The Dumbest Thing I've Ever Written

Greetings my budding Brandos, my nascent Oliviers, my fetal Baxter-Birneys. Greetings and welcome to Classical Modes of Theater. In this class you will learn of our grand theatrical past, from puppetry and mime, to tumbling and acrobatics, to oiled, naked, pagan fertility rituals -- the recreation of which, by the way, can be attempted for extra credit, provided that I am present and allowed to videotape, for liability reasons. Those among you who would describe yourself as "nubile" can sign up on the sheet by the door on the way out.

But today, dear junior thespians, we will be examining the 16th century Italian comedic tradition -- perhaps the pinnacle of theatrical comedy, my ducklings. For it was then that traveling troupes of comedians developed the semi-improvised form known as Commedia dell'Fart.

Do not laugh! PHILISTINES! NAY-SAYERS! UNWILLING NUBILES! Commedia dell'Fart is serious business, and a solemn trust. Skilled players trained for years, honing their archetypal characters, so that they might best elicit laughter through the precise deployment of farts and fart-like expellations. They were the most respected of the great gas-based comedy traditions of Europe.

And any examination of their craft must necessarily begin with an explication of those archetypes. You see, each member of the troupe had their specialty -- their very own stock character, which would interact with the others in the troupe, following certain basic story outlines, but always leaving room for the off-the-cuff explorations of individual fartists' fartistry. Thus, I shall list the primary characters:

Fartecchino, or the Fartlequin -- The merry jokester of the group, he is distinguished both by the traditional diamond pattern on his jester's suit, and the diamond-shaped puffs of smoke he blows with his anus. He often wears an "Infartnito," or butt-mask. Upon this oversized pair of novelty buttocks, are placed several warts, painted with vibrant colors. When pierced, these faux warts erupted with stage pus (most often surplus cannoli filling) and expelled tiny puffs of gas, creating musical mini-farts. When ruptured in the proper order, they would play a song -- usually something by Scarlatti, or Avril Lavigne's song "Girlfriend" (in modern performances).

Il Capootano -- The boldest of the fartistes, distinguished by the unusual strength of his farts, he appears in military dress and provides the traditional denoument of a Commedia dell'Fart scenario: the defeat of the villian by way of a live cannon round discharged from between his cheeks. Also, should a member of the troupe die, it is he who is responsible for the traditional 21-fart salute.

The Fartamore -- These are the lovers, distinguished as such by the delicacy and length of their emissions. While initially at odds with one another ("Il suo obiettivo fa un rumore tremendo che dà me uno mal di testa" is a traditional Commedia cry, meaning "The noise of your ass gives me a migraine") they learn to love one another when they discover that, while their odors are terrible apart, when their farts mingle they create a pleasant miasma smelling of lemon curd, fresh-baked bread, and orchids.

Pantalone -- Literally "pants." Ironically named because he wears none, for the length of the play. Oh, how amusing it is to see his genitals swing about, blown aloft by the gust eminating from between...

[commotion]

WHAT! WHAT IS THIS? UNHAND ME!

What leads you to manhandle me so, ruffian?

You say that I have no formal training in the history of theater? You claim that I am not a professor, and that this school, far from being an accredited institution is the boiler room of the sports stadium where my mother plays the organ? You go on to say that I have several restraining orders against me, filed by nubile young pagans?

Well, yes... those claims are true in the broad strokes, but isn't life shades of grey? Isn't...

AUGH! MY BUTTOCKS! I HAVE NEVER RECIEVED SUCH A KICKING! AND ALL BECAUSE I MADE UP AN OFF-COLOR ITALIAN THEATER TRADITION! BECAUSE... BECAUSE...

[crying]

I NEVER LEARNED TO FART.

[At this point the author looks at what he has written, and realizes he's wasted his life.]

Obama's Vice Presidential Candidate: Weighing the Options

It seems like the number one question on everyone’s mind these days, other than, “Should I pre-order tickets to Beverly Hills Chihuahua now, to avoid the inevitable opening weekend rush?” is: “Who will presidential hopeful Barack Obama choose to be his running mate?”

Well, lucky for you America (and for you, Mr. Obama, wherever you’re from – as far as I’ve been able to glean from e-mail forwards, I believe it’s the Terror Province of Lower Muslimistan) you have me to guide you through the possible candidates. So let me take a moment to put on my pundit hat (a rather smart trilby, topped with a blue jay feather) and let’s get analyzing.

HILARY CLINTON

Former first lady. Failed Democratic presidential candidate.

PROS: Will bring in wide base of Hilary-supporters, who would otherwise be convinced that the logical alternative to a female Democratic senator is an elderly anti-choice white guy whose legislative voting history puts him 95% in agreement with George W. Bush. Because… y’know… if she’s not president they’re taking their ball and going home.

