Tips to Avoid the Flu
Influenza season will soon be here. I can tell, because pharmacy ads have turned sinister. How can you avoid becoming a vomiting snot-zombie this winter? By following these helpful tips:
- Wash your hands often with soap. Chinchilla-style dust baths don't count.
- Drink plenty of water or water-like branded sports drinks.
- Avoid shaking hands. Instead, try Eskimo kisses.
- Wear a medical face mask or, if you can afford it, a full Hazmat suit at all times.
- Ask yourself, "What Would Howard Hughes Do?"
- Stay away from crowded places, like your mom's bedroom. BURN!
- Maybe taste isn't the best way to identify mystery liquids on the subway.
- If you see someone who looks sick, hold your breath and cross your fingers as you pass by.
- Boil your nose every night before bed.
- Avoid little germ-incubating toddlers. Including your own.
- Make a voodoo doll of yourself and submerge it in orange juice.
- Get eight to eighteen hours of sleep per night.
- Use antibiotic cleaners. They won't do anything about the flu, but they will create a super resistant strain of staphylococcus, which will help curb overpopulation.
- If you see a suspicious germ, alert a police officer or call 311.
- Have you ever tried a neti pot? Oh my god, it's like an orgasm in your nose.
- Speaking of which, there's this crazy Internet video I'll show you next time you come over to my apartment.
- Laughter is the best fake medicine. Even better than chiropracty.
- Stop being such a pussy, and just get the vaccination shot already.
Mathemagician’s Assistant
The following is an excerpt from my memoir, which covers the three years I spent as a Las Vegas mathemagician’s assistant. It’s called A Boy Cut in Equal Halves. Enjoy:
The Great Nerdkin called me into his dressing room to help him with his pocket protector. The pocket protector is what is known in the backstage world of mathemagic as a “tap.” A tiny radio receiver in the device picks up equation results and “taps” lightly against the mathemagician’s chest, giving him the answer. Nerdkin’s tap had gotten jostled and was stuck in base 12.
The entire grand finale depended on that tap. Without it, The Great Nerdkin was just another street hustling math shark, pulling cube roots out of the air for quarters. The finale is what got him out of the dank Bar Mitzvahs and into the big money. Tech conference money.
We worked on fixing the tap for what seemed like hours, but turned out to be only 1/18th of an hour. Curtain was fast approaching, and no mathemagician is ever late for a show. It implies that you’re bad with numbers.
The Great Nerdkin flung the pocket protector against the mirror and said, “We’re switching over to Bertrand’s Postulate.”
It was a risky move. We’d never successfully pulled off Betrand’s Postulate. It was an untested math trick that applied Chebysev’s proof of Joseph Betrand’s conjecture that there is at least one prime between n and 2n − 2 for every n > 3. If it went wrong, someone could get hurt. Probably me.
“We’ll need a plant in the audience to throw out a Ramanujan prime,” I said, nervously.
“Get Rummy,” roared Nerdkin.
Rummy was former Applied Number Theory professor who’d turned to alcohol when one of his finite fields turned out to be infinite. He’d hang out at the stage door hoping to sell mathemagicians his elliptic curve cryptosystem tricks. He had his moments of lucidity, but only between drinks eight and eleven.
I was already wearing my sequined leotard for the Floating Variable trick. I’d have change into my civilian clothes to reach Rummy before the end of the first act, and then I’d have to get back in time to apply my fake moustache.
Could I make it? Would we be able to pull of the Postulate? I calculated my odds within four decimal points, and they didn’t look good…
Miracle Bikini Factory
My favorite movie from the 80’s has to be Miracle Bikini Factory (1985). I used to stay up all night in hopes USA Network would show it. I wonder if it still holds up.
The plot was pretty standard:
Tad Gunther plays Kip Hartman, a lovable beach bum with great hair and cool shades. The film starts with Kip getting caught in the stock room with his boss’s topless wife. (It’s all a comical misunderstanding, but I don’t want to ruin how she ends up topless.) So, Kip gets fired.
He goes to stay with his equally lovable beach bum friends, who just got evicted when their homemade robot went haywire. Its beer dispenser was set to the wrong level. Now where are they gonna stay?
The answer comes in the form of a stiff, English butler carrying an envelope on a silver platter. It’s the last will and testament of Kip’s great-aunt Gertrude. She’s left Kip a bikini factory, located right on the boardwalk.
Unfortunately, when Kip and his friends get there, the factory is in complete disrepair. Some of the chairs are turned over and the walls are scattered with neon-colored graffiti. It seems like there’s no way they can get it working … until Kip finds a magic lamp under a pile of bikinis.
That’s when Jeanie the Genie shows up. She’s been stuck in the lamp, because she flunked out of genie school. Maybe she’s just what the guys need to keep the bikini factory from foreclosure at the hands of Mr. Snively, Kip’s ex-fiancé’s father.
