Sam Kane, Finder of Lost Holidays

LA is a city of some seven million people.  That's a lot of folks with a lot of different hopes, dreams, and aspirations. Me, I'm just another one of the seven million.  But my line of work is a bit different from most of the other suckers.

I'm Sam Kane, Finder of Lost Holidays!

How did I get into this racket? I used to be Sam Kane, Finder of Lost Cellphones. That was good money at $500 a day plus expenses until people caught on all they had to do was dial their own cellphone number and they'd find their phone under the bed or in their other pants pocket. 

So I'm working the holiday heist beat these days. I'd like to say it's a living, but with three ex-wives and enough alimony to sink Bill Gates, that it could never be!

Well, I was sitting in my office on a Thursday afternoon that was so slow Governor Christie could have beaten it in a foot race. I was boning up on the latest news in lost or missing holidays  --- North Dakota's Rock Salt Festival had just gone missing and in Indonesia someone had ripped off Kimono Dragon Entrails Day --- when she came in.

"Mr. Kane?"

"Yeah, doll?"

"I need your help."

The dame stood four foot three with a shape like a bassoon.  She had short tufts of red hair, a pushed in nose, and toenails you could use for mountain climbing. If you're looking for a story with a little romantic interlude later on, you better look elsewhere.  

"So what's your beef, sister?"

"Mr. Kane, I'm Angelica Who from Whoville."

I was familiar with Whoville. I'd spent two weeks there one night. 

"Mr. Kane," she went on, "someone has stolen Christmas!"

"Beg pardon?"

"Everythings gone. Decorations, presents, Santa, reindeer, elves ..."

"Baby Jesus too?"

"Yes, Baby Jesus too!  And every last bit of gold, frankincense, and myrrh."

And myrrh!  The words cut through me like a knife sold on a late night infomercial which dramatically cuts your time making julienne fries.  Only one man was devious enough to steal myrrh.  The same one man who actually knew what myrrh was!

"Sister, I already know who the culprit is," I told Ms. Who."It's Maximilian De Grinchford Jr., an international holiday thief of great renown, also known as the Grinch."

"How do you know it's him?" asked the Whoville doll.

"The Grinch is the only one who has the capability to pull off this job. Why, he's the one who stole St. Clorox Day!"  

"What's St. Clorox Day?"

"See that?  Stole it so cleanly you don't even remember it existed. It was the late March holiday for liquid bleach."

I knew that the Grinch had been seen in Eastern Europe trying to fence parts of Labor Day he'd stolen last September, specifically a load of barbecue equipment and one beer cooler. I bid Ms. Who goodbye after grabbing a retainer of $250 and credit for one shitload of candy canes once I got Christmas back, and headed for Prague in the Czech Republic.

Upon arrival I made a number of connections among the seamiest and most dangerous of local underworld types including guys with highly visible neck tattoos that read "I Savor Parsing the New Yorker" until I found a gentleman named Willie the Snitch who directed me to Cafe Praguelegs, where at long last at a corner table behind a vail of smoke seated next to a leggy blond was the green-hued gentleman I knew as the Grinch. 

"Hello, Grinch, it's been a while."

"Kane! Why, I haven't seen you since you tried to pin that St. Clorox Day job on me. Getting whiter whites these days, are you?"

I wasn't gonna rise to the bait.

"Grinch, I'm not going to screw around.  You've got Christmas, I want it back."

"I don't know anything about any Christmas, Kane,"  said the Grinch.

"Then why is Will Ferrell as Elf sticking out of your left pocket?"

"Um ... no, Kane, that's not Will Ferrell as Elf.  That's Will Ferrell as Anchorman. Totally different thing."

Sounded reasonable.  But then I remembered the Grinch thought Anchorman was overrated, just like I did. I leaped at the Grinch with a karate chop to the neck, but unfortunately I missed and killed Will Ferrell.  Kind of a shame but at least we're spared another Anchorman sequel.

