This is very exciting news! I don’t normally break big stories on this blog, but someone has to. The world needs to know.
A week ago Saturday, a friend of mine---let’s call him Johnny Z to keep his anonymity---discovered a book in the attic of his promiscuous mom’s house. [That she’s promiscuous doesn’t really pertain to this find, but I believe it’s important to paint as rich a picture as possible.] He knew this particular book had a reputation amongst rare book enthusiasts [me], not just because of its scarcity but also the folklore surrounding it.
According to urban legend, the book has a “lost page.” That is to say, there is a page in this book that consistently goes unread, even by the most careful reader.
Some say it’s in plain view, but one’s eye avoids it because of a mystical “glamour.” Others say the page appears blank unless viewed under the exact right conditions---through the periphery of sight with one eye in sunlight and the other in shade. Still others say the page skitters throughout the book, never in one place, always avoiding the gaze of the reader.
But, it’s been found! J. Zeigler [first name withheld to protect his identity] mailed off the book to me, and I, in turn, finally discovered the missing page. [Turns out it was the one-eye-in-the-sunlight thing. Obvs.] And, I’ve transcribed it for you here. For the first time ever!
The following is the famed “lost page” from the 1988 Choose-Your-Own-Adventure novel The Yeti Versus The Brotherhood of the Ninja:
You step across the threshold of the small castle at the top of the mountain in Nepal. The Yeti, otherwise known as the Abominable Snowman, supposedly lives in these mountains. Jeremy, your friend and climbing partner, has also heard that ninjas guard the walls of this castle. Has he heard correct? You don’t see any ninjas.
“Are you sure there are ninjas guarding this castle?” you ask Jeremy.
“That’s what I heard,” says Jeremy.
Footprints, the size of giant feet like the kind of feet a Yeti might have, lead away from the castle. They lead toward a dangerous cliff that looks hazardous. But, the castle also looks risky or dangerous, because ninjas might be inside, or even outside but around the corner and out of sight, like ninjas tend to do.
If you follow the (probably Yeti) footprints, turn to page 56. If you go into the castle where the ninjas might be guarding dangerous stuff, turn to page 37.
So, yeah, that’s the secret lost page that I’ve been searching for for the last twenty years. It kinda sucks.
It’s not the best writing. It's repetitive, and it doesn’t really advance the story. I can see why everyone else skipped it without noticing. It’s sort of a letdown to be honest. Maybe I shouldn’t build it up so much when I talk about it.
Anyway, live and learn.
The following is a list of Friday Fun Facts. (Are things still called facts when they're not true, per se? I was going to call this post Tuesday Trivia, but I didn't want to wait until Tuesday. It's a tough one, because "trivia" is so much less of a weighted term than "facts." Ooh, look at me; I'm a fact; I'm true. Shut up, facts!)
Anyway, this is all stuff. Stuff and/or things:
- In China, Chinese lanterns are called "French lanterns," and in France they're called "slammin' banana lanterns."
- 25% of Americans cannot find celebrities' homes on a map.
- Capers are disgusting. Fact.
- Honey bees see black light posters as completely normal posters.
- Gorillas who go prematurely gray-backed overcompensate by driving around in little gorilla cars made out of banana leaves. ("Drive" is a misnomer; they just sit there in a pile of leaves and grunt. Wouldn't it be cute if they drove, though? And wore suspenders?)
- The movie Like Water For Chocolate was based on an off-off-Broadway play called Like Lightbulbs For Slammin' Banana Lanterns.
- Lincoln's niece, Kennedy Johnson, drove a Ford. Kennedy's nephew, Lincoln F. Polk, drove a Nixon.
- Captain Cook is famous for having discovered crunchberries.
- Entertainment Weekly is the only magazine written exclusively by people who masturbate to the Twilight movies.
- In rural Appalachia, some people go their entire lives without using the word "iconography."
- In Russia, condoms are called "French saddles." In France, condoms are called "soccer."
- The most humane way to kill a lobster is by informing it that its son is gay in front of the entire book club.
- Richard Burton got his start playing a character named Goofer St. Wank in the 1942 teen sex comedy The Randy Misfits of Barnaby Street.
- Gnomes and trolls are mortal enemies, but they'll sometimes hang out together when drunk and complain about fairies.
- Peru has the largest population of people with ugly ears.
- The term Face Monster has now been translated into over 400 languages and has a development deal with CBS.
- Babies are born with an extra set of kneecaps that fall off at two weeks.
- What's available on Netflix Streaming makes up 85-90% of my daily conversations.
Seriously, no one at work is going to ask me about my crutches?
I mean, that's fine, I guess. It's not like you guys have to keep up on every little change in my appearance--new jacket, haircut, stuff like that. Who wants pushy, personal observations at work. But, crutches? That's kind of a big, obvious thing that you might wanna point out.
I guess I kinda expected it to be the first thing anybody asked me about today.
