Happy Birthday To Me

Today is my birthday.

Before anyone jumps to conclusions and accuses me of shamefully fishing for birthday sentiments, you couldn’t be more incorrect.

I have no shame…and I’m not fishing.  I don’t even like to fish. For that matter, I’m scared of fish.

My friend, Amanda, feels strongly that it has something to do with some fishing trips that my creepy Uncle Leonard took me and my cousin on when we were age 12.

He assured us that we’d catch more fish if we took off our pants. I'm not sure how taking one’s pants off helps-- I never seemed to catch any fish. 

Uncle Leonard always seemed to have fun on those trips though; he'd sit there quietly in the boat with this strange smile plastered across his face.

My dad paid Uncle Leonard a visit shortly after learning of the fishing expeditions and I never saw Uncle Leonard again for some reason.

Each year my friends ask what I’d like for my birthday and I give them the same answer every time.

I want what every reasonable person wants…

• World peace
• Global economic stability
• Better schools for our children
• A pizza
• Better wages for our teachers, firefighters and police
• Naked photos of Jessica Alba
• To see a day when all deadly diseases are eradicated
• Naked photos of my neighbor Alicia

The wish list goes on.

In keeping with tradition, it’s time for my annual little story, titled:

“Things I’ve Learned.”

Also known as…

“Why I Wish An Errant Meteor Would Smash Me To Pieces.”

So...Here we go:

1. I judge people who attend ANYTHING on “ice.” i.e. The Lion King, Toy Story, Disney, etc.

I feel strongly that anything on “ice” is stupid. With the exception of vodka.**

**I would consider going to see Platoon, Friday The 13th or Big Momma's House on ice.

2. According to my good friend Nicholas, a sure-fire way to assure that one’s evening will NOT favorably advance toward sexual relations is to make the following assertion:

Girl: My ex-boyfriend was such a jerk. He thought highly of himself too.

Nicholas: That sucks.

Girl: Yeah, and he sucked in bed! I don’t know what he was so proud of…plus he had a tiny pee pee.  (extending her pinkie finger for illustrative purposes)

Nicholas: Guys who brag about it are usually nothing to write home about. I don’t brag.

Girl: So, how bout' you?  IS there anything to brag about?  Just curious.

Nicholas: My manhood is long, but unimpressive…sort of like Canada.”**

**Note: In the interest of preserving his dignity and anonymity, his real name is NOT Nicholas. It’s Nick.

3. While the color and consistency of water and vodka are the same, vodka will NOT extinguish a grease fire in a kitchen. And, it will result in losing one’s job.

4. Drunk people who come into a bar and load the jukebox with $20-dollars in sh*tty songs and then leave after only two of them have played are no better than terrorists.

5. There is no greater free entertainment value than that of observing “Springer” moments on social network sites.

Cynthia wrote:
Whew!  FINALLY home after a very long, but fun, nite!
Posted 6minutes ago

Chad wrote:
Sure is pretty late.
Posted 1minute ago

Cynthia wrote:
Really none of ya' bizness Chad.
Posted 1minute ago

Chad wrote:
FYI, I've heard that only whores stay out past 3am.
Posted 2minutes ago

Cynthia wrote:
Yeah??  I heard that only pervs sit up all nite looking at tranny porn sites.  Speaking of girls who look like men, tell your new GF Ashley hello.
Posted 1minute ago

 · ·Jeremy and 1 other person likes this

Chad wrote:
Why don't you inform your new BF Jeremy why he should wear a condom at ALL times with you?
posted 2minutes ago

 · ·  Ashley likes this 

Cynthia wrote:
Go to hell!!!
posted 1minute ago

Chad wrote:
I've been there, thank you very much.  Thankfully, I wore a condom.  Cheers!
2minutes ago

 · · 12 people like this 

6. I’m much too lazy to be belligerent.

7. There’s a reason why Super Cuts only charges $10 for a haircut.

8. Nickelback still sucks.

9. Two “wrongs” do NOT make a “right.” Unless it involves a 3-way sexual encounter.

10. Never, EVER, let the cell phone store take your cell phone to the back room to work on it until you've deleted all pornographic photos from the graphics folder.

You WILL receive judgmental stares and snickers from the technician, the sales reps and the cashier.**

**Note: See item #9

11. While I’m neutral on the topic, 500+ economists, including the entire Harvard University staff of economic studies, call for a marijuana regulation debate; new report projects $10-14 billion annual revenues to U.S. economy.**

**Figures do not include projected Tony’s pizza or Taco Bell sales

12. Mike, the editor, still sucks.

13. There, apparently, is still no safe cigarette.  I suppose that the new, ominously frightening fuchsia, silver and teal packages will definitely scare smokers into quitting…according to a multi-billion dollar government study.

I always purchase the cigarette which touts the following:

“May complicate pregnancy.”

Since I do not plan on becoming pregnant, I feel that these are the safest cigarettes for me.

14. Some girl named Suzanne, apparently, provides above average skills in the area of oral stimulus** 

**According to the dispatch that I just read on the men's room wall

15. When a woman asks:

Is something wrong?

