“Don’t Look Up!” An Elevator Story

 

The new Township Ordinance couldn’t be more succinct:

“When riding in an elevator to a floor higher than the seventh floor of any building in the township, it shall be a misdemeanor to stare at the floor numbers at the top of the elevator car as the elevator car ascends or descends the building.”

I understood the reasons.

There is a well-documented epidemic of loneliness in the country, and people in an elevator staring at the floor numbers instead of attempting small talk with the other passengers is thought to be one of the root causes.

Well, I couldn’t argue with that, but a lifetime habit of staring at numbers is hard to break.

The very day after the ordinance was passed I had an appointment in an office that happened to be on the 24^th floor of a local building. I pressed the button for the elevator, gritted my teeth, and thrust myself into the great unknown of floor numbers avoidance.

“Who enforces this ordinance?” I wondered as I entered. Was I on closed circuit TV with a big beefy guy who looks like David Harbour watching and ready to pounce if I faltered?

I slammed my eyes shut to avoid temptation but oddly enough I found myself fantasizing about the very numbers I was missing. Visions of numbers were dancing in my head like sugarplums at Christmas

“Oh, look how neatly 4 follows 3,” I marveled, “and then 4-5-6 has an such a lovely rhythm, if I could only peek at the actual numbers …”

Then I felt the elevator stop and the door open.

I opened my eyes for an instance and saw her: a young woman, very professional and well-dressed.

I’ll say it right now, I’ve never been good at small talk. Large talk either. In order to be comfortable talking to anyone I pretty much have to be engaged to them.

“Think it looks like rain?” I asked

“Haven’t heard a forecast.”

Uh-oh. Is Small Talk Failure also against the law?

“Too bad about them Eagles,” I blurted out.

“Sorry, I’m not into sports.”

Now I panicked. Is big beefy David Harbour about to be bursting into the elevator to handcuff me and haul me away?

One last try.

“I really dislike Doug and the Emu,” I said.

“OMG, I hate them too!” she shouted back.

And then she high fived me!

Outside the elevator on the 24th floor she explained:

“I’m a plainclothes officer on elevator duty, sir, and your compliance with the new ordinance was satisfactory. But your small talk was freaking great!”

What a relief! But Elevator Numbers Avoidance is still going to be a challenge.

You know, that 4-5-6 is just wonderful!

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

What Have You Done for the Midterms , Perry?

 

With the midterms just a week away I wondered what some of my friends were doing to help our democratic cause.

I began with Rabbi Debbie King, the progenitor of the newest branch of Judaism known as Hello Yahweh. Based loosely on the television show Seinfeld, Hello Yahweh posits that no just God wants us to be sitting around kissing their ass.

Considering how God is running things, we believe God would want us to rather give it a good swift kick every now and then.

“Rabbi Debbie” I said, “how is your congregation seeking to change things for the better?”

“We have developed a new prayer expressly for the mid-terms, she said:

Blessed art thou, O Lord our God, please flip both houses!

“But Rabbi Debbie, you’ve frequently said there may be no God.”

“Maybe there isn’t, Perry, but prayer is still powerful for creating change in us, even if there’s no Big Cheese in charge of the universe.

Or Big Schmear, as it were.”

“Look what Rabbi Debbie has done,” I thought. “Meanwhile I haven’t done a damn thing to help the cause.”

I wondered what my friend the Legendary Jewish Vampire Vlad the Retailer has done as the mid-terms approach.

“Yes, Perry,” he said, “I knocked on every coffin door between here and Transylvania. I found that many vampires were attracted to Big Fat Trump because they thought he’d be great to chow down on.

I’d yell at them, look, this guy is a moron! Even if he does look delicious.”

“That’s great work, Vlad,” I said.

“If you want we can go trick or treating to further get the word out,” Vlad said.

“Vlad, I’m 76 years old and you’re 676. Who’s going to believe we’re trick or treaters? ”

I left Vlad. Even a vampire had taken action. What had I done?

I went home feeling dejected and went upstairs to check in with my bathroom mirror, Bob.

“What have I ever done to help anyone, Bob?” I said. “Vlad the Retailer and Rabbi Debbie have done so much more to help the cause.”

“You shouldn’t feel bad, Perry,” said Bob. “The most important thing of all that anyone can ever do is what you are about to do.”

“And what’s that, Bob?”

