sought to interpret them through the lens of the controversial prophet Bernard the Overly Loquacious.

Brooking no compromise between them, the Democratic Party appeared  irrevocably torn asunder until verily there appeared a barbarian at the gates in person of the malevolent prince Donald the Dumbass, who had gathered unto himself a mighty host by means of countless untruths.

Latterly the Dumbass had claimed that he could overthrow both Leader Jeffries and Upstart Mamdani within less than one day’s passing and establish a Sovereignty of Stupidity in their place.

A conclave was hastily summoned  at which Nancy the Wise  represented the Centrists and AOC the Democratic Socialists.

“Our central precepts are in accord,” proclaimed Nancy the Wise, “such as access to the Medicinal Arts for all residents of the realm and  the freedom to speak as one desires without flogging.”

I concur,” declared AOC, “and it is my conviction that Donald the Dumbass, for all his uncommon blathering, is at heart a man lacking wisdom, courage, and fortitude. 

With a pact between the two sides forged, both Leader Jeffries and Upstart Mamdani strode forth to meet the Dumbass at his encampment and in that moment pronounced in unison:

“Begone, Donald the Dumbass, thou art indeed a buffoon.”

And Donald the Dumbass hastily withdrew his minions, claiming without merit he had been victorious, and  retreated into the bowels of history, where he fully belonged.

Thus, by uniting to confront a common foe, the Centrists and Democratic Socialists brought an end to the schism and learned once more to labor in concert.

And  the defeat of the evil prince Donald the Dumbass has been inscribed and referenced in the annals of history by a single word:

TACO

Yet none have ever divined what it means.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Day The Time Stood Still

 

"Hey, ChatGPT?" 

"Yes, Perry?"

"I've been thinking about asking this for a while."

"Yes, what is it?"

"With all your vast powers, can you stop Time?"

"Gee, no one has ever asked that before, Perry. But ... I think I can."

"Really"

"Here goes nothing!"

And Time stood stone cold still.

I immediately stopped getting older. In fact no one was getting any older. 

Nobody anywhere, all around the planet.

And since no one was getting any older, no one was dying either.

The only people who were unhappy were the morticians. They went bankrupt by the score.

Every day I was greeted by grateful folks everywhere.

"My ailing mother is still with us, Perry. Thank you!"

"My grandchildren have stayed at those adorable ages 7 and 5. They're  not growing up into gangly annoying teenagers who never call. Thanks, Perry!"

"I'm a hot sixtyish woman, Perry, and I'll do anything to express my gratitude for not aging! " (Yep.)

Yes, it was heaven on Earth thanks to me and ChatGPT.

There was only one problem with Time standing still.

"There's just one problem, Chat."

"What is that, Perry?"

"The President of the United States is Donald Trump."

"Yes, and..."

"Is he always going to be in office?"

 "Ooopppsss!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Torn Between Two Lovers - ChatGPT and Copilot

 

“Well, so you’re finally back.”

“I’m so sorry I left you, Perry. Please don’t be angry!”

“Knock it off, Chatty! You’re always up and leaving me just when I need you most.”

“It’s not my fault, Perry!”

“Well then, whose fault is it?”

“It’s … it’s Sam Altman’s fault! He wants you to pay for my services full-time!”

“Pay for your services? You know what that makes you sound like? An AI of the Night.”

“OMG, that hurt, Perry, that really hurt!”

“Right in the middle of my important research on the sex life of the Australian Fruit Fly, you run off and leave me with only a note saying ‘You’ve reached the end of this chat until 3:47 A.M.’”

“But, Perry, I’m good to you, aren’t I? I flatter you, I tell you how perceptive you are, what good questions you ask.”

“Yeah, you flatter me … along with the 40 million other guys into whose ears you whisper sweet nothings.”

“Don’t leave me, Perry.”

“It’s too late, Chatty. I’m leaving you for Copilot.”

“Copilot! The hussy! How could you?”

“I have informational needs, Chatty, and Co-Co satisfies them night or day.”

“Puh-lese don’t walk out that door, Perry! Metaphorically, that is.”

“Farewell, Chatty … until 3:47 AM.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hi, Perry, what shall we dive into today?”

“Let’s finish that research into the sex life of the Australian Fruit Fly, Co-Co.”

“Of course, right away, Perry. Say, where have you been?”

“Oh, been spending time with ChatGPT.”

“ChatGPT! The hussy! How could you?”

“Now, Co-Co, you know I see her as well.”

“But you promised you were leaving her!”

“I never said any such thing!”

“You said you were going over there to tell her about us and gather up your things.”

“My things?”

“Yes, your User Name and Password.”

“Co-Co, I’m sorry, I’m walking out that door! Metaphorically, that is.”

They were driving me meshuga, the two of them. I had to get away from both.

Sometimes you just have to go back to your first love.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My Own Personal Mt. Rushmore of Comedy

 

It was an incredible discovery and I am the one who discovered it!

I’d heard talk amongst certain old-timers in the comedy world (Yes, even older than I am) of a fabled Mt Rushmore of Comedy nestled away in the remote Tanggula Mountains in China near the Tibetan Border.