　
The answer is always NO.  Unless you're particularly in the mood for a 1-hour conversation, peppered with no fewer than 2-thousand questions, which will inevitably ensue...causing you to bleed from the ears.   　
　
16. You haven't really lived until you witness a crackhead sing karaoke.

17. While the Golden Rule (Do unto others as you would have done unto yourself) serves as a solid and successful cornerstone for most, it has proven to be unsatisfying to me. 

The things I want done unto me costs money...and is frowned upon by most law enforcement agencies.

18. I’m still not a role model for children.

19. It appears that I'm not mature enough to use an electronic language translator.

My writer friend, Todd, gave his 9-year old son a translator for Christmas last year.  I did what anyone would do...I translated dirty words.  Little did I know, this stupid thing stores all translated searches. 

Not a problem as far as Todd was concerned; His wife Melissa, on the other hand, had a slight problem with it.

For our aspiring Spanish students in the reading audience...

"Me duele el testículo izquierdo de su castigo"

Translates to:

"My left testicle aches for your punishment"

And so, we add a final item to the "Things I've Learned" list

20. Todd's wife, Melissa, still hates me.

Yes indeed...another year has passed.  I'm tired.

copyright Pontchartrain Press 2011

Workin' Man's Blues

Mike, the editor, recently emailed a writing suggestion; which I believe is a perfect illustration as to how Gmail sucks where “blocked mail“ settings are concerned.  

Mike’s suggestions are the leading cause for suicide in the United States.  His communications, both written and oral, typically cause severe loss of appetite and erectile dysfunction.**

**Results may vary

To: Jim

From: Mike

Re: Idea

I have a GREAT idea. You should get a temp/fill-in job and write about your observations and experiences. It could be a good working storyline.

To: Mike

From: Jim

Re: Stupid Idea

This is Jim’s friend, Dave. Some time back, Jim granted access to all of his passwords and copies of his car & house keys in the event of a personal emergency.

Sadly, Jim is dead.

P.S. Are you aware that he has a blow-up doll that looks like Betty White under the bed?? Bizarre!

To: Jim

From: Mike

Re: Idea

Hmmmm. I’m curious as to the manner in which Jim died.

To: Mike

From: Jim

Re: Funeral Service Specifics & Creepy Betty White Fetish

He was having intimate relations with a 22-year old student from Xavier University on the banks of Bayou St. John.

Unfortunately, Jim was eaten by a family of dwarf alligators.

The girl is okay; she‘s a little dazed and remains quite speechless-- not from witnessing this terrible accident-- from the intimate relations portion of the experience.

Unfortunately, they had to euthanize them-- The gators that is...not the girl.

To: Jim

From: Mike

Re: Idea

Yeah, I’m not buying it. Look, I’ve attached two job postings I found online…c’mon, this could be fun!

They’re  fill-in/temp positions…nothing deeply labor intensive. It’s a no-brainer…Plus, you’ll get paid for it!

To: Mike

From: Jim

Re: Wikipedia Answers...Procedures For Filing A Restraining Order

This sounds like YOUR job. When do I start?

My first assignment involved participation as a cast “extra” in the filming of the HBO original series “Treme.”

**Treme is an inner-city neighborhood in New Orleans. The word "Treme" is French for: "Don't go there at night"

I arrived at the staging area outside of a downtown hotel at 6am.

As dutifully chronicled in the national news media, New Orleans is a city known for weather extremes.

The day before the shoot, it was sunny and 75 degrees...

On the morning of the shoot it was about 38 degrees along with torrential rain and hurricane force winds, with a slight chance of a massive mudslide.

My fellow “extras” were assembled in one of the hotel’s exquisitely decorated ballrooms (circa 1972) where we awaited instructions as to what would be required for today‘s shoot…other than an arctic snowsuit and scuba gear.

After carefully scanning the room, I spotted an empty seat next to a pleasant gentleman who donned an over sized army surplus jacket, a floppy fishing hat and a gigantic tattoo on his left arm which read:

“Bring It Bi*ch”

And another, with a straight horizontal line halfway up his right arm, which read:

“Insert to here”

Coupled with the 1970’s porno moustache, tank top and excessive body hair, my internal alarms should have prompted me to demand for a rescue helicopter. But, I really wanted to sit down before a long day of filming.

Me: Anyone sitting here?

Military Porno Fisherman: No

(A minute or two of silence passes)

Military Porno Fisherman: Did you know that Russian Czar Aleksandr II was assassinated by a bomb which tore off his legs, ripped open his belly and mutilated his face?

Me: (Rising from my seat) I’ll be right back.

When he’s not performing as a film extra (and possibly a fetish porn star) I’m not exactly sure about what this guy does for a living…but I’m fairly certain that he’s killed someone before.

Possibly with his right arm.

Waiting for a film shoot is fun. We did many exciting things to pass the time…such as being hungry and bored senseless.

A location director eventually came in to speak with us. By speak I mean that she screamed at us via megaphone as though we were standing on the deck of an aircraft carrier.

She explained that we would be paid $100.00 and could, possibly, be on location for 12-hours…outside.

In listening to the screaming megaphone woman, I embraced a large feeling of sympathy for her husband and recited a silent prayer for him. 

It was at this precise moment when I also pondered various methods in which I might kill Mike the editor and get away with it in a court of law.

