Thursday, September 27, 2012

The Neighbor

Frankenstein came to my house last night.  I told him he was looking swell.

"Unghh," he said ... "aarrrr ahhhh nguu umm-umm!"  (Translation:  "Man,
these neck bolts are a bummer!")

"Well," I told him, "they really don't look that bad;  and look at the
bright side:  you'll never have to worry about losing your head."  I fixed
him a steak and a baked potato — boy, he's a sloppy eater — and sent him
on his way.  "Don't be a stranger!" I called after him.

Then, wouldn't you know, Dracula stopped by ... dressed to kill, as usual.
He looked kinda pale to me.

"Business a little slow, huh?" I said.

"I vah-h-nnnt your blood," he hissed.

"Killer Boris Karloff, babe," I said, offering him a cup of tea.  We chatted
about the good old days back in Transylvania, when he was in his early
hundreds and you still could find a decent tailor.  "Yea, Count ...
everything's gone to hell, hasn't it?"  I must've reminded him of an
appointment, or something, because "POOF!" he was gone.

I heard something rummaging through the garbage can and turned on the porch
light.  Startled, the Creature from the Black Lagoon and the Mummy ran and
hid in the bushes by the driveway.

"Hey, you guys!" I shouted.  "The good stuff's still in the kitchen!
I haven't taken out the garbage yet.  Come on in."  I emptied the can onto
the floor and watched them go at it.  You'd have thought they hadn't eaten
in years.  "Hey, fellas ... do the Abbott & Costello routine, huh ... you
know, the 'Who's On First' thing?"  I'm tellin' you, it was to die for.
Funny guys, those two.

Then, the doorbell rang.  I looked through the peephole.  It was my neighbor,
Phil.  I tiptoed back to the bedroom and pretended I wasn't home.  That guy
gives me the creeps.

Tuesday, September 25, 2012

The Great Gilldo

Ever meet one of those people who's simply been everywhere, done everything?  I knew a guy like that once — an amazing person ... The Great Gilldo.

From our first visit, I knew Gilldo was not of this earth.  His talents, his experience all seemed otherworldly by comparison to the average human.  Had I not encountered him in the men's room now and then, even I would have questioned his mortality.  Alas, even Gilldo had to pee on occasion.

As magnanimous an he was magnificent, he told me, “Recognition?  Fame?  Fortune?  Don't need it.  Been there — cover of Fortune, Time magazine ... made millions ... bought low, sold high ... beat 'em at their own game — done that.”  To him, he said, the thrill was in the chase, the joy in doing for others.

But the “48-inch vertical leap” thing was just too much.  “You mean,” I asked incredulously, “you can jump ... straight up ... FOUR FEET ... from a standing start?!”

“You betcha!” he answered, unnervingly confident.

“So, what you're saying,” I continued, “is that your mom was a kangaroo?”

He chuckled condescendingly.  “Can do!”

“Prove it,” I said.

“Nope.  Don't need to,” he said.  “My word is my bond.  You can take it to the bank.”

“Unbelievable,” I told him.  “You are truly an amazing person,” I said, shaking my head, as I left his office.

For weeks on end, I practiced jumping — straight up ... from a standing start.  At my best, in my $150 Nike Air Jordans, I reached a summit of 22 inches.  I so wanted to believe him.  “Maybe he has some kind of anti-gravity boots,” I reasoned.  “Or maybe he fell once and bounced four feet ... ”

I decided to put him to the test.  One morning, walking into his office, I announced excitedly, “I was abducted by aliens last night!  A UFO landed in my backyard, kidnapped me, and tortured me for two hours by forcing me to listen to old Andy Williams recordings they'd picked up in space from itinerant radio waves.”

His eyes turned skyward.  “I got him!” I thought to myself, leaping 48 inches for joy in my mind's eye.

The Great Gilldo pushed himself back from his desk and leaned backward in his overstuffed leather hydraulic-suspension executive VIP chair.  “Been there ... done that,” he sighed.

“Incredible,” I muttered to myself.  I slumped against the door jamb, wide-eyed, suspended 48 inches above the earth in airborne awe.

“Yup,” he continued ... fantasizing in fast-forward.  “About four years ago, when I was climbing Mount Everest.  They were from a distant galaxy — can't recall the name, but I'll get back to you on that.”

“They found me fascinating.  Probed my brain ... said they'd never seen anything like it.  Kept it for further study.”

“Wait,” I interrupted him.  “They removed your brain?” I asked, delirious with disbelief.

“You betcha!” he said.  “Replaced it with a cantaloupe.”

I settled back down to earth, humiliated and humbled.  At last, The Great Gilldo had redeemed himself.  “A cantaloupe ... ” my voice trailed off into space.


Finally ... now, there was something I could believe.