There’s an extended montage, where the guys convince models on the beach to help them clean up the factory.
They throw a huge party, and Jeanie magically makes a heavy metal band’s tour bus break down right outside. Everybody’s there, including Kip’s ex- fiancé, whom Jeanie gets jealous of. But, Jeanie doesn’t get a chance to profess her love to Kip, because Mr. Snively has the police come and confiscate all the money from the party.
Their only hope is the annual Beach Obstacle Course Competition, where the winner gets $10,000. (At this point I should mention that Jeanie can’t make money appear, because her powers don’t work when she’s in love.) The models stay up all night making team uniforms, which are bikinis with neon-colored spray paint.
The obstacle course scene is shot in slow-motion.
They end up getting disqualified, because it’s against the rules to have a beer-dispensing robot for a mascot. All seems lost until an Arabian sheik pulls up in a limousine and loves the team uniforms so much that he orders enough to save the factory.
Jeanie tells Kip that she loves him, which breaks a spell and turns her into a normal girl. Kip’s beach bum friends marry the models. And, it turns out that the butler, the sheik, and Mr. Snively were all Jeanie’s father is magical disguise. He’s the King of Genies, and he just wanted his daughter to find love and marry a loveable beach bum with great hair and cool shades.
You know, pretty standard plot. Good movie, though, if I remember it right. There may have been snowboarding involved somewhere in there.
Car Talk
Excuse me, are you Mike? The sign outside said Mike's Garage. Can I ask you a question about my car?
It's been making a funny noise for a while now. Maybe two weeks? At first, it was kind of a "whrrr whrrr krickk," but lately it's making a sound like "chrck chrck chrck kkkkillllll thhhhemmm. Kkilllllll thhhhemmm alllllll." Do you know what that might be?
At first, I thought it was the fan belt, but I don't really know anything about cars. I wouldn't recognize the fan belt if I saw it. Maybe the alternator?
Here, I'll do it again. The noise is coming from the right towards the front, and it sounds a bit like "chrck chrck chrck kkilllll thhhhemmm. Waaaattch thhhemm bleeeed."
Do you think it's the alignment? I just had it realigned last spring. I hope this is an easy fix, because it's starting to keep me up at night. Even when the car's not running, I still hear this low "crrck crrck kkilllll" in my dreams.
I had this same, exact problem with my previous car. That was back in Omaha, before I moved and changed my name. Back then, though, it was because I still had fingerprints. That can't be the problem now.
Mike, are you backing away slowly? Oh, Mike, don't do that. You don't want to make the car angry, do you?
I had a thought that it might be something rattling against the drive shaft. Like possibly some unclean souls? But, like I said, I don't know much about cars.
Here, I've got AAA. Sorry if the card's a little sticky.
Do you take Visa?
Air Travel Tips
I just bought some plane tickets, because of a botched murder attempt. (Don’t worry about it.) And, it got me thinking about air travel.
I love flying. So many people hate it—the long lines, the security, the cramped space—but not me. I’ve figured out how to fly right, and I’m happy to share my many helpful tips. But, it’ll have to be quick, because this fake moustache won’t stay on forever.
Flying tips:
- A pleasant flight starts with proper luggage. You want to make sure your plastic shopping bag filled with underwear and golf clubs fits into the overhead compartment. Practice by shoving it as hard as you can into your toaster oven.
- Get to the airport at least two to nine hours prior to your flight.
- The TSA doesn’t allow liquids over three ounces. Unless it’s medicine. Just calmly explain that you get very sick and shaky without your Olde English 800 malt liquor.
- Airport security has started using imaging scanners that can see right through your clothes. So, before you get in line, you’ll want to fluff a little.
- Look at your boarding pass for your zone number. The higher the number, the less of a person you are.
- Make as much eye-contact with the flight attendants as you can, or else they might think you’re a terrorist. Never let them break eye-contact, no matter how sweaty you get.
- Remember to buckle your seatbelt, because flying is against God and Nature’s will.
- Use of electronic devices is not allowed during takeoff. Apparently, this includes using a hot plate, though I don’t understand why the stewardess had to be such a bitch about it.
- Ask for a blanket right away, in case all that fluffing in line got you in the mood.
- The Skymall Catalogue is a great resource for anyone looking to buy sunglasses with a built-in video camera. Or a miniature Stature of Liberty with a built-in hot dog cooker. Or pretty much anything with built-in something-or-other.
- If the baby behind you starts crying, lean your seat back as far as you can to let its parents know that you mean business.
- Don’t fall asleep before the drink cart comes by. What, you fell asleep?! Oh man! You just wasted like seventy-five cents!
- During landing, a good way to equalize ear pressure is by putting on your snorkel mask and making honking sounds like a goose. I promise.
- Stand up as soon as the seatbelt sign goes off. Wait in the aisle so that other people can’t get their bags. It’s important that you do this. It will get you off the plane a full five seconds earlier.
