The vial (video)

The vial

[Man hands over small wrapped box across candlelit dinner table]

MAN: Happy Valentines' Day.

WIFE: Why thank you, sweetheart!

M: Open it.

[Wife opens gift]

W: It's beautiful! What is it?

M: Why it's a necklace of course. Do you like it?

W: It's very pretty. What's this at the bottom though?

M: That's what makes it so special. It's a small vial.

W: A vial?

M: Yeah, there's a few tiny drops of my blood in there. You know, to symbolize how we're one, how we're with each other wherever we go. One heart. One blood. Something like that. I got the idea from Billy Bob Thornton and Angelina Jolie.

W: Uh huh. But it's not real blood, is it?

M: Of course it is. A little bit of bona fide B positive from your loving husband. Because I love you so much.

W: What did you do? Prick your finger or something?

M: Umm. . . No. . . That didn't occur to me at the time. I suppose that would've been a lot easier than the route I took. Anyway, what do you think? Try it on!

W: I don't know.

M: What? Don't be silly. Strap that bad boy on! Let's see how it looks!

W: Don't get me wrong. I think it's a beautiful sentiment. And I love you. But don't you think it's a tad bit, I don't know. . . unsanitary. . . wearing a vial of blood around my neck throughout the day? I mean, I teach kindergarten. There are health codes. Kids are inquisitive.

M: C'mon. It's not AIDS blood from some random guy off the street. It's the life force of your husband, the man you love, the man you've been doing a lot more unsanitary things with for over ten years.

W: [speechless]

M: I mean doinking. . . or sex. . . or whatever. I mean, my point is we've been screwing for a long time and all I'm saying is one might conceivably construe that the act of coitus itself is far more unsanitary than wearing a small, tightly sealed, vial of blood around one's neck.

W: (sarcastically) Oh! Great! So draping myself in blood is slightly less disgusting than sleeping with my husband. Sense you put in that way, can you help me with the clasp?

M: So you're not going to try it on?

W: No. I don't think I am. It's creepy.

M: (angry now) Well that's just great. I guess I'll just take them both back then. Hopefully I still have the receipt. I'll exchange them for the old V-day standbys; a fucking pair of slippers or a gift certificate for a god damned back massage. Pardon me for trying to spice things up.

W: What do you mean 'take them both back'?

M: I got a matching one, OK? I thought it would be cool if we both had cute little vial of blood necklaces. You know, the ultimate expression of unity or some shit.

W: But why would you wear your own blood around your neck?

M: I wouldn't. I mean, I'm not. You wear my blood and I wear yours.

W: Wait. Where did you get my blood?

[long awkward pause]

M: I don't see what that has to do with anything.

W: Oh my god. This isn't happening.

M: You know what? Forget it. I can see now this was a bad idea. I'll just put both the blood vials back in my pocket here and we'll pretend it never happened. Let's just get some dessert, finish our wine, and head home.

W: I'm not hungry.

M: Fine. I'll get the check. . . We're still on for sex tonight though, right?

Allographs / Vivian Moomph

It don't understand why people covet autographs. I get the whole idea of wanting some sort of keepsake, something tangible that you can keep in the shoe box under your bed or use as proof that the encounter took place, but why ask Tom Hanks to write his own name on a piece of paper? It's the photographic equivalent of asking him to take a picture of himself and then give you the photograph. Seems stupid to me.

I think it would make more sense to ask Tom Hanks to sign your name. That's more of a one-of-a-kind memento. Ideally he'd want to do it right too, so he'd ask you how you handled your capital 'S's, your lowercase 'f's, or how emphatically you crossed your 't's. True artists would want to do it right.

If you were lucky enough to amass a collection you could create a scrapbook of sorts to show off to your friends.

"I don't get it. It looks like your name signed a bunch of times. Most are spelled incorrectly too."

"Yeah but I didn't sign any of these. That one is Jean-Claude Van Damme and this one is Snoop Dogg."

"OK but how do I know that's true? Anybody could have signed these?"

"Check out the pictures."

"But they are all pictures of you."

"Yeah but I didn't take them. Van Damme and Snoop did."

Incurred charges of the deceased / Ursula Mandress

Customer Service Representative: Thank you for calling DD billing services. How may I help you today?

Linda: I'm sorry. Who is this?

CSR: Double D billing services. The world leader in discreet charging, packaging, and shipping.

Linda: I'm calling about credit card charges I'm seeing here. Can you tell me what these are for?

CSR: Do you have the account number?

Linda: I'm sorry I don't.

CSR: The account holder's name?

Linda: David Charles.

CSR: And who am I speaking to?

Linda: This is Linda Charles, David's wife.

CSR: OK Mrs. Charles. I'm afraid I can't give you any account information over the phone. That can only be given to the account holder, David Charles.

Linda: Unfortunately that's not possible. I can provide you with any personal information of his - like credit card number, billing address, social security number. . .

CSR: I'm sorry but it's company policy that I can only provide account information to the account holder himself.

Linda: Can I please just cancel the account then?

CSR: Only David Charles can do that.