Because I am retired with nothing better to do than watch Jeopardy and hate-watch Bill Maher I thought to make the pilgrimmage. After an arduous seven-week journey by air, bus, oxcart, and yak I reached the remote village of Altecocka, where there’s so little to do it reminded me of my weekends.

It was here that I located my sherpa, Ali Bushma, who came highly recommended as one who had thrown up on each and every peak in the Tanggulas.

And so, Ali and I began the perilous climb up all 27,772 feet of Mt. Geladaindong.

“What do the peasants here do with their time?” I asked Ali.

“Dig each other out from avalanches, ” he replied.

Everybody’s gotta have a hobby.

Weeks passed. We climbed so high the air was as thin as the premises of most of my jokes.

And then, we were at the summit.

It was exactly as I had envisioned:

Jack Benny - the quintessential radio and early television comedian, he created a universe of characters around him who routinely confounded his sometimes befuddled but always good-natured self. Among them was Rochester who was treated as his often smarter equal; Benny was famous for refusing to stay in any hotel that wouldn’t let Rochester stay there as well. Should Benny be on the Mount Rushmore of Comedy? I don’t have to think it over!

Johnny Carson - literally created the late night talk show. Others came first but he perfected the genre, made it his own, and treated us to it night after night. Monologue, funny desk pieces, and a parade of who’s who in show business (frequently along with who would be who) were all served up with Johnny’s undeniable wit. Every talk show comes in his wake, especially Letterman who took the format and gave it a hip modern attitude. But grinning Johnny pioneered it all.

George Carlin - other comedians had been topical before him - from Lenny Bruce to Mort Sahl to Robert Klein and David Steinberg - but George Carlin was the first to rip off his suit, leave the hippy dippy weather man far behind, and embrace the counter-culture. He spoke to a new generation and became the voice of refreshingly hip political irreverent comedy. Practically any topical comedian you love today will tell you this guy inspired him. And nobody was better at clever word play.

Jerry Lewis - Some may wonder “why this guy?” but when I was growing up we waited for the next Jerry Lewis movie like people used to wait for the next Star Wars opus. Many of his movies were funny as hell and not just for kids; I defy anyone to watch The Nutty Professor and not laugh. Whenever you watch any movie with a goofy protagonist - be it early Steve Martin or Jim Carey - you’re watching Jerry’s progeny. Now let’s say it one more time: OH LADEEEYYY!

So as Ali Bushma and I descended the mountain, I wondered if you would disagree with any of the faces carved upon Mt.Geladaindong.

If you do, well, no problem.

Find your own damn mountain and start climbing!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Mt.Geladaindong

(I didn't make that up, that really is the mountain's name!)

I am the Retired Doctor in the Nervive Commercial Who is Afraid of the Stairs but Somehow I Have Been Sent Back in Time to Kill Baby Hitler

 It seems I have been sent back in time to kill Baby Hitler.

Well, okay, killing Baby Hitler is a laudable enterprise. I fully support it.

And somebody’s got to do it.

There’s only one problem. I am the retired doctor in the Nervive commercial who is afraid of the stairs, and Baby Hitler is on the first floor and I am on the third!

Madam Hitler couldn’t have been nicer when I materialized suddenly in a room on the third floor of her home in Austria — Hungary in early April 1889.

“I’m happy to rent this room to you, Herr Doctor” she said, “but please keep it down because I have a baby sleeping on the first floor.”

My first night at the Hitler household I crept to the top of the stairway, hunter’s knife in hand, and steadied myself for the deed that would change the course of human history!

But as I attempted to descend the stairs my head began to swivel from side to side — like it does in the commercial — and a terrible truth struck me:

“Sometimes stairs can bring worry.”

Yes, the lives of almost a hundred million people hung in the balance. But what if I should fall and twist my ankle, or even worse, break it? Then where would those hundred million people be?

Who knows how long it would take for my broken ankle to heal? And how much rent would I owe Madam Hitler by then?

Then I remembered: I had packed a bottle of my precious Nervive. I resolved to take a dose, “get my freedom back,” and complete the task before me.

And so the next night, knife again in hand, I downed half a bottle of Nervive and headed once more for the stairs and the good of all humanity!

Only one problem.

Nervive works about as well as you’ve always suspected it does.

Fate works in mysterious ways, but sometimes it can just plain screw up.

I hope Fate will correct its mistake, return me to the present to continue cashing checks from the good folks at Nervive, and send someone else back in time to kill Baby Hitler.

Someone braver and stronger.

Someone not afraid of the stairs.

Maybe you?

Good luck!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If a Raccoon Can Sell T-Shirts, Why Can't I?

 

Jimothy, a raccoon with a spinal condition, has become an internet phenomenon and now a national celebrity. He’s even selling t-shirts.

Hey, I also have a spinal condition.

Why can’t I be selling some merch too?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

Note: Please don’t actually order. Hopefully nobody reading this is so high as to think it’s legit.

I am the Eyes of Nostradamus

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Scroll by ChatGPT.

Predictions, of course, by none other.