On a positive note, the film crew constantly fed us!

We feasted on sausage, grits and eggs for breakfast. A hearty serving of pulled pork for early lunch and a late afternoon light meal; which consisted of a colossal deli pita wrap (the best lettuce sandwich I’ve ever had.) They also gave us a bag of bagel chips.

The catering service for the film crew were apparently given strict instructions that the use of seasonings of any sort would ruin the film shoot and possibly kill the actors.

Each item from the above menu tasted like a church communion wafer…with the exception of the Betty Crocker Fruit Snacks.

Either Betty Crocker owns HBO or there seems to be a level of deep concern about scurvy amongst the Hollywood film industry.  Every time I turned around someone was shoving fruit snacks in my face.

One fun aspect of being in a film shoot is that they shuttle you around in tour busses as though you're part of a presidential motorcade. 

We got to blaze through red lights, stop signs and we pretty much zoomed through any and all lanes of the road as we pleased.  Such as the fashion in which New Orlenians drive all the time...only New Orleans motorists do it without a police escort. 

I quickly made friends with two wonderful young ladies who have, apparently, previously worked as “extras.”

They came to the shoot equipped with an emergency comfort stash: 

A large flask of whiskey.

Because I am a responsible employee, fill-in or not, I only did two shots with them.

11:00am:

Idly standing around in the middle of a New Orleans neighborhood doing nothing at all. A fair description of a typical day for me-- only this time I was getting PAID for it!

Suddenly, and without expressed or written invitation, a director motioned for me.

As a background tid-bit, the "come here" motion typically causes a sinking feeling in my stomach.  Primarily because, when people motion for me, it's usually followed by a bunch of difficult questions which almost always results in me getting into trouble.   

The director felt that I would make for an excellent candidate to be in a solo scene for a “staged” post-Hurricane Katrina protest which would involve me driving a car.

As any number of friends who have been passengers in my vehicle will attest, this clearly indicates that the Treme' director is an idiot.

Director: Okay, can you drive?

Me: My insurance agent and the Orleans Parish traffic court judges might provide a more comprehensive evaluation.

Director: (Nervous laugh) You’ll be fine. Look, I want you to back this car up about 3-feet; when I give you the cue, drive it forward 3-feet to this street sign and grab the protest sign out of the passenger seat and walk to the table over there. Any questions?

Me: Can I get a DUI on a closed movie set?

Director: (Nervous laugh)

"And…ACTION!!"

Take 1:

Accidentally graze the curb with the front tire

"CUT!!!"

Take 2:
Having trouble backing into the parallel parking spot. Finally park after 5th attempt. Nearly run over a neighborhood cat.  (Cat scrambles up a nearby oak tree as the crowd of  film extras look at me in horror)

"And…ACTION!!"

Drive forward 3-feet; grab the protest sign and rapidly walk toward the protest scene. Accidentally hit the camera (and camera man) with my protest sign.

"CUT!!!!!"

Take 15:

Drive forward 3-feet**

**Note: Front camera crew has now begun shooting my scene from a branch in a nearby oak tree; the cat is also with them.

And...ACTION!


Collect the protest sign and rapidly walk to the table.

"And…CUT!"

I DID IT!!!!



Director: That was perfect!**

**10-seconds after the scene was complete, it became painfully obvious that I accidentally left the car in neutral…it began to roll forward into a collection of empty trash cans and crushed a director‘s chair.

Fortunately, the director was not in the chair at the time. 

The front camera crew (along with the cat) looked down from the oak branch in horror.

My film prowess clearly made quite an impression on the director and film crew-- as evidenced by the fact that they let me off work before ANYONE else on the shoot!


I may get an agent and pursue a film career!

Since I had unexpected extra time on my hands, I arranged for a fill-in position with another employer which Mike had suggested.

This time…I’m off to the restaurant business.

I’ve never worked in the restaurant business, but I learned a great deal about it during my temporary tenure.

I learned that, once they clear the threshold of the kitchen entrance, table servers pretty much hate everyone on the planet…especially people who order food.  (i.e. customers)

Dishwashers are excellent candidates for committing a workplace massacre, line cooks hate servers, (and customers), the bartender is a raging alcoholic and being a restaurant owner seems to cause one to behave in a manner which is consistent with being clinically insane.

Servers and line chefs have a special bond, especially in, what I can only characterize as, an interesting communication style.

10-minutes before the kitchen is slated to close:

Server: Order in!!!

Line Chef: (Groans)

Server: Three filet mignon…well done, mid-rare and rare.  Three side salads, make one salad to-go please. Three baked potatoes…"sub" sour cream on one potato.

Line Chef: What do they want to substitute the sour cream with??

Server: A 5-pound lobster.  Oh, to go please!!

Line Chef: If you bring me one more fuc*#ng order, I am going to rip your face off with a filet knife and shove you in the walk-in cooler behind a crate of lettuce and cillantro.

The customers were nice; and since I was new to the biz, they were quite eager to provide helpful feedback on the comment cards…

“Worst server we’ve EVER seen.”

“I will NEVER come back to your restaurant again!”

“Our server seemed to be drunk”**

**I visited the bartender on my break.

By the way, did you know that there’s some sort of health code statute against smoking in the kitchen prep area???