I'll admit I had a little mini fantasy where I got off the elevator and everyone gasped and rushed to see what happened. Then, maybe I'd tell the---I'm gonna go ahead and say amazingly life-altering---story of how I ended up on crutches, and everyone would tsk tsk and coo over me. Maybe not everyone, but certainly in the fantasy, Alexis from New Media cooed.
But, now it's 3 o'clock, and we've had three meetings, one of which was about loading paper into the new printer. And, not a word about these crutches. I think, "What happened to your legs?" should come before, "Legal size goes in the lowest tray." That doesn't me a narcissist, does it? I'll answer. No, it doesn't.
I've gotten used to no one asking about each other's weekends. It was weird at first that nobody said "bless you" when somebody sneezed, but I came to accept that. But, crutches and a limp that weren't there yesterday? Let's at least try to pretend that we're still real people in this office.
Then, there's the tuxedo. Nobody noticed that I'm wearing a torn tuxedo and have a black eye? Not one person? What the fuck, people? What ... the fuck?
Excuse me, can you move that recycle bin so that I can hobble away on these new, apparently invisible crutches? ... Hello? Can you move that? ... The bin next to you? Never mind, fuck it.
I gotta find a new job.
So, these blizzard things keep coming down the pipeline. Has somebody angered Jack Frost? Was it me stealing his nose? I showed him it was just my thumb. [sigh] That guy.
Here are a few tips for surviving a blizzard:
– Stock up on essentials. Toilet paper, peanut butter, seasons one through three of Deadwood on Blu-Ray.
– Set aside at least two gallons of drinking water, in case you wanna have a water-drinking contest.
– Stockpile blankets. For building forts.
– DON'T PANIC! The walls only seem like they're closing in, because the room's oxygen is running out.
– Pay close attention to your local newscast's weather report. Also, after the break, they’ll answer whether or not your kids are safe from Chinese toys.
– Stay low and breath through a damp towel … Wait, that might be for fires. Meh, couldn’t hurt.
– If you can manage it, don’t drive your car. And, not just in an “I bike for the environment” kind of way. Seriously, you need to shut up about Critical Mass. We get it; cars are immoral. [Wanking motion followed by pretending to wax a handlebar mustache and then honking an imaginary bike horn.]
– Avoid Jack Nicholson impressions. It’s been done.
– Your landlord was probably lying to you about that fireplace not working. I say give it a go.
– Do not place a space heater next to curtains or your Victorian Oil Rag collection.
– Soup it up.
– Wear appropriate clothing. Are those last year’s jeggings? OMG, how embarrassing.
– I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again; busting out old board games is a great way to spend the day trapped indoors. Because, one of the boxes might have weed hidden inside.
– Try to fly to Hawaii a few days before the blizzard starts.
– If the electricity goes out, somebody’s getting pregnant. I’m looking at you, anyone in the room with me.
– Keep candles or a hand-crank flashlight handy. [I’m still talking about getting you pregnant.]
– Hot cocoa bath.
– If you are one of my many bear or ground squirrel readers, try hibernating.
– According to romantic comedies, the fastest way to avoid hypothermia is to share naked body warmth with someone whom you outwardly hate though are secretly attracted to. [Still talking about getting you pregnant.]
That’s it. Good luck out there. It’s a real Snowmageddonpocalypse.
Mister Kelly, thank you for meeting with me today. You’ve probably guessed that I invited you here to ask for your daughter Jessica’s hand in marriage. Jessica means the world to me. We’ve been dating seriously for three years, and we’ve been having full, penetrative intercourse for awhile now.
I can’t be sure of any one moment when I knew Jessica and I were destined to get married. It could have been our time together in AmeriCorps or our hiking trip to the Adirondacks. One particular bout of highly-active sexual congress comes to mind. But, then again, it could have been any of a thousand times we were pleasuring each other carnally.
Now just feels like the right time to ask Jessica to marry me. I mean, after everything we’ve been through and done together and done to each other—the next logical step seems to be marriage and starting a family. We’re certainly well-practiced at the mechanics of making a baby.
I can’t describe to you the joy it has been getting to know your daughter—her warm laugh, her kind heart, her surprisingly flexible hips. Every day is a new surprise with Jessica. She’s very inventive.
They say that when you meet the right girl, something clicks. Like the way her and my genitals interlock—it just feels right. God, it feels right.
I guess what I’m saying is this: With your blessing, it would be my honor to ask your daughter to be my bride. She’s my sunshine and my hope, my inspiration and my naughty minx. I can’t imagine my life without her. Though one time we did do this roll-playing thing where I imagined her as a Spanish maid, but that’s not really applicable.
Anyway, what do you say, Greg? Can I call you Greg? How about Pops?
6 Train at 14th Street
You: Pretty blonde wearing a red coat and carrying shopping bags.
Me: Pea coat and messenger bag. Glasses.