CONS: Said supporters are also probably people who watch Lifetime because it’s “Television for Women,” even though Lifetime’s idea of women’s TV is a never-ending stream of television movies about housewives who’ve had webcams secretly installed in their bathroom, pool house, and nude-lounge by that creepy guy next door. Shouldn’t Obama aim higher? At least go for Oxygen-viewers.

MICHAEL PHELPS

Olympian. Mark Spitz impersonator.

PROS: With his history-making 14 career Olympic medals and 8 medals from the Bejing Olympic – the highest single-Olympics performance – Michael Phelps may be the most popular sports figure in America right now, and could ride a post-games wave of patriotism right into the White House. Also, his freakishly large feet could distract from Obama’s freakishly large ears.

CONS: Weak on the economy.

JACKIE CHAN

Hong Kong action star. Death-defyer.

PROS: The McCain camp seeks to draw attention to Obama’s “otherness” through coded references to his racial identity, so why shouldn’t Obama take advantage of it, by teaming up with Jackie Chan—everyone’s favorite choice to round out an ethnically mismatched buddy duo?!

CONS: Chan getting too old to successfully perform the “jump from the top of the Washington Monument” trick required of all VP’s—at least without the aid of a stunt man.

PARIS HILTON

Something something heiress. Something sex tape.

PROS: Apparently a pretty big celebrity, according to John McCain, or whatever staff member who follows pop culture from five years ago on his behalf. Also: anyone seems to be a person of substance when standing next to Paris Hilton.

CONS: In the words of Tina Fey, “Is a piece of shit.”

JOHN MCCONE

Former C.I.A. director. Cuban Missle Crisis survivor.

PROS: Congressional Medal of Honor winner. Worked with other democratic presidents, JFK and Lyndon Johnson. However, his main value to the Obama camp would be name recognition. Specifically, John McCain’s. McCone would be sure to bring in a statistically significant number of votes from nearsighted Republicans.

CONS: Intelligence operatives not all that popular right now. Also, is a corpse.

A PACK OF JUICY FRUIT

Popular gum. Food alternative.

PROS: The taste is gonna move ya... TO THE POLLS!

CONS: I’m clearly getting tired of writing this.

In Which I Defend My Manner of Venting Frustration Upon the World at Large

Recently, I’ve been fielding a lot of complaints about the way I insult people. Not the fact that I insult them, mind you, but the manner in which I do it. Apparently people believe my put-downs to be too “on the nose.” For instance: this morning, on the elevator, the odor wafting from a particularly pungent co-worker assaulted my senses. I yelled, “Hey, guy who smells like he does not wash quite as much as would be expected in polite society! Take a bath!” I felt I’d let loose with a particularly appropriate “zinger,” but the general opinion around the office failed to bear me out.

Or when I was nearly clipped by a bicycle messenger, and I rejoined, “Hey guy who doesn’t think that the laws of traffic don’t apply to him because he’s in a bicycle and not a car, so he runs a red light, even though, in fact, the same rules of the road apply to cyclists and motorists! Watch where you’re going!” My pleasure at having told him off was only slightly diminished by his having been approximately a mile away by the time I finished my sentence.

What’s wrong with being on the nose? Should I subtly come at my insults via oblique angles? Should I tell a woman with an annoying voice that hers is the song that the angels sing when they accidentally chew some aluminum foil? It might be more artistically satisfying. But does the message read?

In fact, I’d argue that the beauty of my insults is in their specificity. When I call someone “man who is either too stupid to realize that there are other people trying to get into the subway car, or is so disinterested in the well-being of those around him that he refuses to move away from the door, or else is some sort of sociopath,” doesn’t that give that person a clearer idea of how, exactly, he has displeased me, than “asshat” would? I’m just asking.

Certainly, if you were to insult me, I’d ask you to forgo such vulgarities, in favor of tailored insults, such as, “guy who takes a half-baked premise and then tries to pummel it into the shape of a humorous web post, but fails almost completely,” or “guy who doesn’t know how to write an end for things.”

In Which I Dispel Pernicious Rumors Regarding My Mortality

I must admit to being completely baffled by the recent outpouring of cards and letters, lamenting my passing. In an attempt to put these rumors to rest, let me assure you of this-- the reports of my death by stingray have been greatly exaggerated.

I can only assume, America, that you have somehow gotten me confused with the beloved television host and wildlife enthusiast, Steve "Crocodile Hunter" Irwin, and his recent tragic demise. We all mourn this loss. However, while in the throes of grief, it is important to not allow such emotions to cloud the mind. I am not a hyperactive Australian adventurer. I am a sardonic Brooklyn writer/ performer. Also, I rarely wear shorts.

Thus, while I appreciate the several large donations made to wildlife preservation organizations in my name, I simply do not understand why such donations have been made. Honestly, as a man with significant student loan and credit debt, I would prefer that, should you wish to make a Dan McCoy-related contribution it be sent directly to me, in the form of large checks made out to cash.