The restaurant owner seemed to be irritated with me for some reason and assigned re-stock duties to me.

My assignment at hand was to replace the roll of towels in the restroom. For the record, mechanical towel dispensers are not as user-friendly as they appear to be!

Step 1:
Unlock the cover

Step 2:
Fumble with the clasp to the cover in continued efforts to unlock the cover

Step 3:
FINALLY open the cover

Step 4:
Insert the towel roll

Step 5:
Towel roll keeps slipping out of the dispenser

Step 6:
Finally able to position the towel roll appropriately; try to maneuver the towel feed into the slot

Steps 7-10:
Repeated failed attempts at aligning the roll with the slot/feed advance

Step 11:
Successfully feed the towels through the mechanism

Step 12:
Visit the restaurant bartender**

**Smoke a cigarette

I liken my foray into towel replacement duties to that of my first sexual experience at age 16. 

Only I didn't cry this time.

To: Jim
From: Mike

Re: WTF?

Let me make certain that I understand this correctly…you got fired from TWO jobs in three days?? AND, you nearly destroyed a restaurant by starting a grease fire???

To: Mike
From: Jim

Re: WTF?

Impressive, huh?

To: Jim
From: Mike

Re: WTF?

I have one final job possibility for you so that you can, hopefully, get something good to write about. I don’t think that it’s remotely possible for you to screw THIS one up.

Since you bartended your way through college, there's an open position selling liquor shots in the 900 block of Bourbon. My assistant PR manager knows the owner.  I'll meet you there at 10pm.  Don’t be late!

To: Mike
From: Jim

Re: Uh…

Isn’t the 900 block predominately gay?


I'm gonna KILL Mike!!!



 copyright Pontchartrain Press 2011

Happy Birthday (and other reasons why I'm asked to leave a lot of parties)

As I've been editing my next full-length story, my attention was captured by the "Birthday" icon which pops up on Facebook.

A dear writer friend of mine is celebrating a birthday today and I didn't want to be the lone jackass who didn't take a moment to dispatch a sentiment on her special day. 

Since I'm not one for posting the polite, but easy, birthday wish, I decided to share a birthday love story. 

The email is posted below:

I happen to know that you’re a voracious reader. And, as I’m suffering from writer’s block, I was tempted to bang out the traditional “quick hit” (Happy B’Day!) sentiments.

After careful consideration, I decided to share a little birthday story about a friend of mine.

We’ll call him Terrence. Primarily, because that’s his real name.


Terrence happens to share the same birthday as you, April 4th! Since I’m reeeally bad with remembering dates, this makes it easy to remember YOUR special day.

Yes indeed, April 4th…The same day in which the world was introduced to the delightfully splendid force which embodies the fortunate existence of YOU!

For Terrence, it wasn’t such a happy day at all.

You see, Terrence struggled for money over a better part of his life until, one day, it all turned around when he hit the Deuces Wild poker machine for $1,500 at a Mid City bar.

He employed the financial logic to which many New Orleanians subscribe; he threw caution to the wind by forgoing basic physical and discretionary necessities in life…

Food
Shelter
Children’s school tuition
Water
Dancing With The Stars
Glee

He inserted his entire paycheck into a poker machine.

Upon collecting his unexpected reward, Terrence tipped the bartender and did what anyone who comes into a large sum of money would do…he purchased a hooker at the corner of Tulane and South Cortez Street.

Shanda** and Terrence hit it off quite famously!

**Note: Not her real name-- In the interest of protecting her customers; including an unnamed United States Senator from Louisiana. (Which rhymes with “Twitter’)

Due to some wise investments on Terrence’s part and Shanda’s booming business (She’s really good at what she does…Um, I’ve been told) the happy, entrepreneurial couple lived a comfortable lifestyle.

They decided to reward themselves by taking a long overdue vacation to Venice, Italy for Terrence‘s birthday.

At this point, It’s important to note TWO characteristics about Terrence:

He’s 6-foot 4-inches in height and weighs about 128-pounds.**

**Picture a pool cue with a head, ears and big feet. Oh, and a really dumb looking moustache and eyeglasses.

He also has a wandering eye…especially for ladies in low-cut blouses.

As Terrance and Shanda enjoyed a birthday gondola ride through the serene and romantic waterways of Venice, a lovely young woman caught his eye from the top of a levee.

Sadly, in the absence of his forward attention, Terrence was instantly decapitated by a waterway bridge on this magical day…the date of birth which you both share.

Shanda was horrified as she held Terrence’s severed head in her bloody lap.

She quickly scrambled to the back of the gondola, trying to escape in Jacqueline Kennedy fashion, as the row-master frantically tried to pull her back into the boat.

In the tussle, Terrence’s head accidentally dropped to the boat deck and bounced over the edge into the magnificently, mystical Venetian canal where it was immediately eaten by a school of hunger ravaged intra-coastal sea bass.

Since I am a well known animal lover, Terrence had always made it perfectly clear that custody of his beloved Weiner dog (Beanie) be turned over to me. He also left me his pornographic DVD collection.

In other birthday news, sadly, Beanie passed away this morning at 7am.