Linda: David Charles is dead. He died last month. In an attempt to move on in life I'm trying to get our family's financial affairs in order. I came across mysterious monthly charges on my late husband's credit card statements. I'm calling you to clarify what these charges are for and decide if they are warranted and worth continuing. Since you are refusing to do so I'd like to cancel the account all together seeing as I don't know what it's even for.

CSR: Please hold.

[Phil Collin's 'Sussudio' plays for 1 minute 47 seconds]

Presumed Manager of some sort: Double D Billing, the world leader in discreet billing, packaging, and shipping. How may I help you?

Linda: Hello. My husband, David Charles, has an account with you guys that's been incurring monthly charges on his credit card. I need to either be notified what these charges are for or cancel the account.

PMOSS: I see. And is Mr. Charles available to confirm this request?

Linda: No. He is dead.

[Pause]

PMOSS: My condolences. Do you know the password to the account?

Linda: I don't.

PMOSS: I'm going to ask you a series of questions that David Charles provided answers for in the event of a forgotten password.

Linda: This is absurd. Go ahead.

PMOSS: City of birth?

Linda: Charleston

PMOSS: Mother's maiden name?

Linda: Flinch

PMOSS: Jailbait or Milfs?

Linda: Excuse me?

PMOSS: Do you prefer jailbait or milfs?

Linda: I don't even know what that means.

PMOSS: It was a question for your husband. Did he prefer underage girls or sexually attractive mothers?

Linda: What are you implying?

PMOSS: It's just a question I need you to answer to gain access to the account.

Linda: Young girls I guess.

PMOSS: I'm sorry, that's incorrect. David Charles preferred Milfs.

Linda: What kind of place is this? I demand you cancel the account now! I'm sure the better business bureau would like to hear about the questions you are asking a recent widow about her husband.

PMOSS: Please hold.

[REM's 'Everybody Hurts' plays for 1 minute 18 seconds]

PMOSS: Hello Mrs. Charles. Due to the extenuating circumstances surrounding the account we're going to make an exception and allow you to cancel.

Linda: Thank you.

PMOSS: OK I'm canceling the account now. . . I see here that you've been a loyal customer for several years. We'd like to offer you a one time offer off unlimited access to all of our sites for only $7.99 per month.

Linda: And what sites are those?

PMOSS: Unlimited access to all our award winning sites such as Public Rim Jobs, Upskirt Central, Hairy Ballz, Aged to Purrfucktion, & Dorothy's Secret Penis.

Linda: Absolutely not!

PMOSS: We'll throw in the live video bathroom cam chat for free. I see that's a feature you've enjoyed in the past.

Linda: [sobbing]

PMOSS: I'll simply proceed with the cancelation then. One last thing. Your custom designed, rubber vagina / asshole combo molded from Cynthia Poke's Plaster of Paris crotch dip was returned to our shipping dock yesterday as no one signed for it at the provided shipping address, which I assume was your late husband's place of business. Seeing as he's dead and no longer employed there I just wanted to confirm that we have a valid alternate shipping address.

[Linda hangs up]

911 @ 2347 / Hector Smithereen

911 what is your emergency?

I've. . . I've taken a bad spill. I need an ambulance.

Where are you sir?

Send them to 2347 Lake Street.

We'll send someone right away. Can you describe your injuries?

My legs are broken. My. . . My. . .

It's OK sir. Can you tell me how you fell?

I was in the basement. I needed to go downstairs to use the phone.

So you fell down the stairs on your way to the basement to make a phone call?

No. No. I was already in the basement.

So you tripped going up the stairs?

No. Down.

I'm sorry sir. Just trying to understand. So there's a level lower than your basement?

Ahhhh!!! Oh God it hurts! Are they on their way?

Sure sure sure. First I just need you to help me understand where you are in the house. You said you were in your basement and fell downstairs, right?

(unintelligible)

Is is like a secret chamber or something?

Wha- What?

Below your basement. Is it like a hidden -

I think I'm going to pass out?

Stay with me sir. It's all going to be OK but I need you to hang on. Try taking a deep breath. . . Are you there?

(barely audible) Yeah.

Now there's some more information I'm going to need to gather. This secret vault or chamber or whathaveyou - you said you were on your way down there to use the phone?

Right.

So you must've just landed right next to it after you fell then. I mean you're obviously near a phone now.

I'm calling you. . . from a phonyphone.

I'm sorry what?

A phonyphone. It's a phone that can only call other phones.

I don't understand.

Arrgghh!!! Dear God the pain! I'm really fucked here. My legs are pointing ways that nature never intended.

I'm sure you'll be fine. So you have a phone that calls other phones. How is that different than any other phone?

No. It's different. It's not its own line or anything. It just hijacks the fiber optic signals of other phones.

So can it receive calls?

(in obvious agony) Only local calls and only if the digitized current is successfully intercepted.

(long pause). . . Well I don't get it.

How far away is that ambulance?

So you've got your crazy underground lair with your high tech phonyphone there. I gotta hand it to you - sounds like things are working out pretty sweet for you.

Oh Christ! I see marrow!!

Shit. That's right. Your ambulance. You said 4327 Lake Street, right?

Huh? No! 2347 Lake.

You got it. The paramedics have been dispatched.