And thus began a chase across the four corners of he world

I caught up with the Grinch in Istanbul, where we exchanged gunfire. I had to exchange mine because it was in the wrong color and size;  I don't why he took his back. Then I tracked him to Venezuela where we fought hand to hand, then Madrid where we fought hand to ankle and nose to elbow, and finally to Stockholm where we fought hair weave to hair weave and hand wave to hand wave at a distance of 25 feet. 

I knocked the Grinch to the ground with a hand wave nothing short of the way Granny waves at the end of The Beverly Hillbillies and was upon him.

"WHERE'S CHRISTMAS?!"  I cried "WHERE'S CHRISTMAS?!!"

  "Kane!  Kane! I give up," gasped the Grinch.

"WHERE'S CHRISTMAS?!!!" 

"You're not going to believe me, Kane," sputtered the Grinch, "but I gave it away!"

"You gave it away?  You gave it away? Well, excuse me, Mother Teresa!"

"I swear it, Kane! I gave it away."

"To whom?"

"I gave it to the people of Liberia, Sierra Leone, and everywhere in Western Africa struggling with Ebola. They need it."

I was stunned.

"I'll have to confirm that, Grinch.  But what possessed you?"

"For some reason this year, Kane, my heart grew three sizes."

"That's impressive, Grinch.  I'd like to duplicate that growth on myself, but on a different body part."

Well, it turned out the Grinch was telling the truth.  He'd given the nations of Western Africa a one year loaner of Christmas, to be returned to the folks of Whoville by next year. When I told them, the residents of Whoville were delighted to help out those less fortunate in this way.  Plus I'd still get all my promised candy canes next year and I had a pretty hot romantic interlude with Angelica Who after all.  

What are you gonna do?

As for me and the Grinch ...

"Well, Grinch, it looks like this could be the start of a beautiful friendship! Grinch?  Grinch?"

"Goddamit, Grinch, get your hands off Hanukkah!"

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

Why Can't He Be Seven?

                                                            Just look what I'm offering, kid!

My son Brandon will be 17 years old on Wednesday, April 25.  I'm proud that he is turning into a happy, healthy, and  intelligent young man with a wide variety of interests and a well-adjusted and positive outlook on life and the future.

Just one thing.

Why the hell can't he still be seven??!!!

Just yesterday I was staring at "a little kid picture" of Brandon I keep on the bureau. There were those rosy-red cheeks, that long dirty brown hair, and that sweet little smile that seemed just about to say:

"Daddy, you're my hero!"

"Daddy is the fun parent!"

"My Daddy is the bravest, handsomest, most dynamic ...

Now I didn't say he ever actually said any of these things,  only that the sweet little smile in the picture makes it seem like he might be just about to!

I walked the little kid picture over to Brandon and thrust it in his face. 

"Don't tell me, Dad.  I'm on This is Your Life with Ralph Edwards, that old TV show you're always talking about!"

"No, Brandon," I replied.  "I'd like to request you do a simple thing for me."

"Okay, Dad.  What is it?"

"Be HIM!"

"Excuse me?"

"Be HIM.  The Brandon in the picture.  You can do it."

"Dad,  if it were possible to spontaneously become younger,  I'm sure you'd have done it by now." 

"No, Boomers can't.   C'mon,  Bran, I'm  merely asking for a simple act of Age Regression on a temporary basis."

"Well, I don't know, Dad.  I've got a lot of biology homework ..."  

"All right, all right.  I'm offering you five dollars right now to Be HIM!"

I produced a crisp five dollar bill from my wallet and crinkled it temptingly in front of his face.

"Well,  that's not a lot of money for all the molecular structure transmutation I'd have to undergo, and ..."

"Okay, Brandon," I blurted out, "I'll  up the ante.  I'll  buy you a pony!"

Dad,  I haven't wanted or asked for a pony in over ten years." 

"That's just it!  Once you're seven,  you'll want one all over again!"

I could see I was getting nowhere with my simple reasonable request, so I moved on to another,  but related,  subject. 

"What would you like to do for your birthday, Brandon?" I asked.

"I think I'd like to have a party out back for all my friends."

"GREAT!"  I exclaimed.   I'll barbecue hamburgers and hot dogs, rent a moonbounce, maybe we can hire a clown, and ...."