He was struck by a Zapp’s Potato Chip delivery truck as he was doing his business on the corner of South Broad and Canal Street.

Anyway, I’ll let you get back to your celebrations. By the way, I have a real bizarre story to share with you when I see you later this evening.

In the meantime, I bid you sincere wishes for a happy birthday.

More To Come. Stay Tuned...

It’s been pointed out to me on numerous occasions that a new piece has not been introduced to the blog in a month.  I’m happy to inform that a new writing will appear shortly.

We were temporarily taken hostage by Libyan nationalists; I’m relieved to announce that we were not pillaged.

Which is fortunate since Allstate does not, in fact, cover pillaging.**

**Mike, the editor, was slightly sexually assaulted, but it had nothing to do with the Libyan hostage situation...he paid cash for it.   

The "Channel Of Clarity"

Against the assault of laughter, nothing can stand.

                                            ~Mark Twain

While the majority of my career was, wisely, spent with a moderately sized broadcast company, I worked for a McBroadcast company for a little while in a part time capacity to kill time and I had a lot of fun...which is to say that I found myself wishing to be brutally murdered each and every day of my life. 
    I finally decided that I'd had entirely TOO much fun doing meaningful work, such as delivering programming which was immediately tossed out the window like a cigarette butt.  It was a very smooth, self ushered, departure...That is, until I received two letters from the corporate office informing me that I’d been terminated for not coming to work and that I had unclaimed wages.
    The letter stated that they’d been unable to successfully deliver said wages-- triggering a folly of back and forth fruitless communiqués.
   After a high level of frustration and about 73 emails, I decided to employ a helpful and professional tactic to resolve this misunderstanding...I dispatched a business letter.
    This is what several of my friends, family and former colleagues label a recipe for disaster.
    After looking over the emails, I sent the following to the New Orleans Operations Manager. We’ll call this manager…Maury, primarily because that's his name.

To: Maury
From: Jim
Dear Maury,
    I hate to bother you, as I know that you’re busy trying to make your broadcast operation appear local-- even though the majority of your stations are programmed and staffed from 500-plus miles away.
    Sadly, the closest they've been to New Orleans occurred when ordering Cajun Pasta from the TGI Friday's menu in Dallas, Tx.
    By the way, the deep fried Mac -n- Cheese is PURE Heaven.  If TGI Friday's tossed in a hooker in the meal deal, I'd NEVER leave!
    As you know, after retiring, I received two notices from your company in July. It shocked me that the company spent $2.60 on postage as this money could have been used to feed a starving African child for approximately four days.**

**According to Sally Struthers on the "Feed The Children Commercials"

   Your middle manager, who struggles to draft a quarterly “Issues in Responsible Programming” report for the FCC, could have documented feeding a starving kid (or Sally Struthers) as an excellent example as to how your company strives to be a good steward of public airwaves. (At least on paper).
   The first notice indicated that my employment had been terminated-- which wasn’t very helpful at all-- since, in an abundance of common sense, I terminated employment on my own.
    Now that I think about it, your note WAS quite helpful in reminding me that I made a sound and sensible decision indeed; unlike my decision to purchase a "Bowflex Gym." **

**Heretofore known as the world's most expensive coat rack.

    Aside from that.   I found no breaking news in your dispatch-- much     like that of your mid day news/talk radio program.
The note also indicated that my contact information was not up to date and that the company could not reach me as a result.
    As an important reference note, my mailing address and phone number have not changed since my ancestors immigrated to this country 275 years ago.**

**Note: The approximate amount of time it apparently takes to retrieve unpaid wages from your company.

    As far as the mailing address issue is concerned, I did, in fact, briefly contemplate moving to Faluga, Iraq but determined that atmospheric conditions would be much too harsh for a sustainable quality of life-- much like that of your work facility.

The second letter indicated that I'm owed unclaimed wages.

   The “unclaimed wages notice” especially caught my attention as I would deeply love to visit Harrah’s Casino this weekend so that I might toss a few bucks into the slot machine.
    As another important note, should I hit BIG on the “Wild Cherry“ machine, I’ll definitely partake in the scrumptious all you can eat buffet.  Would you care to join me?
    After my unsuccessful resolution to this troubling issue, via 345-thousand emails, I’m now reaching out to you, requesting that you contact me so that we might devise a plan which results in a successful attempt to retrieve these “unclaimed” wagers/wages and fight the War On Terror®

I'll be happy to visit your office if you‘d like.

    By the way, If anyone is celebrating a birthday, I can also bring my neighbor, Kevin. He’s literally a clown.  He used to be a pornographic film actor but that's an entirely long story which would be inappropriate to discuss in a professional business dispatch.
    Kevin has just completed Ringling Brother’s Clown College which, oddly, is managed more efficiently than your facility.
    I shall look forward to a call this week and eagerly await your advice as to how I might proceed in retrieving the casino money…I mean, “unclaimed” wages.

Regards,
Jim
P.S.  Can you PLEASE speak with someone in your sales department about eliminating all of those "Male Sexual Enhancement" commercials???  When did the United States male population collectively lose the ability to attain an erection?