- At the baggage claim, grab your pet tiger and get the hell out of there.
MAD Magazine Ad Parody
I recently got the chance to contribute to MAD Magazine, which is ... Amazing! The 13-year-old inside of me won't stop jumping up and down.
[I didn't want this secret to come out, but I have a miniature, 13-year-old self who lives inside my empty shell of a head. He stands on my tongue and uses pulleys to make me move. My eyes are like picture windows to him, and curved victrola horns lead down from inside my ears. Please don't tell my wife.]
Anyhoooo, you should run out to your local newsstand and buy a copy of the magazine. It's terrific from beginning to end. What's the end? Why, it's the fold-in. What's the page opposite that? The piece I wrote!
It's about the oil spill in the the form of an ad for Dead Lobster.
If you can't find a copy of MAD, or if you're simply horribly impatient, you can download the page here. Don't worry, it's official and everything. But, I highly recommend buying a copy because, let's face it, when the last time you folded-in? Too long.
Dead Lobster Ad Parody for MAD Magazine.
[Special thanks to Dave Croatto for the opportunity.]
The Olive Diet
The Olive DietTM is a simple, scientific diet plan devised to help you shed pounds quickly and easily. I’ve spent years formulating a foolproof weight loss system without calorie counting or awkward exercise equipment. It’s all based around one simple idea: Olives are disgusting.
That’s it! It couldn’t be easier!
With the Olive DietTM, you put olives on everything—pizza, tuna salad, appetizer plates. You’ll never again eat too much, because olives are super gross. Oversize portions are a thing of the past. Going back for seconds? Never. Just two bites into any meal involving olives, and your gag reflex will keep an eye on your waistline.
Black olives, green olives, kalamata, picholine, dry-cured, brine-cured—they’re all equally repulsive. Ugh, just talking about it is making my stomach upset. Hopefully yours too. That’s the secret to keeping portions small and meals sensible.
Feeling hungry for a sandwich? Try this simple recipe: Aged prosciutto, smoked ham, arugula, and Dijon mustard on crispy French bread. Sounds pretty tasty. Now add olives. Revolting! Inedible even. A nibble is all you’ll be able to hold down.
With the Olive DietTM, you can eat anything, as long as you put olives on top. Lasagna, dips, fish, pasta, salad, burritos, French toast, pudding, grilled cheese, cake, tomato soup, tiramisu—literally any dish can be ruined with the addition of olives. Olives are Nature’s appetite suppressant.
I guarantee you’ll lose inches around your tummy within weeks. You’ll never again experience the guilt and sluggishness from overdoing it at the dinner table. In fact, you’ll start feeling nauseous just thinking about the dinner table. I do.
How did I come up with this diet plan? Through years of experimentation. I discovered at a very young age that olives were yucky, and I’ve built an entire theory of nutrition around that idea. The Olive DietTM has literally been decades in the making.
“But, what happens when I get desensitized to olives and start ignoring their sickening, vile flavor?” you might ask. Well, first, I seriously doubt that’s going to happen. But, if it does, the Olive DietTM has a fallback plan: Capers.
Capers are kind of like if olives pooped out tiny, disgusting rabbit turds on your plate. Even looking at capers will help you avoid eating normally delicious foods.
If—through some sort of reverse miracle—capers don’t keep you from eating, you can move on to sun-dried tomatoes or, as a last resort, cooked green peppers. The Olive DietTM is about so much more than simply olives; it’s about any disgusting food that can ruin a meal and curb your appetite.
For more information about the Olive DietTM and its amazing results, send a check or money order to Olive Diet Industries for my handy educational booklet, Olives: Blech. Or, go online to order my instructional DVD, The Olive Diet: Whaaa? Gross!
Order yours today!
While You Were Out
Boss,
I couldn’t find any “While You Were Out” memo pads, so I’m writing this on paper towel. Sorry it’s so wet.
Someone named Henry called at around 5:30 last Tuesday. I forgot about it until just now. Anyway, he said it was an emergency, and he left his cell number. I’m almost positive it started with a six.
He said it had something to do with an important contract. Or, maybe contact? And, there was something about a judge or judging or judgment. No wait, it was definitely “Federal Judge Something-or-other.” Pretty definitely sure. Maybe.
Um, also Henry said you should avoid going to your apartment. There might be FDI agents there? I don’t know what an FDI agent is. Is it like an FBI agent? That would make more sense. Henry seemed really nervous about that part. He wanted you to call him right away. Last Tuesday.
His name might have been Benny, instead. I couldn’t really hear him, because I had the music going pretty loud in the office.
Anyway, you should call him back if you have his number. I can probably think of another digit or two if you really need it.
Let me know when you get this. I haven’t seen you since last week. Are you out sick or something? Also, the newspaper keeps calling for you. Something about an indictment? Or indictments? Indicting?
Oh yeah, and I’ll be out tomorrow for a dentist’s appointment.
—Andy