Interview With A Werewolf

I interviewed a werewolf. My questions are in black. His answers are in a bloody shade of crimson.

So, why do kids love Halloween so much?

Ha, that’s a dumb question. It’s all about the gratuitous sex and violence. The sweet taste of murder, the wild orgies in the woods.

Uh, I was thinking more about free candy. You know, Mild Duds and Smarties.

Oh, okay. Well, I hope it’s not about that. Because trudging around for five hours to fill a sack with three bucks worth of candy wouldn’t be so intelligent, right?

Are you saying kids are stupid?

I’m saying it’s about the thrill of the hunt… What will I get at this house? Something cheap and lackluster? Or something I can really sink my teeth into? But also, yeah, kids are stupid.

Halloween has become very popular with adults. Why do you think this has happened?

Because it’s pure fun. No relatives. No religion. No presents to buy. Just a partying good time.

Are you saying we don’t want to see our relatives?

Ben Franklin once said, “Fish and relatives both stink after three days.” I think he was being generous by about two days and 22 hours.

Have you ever eaten any of your relatives?

A few. But there’s always a backlash. My mom is still enraged about the time I devoured Uncle Tyrus.

Did you regret it?

Sure. The dumb bastard had Alzheimer’s disease. I spent the next six months forgetting to howl at the moon. Very embarrassing.

Happy Halloween.

You too.

Garage Sale Day

I’m going to post pictures from Tony and Socipher’s amazing Halloween bash as soon as I get around to it. But for now, let’s talk about garage sales. Every year Highland Park has a “Garage Sale Day.” It’s a day of simultaneous garage sales. It’s a day for delusions of retail grandeur. Jill and I went to check it out, and here is what we saw.

Paper back novels – A lot of people sell them at garage sales. Here’s my question: Do people only buy idiotic schlock? Or do they only SELL the schlock and keep the good stuff in the house? Anyway, it was a great day to pick up a James Patterson novel for 25 cents. Of course, you’re cheating Jim out of his royalties—but I’m pretty sure he’ll get by.

VHS tapes – These have become “the new 8 tracks.” Does anyone remember 8 tracks? Seriously, they were before my time. But I know what they are because I used to see them at garage sales. Now I see VHS tapes.

Uh, those are nice. Do you have an old phonograph, too? I mean the kind I can crank with my hand? Because that would be about as useful.

Kids Toys – There are tons of these for sale. I like the Fischer Price barbecue grill. I wonder if it comes with little toy hamburgers. I saw someone selling “Grungy Teeth.” These are plastic teeth that I guess someone’s kid didn’t want any more. I’m sure there’s a great mom out there who wants to shove a pair of used plastic teeth into her kid’s mouth. You know, if I see someone buying those, I’m calling DYFUS.

Mugs, Dishes, Etc – The worst kind of crap. Someone finally empties grandma’s dishwasher out and decides to get rich. Good luck with that plan. And good luck selling the KISS ME I’M IRISH mug or whatever. Because I’ve never seen that one before.

Clothes – Are the clothes at garage sales any worse than what’s at the local thrift shop? Yes. A lot worse. Because it’s mostly the garbage the thrift shop won’t take.

So, will I go to the Garage Sale Day next year? Of course. I always have these dreams about an old lady selling a 1958 Gibson Les Paul for fifty bucks.

“Oooooh I don’t know if i can go that high, lady—I mean, it’s 50 years old.”

“Well, all right. How about twenty-five?”

“You’ve got yourself a deal.”

Right.

A Love Story

Can a man buy love with a piece of jewelry? The guy at the jewelry store seemed to think so. But that damned diamond was so expensive. So I robbed a bank. Well, okay—it wasn’t a bank, it was a credit union. And I hated to shoot two people in the process, but what could I do? I was in love.

When I gave her the little box, I could she was upset.

“What’s wrong?” I said. “Don’t you like it?”

“Oh, I love it. It’s so beautiful. It’s just that, well…”

“What?”

“Do you know my friend, Sheila?”

“Sheila? Uh, no.”

“She’s the friend who had the little dog that drowned in the dishwasher.”

“Oh, yeah. I mean—no.” Because I never pay attention to stories involving friends or major appliances.

“Well, anyway, Sheila works over at the credit union on 23rd Street. And some guy shot her.”

Damn. Damn, damn, and god dammit to Hell. I knew I should have robbed a bank.

“Oh, honey, that’s terrible,” I say. “But won’t she recover? I mean, it was a low caliber weapon. Uh, right?”

“Yeah, she’ll recover.” Then a long sigh. “But I’m just not in the mood for love.”

I cursed and considered the irony of the situation. Relationships are so complicated.

Cold Apartment

The page was a wasteland of blank space. It was a frosty, white desert full of nothing.

But wait—here comes a character. Here comes a beautiful girl. She’s got a face like a flower and curves like a sports car. What does she want?