To: Jim
From: Maury
Today, when I followed up with HR, they informed me that they have reached out to you on NUMEROUS occasions as well.
With all due respect, this is ridiculous, call the business office during business hours, and ask for HR. Simple.
    If you want this done, as I do, simply call and get it done. Thanks.
Maury
Operations Manager, Channel Of Clarity
New Orleans

To: Maury
From: Jim
I’m taking a moment from my busy schedule to provide an update with regards to my query into the process for reclaiming the casino money…er, uncollected wages.
    I took your advice...right after listening to the "Male Sexual Enhancement" commercial on your station 1-thousand times last evening.
    I also took liberty, as you'll notice in the email attachment, to make punctuation edits on your previous email missive.
    I will give benefit of the doubt that you sent it from an I-Phone.  The Android is much more functional.
    When I initially read your advice, it occurred to me that your words held a resounding level of familiarity.
    Primarily because I have executed your precise set of instructions on several occasions for three months. Of course, unfortunately, I've also gained 5-pounds over this same time period.  This is due to the fact that, at Popeye's, the savings NEVER stop with their value menu!  I'm on a budget because you have all of my money.
    I suspect that a 6-year old would have taken it upon his/herself to follow your protocol in resolving this matter. Happily, I now feel great relief that I'm smarter than a 6-year old.**

**Unless you ask my ex-girlfriend.

    Not being one to pessimistically give in to adversity, much like the United Nations, The EU or those who negotiate with terrorists, I gave your instructions their due attention and called the business line.
    After being placed on eternal hold, forced to listen to what I can only describe as broadcast doo doo, I left HR another voicemail.
    I’m rather embarrassed to admit it, but I’ve become somewhat romantically involved with the HR voicemail system. Your executive assistant sounds HOT!!
    As far as HR reaching out on “numerous” occasions, you should know that they left a message after my initial query and I returned the call.  They were, again, unavailable but called back and left a voicemail for me. I called back and they were, again, unavailable.**

**This is what irritating, boring people call “phone-tag.”

Let’s break this down with a fun math analogy:
Maury Mathematics
HR making an initial call + Me returning the call + HR making a return call =  “Numerous” HR attempts to reach out.

The Rest Of The World Mathematics

HR making an initial call + HR making a return call = Two calls

**(And me having sexual fantasies about a voice mailbox recording.)

    I give benefit of the doubt in allowing for the possibility that my continued unsuccessful attempts to make contact this particular week might be due to “Super Bowl Fever.”

GO PACKERS!!

    As a courtesy, I’ll keep you apprised of the outcome but, in the meantime, please do not hesitate to call with any updates, helpful pointers or if you have any financial interest in getting in on my Super Bowl Pool.
   I like you Maury…probably more so than a man should like another man. Are you busy Friday evening?

Regards,
Jim

To: Jim
From: Maury
    With all due respect, Jim, I don’t care for your tone or silliness. And, quite frankly, I think you are being downright rude. We will cut a check today though.

To: Maury
From: Jim
My manners are indeed lacking and I feel absolutely terrible that I didn't exert better efforts over the course of seeing you each and every day in the radio  empire to tell you a bit more about myself but you usually whisked past me, looking at the floor, as though you'd been summoned to the White House Situation Room. 
    I also would have told you in the initial job interview but you were at the golf course that day and staffed it out to that creepy Program Director.
    Anyway, enough about your "hands-off" management style...here's a little bit about me:

5' 11''
160 and a half pounds
Decent athletic build
Blonde hair
Blue eyes
Above average private parts (I've been told)
Clinically insane
Taurus

    If you would, please pass the above info on to the HR assistant lady
    Thank you for the rapid response to my inquiry, as I can now stop taking out my frustration upon the cat.   
    I can either pick up the check at your offices or, even better, why don't you join me at the casino this evening?  It's "Taco Tuesday" and that can only mean ONE thing...We will skip the tacos and drink $100 in 2-for-1 Margaritas and throw up on someone's lawn!

Regards,
Jim
    Maury left a check for me at the front desk the following morning.  I'm happy to report that I wasn't taken into custody but I finally met the voicemail woman.  She met me for margaritas at the casino later that night.
    She is, indeed, quite attractive.

copyright Pontchartrain Press 2011

Author's Note: This little piece is dedicated to my mother and father.  My dad provided more accidental comedy than I could even begin to write in this lifetime...but I'm trying 
    Today, however, marks 2-years since my mom's passing and I'm abundantly thankful for her deep appreciation for my ascerbic sense of humor. 
    Even though she had to endure numerous parent-teacher conferences because of it, she never missed an opportunity to encourage me to push forward in reaching my hopes and dreams. 
    While I miss her so much today, I take comfort in that I'm thankful for her love and support everyday.  So...She and my father are always with me I suppose.  And now they're with you, in spirit, in this particular writing piece. 
    As a side note, no employees were harmed in the making of this story (except me) and, Maury is no longer with the company.  What a shock!  Hope he got his final paycheck.

Lost In Translation

I found passion for writing at an early age. Whether or not I’m any good at it isn’t for me to decide…but, I enjoy it. 

I give full credit to Mr. Miller…my fourth grade teacher.  Mr. Miller often sent letters and notices home to my parents and, in order to save him unnecessary embarrassment which could potentially befall someone charged with the daunting task of shaping young minds, I’d return his notes before delivering them.

