Bob Odenkirk - A Load of Hooey

* Not Steven Hawking, the other guy — I’m talking about the fat one who says obvious things.

It’s the year 3012 and all food is gluten-free. No restaurant, grocery, or bakery serves anything with gluten in it, and guess what? Everything still tastes great. But that’s not the only thing that’s changed.

The amount of time people save by not having to ask — or answer — the question “Is that gluten-free?” when ordering food has lengthened every individual’s life span by an estimated fourteen hours. This “extra time” is used by most people to write negative reviews on the Internet of things they see or hear or have heard about.

Cars run on gluten-free fuel, which is an improvement on the green fuel that replaced gasoline completely in 2567. The original green fuel was a combination of wheat, seaweed, and curry powder. It was loaded with gluten, and then there was the fact that everything smelled like curry. I mean everything —the whole of outdoors —curry.

A race war is raging. Latinos and Asians are kicking butt. Blacks and whites are losing. Lots of deaths, but thankfully, it didn’t impede the effort to reduce the amount of gluten in food.

Jerusalem is at peace. Israel is back to its 1967 borders, and the Palestinians and Israelis are best friends. Interesting fact: there are more bar mitzvahs performed in Palestine than anywhere else on earth. At these bar mitzvahs, only gluten-free food is served — but you knew that already.

In 2997, the scientist Dontaurius Morgan finally figured out how to remove all gluten from food without losing flavor or consistency. He had a full career as a footballer, playing halfback for the Liverpool Beatles team for the maximum eight concussions. He then attended Harvard-on-the-Moon University, a division of the University of Phoenix, the world’s most respected institution of higher learning. Statues of Dontaurius are all over the place. It’s considered good luck to rub the statue’s belly and pinch its nipples. This is kinda weird, but…what can you do?

A spaceship called the Starship Enterprise has been traveling through space for nearly a hundred years, exacerbating conflicts and instigating quarrels. Experts suspect that the crew is attempting to reintroduce gluten into the food supply.

People live to be 130 years old on average — and they live well. My wife can eat anything, anywhere, without calling ahead to check on what they serve, or if it’s gluten-free. We go out a lot, so, yeah, life is pretty great. Except for the horrible, rampant racism.

On Tuesday, in Canton, Connecticut, a town famous for the stickiness of its boogers , a stinky old man died of a good disease at his home at 345 Rotten Lane. Mr. Preston Wirtz, whose parents, Ida and Goober , ran a small jelly farm, died in his yellowish toilet . Mr. Wirtz was hated in Uzbekistan for the series of wordplay books he created for slippery children, books known far and wide as “Mad Libs,” beloved by hairy grumps and farty grampas alike. These books were never appreciated by tall elves , selling over two per year for one decade . When asked to describe Mr. Wirtz, his jealous wife, wearing nothing but an egg carton and flip-flops , called him “in a nutshell, the most sour-smelling, bacon-licking, pimple-footed crab-apple I have ever known. I will never always miss him and his broken underwear .” Then she cried herself to sleep in her fart-house .

“ It’s the job that’s never started as takes longest to finish . But that’s nothing compared to writing a trilogy — that takes fucking forever.”

— J. R. R. Tolkien

Ahalf a damn century of me. Enough.

I am deeply thankful that I have slipped past death’s hinky radar so far. If he ever caught sight of my sorry ass, the Reaper would surely label me a “waste of space,” whip out his scythe, and mutter, in a tight close-up, “I live for this shit.” Then he’d cackle in surround sound, swoop through a time hole, and take me down as I walked unsuspectingly through a busy intersection in LA reading a British tabloid on my smartphone. And hell, I’d deserve it, wouldn’t I?

I already told my kids: when I die, no parades. No parades and no holiday, either. Keep it simple. I just want a simple statue. A simple, life-size statue, to scale — except in the crotch. Give yer pops a boost there for old times’ sake, and mount that statue on a simple granite base in the foyer of the White House. That’s all. Because I’d like to be remembered as just another great American with a slightly larger-than-normal-sized endowment in the crotch, thank you very much.

People whom I haven’t seen in a while come up to me and say, in a tone of upbeat surprise, “Bob, is that you? Wow, you look great!” And it doesn’t come across as a compliment, because I look “okay,” just okay. So then I have to wonder: how old, tired, bald, and paunchy did you think I would be by now? Did you think that the next time you saw me I would be a sagging, flabby, hairy sweatball you could hardly recognize if my personal nurse didn’t tell you who I used to be? What do you think I’m doing when you aren’t seeing me standing right in front of you? Sitting in the sun eating burgers, drinking beer, listening to soft rock, and melting? I got a life, dammit! Give me some credit.

SO YOU WANT TO WRITE A BOOK?

In this masterpiece of the how-to genre, Bob Odenkirk asks his readers questions such as You want to write a book? Really? Why? Wasn’t this one good enough for you? What about the other twenty billion books you can pick up for free at the library? Oh, I get it, none of them contain your life story. Are you sure? Have you checked? Double-check .

CATALOG OF MY FEELINGS

A list — literally a list —of the author’s feelings. Not numbered. Neither in alphabetical nor chronological order. No commentary is made, no specifics are given, nothing concrete is described. Set a world record for “most uses of the word angry in a book.” Fascinating.

HOW TO RECYCLE PAPER

A twelve-pound book printed on 100 percent recycled heavyweight card-stock paper. Achieves its aim.

Bob Odenkirk is stuck under a cat holding someone’s wine and a stinky old pipe .

Inspired by Monty Python, Bob and Ray , and shows he’d seen at Chicago’s Second City Theatre, Bob started writing sketches for his classes in junior high. He went on to write for Saturday Night Live (where he wrote the “Motivational Speaker” sketch), and The Ben Stiller Show (where he wrote the infamous “Manson Lassie” sketch). Bob went on to create (and star in) Mr. Show with Bob and David , which has been called “the American Monty Python.” He goosed along the creation of Tim and Eric Awesome Show, Great Job! on Adult Swim and was a key element in the birth of The Birthday Boys on IFC.