Humor from on High

Monday, November 20, 2006

Wreckomendation: O.J.

I've been wanting to do something on O.J.'s new book since I heard about it, but I'm clearly not as creative as Ben Greeman from McSweeney's. So since he has beaten me to the punch, check out "Fragments From If I Did It! The Musical" below:

- - - -

(JUDITH REGAN is in bed. She wakes up.)


Last night I had the strangest dream.
An angel came to me. It seemed
As though he tumbled down from heaven high.
He had the gentlest tone. His voice, it did beguile.

He wanted me to make a book
That turned back time to take a look
At the O.J. Simpson murder trial.
Then he flew back up into the endless vault of sky.

Part of me would like to go right back to bed.
Instead I think I'll do just what the fallen angel said.

(While she is singing, O.J. SIMPSON appears at her bedside. He walks slowly as a result of his injured knees, but when he hears his name mentioned he brightens.)


Oh, how I wish that you would help me.
I need another chance to state my case.
I have been suffering for years now.
Golfing and nightclubbing in disgrace.

(JUDITH REGAN hops out of bed. She is fully dressed in a business suit. She takes O.J. by the arm and leads him to a waiting limousine. In the car, she begins to explain her plan.)


I'll rent us a studio.
We'll talk about that night.
America will see you
In a wonderful new light.

Obviously, we'll also
Use the program to promote
The sale of the tell-all
Companion book you wrote

Remembering the dead
While honoring the living.
It's quite a brilliant stroke.
I'm shooting for Thanksgiving.

(The limousine pulls up at a television studio. O.J. limps out of the car. JUDITH REGAN hops out after him. The two of them enter and take their seats.)


I know that it is hard for you
To relive your darkest day.
Start when you are ready.
Say what you want to say.


Well, let's see.
I've forgotten a lot.
We were happily married and then we were not.
There were fights. There were drugs.
There were rumors galore.
Some of the rumors were hard to ignore.

I am thinking in particular of one I heard one night,
That she was in a threesome. I felt that wasn't right.

(Curtain parts. Dry-ice smoke is released. The FLASHBACK PLAYERS—puppet versions of O.J., NICOLE, and RON GOLDMAN—appear. O.J. is driving in his car toward NICOLE's house.)


I am mad.
I am mad.
Holy God am I mad.
What I think
I may do
Is horrifically bad.

In my hand,
In my hand
Is a dangerous knife.
I am paying
A visit
To my wanton ex-wife.

This is it.
This is it.
Bundy Drive, I presume.
The children
Are sleeping
Upstairs in their rooms.

What is that
That I hear?
There's a voice in my ear.
Be quiet.
Be quiet.
A waiter draws near.

(RON GOLDMAN approaches the house, holding NICOLE's glasses. He rings the bell. NICOLE answers.)


I am just a simple, kindly waiter.
I smile and bring exactly what you want.
That is why I said that I might drop by later
With the glasses that you left behind at the restaurant.


Thank you, Ron, oh, thank you, Ron.
This is what we agreed upon.
Now would you like to come in for a drink?
I am wearing a black dress.
It's kind of short, I guess.
But we're all adults here, don't you think?

(O.J. leaps from behind a bush, waving around his knife.)


Stand back.
Stand back.
It's time for me
To attack.

Now I'll chop off your head
Until you're good and dead.
The ground will be stained red
At the place where you bled.

(O.J. kills NICOLE and RON GOLDMAN.)


Whatever I just did, I didn't do it.
And if I did, I didn't. That's denial.
Does it bother me?
Sure, it does, a little.
But I'll see you at the trial—
Or maybe I should say at the acquittal.

(Dry-ice smoke fills the frame again. The FLASHBACK CHORUS appears, consisting of puppet versions of Judge Lance Ito, Marcia Clark, Christopher Darden, Johnnie Cochran, Paula Barbieri, Kato Kaelin, Marcus Allen, Phil Spector, and Robert Blake.)


Murder, mayhem, spousal abuse:
The Juice is loose! The Juice is loose!

Trial, acquittal, civil award:
He who lives by the sword does not die by the sword.