Does she want to dance and gyrate her hips and seductively peel off a few layers of clothing? Does she want to strip off her parka, her ski suit, her sweater, her long johns, her shirt, her camisole, her bra, her pantyhose, her socks, and her hiking boots?

Actually, no. Because it’s freezing in here. And I really wish someone would turn up the heat.

The Winning Team

“Son, you’ve reached a certain age now, and it’s time to grow up.”

“Grow up?”

“Yes. The party’s over. It’s time to join the real world.”

“Uh, that doesn’t sound like much fun.”

“It’s not! You need to become just like me, and being me is no fun. I go to work, I pay bills, I watch hockey. That’s what growing up is all about—watching hockey like everybody else.”

“I have a job. I pay bills. And I hate hockey.”

“But you still have crazy thoughts. You still have dreams. And hockey is much better live than it is on TV!”

“Didn’t you once have dreams?”

“Sure, but they didn’t work out. I was good with my fists but I couldn’t skate worth a damn… So I left my dreams in the dust bin and put on the jersey of a conformist society.”

“Well, what if I don’t feel like conforming?”

“Then everyone will laugh at you. They’ll point their fingers at you. Because they’ll all be, uh—”

“Jealous?”

“Right! They’ll all be jealous. So you need to make a decision.”

“Okay, consider it done. I’ve decided.”

“Good.”

“No jersey for me.”

“I see.”

“You can start laughing any time.”

“Right.”

The Comma

The comma crawled up from the bottom of the page and considered an appropriate destination. How about before a conjunction? Yes, that would be a sweet little spot to plant a pause. But wait—is that a dependent clause after the “and”? And won’t that be a problem? Many commas end up living their lives there—until an editor comes along and hits the deadly delete key. Ha, maybe this page won’t be edited. Maybe this page will become a safe haven for ill-placed punctuation. The comma sighed, knowing it had a duty to maintain a degree of grammatical integrity. With some resignation, the comma moved to a new location properly nestled before a conjunction that preceded an independent clause, and the surrounding words breathed a sigh of relief.

But what about all these dashes? And what about all these sentences starting with the words “and” and “but?” Would the page never be correct? And then a voice echoed from high above:

“Will you shut the fuck up? This is a graphic novel. It’s a COMIC BOOK. We don’t need to be so perfect.”

Ha, okay—fair enough. But the comma was still glad it had moved.

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Oh, what the hell—I’m in a charitable mood, so here’s the info you crave: The secret to making easy money is to sell a lot of suckers the secret to making easy money. It’s a big scam, people. And it never fails.

Good luck.

DIGITAL DIRT

“Johnson, we were going to hire you—but then we googled your name and didn’t like what we saw. So you’re out.”

“Out? Well, uh, what did you see?”

“Pictures of you drinking. And laughing. And having fun. You don’t look busy at all.”

“Well, those pictures weren’t taken at work—”

“Exactly! You were in a bar. You were playing in a band. That’s an outside interest and we can’t have that sort of thing.”

“Uh, doesn’t everyone have outside interests?”

“Of course! But we keep them secret. Why, I happen to collect Nazi war memorabilia. I’ve got three hundred SS daggars and a boot worn by
Heinrich Himmler.”

“But you said you wanted someone creative—”

“Creative? Yes! But only if you conform to the image of the company! And our image is very neutral.”

“You mean ‘bland?’”

“EXACTLY! WE ARE BLAND!”

“So you want a creative person who’s very bland?”

“YES! That is the essence of corporate America. You can think all you want to—just as long as you think like everyone else.”

“Okay. I’ll apply at a different place.”

“Of course you will. Now send in the next person.”

Anatomy Of A Horror Movie

“They’re coming! Run! Hide!”

“Where?”

“Down in the basement—it’s dark and scary and there’s no way out!”

“No! I have a better idea. Let’s go outside! I have a car that never starts!”

“Wait! Let’s try the old, abandoned mineshaft! That should be safe!”

“No! Let’s head for the creepy catacombs under the backyard!”

“Or maybe the crypt in the ancient burial ground!”

“Or the warehouse filled with guillotines!”

“Hey, how dumb are we? Do we deserve to live?”

“Of course not! Unless they need us for the sequel.”

Stick It In

“Should I get this new vaccine?”

“No. It will make you sick.”

“I thought it was supposed to prevent me from getting sick.”

“That idea is an evil conspiracy. If you get a flu vaccine, you will get the flu.”

“Okay. But when I got the smallpox vaccine, I didn’t get smallpox.”

“That was different. ”

“And when I got the polio vaccine, I didn’t get polio.”

“That was different.”

“And when I got the tetanus vaccine, I didn’t get tetanus.”

“That was different.”

“Millions of people used to die from those diseases. And now they’ve been eradicated. So I was thinking maybe the vaccines are connected to—”

“You were thinking? That’s your problem. You’re not supposed to think. Thinking messes up everything.”

“Everything?”

“Well, it messes up my conspiracy theory. Nothing messes up a good conspiracy theory like too much thinking. So stop it.”

“Right. Now I understand.”