Just now? We've been on the phone for-

Sorry about that. That was my bad. Got a little carried away with your basement situation. So I assume once the paramedics have entered the residence they should head down to your dungeon deal thingy, right? Any crazy fake books to pull on or any levers to activate or anything?

Listen to me. I'm not actually at 2347 Lake Street.

Umm. OK.

I'm not there but that's where I need the ambulance to go because that's the nearest access point.

Access point to what?

To where my mangled body currently resides. . . When they get there they'll see a tube.

A tube?

Yes. The tube will lead them to me.

Will they be able to fit through this tube?

The whole ambulance will fit.

And how long is this tube?

No more than a few tenths of a second.

No sir. I mean how long is it in distance. Like how many feet.

You don't understand. The tube can only be measured in time.

. . . . I'm sorry. I'm just having a hard time wrapping my head around this.

Fuck it.

Don't hang up sir. Help is on the way.

(unintelligible. . . fumbling with phonyphone)

[LOUD SOUND OF FEEDBACK]

What was that!? Sir are you OK?

Just had to adjust the coordinates.

I've just gotten word from the paramedics. They're not seeing anything resembling a tube at 2347 Lake Street.

Look under your desk.

Wow! Well I'll be. Isn't that something. Your legs really are fucked.

S.T.R.A.W. origins / Hugo Eyestay

[Two guys sitting at a bar]

Tim: Ugh.

Dave: What's the problem, Tim?

Tim: Nothing.

(uncomfortable silence)

Dave: C'mon man. Something's up. Lay it on me.

Tim: It's just. . . I mean. . . Look, we've been coming to this beverage dispenser for a while now.

Dave: (a little to proud of himself) Many many years.

Tim: And we sit at this table, we talk about this, we chat about that, we have a few laughs. . .

Dave: That we do.

Tim: It's just that. . . and I don't mean to complain. . .

Dave: Spit it out man!

Tim: The beverages we drink. The receptacles they reside in. They're so far away from our mouths.

Dave: What do you mean?

Tim: It's like this. So there's the liquid conveyor-

Dave: Ben?

Tim: Yeah Ben, the liquid conveyor.

Dave: I love Ben!

Tim: Yeah Ben's a great guy. I'd fucking take a bullet for Ben. That's not the point. Shut up!

Dave: Sorry. Go on.

Tim: The liquid conveyor. Ben. He's got all the beverages there behind his embankment. His job is to accept our paper and metal coins in exchange for tasty beverages that are ingested into our primary head orifice, right?

Dave: Damn straight.

Tim: OK good. So if his job is to transport the liquid from the primary canisters behind his embankment to our primary head orifice. . .

Dave: Yeah?

Tim: (rubbing his forehead) Then why am I sitting here staring at a secondary beverage canister, containing all the liquid I exchanged my hard earned paper and metal coins for, literally a good foot away from my lips?

Dave: I'm not following.

Tim: It's because you're not properly assessing the current situation. Allow me break it down for you. Let me know if you agree.

Dave: Hold on. This sounds important. Allow me to hoist my secondary canister up towards my primary head orifice so that I may partake of a sizable portion of the liquid, thereby quenching my thirst so that I may fully concentrate on, and appreciate, the self-ascribed poignant words you are about to utter.

Tim: Please do so. It will more effectively illustrate my point.

(Dave takes a big gulp of beer)

Dave: Continue.

Tim: It's like this. The vast majority of beverages, when distributed for purposes of immediate consumption, reside in a receptacle (making a hand gesture towards his glass of beer) that while adequately harboring the liquid and allowing for convenient transportation and eventual placement on any flat surface, require the partaker of the liquid to expel energy in the manner of lifting the vessel to the partaker's mouth and tilting the receptacle at a precise angle that ensures the liquid gently flows across the tongue toward the back of the throat. Any significant variance of the aforementioned angle may result in too much liquid (i.e. spill (i.e. angle too great)) or not enough liquid (i.e. prolonged thirst (i.e. angle too small)) entering the partaker's primary head orifice which, I think we can both agree, can be classified, and this is putting it mildly, as unsatisfactory.

(long pause as Dave ponders)

Dave: OK. . . Can I say something?

Tim: Sure.

Dave: I think you just blew my mind!

Tim: You're fucking with me.

Dave: No, I'm not dude! I totally hear you! Here I am, needlessly extending my upper appendage over and over again in order to move the secondary canister in a direction opposite of that which gravity would have it move when, in fact, it was the liquid distributor's duty, fucking Ben's job, to transport that liquid into my mouth.

Tim: Exactly! You're doing half his job!

Dave: I'm sitting here hoisting shit like a fucking asshole!

Tim: So you're with me!?!

Dave: 110%

Tim: OK then.

(both Tim and Dave take a big drink of beer)

Dave: So Ben's kind of a dick then?

Tim: No. I don't think so. It's not Ben's fault. It's not like Ben can magically transport the frothy beverages directly to our mouths. In order to do that we'd have to relocate our bodies behind the embankment and invert ourselves so that our primary head orifices could receive the liquid via a direct transport from the primary canister.

Dave: Like a keg stand.

Tim: Basically.