Perhaps there has been a misprint in some widely-read obituary column, but even so, people-- please use your heads. I am a land-based mammal living in a northern state. Stingrays are tropical marine creatures. How plausible does my death sound now? Huh? Don't you feel silly?

In fact, I've compiled a short list, detailing the incidents in my life that come closest to a stingray encounter.

1990 - Stung by bee in foot (unconfirmed - bee unseen)

2001 - Present - Lived in NYC, city with largest per capita concentration of pizzerias with "Ray" in the name

2005 - Felt slightly "stung" by the length of the film Ray starring Jamie Foxx.

That's it! Hardly an extensive list!

So in conclusion, I'd just like to say, please stop sending cards and letters, as I'm totally... AAAGH! I'M BEING EATEN BY A BEAR!

In Which I Throw My Political Weight Around

As you know, the major news outlets have been dogging me for my endorsements regarding November's elections. Clearly, my political influence cannot be undervalued (forget Tippecanoe and Tyler too, I made William Henry Harrison). Still, I resisted being pushed into making a decision before I was ready-- wielding such credibility with the public and the political elite is truly an awesome responsibility.

Thus, it was only after much consideration that I am now ready to reveal who I will be backing in the following races. Associated Press take note!

First, the local match-ups:

Governor:

George Pataki vs. A Small Pebble Wedged in My Shoe

PICK: Small Pebble Wedged in My Shoe - Sure, it's an annoyance, at least until I have an opportunity to bend down and remove it, but it seems to care more about New York City. Pebble, you've been backed!

Mayor:

Hon. Edward McCheese vs. Big Bird

PICK: Big Bird. Despite his previous mayoral experience, I doubt that a Kroftian, anthropomorphic cheeseburger has what it takes to manage the largest metropolitan area in the U.S. On the other hand, Big Bird is a lifelong NYC native (no carpetbagger here!) who has managed to keep the peace on Sesame Street, despite the impending human gentrification of his historically Muppet neighborhood.

District Alderman:

Caldecott Alder Mann vs. James K. Badchoiceforalderman

PICK: Alder Mann - Not sure why; I just have a gut feeling on this one. Also, what kind of crazy long surname is his challenger sporting? Just try and fit that on a ballot!

Next up, the Senate:

Florida:

Bud Light vs. Bud Dry

PICK: Bud Light - After the political fiasco that was Bud Bowl XVIII, I thought the incumbent's hopes were dashed forever, but this appears to be the rivalry that won't quit. I'm throwing my support behind B. Light, because its fewer calories mean less alcoholic content, and who wants a drunk in charge of school lunches?

New Jersey:

A Horsefly vs. Inflatable Water Wings

PICK: Water Wings. I've been stung by Horseflies before!*

*this joke courtesy of Victoria Tucker, age 8, Gary, IN.

Rhode Island:

OK! Soda vs. Two Aggies and a Steelie

PICK: Two Aggies and a Steelie - I'm not sure what makes a little-known, hipster-marketing-driven orange-cola from the '90s think its profile is high enough to win such a high elected office, but I do know that it's nowhere near as valuable as a good steelie, especially if you're playing for keepsies.

Pennsylvania:

Five Years of Unrelenting Physical and Psychological Torture vs. Sixty Pages of Fully Nude Photos of Scarlett Johansson in Various Positions, or, if You Are a Woman or Gay Man, Hugh Jackman

PICK: Nude Photos - Some races are so overmatched, one wonders why they bother. I mean, Nude Photos is the incumbent, and Unrelenting Physical and Psychological Torture is running as a Green. Hello!?

Nebraska:

North Dakota vs. South Dakota

PICK: South Dakota - I'm not sure how other states are able to run in Congressional races for a third state, but when you're picking between these two, always pick the warmer one, that's my motto!

Well, anyway, those are my picks, and I think they're pretty...

What?

What's that you say?

You say that the document I was using as a reference to make my choices wasn't a list of political candidates at all, but simply a list of entirely random words and phrases created by a random word and phrase generator that you invented for some reason?

Well, in that case, why were they grouped in twos with the abbreviation "vs." between each one of them?

You're trying to tell me that "vs." just happened to be randomly generated multiple times? That seems highly unlikely-- out of the millions of words in the English language, for "vs." to appear eight times seems disproportionate to the point of near-impossibility...

Well, yes, I suppose that if you invented a random word and phrase generator, you are more of an expert in probability than I am. I'm sorry to have doubted you. It's just irritating to have made all these crazy endorsement choices.

Oh well, can't change them now. Too weak. Too flip-floppy. Stay the course, etc. America, you have your work cut out for you:

(1.) Get these fictional characters/ inanimate objects on the ballot in your state or district.

(2.) Elect the appropriate one.

(3.) Recieve my heartfelt thanks.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have thousands of signatures to forge.