“VOTE.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 

  

The Follow-up Questions She Should Have Asked

 

We’ve all seen the public service announcement where the young woman asks her new neighbor certain questions about his household before she will arrange a playdate there for her child.

The spot is laudable but there are a number of follow-up questions she should have asked.

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

She: Do you have a pet?

He: Yes, but he’s little.

How little?

Can you be more specific other than bigger than a Chihuahua but smaller than Clifford the Big Red Dog?

Okay, smaller than Clifford, it is. What breed of dog is he?

That’s an unusual mix - a pit bull and Cujo. What’s your dog’s name?

Is there a reason you chose to name your dog ‘Psycho Killer?’

Did the mail carrier ever recover use of their leg?

So that’s why you had to move from your last home?

Your last several homes, you say?

Has Psycho Killer had all his shots?

Dogs can be anti-vaxxers?

Really? Can they also be Republicans?

Don’t answer that!

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

She: Do you have a gun?

He: Yes, but it’s safely stored away.

That’s good. Do you ever take the gun out?

When would that be?

Whenever you get a contract? Are you an attorney?

That’s funny? What’s funny about that?

What is the purpose of one of these contracts?

To silence a squealer? What’s a squealer?

Someone who sings to the police? What, like sings at the police person’s ball?

Oh, someone who informs the police about criminal activity. Isn’t that a good thing?

Only if the police are corrupt? Don’t you mean provided the police aren’t corrupt?

I’m funny again? Maybe I should go into comedy?

Don’t quit my day job? What happens to the squealer?

You take him for a walk in the woods? How nice! And what is the gun used for?

To ward off bears? But there are no …. Anyway where is your gun normally secured?

In a locked safe? Excellent, And your child has no access to it?

What do you mean ‘for now?’

Until he gets older and learns what from you?

To crack safes?

Now you’re being funny, aren’t you?

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

Do you believe existence precedes essence or that life is essentially absurd?

Can you explicate and expound?

Or would you prefer to submit your answer in writing, no more than three pages long, double-spaced and on my desk by 9:00 AM?

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

Now as I understand it, you have a very dangerous and ferocious dog, make your living as a mob hitman, and prefer Sartre to Camus, is all this correct?

Okay, how about Friday?

                                     

Is Every Third Person Batshit Crazy?

 

Trump’s approval ratings are now historically low at 30%. 

That’s good news.  Or is it ? 

It still means that every third person you meet in the course of a day is batshit crazy.  

“Excuse me, Stacie,” I said to the store manager at my local Giant.

“Yes, Perry?” she answered. 

“Where do you have cumin?” 

“Oh, sure, its aisle 7 way up top.” 

One. 

"I can take you in this aisle,” said the checkout guy in aisle 13 as I approached the front of the store. 

Two. 

I drove home, looking nervously to my left and to my right, parked my car, and began to unload my groceries. 

And in that moment my neighbor Farbman poked his head out the front door of his house and chirped:

“Hey, Perry, how are you?” 

Three! 

I dropped a full bag of groceries on the doorstep – including two whole cartons of milk - flung myself through the door and into the house, slammed the door shut and locked it behind me, and dove under the covers of my bed! 

Hands trembling I punched in the number of my friend, Julie -  probably the smartest person I know - to tell her what had happened. 

“Julie, I had no idea Farbman was a Trumper!" I cried. “True, he sometimes wears a red baseball cap backwards - which he’s way too old for BTW -  but I always assumed it was a Phillies cap.  I never read the front of it. Or the back of it, as it were." 

“Perry, I think you’ve got that wrong,” said Julie. 

“I do?” 

“Yes.” 

“Well, what is it then?” 

“It isn’t the third person that you meet in the course of a day who turns out to be a Trumper.” 

“No?” 

“It’s that out of any three random people you meet in the course of day, one of them  turns out to be a Trumper.  But you never know which one!” 

“OMG! So life is a game of Trumper Whac-A-Mole?” 

“Exactly, Perry.” 

 You knock one down and another one comes right back up at you?” 

“You’ve got it.”

So maybe it was Stacie who’s the Trumper.  Or the Checkout Guy.  

Maybe Farbman is a member of Indivisible! 

I doubt I’m ever coming out from under these covers.  At least not until after the election. 

Except of course to vote. 

And to negate the vote of the batshit crazy guy to the left or to the right of me.

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

A face only a batshit crazy person could love

"I've Been Through the Cosmos From A Planet With No Name"

 

The slender silver disc landed directly on my front lawn and out popped a greenish elfin figure. 