Dave: Yeah that's not really feasible. I mean patrons need to be able to partake of their beverages from the various chairs, stools, and tables located throughout the establishment.

Tim: Right. So the problem is not with Ben. We like Ben.

Dave: I'd fucking die for Ben!

Tim: The problem lies within the energy wasted in the act of repeatedly extending out upper appendages toward the secondary canister that's a full 30.48 centimeters away, and then navigating that canister in a direction opposite of which gravity would have to go, all the way to our parched lips.

Dave: It's that distance from our lips to the secondary canister that's the real problem.

Tim: Yep.

Dave: Have you considered reversing gravity?

Tim: I certainly have. Looked into it big time. Did a deep dive. It's not easy. I'll leave it at that.

Dave: Liquid teleportation?

Tim: Equally difficult.

Dave: Shit.

(long pause)

Dave: What about an apparatus?

Tim: How do you mean?

Dave: An apparatus that somehow connects the secondary canister to our primary head orifices thereby alleviating the need to expel precious energy fighting gravity and physically transporting the beverages to our waiting lips.

Tim: That the liquid can travel through.

Dave: Like a tube.

Tim: Yes! Yes! A fucking tube or some sort! Brilliant. . . But wait. . . No. . . No this isn't going to work.

Dave: Sure it will.

Tim: How? With batteries or something? I mean will you have to plug this tube into the wall and walk around the place with an extra long extension cord? Walking around like some jackass with a tube with a cord? I mean the liquid isn't just going to travel from vessel to orifice at our beckoned call. It'll require some sort of machinery and engineering to force the beverage's proverbial hand. If you have to take the time to charge your tube battery or fire up its diesel engine that defeats the whole purpose. It needs to be easier than extending our upper appendage and hoisting the secondary canister, not harder.

Dave: No dude, it won't. Air pressure. Listen. By attempting to inhale more air with your lips wrapped around the apparatus you decrease the air pressure in your primary head orifice which lowers the air pressure at the top of the apparatus. The force of the atmosphere reacts to this by pushing on the liquid in the secondary canister harder than it pushes on the air in the apparatus. As a result the liquid will travel up the apparatus from the secondary canister to our lips.

(Tim & Dave stare at each other, smiling, slowly nodding, in awe)

Tim: I say we call it the anti-gravity beverage booster.

Dave: How about the tongue tunnel?

Ben: I think you should call it the Supplemental Transport Receptacle Apparatus Wand.

Tim & Dave: Ben!!!!!!

Dave: I fucking love this guy!

The immeasurables / Rodney Booksbehind

Boss: . . . and that's why it's important that we take a step back and reevaluate the whole invoice approval process.

Dave: I absolutely agree.

Tim: Me too. 110%.

Boss: Glad to hear. So Tim, since you seem to be a little more on board with the whole idea I think I'll designate you Team Leader.

Tim: Perfect. I'll promise you'll be pleased with the results. We'll work around the clock and give 120%.

Boss: That's the spirit! OK, next order of business is the Q3 budget.

Dave: Wait a minute. I agreed with everything you said. I think it's a great idea too. Why is Tim Team Leader?

Boss: Well Tim more than agreed with me. He agreed with me plus added another 10% on top of that agreement. You, on the other hand, absolutely agreed with me but stopped there - didn't feel the need to take it to that next level.

Dave: But that's not possible. We both think your idea is exactly what needs to happen. We are even in that regard. If anything I think it makes more sense for me to be Team Leader as I'm more qualified.

Boss: Tim? Thoughts?

Tim: Well Dave is better suited to tackle the project. With that I agree 150%. He's been here longer, he's more familiar with the invoices than I am, and he has a better track record in terms of completing projects in a timely manner that meet your expectations. No argument there. My only question is whether you are looking for the guy who will do exactly what you are asking for in the requested time frame or do you want the guy who will do that AND an additional 25 to 35%?

Boss: An extra 25 - 35% you say? On top of the 100? I gotta be honest with you that sounds even better than the original 110% you promised.

Tim: No, I agreed with you 110%. I promised the team would give 120%. Now I'm saying I'll complete the project within the degree range of 125 to 135%.

Boss: Sounds pretty impressive. Dave, care to counter?

Dave (really agitated now): That doesn't make any sense. Let's say this glass of water here represents all that this project encompasses. The water is the research, the project timeline, the implementation, the trouble-shooting, and the post-launch support. Now I take this glass of water and pour in into this empty glass. I pour every last drop of it. I pour 100% of the water into this new glass. Once all the water is poured the project is complete. There's nothing left to pour. I can't pour more than 100% of the water. As Team Leader I can promise you 100% effort and guarantee 100% completion and ensure 100% satisfaction. Anyone who tells you they can get more than all the water out of the glass is just spouting corporate mumbo jumbo!

Boss: (pondering).

(Tim casually leans across the table and spits into the full glass of water, adding just a little more.)

Tim: 110%.

Boss (pleased): See that there, Dave? It's the small things. The immeasurables. Anyone will tell you that.

Dave: This is ridiculous. Fine. Then let me go on record saying that I disagree with your decision 5000%.

Boss & Tim: Ha Ha Ha.

Boss: Now we all know that's impossible. There's no such thing as 5000% of anything.