We got on at the same time, and I kinda stole the seat you were going for. You rolled your eyes and mumbled the word “asshole.” I pretended to read on my phone. Thought we had a real “Sam & Diane thing” happening. Didn’t get your name. What if it’s Diane? That’d be weird.
Contact me below if you felt it too.
You: Personal trainer with brown hair and big biceps.
Me: Woman who fell on the elliptical machine.
You helped me up and offered me a towel to staunch the blood flowing from my nose. I had split my yoga pants, so I didn’t have time to thank you. On my way out, I saw you holding hands with the girl at the front desk. Hope that’s not a thing.
If you like “fixer-uppers,” call me.
Waitress at Chi Chi’s in 2002
Took me awhile to get up the nerve to write this.
You: Waitress at the Chi Chi’s in Scottsdale.
Me: Came in once for nachos.
You smiled at me and I sensed a bond. Hepatitis A outbreak shut down the restaurant chain in 2004, so I never came back. Good nachos, though.
If you think of me as often as I think of you, write me.
Mermot-Kline Gallery (Chelsea)
At an art opening.
You: Man in black t-shirt and black blazer.
Me: Human statue hired for the event.
Thought we had a real connection, but I couldn’t turn to make eye contact. I was the one painted silver.
You can find me through Human Statue and Party Clowns Booking, Inc.
M86 Bus Saturday
You: Lady reading romance novel.
Me: Man screaming about the CIA.
I kept staring at you aggressively and tugging at my own hair. You shifted uncomfortably. I felt a connection I haven’t since my abduction by the Masons. Know you felt it, too.
Don’t contact me through electronic means. (They’re watching.)
Downtown 6 Train
You: Guy in a pea coat.
Me: Lady in red coat.
You thought fast and nabbed a seat I was going for. I thought it showed a lot of initiative and drive. I mumbled “Bravo,” but don’t think you heard. I’d love to know if you’re such a go-getter in the rest of your life.
Contact me ASAP. I don’t have time for lollygaggers.
Five reasons why I should be the spokesman for the Wendy's fast food chain:
1) I FUCKING LOVE WENDY'S!!! Oh my god, sometimes I catch myself just thinking about a Number Seven with a Frosty™. Just staring off into space and smiling to myself about it. I'm smiling right now.
2) I'm super honest. I'll admit freely that sometimes Wendy's can be disgusting. Like, twice we've accidentally stopped at the same Wendy's off the Interstate in eastern Pennsylvania, and both times the fries were raw. And, the burgers had a funny, metallic flavor. Plus, all of the employees looked like R. Crumb had a nightmare about adult onset acne.
See? Honesty. I think the public would appreciate that and put their trust in me when I say that many other Wendy's franchises do not smell like dirty mop heads.
3) Have I mentioned my rakish smile and amazing dancing abilities? I'm sure we can work those into ad campaigns.
4) My wife only lets me eat Wendy's on road trips, because it's so unhealthy. (Honesty!) So, I'll probably never get sick of eating it, even as its spokesman.
5) Unlike Jared Fogle, I've never been caught up in a salacious, autoerotic asphyxiation manslaughter trial and ensuing media frenzy. Always use a safe word, folks. Always use a safe word.
This might be the lack of sleep talking, but I'm very grumpy and cold. There's not enough sunshine out. Also, my eyelids are heavy, and everything is stupid, and I hate everything. Again, that might be the lack of sleep talking.
Why did you let me stay up so late reading celebrity gossip blogs? I thought we talked about this. If you let me stay up late, I'm going to be grumpy in the morning, and that'll make you grumpy. Why would you want to make yourself grumpy? I'm so mad at you for doing that.
I'm sorry. I shouldn't take it out on you. It's not your fault that I'm upset; it's my lack of sleep. Also this lady walking ahead of us. Why is she walking so slowly?!! JESUS CHRIST, LADY!
Whoa, short fuse. I've got a short fuse this morning. I apologize. I'm sure everything will be better once I get some coffee and once I shove this old lady out of the way. What? Whad'ya mean I can't push an old lady? Why are you being so difficult?
I swear, if I had gotten more sleep or if I was in a better mood, you would let me push that old woman into a snow bank. You're so mean to me when I'm tired---never letting me push old ladies or yell at cars. I don't know why you have to be so cruel. When I'm fully rested, you never seem cruel at all. But, when I'm sleepy and grumpy---that's when you become a mean jerkpants.
Goddamnit I'm so tired.
You know what? That was out of line. I should never have called you a poopy-face jerkpants. Let's go back to bed for a few hours, and when we wake up, I can make it up to you. Also, let's quit our jobs so that we don't have to get up early anymore.
I think this is a good plan. I think this plan is gonna work out great. The first step, though, is turning around and going back to our nice warm bed---
Owww, stop pulling my arm towards the subway! You're being unreasonable!