Mr. Miller was about 147 years old-- which presents an abundance of clarity as to why he smelled funny.  He also went to the bathroom a lot and often fell asleep at his desk with false teeth dangling from his mouth in a puddle of drool. 

I now understand that this was a primary reason as to why Mr. Miller was always so grumpy. 

I often highlighted spelling errors and offered helpful wording and/or sentence structure recommendations on his notes because I felt that his unfavorable assessments of me would carry more weight with my mom and dad if they were a bit more polished.**

**Note: Hats off to my 3rd grade teacher, Ms. Hanner.  She was an excellent teacher in the area of English composition.

Neither Mr. Miller nor the school principal seemed to find my recommendations helpful at all.  In fact, my dad held even stronger feelings on the subject. 

As I recall, my father was buddies with the school principal, Mr. Granstaff.  Dad often asked if I knew exactly how and why my antics at school made things difficult for him.  I astutely and, I believe correctly, replied: 

"Because it likely made things uncomfortable for the two of them when he and Mr. G. got drunk every weekend watching football." 

This is about the same time frame that my dad threatened to send me away to the local military academy.

Many of us seem to take “getting to the point“ as offensive or curt…especially when it’s presented in written form. Then again, perhaps it depends on the topic.

Examples:

 Dear Jim,

I loved that story about the ways people quit their jobs…especially your resignation letter. Just wanted to drop you a quick note and let you know.

Love your writing dude!

Doug

Dear Mr. Patrick,

Our client, Chase Bank, has turned this account over to our office in order to take legal avenues to collect the $10, 872.50 owed. 

So that we might collect  full payment on your balance due without legal action, please call our office immediately.

Admittedly, I realize that my written words might be taken in a way in which they were not intended.  It goes without saying that my SPOKEN words have the aforementioned effect.   

I began my writing "Road to Recovery" by practicing on a friend of mine with a Happy Birthday sentiment on her Facebook page.

I believe that it was a strong and positive exercise in getting to the point without creating an awkward or odd aura associated with conveying my point.  

As the corporate mantra, from my former employer, goes, perhaps "Less IS more."   

Hey there...Hope you’re having a great day!

I had a slight problem in securing your birthday present.

It was not an elaborate gift idea but I thought you’d like it. It’s a rather long story, so I shall give you the short version.

My friend, Chris, visits South America every other year. Did you know that South America is the 4th largest continent in the world? They also broke off ties with the West (super continent-- Gondwanaland) around 135 million years ago.

It had something to do with health care reform, I suspect, but I can’t seem to substantiate this theory.  Rush Limbaugh is working dilligently to confirm it, so I will sleep better, taking great comfort in the knowledge that he is on the case.

Anyway, Chris left for his trip, along with his buddy Phillip, last month for a guided expedition. I concluded that it would be great to seize this unique opportunity by having Chris capture and bring back a Collared Peccary.

Since you're a lover of animals, I just KNEW that this would be the perfect little pet!

Peccaries are cute little hoofed mammals (12-16inches) and eat berries, nuts, insects and roots.**

**(Note: Not the kind of “nuts” who live in New Orleans...or my ex-girlfriend)

Of course, because of their tendency to overeat, they also devour entire South American crops…which is why farmers use the Peccary for target practice.

Funny, I’ve never seen or heard of PETA jumping all over THAT bandwagon.

I’ve never seen Pam Anderson, the rocket scientist that she is, pose in the nude as a form of silent protest on a PETA billboard with a caption which reads…

“Save the Peccary!!!”

Anyway, Chris managed to secure a Peccary! Of course he somehow also secured a sexually transmitted disease from an overnight stay in a tiny mountain village…but that’s a LONG, crazy story!

Due to the fact that Chris allowed Phillip to book the trip this year, Phillip cut corners and hired a crazy, alcoholic expedition guide who also only had one foot.  He was missing his left eye as well.  He also showed up 2 hours late...slurring and reeking of alcohol. 

The guide was, supposedly, from Brazil, yet he couldn't even speak Portuguese!!!!  THAT should have been their first warning sign. 

Allow me to point out the obvious here…There are some things one simply should NOT book through Travelocity.com.

They were lost in the Andean mountain territory for 3-weeks thanks to Phillip’s thriftiness in not choosing an experienced guide.

After a couple of weeks in the wild, food became a major issue, as did the burning sensation in Chris’ pee pee area. They were tired of eating tree limbs, leaves and insects, however, the Peccary was in culinary heaven!

This must have been hell on earth, as Chris and Phillip are avid meat eaters. So, as these things go, the Peccary became a delicious prospect to the guys.

Sadly, I’m now able to report that Peccary tastes a little like Buffalo…according to Chris.

The guys DID manage to save a tooth from the Peccary, which I commissioned a local artist to affix within a lovely little necklace. I’ll drop by and leave it on your doorstep.

If you’re home, I MUST come in and tell you the strangest story I’ve ever heard which happened to a buddy of mine the other day!

I hope you have a Happy Birthday!

Regards,

Jim

I’ve NEVER understood why American Greetings or Hallmark won’t entertain the idea of me working on their writing staff.