Murder, mayhem, spousal abuse:
The Juice is loose! The Juice is loose!

Book deal, magazines, TV show:
From open wounds great profits flow.

(The FLASHBACK PLAYERS disappear with a puff of smoke, showing O.J. and JUDITH REGAN back in the TV studio.)


That puppet show was wonderful
And really quite affecting.
O.J., is that the start of tears
That I'm detecting?

(O.J. reaches for a tissue.)


I can't go on like this.
My kids can't see me this way.
The search for the real killers
Begins in earnest today.
I swear on the life
Of my lovely ex-wife.
It begins in earnest today.

(The TV interview ends. JUDITH REGAN goes home and goes to sleep. She sleeps soundly, surprisingly. In the morning, she awakes to birdsong.)


Oh, what a beautiful day.
I've never had a feeling quite like this.
The sun coming up in the east
Feels like the sweetest kiss.
I've published them all, from Canseco to Stern.
Top cop Bernie Kerik was my client and lover.
But this book, I promise, it will sell and sell.
It'll go straight to No. 1 in hell!
I can already smell that sulfurous smell.
I just have to remember to fireproof the cover.

(The birds outside JUDITH REGAN's window sing the theme song to The Naked Gun.)

Friday, November 10, 2006

Top Five Yes, No, and Maybe Respones To An Evite Party Invitation

"Of course we'll both be there you douchebag. We're conjoined twins."

"No sorry, we have to...oh crap. The paint's already dry. Yeah, we'll be there I guess."

"Well, it looks like not having an exit strategy in Iraq screwed me. But what great timing! I didn't think I was going to be able to make it to the party, what with running the defense department and all, but now I've got loads of time on my hands, so I guess I better start formulating an entry strategy! (lol) Raise the party alert level to orange bitches! Rummy's on the prowl!"

"Graduation party!? Sounds great! Your recently divorced mom is going to be there right?"

"You couldn't keep me away with a restraining order! Seriously, it's not going to stop me."

"Wish I could make it! Unfortunately my sex change operation got switched to that day. Nuts!"

"Dude. Your parties suck. And what part of 'kazoo medley' and 'Who Let the Dogs Out?' do you think actually go together?"

"While a Star Trek themed orgy sounds like a good idea, I think my Spock ears are at the cleaners. I don't think Shatner and Picard gang-banging Sulu was what they meant by the 'Final Frontier.'"

"I'm unfortunately going to be flying back from Bolivia that day. Silvio said he'll have my nuts if I don't get those 50 kilos of...um...religious figurines...to the States by Monday. Keep it real homes. Hit my pager if you need some figurines bro."

"Can't make it guys, sorry. I don't know if you heard, but a one-armed man killed my wife and framed me for it! Can you believe that shit!? Yeah, so anyway I've been running from the cops and trying to prove it wasn't me that did it and you wouldn't believe how time-intensive that is. It's crazy, I'm telling you. Anyway, I think I have a couple clues, but I really need to spend this weekend working on them and this Federal Marshall is riding my ass and it's just a little too much on the plate right now. You understand, right? I'll catch the next one! Have a great time!"

"I'd like to come to your birthday...but are you going to make us play spin the bottle with your cat again? Seriously, enough with the tongue Whiskers. I'm fucking clean already."

"While Rita and I are free that night, we're going to need some clarification....when you say B. Y. O. Farm Animal....um...why is that exactly?"

"I don't know if we can make it. We've got a pretty big day tomorrow. You guys have a great time though. We've got a pretty nice little Saturday planned, we're going to Home Depot. Yeah, buy some wallpaper, maybe get some flooring, stuff like that. Maybe Bed, Bath, & Beyond, I don't know, I don't know if we'll have enough time."

"Dude, I'm so high! The screen is like chemiphorescent or some shit. Mmm...trail mix."

"I'm sorry I have to ask this, but you guys are a politically active gay republican couple from Pennsylvania, so your invitation was a little confusing. What specifically is meant by 'Santorum Clean-Up Party'"?

