Old Mr. Wilson

Every neighborhood’s got that one spooky house.  The house kids cross the street to avoid.  The house trick-or-treaters skip every year.  The house whose owner all the children in the neighborhood know and fear.

When I was a boy, that house was Old Mr. Wilson’s place.

The kids in my neighborhood knew, you had to be careful when you played near Old Mr. Wilson’s place.  For example, if you happened to be playing with a flaming bag of shit, and it landed on his porch, he would be so furious he would throw open his front door and stomp on it.  I can’t even count how many flaming bags of shit I lost to Old Mr. Wilson.  Some people even said he kept all those old burnt-up bags of shit in his basement, like some kind of sick museum.

And if some of your toilet paper got in his yard?  Forget about it.  He would come out in the morning, and pull it out of the trees and bushes and stuff it into a garbage bag.  No one knew what he did with all that toilet paper.  Many speculated it had something to do with all those old bags of shit.

If you and a friend were playing catch with a rock, and it crossed over into Old Mr. Wilson’s yard and through his bay window, well, you’d better hope you didn’t like that rock too much.  Because you’d never see it again.  I lost my first eight favorite rocks that way.

Eventually, Old Mr. Wilson moved away.  Some people said he moved somewhere with less sunlight.  Others said he moved back to Transylvania, where his family supposedly lived.  The fire marshal said his house burnt down because of a flaming bag of shit left on his front porch.

Now, 20 years later, I can’t help but think of Old Mr. Wilson every time a rock crashes through my window, and I toss it back out and say, “Here’s your rock.”  Or every time I roll up and repackage some poor sap’s eight rolls of toilet paper that blew all over my yard.  And each and every time I’m in the hospital receiving treatment for the burns on my hands from carrying all those flaming bags of shit off my porch, I think of him and wonder, if I saw him today, would I be as scared?

Pinehurst

As many of you know, on February 17th, 2013, Pinehurst was hit by a seismic tremor.  It was a historic first for our city, and the surrounding cities of Oakley, Franklin, and Elk River.  Thankfully, our neighboring cities received no notable damage.  Just shaken nerves.  

Pinehurst, on the other hand, was devastated.  

Many lives were lost when buildings across the city collapsed, including the historic city building, the public library, and the Peoples Bank.  Sink holes opened up in the streets, swallowing whole cars.  Trees were uprooted, roads were fractured, and homes were destroyed.  It was truly a nightmarish scene.  

To many, the considerable damage in Pinehurst is perplexing, but several experts are proposing the extensive damage was a result of a general lack of structural support due to this city being built on Rock and Roll.  

Experts explain that, as a musical genre and general ideology, Rock and Roll is especially strong, but as a structural foundation for an entire city?  Especially when tested by the force of an earthquake?  Very weak, unfortunately.  

The Rock and Roll foundation was laid hundreds of years ago, and to most, seemed like nothing more than a fun trivia fact.  In the wake of this freak natural disaster, we must remember, we made our bed (out of Rock and Roll) and now we must sleep in it.  

Shelter and food for those affected by the earthquake can be found at the community centers of Oakley, Franklin, and Elk River.  

A Valentine’s Day Poem

This is a little something I’ve been working on for some time. What better day to release it than Valentine’s day, right?

Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives Spec Script

The following is a a spec script I wrote for one of my favorite television programs: Guy Fieri’s Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives.  Let me know what you think, and if anyone knows Guy or his people, please forward this along!  Thanks!  

I Don’t Think You Can Handle This Job

So you think you want this job, huh?  You feel like it’s a “good fit”?  If you think you’ve got what it takes, raise your hand.  Now raise your other hand.  Now keep them up there.  Give me a good five minutes of hand raising.  

Okay, put them down.  That was pretty hard, right?  Well guess what.  That’s nowhere near as hard as this job.  

This job is a cruel mistress.  It will chew you up and spit you out its butt.  One minute, this job will take you in its warm embrace, and the next minute it will give your dog a Cleveland steamer.  If this job were a person, it would be really hot and nice sometimes, and really ugly and mean other times.  

I see you’re still here.  You must like having your butt kicked, because I assure you, that’s what will happen.  This job will kick your butt.  

You know how a cashmere sweater from J. Crew is really soft?  Well, this job is nothing like a cashmere sweater from J. Crew, because it’s hard.  Like rocks or something.  

Don’t bother unpacking your things, because you won’t be here very long.  Don’t even open your lunch, because you can just pick something up on the way home.  What I’m saying is, you’ll be gone before lunch.  

Whenever I see that show Deadliest Catch on TV, I say, “Eh, it doesn’t look that bad,” because this job makes Alaskan king crab fishing seem not that bad.  

Sometimes, I think my dreams are actually my conscious life, and this job is just a recurring nightmare.  

I hope I’m communicating clearly.  You think you want this job, but this job will ravage your life.  

Okay.

Now, you’ll be sharing an office with Mark, and we usually order pizza on Friday.  My treat.  

Time Capsule From the Class of 1963

I was so excited to open up this time capsule.  I’d been thinking about nothing but what it could possibly hold for weeks.  I couldn’t even sleep last night.  So, imagine my surprise when I opened it and was hit in the face with a burst of mustard gas.  Once I stopped vomiting and I finally had my vision back, I thought it was kind of funny.  I can appreciate a good practical joke, and I had to admit, you got me.

That’s when I noticed the hundreds of spiders crawling all over me.  While I didn’t particularly find this as funny as the mustard gas, I was impressed.  I have a lot of questions about how you were able to keep those spiders alive for such a long period, and so many of them.  Questions lost to time, I guess.  After my assistant, Anthony, beat the spiders off of me, I just had to laugh.  I did not expect spiders.

The first item I removed from the time capsule was a can of mixed nuts.  By this point, I was starting to catch on.  Sorry, class of 1963, you’re not going to get me that easily.  I handed it to Anthony, who quickly opened it, and ate several handfuls.  Okay, maybe you guys aren’t so bad.  That’s when the snake skeleton blew out of the time capsule, chipping my glasses.  I can only assume that thing was supposed to be alive.

The next item I pulled out was a fully functional mouse-trap, which broke my right index finger.

Then, another burst of mustard gas.  I guess it must have been on some sort of timed release, which is pretty impressive technology for 1963, and even more impressive considering this is all inside an old Folger’s can.

After another bout of teary-eyed vomiting, I pulled out a mason jar labeled “Jarod’s Fart.”  I opened it, and I can verify that it was, indeed, a fart.  Whether or not it was Jarod’s is open for debate.

Somehow, the environment inside the time capsule was incredibly conducive to the development of black mold.  Amidst the mold, I found a pretty cool little stone figurine.  Upon closer inspection, Anthony told me it was a representation of Asag, a demon who creates sickness and is so hideous his presence causes fish to boil alive in rivers and lakes.  So that’s great.

At the very bottom of the time capsule there was a movie ticket for It’s a Mad Mad Mad Mad World and what looked like an old, dried-up dog turd in a Baby Ruth wrapper.  I guess you thought I’d try to eat that.

I’d like to thank you, class of 1963, for your contribution.  All of these items will be displayed in the town history museum for the next year.

Problems Caused By My Wizarding School Education According To My Therapist

-I don’t understand math.

-I don’t understand science.

-I don’t understand history.

-I don’t understand English grammar.

-I don’t know any foreign languages.

-I often use magic to avoid or temporarily fix my problems rather than facing them directly.