Bob Odenkirk - A Load of Hooey

finders, beepers!

As Aunt Frank and I traversed the town we would munch on warm egg-salad sandwiches. She would chew and chew and describe her latest visit to the doctor and I would watch her jaws roil, frothing with bits of white and yellow and pickle. Damn you for making me remember this! Anyway, I think she was a man in the end.

Off we would go on our appointed rounds. We would drive around town in circles, searching for these waxy chocolates that had somehow, by accident perhaps, become a custom in our house (along with the beer-drinking I mentioned). Eventually we would find the damn things and bring them home to a gentle chorus of baffled burps.

Holy Christmas!

And if I’m not mistaken, there was a story told each year, a fairy tale about someone named “Jeebus.” I’m getting his name wrong, I’m sure. Josey. Jesus. Jesus H. Chriminy! That’s it. What a strange name. He lived long ago, and he spent his life trying to find the brightest star in the sky. He made the first zombie! And though he was a man full of joy and love, at the same time, this man — whom I never met — was deeply disappointed in me on a very personal level. Yes, this Jesau fella had something against me. Which makes no sense, I know, so I can’t be remembering it right.

Anyway, Christmas…was that really what we called it? Bottom line: there was a lot of disco music, a tree got knocked over, and there was a naked man dancing barefoot in the snow. That’s all I’m sure of right now.

“ Don’t cry because it’s over. Smile because it happened . You won the frickin’ lottery, man. You’re rich! It wasn’t even that fun to ‘play’—all you did was buy a stupid ticket!”

— Dr. Seuss (Theodor Geisel)

“ELEGIAC”

What does the word

“elegiac” mean?

What about “pastoral”?

And “contemplative”?

Why do you

Keep calling

Baseball all these weird French names?

Stop it.

Douchebag.

THE BLANK PAGE

Fat fingers dance across

the clattering keyboard

Grinding out meaning

Ennobling the actions

Of real men doing something tangible

for a living

And not sitting on their asses

“analyzing” shit.

Pathetic.

SPRING TRAINING

A gin and tonic for breakfast,

plenty of sunscreen,

a note pad.

A hot dog.

Fat ass

Planted in the stands.

Taking it all in,

gorging yourself.

SPRING TRAINING pt. II

Later, alone

in a motel room,

farting.

INSTANT ANALYSIS

We played hard

We lost

End of story.

You, however,

are the real loser.

“ The Buck stops here . Seriously, I will not give you even one buck, this one stays right here, in my hand. I don’t care if you’re a girl scout and I already ate half the cookies, I’m the president, I can eat any cookies I want and I DO NOT PAY.” —Harry S. Truman

Paul McCartney was generally seen as the generous, “upbeat” Beatle. However, some claim he had a well-hidden dark side: envious, resentful, belittling. If that’s true, it rarely showed. Evidence of this tendency in McCartney can be found in abundance on the day he premiered the song “Blackbird” to the other three Beatles. Unarguably a masterpiece, it was also written and arranged by McCartney alone. Legend has it that “Blackbird” came to “Macca” fairly easily and completely, with almost no conscious effort on his part. Despite being a solo creation, “Blackbird,” like all Beatles songs, is attributed to “Lennon/McCartney.” This shared-credit situation has been known to irk McCartney, and yet even that tension doesn’t explain the unbridled assault of sarcasm and peeve that issued from “the cute Beatle” on this singular occasion.

August 18, 1968, Abbey Road Studios, Studio 4, 11:15 a.m. Engineer’s notes:

Band members came in fairly early (and fairly shagged-out) from another night of “creams and ales and whatnot.” Mini jam session. Lennon kept asking Starkey to “play quieter” and finally to “Stop! The drums in me head are all I need.” After a tea-and-jam-butties break, McCartley [sic] grabbed an acoustic and said, “Here’s something, see what you think,” then played a song called “Blackbird” in its entirety. Excellent song. Excellent, excellent song. Unbelievable song. Like God humming. When he finished, he suddenly became vituperative …

Transcript from the audio tape:

McCARTNEY [ As the final notes of “Blackbird” ring out ]: Well? What do you think? Anything to it? “Ugh,” right? Don’t say anything! I know. I’m sorry. Get the trash bin out! I’ll reimburse for the studio time. Please forgive me…

RINGO: Well, I thought it was really pretty…

McCARTNEY: Stop — it’s no “Octopus’s Garden”! Am I right? Let me play it again, in its entirety, just the way it came to me, when I was alone, writing it…

[ McCartney plays “Blackbird” again, from beginning to end, and again, it’s an impossibly beautiful and perfect composition. The other Beatles stare at their shoes .]

McCARTNEY: Garbage, right? Yeesh! I am so sorry. SOOOOOO sorry. George, please forgive me. Do favor us with another of your sitar explorations so as to wash the taste of that dreck from our ears! Do, please! Where’s the sitar? Hurry, get a sitar!

HARRISON: Well, I liked it…

McCARTNEY: Shows what you know! I’m sorry. I’m just embarrassed. John! The Great John Lennon! Sir, I am so sorry to waste YOUR time with that!

LENNON: Well…it’s a little lullaby-ish for my taste, though.

McCARTNEY: Of course! It’s just a throwaway lullaby! People hate lullabys! They’re awful, awful! John, save the day and yowl us all one of your patented free-form political diatribes to obliterate the memory of my gummy treacle!

HARRISON: Look, man, I think your sarcasm is unnecessary, you know? It’s going to be on the album and all, there’s no need—

McCARTNEY: Oh! Do you think it’ll make the album?? Oh, will it?! Oh, thank you, George! Thank you! You deign to have one of my songs grace the next Beatles album? Because usually I do have to fight pretty hard to get my usual 90 percent of the songs on there next to your 10 percent! Oh, joy! Did you hear that, Ringo! I’m going to have a song on a real Beatles album! Me, Paul McCartney!