Wednesday, November 08, 2006

I Like Sports

A local radio show host likes to make fun of people who are obsessively compulsed to live and breath sports. Ironically, he works for a sports talk station, so make of that what you will. For an example, I invite you to listen to this classic rant. I never thought I was one of those people or rather, I never wanted to admit to being one of them. And here is the point in the story when you're waiting for me to tell you I AM in fact one of them. But it's not that simple.

Sports were thrust upon me at an early age. In fact, I believe I recieved perfect 6's for my double back with 1 1/2 twists out-of-the-womb-dive. My pike position was excellent. And having a dad that was a high school basketball star (one state title and two state title appearances) pretty much meant that I was going to be urged in that direction. When it turned out that I was freakishly tall on top of that, the story began to write itself for me. Now don't get me wrong, I was invested in playing basketball, soccer, baseball, and tennis all along, but in that way you "choose" as a kid where you're never totally aware of whether you are making the decision, or you are actually just being conned by your crafty parents.

Soccer, tennis, and baseball fell gradually to the wayside, but basketball persisted. Hair grew where there was none before. And a jump shot where there was none before. After having been one of the taller and therefore better players in grade school basketball leagues (a direct correlation), I fell back to the middle of the pack throughout junior high, but my genetic growth abnormalities eventually manifested just before my sophomore year and I was suddenly a literal big man on campus. Socially, not so big. I was frightened of females, in particular. And then it was off to the races, and basketball dominated my life for the next decade or so. So much so that I largely defined myself as a basketball player (as did others FOR me -- thanks a lot you stupid jerks).

Other sports crept in. I can't resist trying to master another sporting venture, or try to best my friends in something new, be it poker, golf, volleyball, tennis, lawn jarts, pool, jai alai, or full-contact wiffleball. Some sport loses its appeal, but another one inevitably captures my spirit. It's natural also, I have found, that when one gains an appreciation of a sport by having experienced it firsthand, watching it on TV or live as others play becomes much more appealing too. I never liked watching golf on TV before playing it and now you couldn't drag me from the TV when the Masters or U.S. Open is on. Before you know it, you're watching or playing something all the time, and there isn't time to do anything else. And in this way my life has gone for a very, very long time.

But recently the harsh reality has set in that I am no longer that reasonably coordinated and youthful competitor that I once was. I now have the body of an 85 yr old retired stuntman. Unfortunately, my brain hasn't realized that yet. It's broken, you see. And that has led to serious ego issues. The Star Tribune recently ran a series of stories about Kirby Puckett, and his life after being unable to play baseball anymore. In short, he thought not playing baseball anymore...oh, where is that quote? Ah yes, here it is, "It sucked." And he decided to fill the void with a not so healthy dose of double cheeseburgers and inactivity. You know how that turned out -- not so good. And while my metabolism has prevented me from getting that self-destructive, the void I feel is palpable. I now rely on golf, tennis, and volleyball to purge my competitive mana, while trying to ignore the urge to clad myself in white Izod polos that is associated with becoming (unintentionally) a country club athlete. But with the partial exception of volleyball, these are just no substitute for uber-competitive team sports that have been so integral in my life for such a long time.

So partly, I think, I have filled the void with sports viewing. And occassionally, sports photography. And most of all, sports criticism...of the curmudgeonly "back in my day" variety, usually. I hang out with the old teams and teammates. I talk about the good old days. I live vicariously through the youngins and the oldins that are still doing it. I try to make them remember I would've whooped them..you know...back when my knees worked. Talking trash is timeless, you see. I retire and retire and retire again, and intersperse each retirement with a matching comeback effort -- only to remember why the previous retirement occurred. But still, sports are a huge part of my life, and I know always will be.

But still I can't but feel cheated. Robbed. I'm not that old, after all. But borrelia burgdorferi took away at least a few good years and it's awfully hard to take out one's vengeance on a bacteria. Amoxicillin all up in your ass, bitch. Perhaps that's the true test of one's competitive spirit. Even when presented with an overwhelming amount of direct evidence to the contrary, you still think you can and need to do it like you once could.

Or maybe my brain is still not working properly.