Tim: Tops is like 160, 170%.

Boss: Exactly. Which is why I think Tim's our guy for this project. Willing to go that extra mile without being unrealistic. Now onto that Q3 budget. . .

Guess this terrible profession / Coddle Poppers

I spend an inordinate amount of time inches away from a beautiful woman I'm secretly in love with.

I have to listen to the same fucking song 50 times a day.

This woman doesn't love me back but she always smiles at me which makes it easy to think I still have a chance.

I'm cold mostly all of the time.

I'm really good at spinning and gliding fast.

I touch this same woman's butt and crotch area repeatedly whenever the aforementioned song is played but not in a sexual way.

I sometimes dress up like a stereotypical indian with tight pants when there are a lot of people watching me.

I'm judged all the time.

If I'm not extra careful at any point I could easily fall and really hurt myself.

I don't know how to do any real cool jumps or anything.

I am an Olympic ice dancer.

Braille / Duncan Toots

The ATM near my apartment has a message near the keypad written in braille and english that states "This atm offers audio assistance for the visually impaired."

And I suppose that's pretty great. It doesn't explain how it works though. I mean, I see no button that activated this feature. There's no retinal scanner that determines whether or not your eyes work. If I'm blind and I walk up to this ATM and read this message with my fingers what exactly am I supposed to do next?

Do I yell "Activate audi assistance" or do I just state, "Hello. I'm blind and I require $60. My secret pin is 55721. No receipt necessary. Thank you kind money machine."

Of course I don't know for a fact that's what it says in braille. I can't read braille. Perhaps in braille it says, "Press any key twelve times in a row and receive a complimentary $100. Consider it reparation for living life without the gift of site or kudos to those who can see but still learned to read braille for some reason."

Pullover / Meryl Streep

-Hello officer.

>Liscense and registration please.

-Of course. It's right here in the glove compartment. . . is there a problem?

>You were swerving between two lanes a few blocks back.

-Sorry about that. Must have accidentally jerked the steering wheel a bit while I was adjusting the radio station.

>Uh huh. Have you had anything to drink?

-No sir.

>Nothing?

-Nothing, I swear.

>You mean to tell me that you've never consumed any sort of alchoholic beverage whatsoever?

-What? No. I mean, of course I have.

>What's that supposed to mean?

-Nothing. I guess I just mean that I haven't had anything to drink today.

>But prior to today you have.

-Yes.

>I suppose you think that's a good idea.

-What is?

>Drinking.

-No, just telling you the truth. I want to be cooperative.

>Yeah, I bet you get real wasted.

-Excuse me?

>Chuggin' down the booze like it's nobody's business. You think that's funny?

-No.

>So why do you do it?

-I don't. I don't know what you're talking about.

>You saying I don't make any sense?

-Of course not. It's just that. . . that-

>You want to be cooperative.

-Yes!

>So that I'll let you go on your merry way.

-Yes!!

>So you can get home and start drinking as fast and as much as possible.

-No!! Look have I broken a law or anything?

>I'd say public intoxication is breaking the law.

-But I'm not intoxicated.

>But you admit you have been.

-This is insane!!

>Is it? Open your trunk.

-Fine. There you go.

>Wait here.

[20 seconds later]

-Is everything OK?

>That's some trunk you got there.

-If you say so.

>Noticed that it's completely empty.

-Yes. . . it is.

>Got anything to say for yourself?

-About an empty trunk? No.

>Figures. Suppose you'll want to wait for your lawyer. It's your right.

-Why would I need a lawyer?

>Let's just say a guy could fit an awful lot of booze in that trunk.

-This is insane!

>I suggest you watch your tone, sir. Sounds to me like a man just itching to get himself a swig of the hard stuff.

-Look. Are you going to write me a ticket or let me go?

>Get out of the car.

-May I ask why that is necessary?

>There's a bar across the street. You buy me a beer and I'll forget this whole episode ever happened.

-What episode? What have I done?

>The whole 'getting wasted all the time', stashing beer and drugs in your trunk, and being a lousy father and husband. Water under the bridge if you buy me a shot across the street there.

-Wait a minute. Are you even a cop?

>If I wasn't, I might as well be!

[officer fires gun into the air 3 times]

>Ha ha ha ha!!

[driver spits out mouthful of beer]

-Good one!!

Exit attire / Ray Stats

It's 2:00 in the morning. You wake up to find your bedroom engulfed in flames. What do you do?

It's 1:30 in the morning. You wake up to the sound of a burglar crashing through your living room window with a tire iron. What do you do?

It's 4:00 in the morning. You're awakened by a phone call from your best friend saying that he's standing outside bleeding to death from multiple stab wounds. What do you do?

It's 3:17 in the morning. Your significant other shakes you awake and points out that outside it's raining gold coins. What do you do?

What do you do?

The correct answer to all of these questions, of course, is get outside as fast as possible.

But what are you wearing? Boxers? T-shirt and panties? Will Smith pj's? Nothing at all? Either way you're not dressed appropriately. You look like a fat idiot.