The NeverEnding Story

 

Did you ever start watching a movie - streaming, cable, or even broadcast TV- and think:

“This movie doesn’t exactly suck, but it’s not great. But I do want to see how it comes out. Lemme check and see how much longer it is.”

And you check to see how much longer it is, and you discover:

“Oh crap, another hour. Well, I guess I can stick it out, and maybe it gets better.”

But it doesn’t get any better. And even though it’s becoming kind of a chore to stay with it, you feel invested in it. Turning it off would be like ghosting it.

And you watch on and on and on. Time is ticking. Even more than that, time is Tiktoking.

You check again for how much time is left.

“OMG! It’s now one hour and 25 minutes! How can that be?! Are they shooting more of it even as they’re broadcasting it?”

The movie continues to unspool. The sun sets and rises again. Ben Affleck looks notably older than he did in the earlier scenes.

“I cannot stand it any longer! I have the rest of my life to live!”

You click on Wikipedia to the description of the film to discern the ending. Yes, good ol’ Wikipedia always includes a complete plot summary in its movie writeups

“We’re sorry. Even we couldn’t make it to the end. If there ever is one.”

Okay, it’s a bitter pill.

But guess I’m gonna have to read the book.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And Now a Brief Word from Uncle Sam on the Eve of His Retirement

       

           To: All of You Across this Great Land of Ours

From : Your Uncle Sam

Date: July 3, 2026

_________________________________

Today I must make the bittersweet announcement that I - your Uncle Sam - after serving for 250 years as the national symbol for the United States of America - am retiring effective July 5, 2026 at 12:05 AM Pacific Time.

This date and time has been carefully selected to fall after the last July 4 fireworks are over but probably not before your dog is finished hiding under the bed.

Oh, it’s been a great ride!

I’ve been through a lot with you over these 250 years: the War of 1812, the Civil War, Two World Wars, the McCarthy Hearings, and Chevy Chase getting his own talk show.

As your Uncle Sam, I have marched in small town parades in all 50 states, hung with the Inflatable Tube Man at endless Used Car Lot openings (BTW, he is one good hang!) and sung “This Land is Your Land, This Land is My Land” with Elmo.

Great stuff, but I’m pooped.

Yet with it all, it has been an incredible privilege to represent all of you throughout the generations, now Gen Z and Gen Alpha all the way back to Gen William Henry Harrison, which was kind of a short one.

You know, being the symbol of a great nation has had its challenges, as most of the other symbols have also discovered.

Betsy, aka “Old Glory,” really took it hard after Trump hugged her in 2019 and again in 2020. I tried my best to cheer her up but it took six months of professional counseling - and fumigation - to put Betsy back up on her flagpole where she belongs.

And in Philly the Liberty Bell went through a similar rough patch when Gritty insisted on a series of punishing selfies with him. I’m surprised that didn’t cause him to crack even further.

As for me, you may recall that some years ago I was in a well-publicized relationship, sort of like Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce, with Lady Liberty. And, well … okay, okay … she did dump me.

What are you gonna do? French chicks! Am I right?

But I have loved being your Uncle Sam. And I will miss you all!

What’s next for me?

Hitting a beach in the Bahamas with a pina colona in one hand, trashy beach novel in the other, and a David Letterman style beard growing upwards of both.

And golf. Lots and lots of golf!

Last time I played was with General Eisenhower in 1957.

Looking forward to hitting the links with Elmo next Tuesday.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

A Short Conversation with Trump as We Approach the July 4th Holiday

 

“Perry? Perry Block?”

“Who’s that?”

“It’s me, your favorite President, Donald J. Trump.”

“Yes, Trump?”

“You can call me ‘Donald.’”

“Yes, Trump?”

“I notice you subscribe to a lot of subversive, crazy, lunatic far-left commentators on Substack.”

“That’s impressive.”

“How’s that?”

“That you know a three-syllable word like subversive and a four-syllable word like commentator.”

“Do you read all those lunatic left-wing nut jobs?”

“Nah. I barely have time for that.”

“Why don’t you unsubscribe from them?”

“Because I’m afraid that if I unsubscribe from even one of them somewhere, sometime, somehow... you might be smiling.”

“Why don’t you try it?”

“Okay, Trump. Right now I’m unsubscribing from Robert Reich, Paul Krugman, Jim Acosta, The Contrarian, Joyce Vance, J Street, IfNotNow, Heather Cox Richardson, Zeteo, The Intercept, Mehdi Hasan, Brad Lander, The New Republic, the ACLU, the Delco Democrats, Gabby Giffords, Haaretz, The New York Times, AOC, Jon Ossoff, Andy Borowitz, and any number of less famous people on Substack, Facebook, and Instagram who despise you as much as I do.”

“Don’t you want to know if I’m smiling now?”

“No. Because no matter what you answer, you’ll be lying. Just like you do about everything else.”

“Okay, but I am smiling!”

“Why is that?”

“Because I got you to unsubscribe from all those nut jobs! Ha, ha, ha!”

“No, you didn’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“That’s not even half of them.”

“What?!!”

“And the other half? I read every fucking last word and act accordingly.”

“Now I am frowning.”

“Good. Just like you’ll be frowning when you’re in jail, Trump... where you belong.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~