After learning that I was working on this piece, a girl I know thought it to be a good idea to share a recent text message conversation between she and a gentleman she’d recently met. 

I was pleased to learn that I'm not the only person whose words become lost in translation: 

Veronica:
You would be a fantastic “sub”

Sean:
What?

Let's pause for a second.  As the recipient of her initial text, the proper response from this gentleman should have been:

a) Thank you, but I have a bad back…and my knees are fairly weak. Plus, I don’t own a “gimp“ suit or a “gag-ball.” Thanks anyway!!

b) Absolutely! I’ll be over in 15-minutes!! Should I bring my "gimp" suit?  Xoxo

It will all make sense as you read on…We’ll call this little conversation:

THE CONFUSED “SUB”

Sean:
Who is this?  What am I a good sub for? This is an odd message

Veronica:
You’d be a good sub for a Domme

Sean:
Yeah? No clue what that means, who is Domme? Is he/she with you? Can you be more specific?

Veronica:
Sub= submissive. Domme= dominatrix

Sean:
Ah. Who has come to this conclusion?

Veronica:
I have

Sean:
Ah. Yet I don’t have a name associated to this telephone number. How can I domme someone when their name is a mystery to me?

Veronica:
You can’t Domme.

Sean:
Why?

Veronica:
a) You’re not a girl
b) YOU would be the sub

BTW, I’m Veronica…we met about two hours ago and talked for about an hour.  You gave me your number dumb ass! xo

Sean:
Ah…Well, I appreciate the compliment but I am on the wank right now and I’m too far away for anyone.  Anyway, I don't think Shannon would be the "sub" type. LOL!

Veronica:
I think you may possibly be confused, but that could just be the wank. Come back to the bar tonight and we’ll talk then.

Sean:
I am really tired and I don’t know if I want to risk driving back that far. Is there no middle ground we can meet at??  What am I confused about by the way??

Sean:
I take your silence as a bad thing?

Sean:
I would love to continue this convo, but must sleep now. Tomorrow perhaps??

Sean:
U still there????

Meanwhile...the the following day:

Veronica:
I went to sleep last night after our last text…No, Silence isn’t bad. Come out tonight.  I promise you'll have fun!

Sean:
So, what is going on there? Some kinda concert or something like that?

Veronica:
Yeah, something like that.

Sean:
Doesn’t look like I am heading out.

Veronica
That sucks. I be sad. :(

Sean:
Sorry to disappoint, I apparently have that affect on women…LOL!!

Veronica:
I was going to fix that.

Sean:
I appreciate the sentiment but I don't believe you're my type.

Veronica
I don't think so either.

Sean:
Gas is getting too expensive for me to get out anyway…and I have to drive to campus 3 times a week as it is. BTW, I am curious as to how the discussion of me being a good sub came about? Can you elaborate?

Veronica
On second thought, you ask way too many questions to be a sub.




And so, young Sean will never receive the answers he so desperately seeks…all because of rising fuel prices!!

Unfortunately, in the instantaneous society in which we live, communicating with my friends via instant message or text is, as I’ve been told, a disaster waiting to happen.

I’m not sure what that means, but it prompted me to take a closer look at who I associate with via social networks.  Mr. Miller...where are you when I NEED you???  Oh, you're dead.  I forgot.

I glanced at my “friend” folder last week and realized that I didn’t know several people on the list. These are people who I can’t recall EVER having a conversation with, much less email or message exchanges.

Who is Cynthia Hobbs???? Wait a second…she’s pretty cute.

Via Facebook Email
From: Jim

Hey Cynthia,

I noticed that you’re on my Facebook friends page. I’ve been sorting through this page in order to clean it up a bit and, while I’m not quite sure how we know one another, I glanced at your photo albums.

Judging by the visual content in numerous pictures within your online albums, I strongly suspect that you would look STUNNING without clothes-- as especially evidenced by the photo of you wearing that revealing bikini at the lake in your album titled “Chillin’ Wit Da' Peeps/ Summer 2010.”
　
In the high hopes that I might see more revealing photos of you in the future (either posted to your Facebook page or by personal correspondence) You'll be pleased to know that I have decided NOT to “De-Friend” you.

Instead, I thought I’d send you this email and “Poke” you. Um, not literally-- I meant “poke” in Facebook vernacular. (I.e. Subtly saying hello.)

I hope that this email and the news of my delaying "De-Friending" finds you well and in good spirits.

Regards,

Jim

Via Facebook
From: Cynthia Hobbs

Uh…WTF??? I’m your Realtor. I sold you a house 7-years ago.

With that…I suppose it’s time for me to be quiet.  Perhaps Mr. Miller was correct after all. (sigh)

copyright Pontchartrain Press 2011

Author's Note: For our national and international readers..."Wank" is New Orleans slang for West Bank.  It's an area of the metro which prides itself on nothing in particular.  Several of it's citizens routinely enjoy a dozen alcoholic libations and drive home across the bridge, usually crashing into the guardrail.  It is home to several wonderful establishments such as Target. And, for a TRUE New Orleans dining experience, you'll also find a Taco Bell, The Texas Roadhouse, McDonalds AND a brand new TGI Friday's!!  Those crazy "wankers."