Now there's no need to talk to the fire department or take your friend to the hospital dressed in your skivvies. Now there's no need to waste precious seconds pulling on pants as the burglar walks towards you with the tire iron or as your neighbors collect the falling bounty of the treasure plane that exploded high above.

Ladies and Gentlemen allow me to introduce you to Exit Attire^TM!

Exit Attire^TM is a sophisticated yet simple clothing system that's stored conveniently and discreetly in any door or above any entry way. Exit Attire^TM is a technologically advanced film designed to cover your hideous body akin to saran wrap. Constructed of a patented fire and ice retardant polymer it's intricately patterned with a variety of looks so that, when applied to a modestly clad body, it creates the illusion of a fully and well dressed individual.

Here's how it works.

In a manner of seconds you can pull the Exit Attire^TM clothing system from the side of a closet door or from the top of a entry way. Not unlike unrolling a movie projector or a roll of wrapping paper. Once unveiled simply walk or run through the unrolled polymer film and you are as good as dressed!

Now you can run away from that burglar "dressed" in style.

Now you can be the envy of your best friend as you call him an ambulance looking at dapper as you did at that fancy dinner party.

Now you don't have to look like an asshole standing on the sidewalk in your underpants as your house burns down to the ground.

Available in multiple styles:

The Weekender

First Communion

Hipster

Big Interview

The Sweatshirt & Shorts Look

Back from the Gym

Red Carpet

Dracula

Exit Attire^TM! For when you need to look good in a pinch when you don't look good in your underpants.

[now available with breathing and excretion holes]

Handy quote / Laverne Stout

Whenever I find myself stuck in a frustrating or unproductive conversation with a mild acquaintance or coworker I often find it helpful to quote this bit of dialogue from the movie Seven.

"I've been trying to figure something in my head and maybe you can help me out. When a person is insane, as you clearly are, do you know that you're insane? Maybe you are just sitting around, reading Guns & Ammo, masturbating in your own feces, do you just stop and go, 'Wow, it is amazing how fucking crazy I really am!' Yeah? Do you guys do that?"

The new place / Clyde Tuggs

Joe: I love your new place.

Karen: Thanks. Would you like the grand tour?

Joe: Sure!

Karen: OK obviously this is the kitchen. I like it because it opens up into the living room and makes it feel more spacious. There was another apartment we were looking at on the 7th floor where the kitchen was on the opposite side when you walked in so everything was like reversed. We didn't like that as much because it felt more cramped in the entryway.

Joe: Uh huh.

Karen: So down this hallway there's a bathroom and laundry room to the right and the master bedroom on the left. The apartment we looked at on the 7th floor had the bathroom over at the end of the hall and the laundry room was. . . . Gregg, where was the laundry room in the apartment on the 7th floor?

Gregg: I think it was in the same place as here.

Karen: No, that can't be. That apartment was on the north side of the building so the laundry room couldn't be there because the wall would've been facing the hallway and there'd be no place for the pipes to run to. Also the master bedroom was on the opposite side of the hall and I distinctly remember the bathroom door right across from the bedroom door which means the laundry room had to be closer to the. . . I wonder if it was off of the kitchen somehow?

Joe: That's OK. I get the general idea. The apartment on the 7th floor was like this one but different in many ways.

Karen: Oh I remember! The laundry room was in that hallway but it was on the same side as the bedroom. That's one of the main reasons we didn't like that place. The opposite side of the hallway seemed just completely bare. I mean I guess you could fill it with pictures or something but it just seemed like waste of square footage if that makes any sense.

Joe: It does. Need any help with getting drinks or anything?

Karen: The one thing that apartment did have though that this one didn't was a larger closet in the bedroom, which would have been nice. Also the view was probably a little better because you were a few floors higher. Although I don't remember what you actually saw out those windows. Do you remember Gregg?

Gregg: I don't.

Karen: I suppose you could see park from there. Which would have been nice. But then again that apartment was quite a bit further down the hall. I can't imagine having to make that trek over and over again, day after day.

Joe: And now you don't. I brought some appetizers here we could put out.

Karen: I think the real deal breaker had to be the bedroom closet. In that apartment it was in the dumbest spot, right next to the bedroom bathroom. If you tried to open the closet and the bathroom at the same time the doors collided! Add to that the fact that the cable connection in the living room was on the opposite side of where the television would obviously go and I think the choice was obvious.

Joe: I don't know. Sounds like that apartment on the 7th floor was pretty sweet. Is it still on the market?

Karen: (a little confused) I imagine so.

Joe: Can you explain to me where the laundry room was again?

Opposites / Rudy Schlep

Another game I used to play a lot was called 'Opposites'. My roommate in college made it up. The way 'Opposites' worked is Doug, my roommate, would say a word and I would try to guess the opposite of that word. He knew them all. Would you guys like to play?

Cool.

I have Doug's notebook here, where he wrote down all his opposites. Let’s try a few.

[looking through Doug's notebook]

Here’s a good one! Frisbee. What is the opposite of a frisbee? Any guesses?

Anyone?

Nope, nice try. I see where you were going with loaf of bread but try to think more along the lines of the absolute opposite of frisbee.

Anyone else?

Closer. The correct answer is actually switchblade. Yes, switchblade is what we were looking for. OK let’s try another one.

