feeling like a hundred bucks, exchanging good lucks

im feeling better now. someone approached me, i shamefully hid my powdered hands, and they said, “hey did you know theres a stick hanging out of your ass?”

and she pulled it out and whew, do i feel a bunch better.

how long could that thing have been in there? weeks, at least. here it is the middle of summer. im getting summer loving from all over this magical town. i get to watch julianne barbarie twice a day, howard stern, my house is clean, my body is clean. my hands are fucked but i can still type to you. all is good. all is good.

but still, fellas, you can buy me some beers, and ladies, you can email me your fantasies.

the american economy still has a stick up its ass, but no one on capital hill really wants it removed or they’d legalize pot.

simple as that.

those fuckers, i swear, they call me up at all hours all the time to solve their problems and it wouldn’t bother me so much if they’d only listen to what i have to tell them.

the other day this marketing company called me up. they have a client that makes underwear for teenage boys. they wanted to put together a survey that they could give the kids to figure out what they should call this line of underwear.

i said, kids don’t care what some madison avenue marketing yankoff calls the tidy whities, they just want them. they don’t even buy them! their moms buy their underwear! im ten thousand years old and my mom still buys my underwear and socks.

they said, tony, heres a bag of money, what questions should we ask these kids so we can find out what we cal the underwear that will have skateboards and footballs and cool stuff like that on the boxers?

i said, forget it. you guys just want to make work for yourself. ask me. i am eternally 15 years old. 15 year old boys, like the men that they grow up to, have lil nicknames for their lil fellas. name the undies accordingly.

in order to have a “hip” name, i told the marketing geniuses, you have to have equal parts hip-hop culture and suburban nerdiness. mixed together properly you have a crossover hit that, if funny, will appeal to the demographic you allegedly desire.

call the undies: Jimmy McSchwing’s. its a name that the kids will chuckle at, due to its subtle naughtiness. and the parents will ask for by name until they realize the harmless crudeness. but basically, the company who goes for it and has the courage will win. big time.

they claimed to understand. but i knew they didnt.

Schwing is what Mike Myers and Dana Carvey said on television on SNL when they were talking about a pretty girl.

Mc is simply funny when added to a funny word.

jimmy is what the hip hoppers call their schweens. “dont forget your jimmy hat” equals “dont forget your condom, friend.”

i could hear a lone pencil tapping on a shiny oak table in a meeting room.

so then i said, “and if you want to bring back the american economy you’d legalize weed, letting the american farmer finally have a legal cash crop that he could grow and sell at a reasonable profit.”

more silence.

“and if you really wanted people to come out to the baseball games, you’d have Snakehead fish races in between innings.”

your check will be in the mail, the yuppies announced, and turned me off the speakerphone.

permalinked: to my first Salon blog

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