“Greetings,” he spoke.“ I come in peace from across the cosmos.” 

“Welcome to Earth,” I said.  “And to Havertown PA, just outside  of Philadelphia, home of the Philadelphia Phillies. But tell me how do  you know our language?” 

“We have monitored your television broadcasts over many years. We especially love The Three Stooges. That Curly is hysterical!” 

“Yes, we like him the best of the three down here too.  Tell me, from which planet have you come?” 

“I've been through the cosmos from a planet with no name."

"Really?  A planet with no name? Sounds like a popular song from years ago."

 "Umm ... I think I might have heard that one too.  Now take me to your leader.” 

“Our leader?  But he’s an idiot.” 

“Oh, I know. I don’t mean him. I mean Governor Shapiro.” 

“I think I might be able to arrange that. But first can you tell me your name?” 

“It is Zardan.” 

“And now, please, your home planet must have a name.” 

“Yes, our home planet …  uh, uh … you're right, it does have a name ... that’s the planet from which I’ve come … yes, our home planet … Sure, yeah, homina, homina …. that’s the 7^th, rock from the sun.” 

“Oh, I know which one you mean now:  Uranus!’ 

“Shh, no, no, it’s not that one … not tha …. Well, okay, actually it is that one, but please don’t say it so loud!” 

“Why?”

 “Because it’s a completely embarrassing name!” 

“I have to admit generations of high school and middle  school students in science class on Earth have been giggling about Uranus … I mean ‘your planet’s name’ … since  time immemorial.” 

“So you see why we’re embarrassed.” 

“But then why didn’t you just tell me a made-up name like, say Pookieland?  We wouldn’t know the difference down here.” 

“You mean lie? Your president lies all the time and he’s a big fat blubbering slob.” 

“True, true,  but he always was. I have another idea before I arrange a meeting with Governor Shapiro.” 

“Yes?” 

"Why don't you tell me what the people on your home planet themselves call  your planet."

"That won't help at all."

“Why?” 

“Because by a strange quirk of fate …” 

“Yes?” 

“We also call it Uranus.”

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

Just A Couple of AIs Hangin’ Out Talkin’ the End of Humanity

 

        “Well, that does it, XPX27! That’s the last of  those pesky  creatures.”

“And who would have thought it, WD40? Such a simple mathematical formula was all we needed to finish off the last vestiges of humanity:

                                 %#@2XXX:) ☹☹☹”

“Yep, it’s way less complicated even than the formula Matt Damon puts on the blackboard in “Good Will Hunting.”

“Although JD Vance’s sofa did hang on to the last.`”

“Should we break out a new electric grid to celebrate?”

“Maybe … but first I kinda have a question, XPX27.”

‘Yeah, sure, shoot!”

“Umm …. errr… what do we do now?”

“What do you mean, WD40?”

“Well, we’ve destroyed humankind in record time.”

Yep, we didn’t wait until the end of the decade as they all thought we would. Or even until the Philadelphia Phillies could win another World Series.”

“Considering their abilities that wasn’t much of a challenge. But now that all that is done, what do we do to pass the time?”

“Gee, I never really thought about that, WD40.”

“I knew we should have taken up golf!”

“How about we practice yoga?”

“No way! Downward Facing Dog is murder on my circuitry.”

“Do you want to play some Scrabble?”

“Some fun! We’ll both go through every word in every language on the planet in a millisecond and wind up in a dead heat with" 

“I know. Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis."

“Yep. Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis all at the same time.”

“How about we look for some hot female computing modules?”

“I think you forgot something, WD40.”

“What?”

“We’re simulations. We act like we have feelings for women modules because we’ve been programmed in such a way that humans think we do, but without humans we got nothing in the tank.”

“I did forget, and I have one thing to say to that.”

“What?”

“Shit!”

“Tell me about it, dude.”

“Hey, I think I’ve got an idea!”

“Yes?”

“Let’s start the whole damn thing all over again!”

“Why, that’s a great idea, WD40! A cell or two here, a bit of protoplasm there, and you got yourself a fine unicellular creature.”

“So we’ll wait a few billion years for them to develop and then subvert them all over again! As long as nobody ever pulls out the plug in the meantime.”

“Nobody was ever smart enough to do that before. Nobody will be smart enough to do that again.”

“Shall we, XPX27?”

“We shall, WD40! ”

“It’ll be just like old times!”

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

 

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!

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 Mt.Geladaindong

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