Door knob. . . Anyone? Once again what's the opposite of door knob?

Pancake you say? O.K. you got the right idea. Build on that. Keep it going with that.

No I’m sorry the opposite of door knob is burning yourself with a cigarette. That was a tough one. Alright one more. You know what, let’s take one from the audience here. Anyone yell out a word and I’ll look it up in Doug's notebook here and I’ll tell you the opposite.

The gentleman in the back said robot I believe. Good word.

[looking it up in the notebook]

Here it is. Opposite of robot. Any guesses?

No.

No. You’re way off. The opposite of robot is. . . severe, unchecked depression.

. . . . [long pause] . . . . . . .

You know, now that I’m looking at some of these a little more closely. . . sleeping pills, restraining order, digging a shallow grave, dead puppies. Yeah, this is kinda messed up. I wonder how Doug's doing anyway. I should look him up. You know, give him a call to check in.

He’d probably like his notebook back.

Fifty grand / Norman Gentle

Me: If I were to come home with $50,000 in cash what would you say?

Wife: I'd probably ask where you got it.

M: What if I told you not to worry about it.

W: Then we'd have 50K.

M: So you'd be cool with it?

W: Do you have $50,000?

M: No. I'm just asking.

W: Then what's the point?

M: I just want to know that if I come home with a large sum of money you'd be game.

W: Sure. Whatever.

M: Good. See? That's what I'm talking about. . . What if I needed your help getting the money?

W: Getting the money from where?

M: From wherever.

W: What are you talking about?

M: If I had a detailed plan about where to go and what to do and it had all been thought out and all you had to do was watch a door or trip an alarm would you do it?

W: You mean like robbing a bank?

M: Not necessarily. Just any sort of plan to get a lot of money.

W: Illegally?

M: Most likely illegally but there'd be no risk. I'd have the whole thing planned out.

W: No way. You'd get caught.

M: Why would you say something like that?

W: Because you're being stupid.

M: You don't think I could organize a simple little caper of some sort?

W: A fucking bank robbery?

M: Didn't I just say 'not necessarily'? There are plenty of ways to get money for nothing without robbing a bank.

W: Oh yeah? Name one.

M: . . . . . That's not the point. The point is we're both intelligent people, right?

W: Sure.

M: We could do it together. It could be like a whole adventure thing. I'd come up with the plan and make sure it was fail safe. You know, that there'd be no way we'd get caught. I could totally do that. We're not against any sort of time deadline or anything, it's not like we desperately need money right at this second or anything, so I could take my time and do research and look for the perfect opportunity. I'd even do the leg work from public computers or something to keep the whole thing untraceable. Once I pegged our score or whatever I'd work out the details and present them to you so you could review it and ask questions and make sure it was something you felt comfortable with. Hell, we could make a night of it - order some pizza, open a bottle of wine, and go over the plan. How cool would that be? We'd take your feedback and tweak things as necessary and when the big day came we'd work out our alibis with movie tickets or doctored receipts or whatever and we'd pull it off together. Fifty grand! Or however much! We should at least plan it, right? See if we come up with something that looks promising? I mean what do we have to lose?

W: I'm going to bed.

M: OK. I get it. Need to sleep on it. Totally cool. . . . . . . . . . I'll be in in a little bit. I'm gonna work out some of the schematics here, get a head start.
W: You know tomorrow morning we got that brunch thing over at the Conner's place.
M: Oh right. What are their names again?
W: Dave and Stacy.
M: And Dave works at a bank, right?
W: Good night.

Bradicca: the final tabloid / Rhonda Phoof

Mon June 1st, 9:24 am EST

Washington D.C. (AP) - Brad Pitt and Jessica Simpson engaged in a lengthy bout of public fornication on the White House lawn amongst thousands of shocked and delighted onlookers Sunday afternoon. Tourists and locals alike oohed and ahhed, snapping pictures and video taping the copulating couple as paparazzi desperately jostled for position.

According to witnesses, Pitt (45) and Simpson (28) started aggressively fondling each other shortly after 1:00 pm EST before announcing that the fledgling crowd "get [their] cameras out because [they're] about to witness the second Big Bang." Shortly after, Simpson unzipped Pitt's pants and began stroking his knob as the crowd cheered. Things quickly escalated from there. By the time Simpson mounted Pitt reverse cowgirl near Michelle Obama's famed vegetable garden the crowd had swelled to at least 2,000 and included fellow celebrities Tiger Woods, the Octo-mom, Oprah Winfrey, and Justin Timberlake who was reportedly masturbating. "I got the whole thing on my Flip camera" stated Winfrey. "In fact I gave everyone there a Flip camera to document this momentous occasion."

The clip surfaced on YouTube before the couple had finished intercourse and quickly garnered 100 million hits before being deleted due to lewd content and reposted on PornoTube. In fact, those with iPhones equipped with Skype began transmitting live video feeds to friends and family just as Simpson reached her fifth of alleged nine orgasms.

Jeremy Piven was also reportedly there.

It's rumored that widespread fears are circulating amongst publishers of celebrity based magazines suck as OK, Star, In Touch, US, and People that this episode of public star fucking will damper interest in their relentless coverage of famous people doing anything at all.