"Dad," said Brandon, "I kind of meant just for my friends and me. Maybe you could ... umm ... go out for a while  during the party?" 

So!  There was to be no Age Regression.   No party, no moonbounce,  not even a damn clown. 

Know what I plan to do during Brandon's birthday party? Go to the movies to see The Lorax.

At least one of us is going to be seven.   

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

  

Shocking Newsical about Seussical

And Fenced It Through Detroit!

The Original Cover of a Classic.

Not often does a bombshell hit the literary world like the one that exploded late last week! 

Especially when it comes shortly before the March 2 birthday observance for one of  the most beloved authors of our time and the one upon whom the bombshell squarely landed.

According to his recently disclosed  private papers, Theodor Geisel --- much better known to the world as Dr. Seuss --- was in truth a  hedonistic nihilist who believed that life had no purpose, the only logical response to which was to indulge the pleasures of the body with an endless barrage of alcohol, drugs, and sex. 

"Make no mistake," said the author's nephew Lamont "Gus" Geisel, "this guy had more tail than a petting zoo!" 

Just surfaced last week and fully catalogued by Gus Geisel,  the "Dr. Seuss Papers " reveal A Portrait of the Artist as a Scunge Man whose major literary influences were Charles Bukowski, Henry Miller, and the Marquis deSade.  (Geisel Listing 41-15j).   His original sex-drenched illustrated books were carefully edited and expurgated by his publisher Rancid Press, however,  when even Bukowski threw up after reading them.

The author's life tale is a lurid one.  Expelled from public school for flunking home room,  14-year-old Ted Geisel left his native Massachusetts for a journey of  personal discovery and exploration which took him to Buenos Aires,  Rio de Janeiro, and El Segundo CA with only occasional trips back to Massachusetts for clean socks.

Geisel  rejected Christianity early on because "Jesus loves me, but I want to see other people" (Geisel Listing 79-5z),  and turned to Judaism but rejected it as well when he bit into his first piece of Hanukkah Gelt and discovered --- as all Jewish children must --- that the gilt packaging is far tastier than the chocolate inside itself. 

Young Geisel next began a four (4) year exploration of the Baha'i Faith, quitting in disgust with the words "Four long years and I've only met Seals,  never Crofts!" (Geisel Listing 143-9z)

From then on, Geisel embarked on a lifelong nine (9) continent spree of alcohol and drug-ridden debauchery and perversion,  and no, that wasn't a typo, an entire new continent  had to be invented to fully house Seuss' massive profligacy,  the sheer magnitude of which caused Keith Richards to famously utter "Has the man no shame?" (Geisel Listing 03-9n)

Taking the name Dr. Seuss because he had handled so many drugs he had come  to  actually believe he was a doctor, the author penned the original versions of many of his best loved works,  including The Cat with the Hat in His Lap, How the Grinch Stole Christmas and Fenced It Through Detroit, and Horton Humps a Who.  To his dismay, all were dramatically altered by Rancid Press.

"My uncle was especially upset that the cannibalism theme was wholly omitted from  How the Grinch Stole Christmas and Fenced It Through Detroit," commented Gus Geisel, "as was the sudden acute myocardial infarction suffered by the Grinch when his heart suddenly grew three sizes that day." (Geisel Listing 67-3p)

A rare copy of Dr. Seuss' unedited masterpiece Oh, the Lame Places You'll Go is believed to exist and is driving Gus Geisel crazy that he can't catalogue it under his annoying system. "The manuscript will likely be sold at auction for millions," remarked Gus Geisel, "unless the owner is some incredible moron who's stupid enough to post it for free on the Internet!"  

Etched on Dr. Seuss' tombstone are the following words from his classic Green Eggs and Ham and the Board of Health:

"Could you, would you
with a goat?

I would not,
 I could not, with  a goat!"

Ironically, those words actually did make it into the final version of the book Green Eggs and Ham. (at pages 42-43)

"My uncle," reflected Gus Geisel, "would have been pleased."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 And Happy Upcoming Birthday to the real Dr. Seuss!  

(Sorry about this, Mr. Geisel.   I am, I am!)