Beating Around the Bush (14 page)

It dawned on me when I saw a Viagra advertisement promising men a more fruitful sex life, that the drug companies have to set aside a lot more money to promote condoms. You can’t have safe and satisfying intimate relations without protection.

My preference for protection is Trojans. At one time they were the only condoms the druggist sold. Most boys carried them, even though very few boys I knew got a chance to use them. They were the equivalent of the Good Conduct Medal.

In a perfect world you would not need contraceptives, but also in a perfect world there would be no AIDS.

Hey dude, the Barbarians are at the door.

OUR LONG NIGHTMARE is over. The number one serial killer in the world has been captured. Here are some questions my readers are asking.

 

The answer is Halliburton. You ask why Halliburton? The answer is simple. Why not Halliburton? They claim they have been losing money on their contracts in Iraq and the twenty-five million could put them in the black. It was understood in their non-bidding contract that if Saddam was ever captured they would profit by it.

 

Anyone who visits New York knows it is impossible to find a Yellow Cab when you want one. The empty cab aroused suspicions when it was parked there for three days. What looked suspicious was that the meter was still running. Ordinarily a taxi driver might stop for a cup of coffee or to go to the washroom. When Saddam didn’t show up, soldiers found him in an eight-by-six-foot “spider hole.” Other drivers were furious because he gave all cabbies a bad name.

 

He was the same person who cut Charlie Manson’s hair. When Saddam was taken into custody he said, “I know my rights. I am
entitled to one shave.” They took him to a Baghdad barber where Saddam said, “I want a trim on the sideburns, take a little off the top, and give me back the moustache I used to have so people will once again know the real Hussein.” Once he was finished at the barber (Halliburton paid for the haircut) he was questioned by intelligence officers, some who even spoke Arabic. The first question was, “If you were a tree, what kind of tree would you be?” A follow-up question was, “Have you slept with any little Iraqi boys?”

 

He is quoted as saying, “Does this mean I won’t get my pension? Can I still use my MasterCard? What is Paris Hilton really like? Is she as nice in real life a she is in the gossip columns? If I buy one set of leg irons, will I get another one free?”

 

He thinks so. He said, “They only write about the bad things I’ve done and not the good things. It was my idea for the U.S. to bomb Iraq so Halliburton would rebuild it. President Bush didn’t help when he called me names, which made the front pages of all the newspapers.” Just before his capture Hussein met with his lawyers to decide whether to sue the
National Enquirer
for libel because they reported that he was taking painkillers without a doctor’s prescription.

 

A grand jury should decide whether he has committed any crimes that would justify his arrest. If he is tried and found guilty he should be fined $25 million and be forbidden to ever be a dictator
again. But he has a right to appeal the sentence to the Supreme Court. Or he can plead guilty and be sentenced to 30 days in the Baghdad County Maximum Security jail when it is built. The contract for the prison has gone to Halliburton.

DEAR FOLKS,

This is our yearly letter to all our friends telling you what happened to the Kleinmeister family in the past year.

We had a few minor glitches, but doesn’t everybody?

Little George, aged 19, is no longer on probation. He promised the judge he would not be a hacker anymore and would stop spreading viruses throughout the entire MasterCard computer system. He is now living with his probation officer, a beautiful 29-year-old blonde, and we adore her.

Agatha, our 16-year-old, was married in November. The father of her baby is a high school football star who took Agatha to the prom. They are so cute together. If you are thinking of a wedding present, the couple is listed with Planned Parenthood.

The stories you have read about our Rod being under the influence are not true. He just loves wine—good wine—but he never drinks more than two bottles if he has to drive.

Ellen, our 23-year-old, is getting a divorce from Hairy Harry after she found out he was sleeping with his female karate students. She wants the house and $1,200 a week. The divorce could
get nasty if Harry accuses her of not satisfying him in the bedroom. Ellen’s lawyers want to call character witnesses who would say as far as they knew it wasn’t true.

Big Jim, our oldest, was suspended by the SEC for selling penny stocks for nickels. He was told he could never work in the stock market again. He moved in with us and was promised a job at Pizza Palace as soon as they start hiring again.

Did we tell you that our nephew Billy (Edith’s boy) got kicked out of law school for cheating on his exam? He tattooed his cribbing notes on his arm and the student next to him told the professor.

All in all it has been a great year, even though our car was completely totaled when another car hit me as I went through a stop sign.

Now here is the best part. Blair and I went to New York for our 30th anniversary. We stayed at the Waldorf Astoria. They gave us a beautiful room on the 42nd floor with a view overlooking all of New York. We were up there changing to go see
Hairspray
when a grid in Ohio blew out every light in New York. Blair was very good about it and didn’t blame me for the blackout even though my parents still live in Cleveland.

The TV was out and so was the radio so we got to talk a lot, which after awhile can be very dangerous for a married couple. After the blackout was over we made up and Blair suggested we take a cruise.

We took a beautiful boat to the Caribbean, but two days out everyone got hit with a stomach virus and we had to sail back to Miami. Besides being sick, they wouldn’t give us our money back because they said heaving over the side of the boat was an act of God.

I hope next year will be as good as this year and that you have as happy a holiday as we had.

Love, the Kleinmeisters

AS SOON AS I READ that Britney Spears and Jason Allen Alexander had gotten married in Las Vegas, I called up Tiffany’s and asked if the couple had registered for wedding gifts.

The saleswoman checked her computer, then she said, “They were married for fifty-five hours and then the marriage was annulled. They have been asked to send back their presents.”

I thought, “Where did they go wrong? They looked happy in the wedding chapel.”