Renowned celebrity photographer and paparazzi member Alex Barney echoed such concerns. "This is it. I can't imagine anyone ever caring to see a picture of Drew Barrymore purchasing a bran muffin in her sweatpants ever again. We're fucked."

In what some are calling a desperate attempt to monetize the affair, the aforementioned celebrity centered publications are scrambling to ditch their lead stories and focus on the Pitt / Simpson sex union. OK Magazine had planned to feature a rumor that Hugh Jackman prefers riding horseback to limousines on its cover but will now lead with an in-depth story titled "Stars are just like us: They sixty-nine!" Similarly People will ditch a story of Madonna's new Grape Shasta diet in favor of close up shots of Pitt's erect wang.

Whether or not the public will take the bait and pay $6.99 for a collection of photographs they've already seen or own themselves remains to be seen. "Now that I've seen Jessica Simpson's ass in person and discussed it at length with my coworkers and children I don't feel it necessary to get TMZ's or Billy Bush's take on it" said Gretchen Felber, mother of four who was on her way to the Washington monument with her family when she heard of the famous pair's hard core fucking nearby. "As far as celebrity news is concerned I now feel like I've seen everything I need to see. I'm finally satisfied."

When reached for comment members of the Pitt camp denied the open screw session. "This story is completely fabricated," said a spokeswoman for Pitt. "Brad was in Namibia shopping for children with Angelina for the afternoon in question. This must be a clear case of mistaken identity."

It's rumored that Barack Obama witnessed the romp from the window in the oval office.

The milestone event came to conclusion at 2:17 pm EST when Pitt released his sought after celebrity seed on Simpson's equally treasured breasts. As they put thier clothes back on (Pitt was wearing a Tom Ford suit with an ascot and Gucci loafers and Simpson a Baby Phat hoodie with Diesel jeans) a group of 4th graders recited the pledge of allegiance. The visibly exhausted Pitt then thanked the crowd, punched and old woman in the face, and reminded everyone that "Inglorious Basterds" opens on August 21st.

877-393-4448 / Herman Whole

If you live in the New York tri-state area chances are you've seen the Optimum 'Triple Play' commercial.

Watch it Here

While unremarkable at first viewing, after seeing it a couple dozen times I began to really pay attention and appreciate it. Turns out it's the craziest god-damned thing I've ever seen. Here's what happens:

OPEN WITH

Image of television showing a group of pirates dragging a canon out of the ocean. They fire the canon.

CUT TO

Big dude dressed in all white wearing a stupid hat and sunglasses squirming of the sofa of his minimalist apartment apparently really having to pee. Cannon ball bursts through wall of minimalist apartment and all the walls fall to reveal that dude was actually sitting on the beach with the aforementioned pirates.

CUT TO

Flat screen TV sitting inside large clam or oyster. Pirates on beach approach TV clam/oyster with curiosity.

CUT TO

Image of sand castle built in the shape of $29.95.

CUT TO

Pirates walking down the beach in celebratory fashion with large clam/oyster television held over their collective heads.

CUT TO

Three mermaids lounging on beach reciting phone number of the high speed internet, digital cable TV & digital phone service.

CUT TO

Life guard station on beach manned by beautiful woman (mermaid transformed??) who is watching a laptop that's playing a video of the first dude riding a jet ski in the ocean. He falls off the jet ski while saying something undecipherable, presumably about the high speed internet, digital cable TV & digital phone service.

CUT TO

Three beautiful lifeguards (mermaids transformed??) run down the stairs of the life guard station to the beach to rescue the dude the one lifeguard saw fall off the jet ski on her laptop.

CUT TO

Dude who fell off of jet ski has found refuge on a nearby buoy. The three lifeguards throw three life preservers in his direction. Dude makes a lame attempt to reach for them and clumsily falls off the buoy.

CUT TO

The three lifeguards doing a brief but highly sexual dance on the beach while reciting the number of the high speed internet, digital cable TV & digital phone service.

CUT TO

A bird's eye pan of the beach reveals a row of beautiful women (lifeguards transformed??) laying on towels. The last woman in the row grabs a nearby conch shell that's apparently plugged into the sand somehow and is actually a fully functional telephone. She hands the conch to the dude who's safely made it out of the ocean and is now buried in the sand up to his neck. In the background we can see the pirates in the ocean thrashing in about two feet of water attempting to flee from some sort of aquatic dragon. The women on the towels see the pirates headed their way and they get up and run with them leaving dude behind to get trampled by the fleeing pirates. They pass the $29.95 sandcastle.

CUT TO

Aquatic dragon in the ocean rapping to the camera about international calling features as a lingering pirate attempts to chop off the dragon's tail using a machete.

CUT TO

Women who were on the beach are now dancing with umbrellas among palm tress while reciting the phone number of the high speed internet, digital cable TV & digital phone service.

CUT TO

Dude is now back in his original apartment (which is now reassembled and missing the canon ball hole) along with the three mermaids and an open, glowing, treasure chest.

CUT TO

CLOSE WITH

Close up of treasure chest which contains a lot of gold and three bedazzled logos of Optimum Triple Play.