Then I heard that they did make a go of it. They went to a marriage counselor recommended by a blackjack dealer at Caesar’s Palace.

I have the notes of that session.

MARRIAGE COUNSELOR: What seems to be the problem?

JASON: I’m tired of being known as Mr. Britney Spears

BRITNEY: I bring in the money, so why should he complain?

COUNSELOR: How’s your sex life?

BRITNEY: It is okay—nothing special.

JASON: What do you mean nothing special? You said I was the greatest lover in the world.”

BRITNEY: What would any bride say on her first night?

COUNSELOR: Is this why you want an annulment?

JASON: I don’t want to make love with someone who fakes it.

BRITNEY: And I’m sick and tired of being asked all the time, “Did the earth move?”

COUNSELOR: Do you two really want to save your marriage?

BRITNEY: He wants me to quit my career and have babies.

JASON: What is wrong with going back to Kentwood, Louisiana and being a housewife?

COUNSELOR: You seem to be at odds on that.

BRITNEY: If you want the truth, I think Jason’s too young for me. He is a child in a man’s body.

JASON: I don’t want a mother.

COUNSELOR: Let it all hang out.

BRITNEY: He never picks up his socks.

JASON: I always find her bras hanging in the bathroom.

COUNSELOR: Would you be willing to stop doing that?

JASON: Where else can I put my dirty socks?

BRITNEY: I have to wash my own bras because I don’t like the way the hotel does it.

COUNSELOR: Have either one of you had an affair since you were married?

JASON: No. But at breakfast she accused me of having one. I said, “How could I? I was with you all night.”

BRITNEY: A woman always knows.

COUNSELOR: If I can’t talk you into trying to stay together for a month, then what you are saying is you both want an annulment.

BRITNEY: “Que será, será.” It’s on my next album.

JASON: Will our marriage make the Guinness Book of Records?

COUNSELOR: It wouldn’t surprise me.

BRITNEY: Where do we get our annulment?

COUNSELOR: In the Garden of Only Kidding at the Golden Nugget Casino.

YOU HEAR A LOT about the Fat Lady, particularly in regards to the obesity news that keeps appearing in the papers.

No one has interviewed the Fat Lady, but everyone waits for her to end the opera.

As luck would have it, I went back stage during a performance of
Tristan and Isolde
and knocked on her dressing room door.

“Come in,” she sang, hitting all the high notes.

“I’ve heard so much about you,” I said, “but I never thought I’d be in your presence.”

There was a knock on the door and the stage manager handed her two Big Macs, a large bag of French fries and a chocolate milk shake.

“I’m starving,” she said, “and in my contract it says I can eat anything I want or I won’t end the opera.”

I said, “You are the poster girl for fat people. Every child wants to be just like you.”

She was working on her second Big Mac. “Do you think I am as beautiful as one of Rubens’ girls?”

“Better than a Rubens girl,” I told her. “When you sing your chest sticks out and the audience goes wild waiting for your bosom to break through when you sing your aria.”

“I’m glad you said that because many people make fun of fat people.”

There was a knock on the door and the stage manager handed her a large pizza. She opened the box and cut off several slices.

“Do you always eat a pizza after two Big Macs?”

“No. Once in a while I have a bucket of Popeye’s fried chicken.”

She practiced, “Do-re-me-fa-so-la-ti-do.” Then she said, “I have to sing perfectly if I want a standing ovation.”

“You have given fat ladies a raison d’être.”

“Not only that,” she replied, “I’ve given them an excuse to eat anything they want.”

“That means you wouldn’t ever go on the Atkins diet.”

“If I did I would lose my role in the opera.”

There was a knock on the door and a voice said, “Ten minutes.”

The Fat Lady put on her corset and then gargled. She took a giant Hershey bar out of her makeup table. “You want some?” she asked.

“No thanks. Do you end every opera in the country?”

“No, my twin sister Annabelle and I share the assignments. She weighs as much as I do, and in costume no one can tell the difference.”

“I have heard it said that sporting events are not over until the Fat Lady sings.”

“You are talking about my sister Mary Jo. She attends all sporting events and they are not over until she sings. She will be at the Super Bowl and when time runs out you will hear her voice. I’m very proud of her.”

There was another knock on the door, “Three minutes.”

She said, “I think I have time for a Häagen-Dazs ice cream bar.” She then asked, “How do I look?”

“You look like a star. A fat star—but a star.”

Knock on the door, “Two minutes.”

I told her, “Break a leg.”

“Come back after the opera is over and we will go to a pancake house.”

THE PEOPLE IN CHARGE of justifying our war with Iraq (read the president, Colin Powell, Donald Rumsfeld, and Condoleezza Rice) claim they had good reason to believe that Iraq had weapons of mass destruction. They keep citing the CIA as their source.

“Suppose they were wrong,” Klondike said.

“The CIA is never wrong,” I replied. “They are this country’s eyes and ears, and if they say so, then it is so. Their role is to get the information, analyze it and then send it to the White House in neatly spiral-bound books marked ‘Top Secret—For Your Eyes Only.’”

Klondike said, “The big question is who analyzes it before it leaves Langley?”

“It never leaves Langley until the Director reads it and puts his name on it,” I said.

Klondike, who is one of those conspiracy nuts, said, “They had ten years to find out if Saddam had WMD. What were our CIA people in Iraq doing all that time?”

“Hanging out,” I said. “They didn’t actually see any weapons of mass destruction, but every rug dealer on the CIA payroll swore that they had a cousin who saw them.”

Klondike said, “Is it possible the CIA only reported what the administration wanted to hear?”

“They would never do that. They take an oath that they only report the facts and nothing but the facts, so help them Allah.”