What Have You Done for the Midterms , Perry?

 

With the midterms just a week away I wondered what some of my friends were doing to help our democratic cause.

I began with Rabbi Debbie King, the progenitor of the newest branch of Judaism known as Hello Yahweh. Based loosely on the television show Seinfeld, Hello Yahweh posits that no just God wants us to be sitting around kissing their ass.

Considering how God is running things, we believe God would want us to rather give it a good swift kick every now and then.

“Rabbi Debbie” I said, “how is your congregation seeking to change things for the better?”

“We have developed a new prayer expressly for the mid-terms, she said:

Blessed art thou, O Lord our God, please flip both houses!

“But Rabbi Debbie, you’ve frequently said there may be no God.”

“Maybe there isn’t, Perry, but prayer is still powerful for creating change in us, even if there’s no Big Cheese in charge of the universe.

Or Big Schmear, as it were.”

“Look what Rabbi Debbie has done,” I thought. “Meanwhile I haven’t done a damn thing to help the cause.”

I wondered what my friend the Legendary Jewish Vampire Vlad the Retailer has done as the mid-terms approach.

“Yes, Perry,” he said, “I knocked on every coffin door between here and Transylvania. I found that many vampires were attracted to Big Fat Trump because they thought he’d be great to chow down on.

I’d yell at them, look, this guy is a moron! Even if he does look delicious.”

“That’s great work, Vlad,” I said.

“If you want we can go trick or treating to further get the word out,” Vlad said.

“Vlad, I’m 76 years old and you’re 676. Who’s going to believe we’re trick or treaters? ”

I left Vlad. Even a vampire had taken action. What had I done?

I went home feeling dejected and went upstairs to check in with my bathroom mirror, Bob.

“What have I ever done to help anyone, Bob?” I said. “Vlad the Retailer and Rabbi Debbie have done so much more to help the cause.”

“You shouldn’t feel bad, Perry,” said Bob. “The most important thing of all that anyone can ever do is what you are about to do.”

“And what’s that, Bob?”

“VOTE.”

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The Follow-up Questions She Should Have Asked

 

We’ve all seen the public service announcement where the young woman asks her new neighbor certain questions about his household before she will arrange a playdate there for her child.

The spot is laudable but there are a number of follow-up questions she should have asked.

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She: Do you have a pet?

He: Yes, but he’s little.

How little?

Can you be more specific other than bigger than a Chihuahua but smaller than Clifford the Big Red Dog?

Okay, smaller than Clifford, it is. What breed of dog is he?

That’s an unusual mix - a pit bull and Cujo. What’s your dog’s name?

Is there a reason you chose to name your dog ‘Psycho Killer?’

Did the mail carrier ever recover use of their leg?

So that’s why you had to move from your last home?

Your last several homes, you say?

Has Psycho Killer had all his shots?

Dogs can be anti-vaxxers?

Really? Can they also be Republicans?

Don’t answer that!

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She: Do you have a gun?

He: Yes, but it’s safely stored away.

That’s good. Do you ever take the gun out?

When would that be?

Whenever you get a contract? Are you an attorney?

That’s funny? What’s funny about that?

What is the purpose of one of these contracts?

To silence a squealer? What’s a squealer?

Someone who sings to the police? What, like sings at the police person’s ball?

Oh, someone who informs the police about criminal activity. Isn’t that a good thing?

Only if the police are corrupt? Don’t you mean provided the police aren’t corrupt?

I’m funny again? Maybe I should go into comedy?

Don’t quit my day job? What happens to the squealer?

You take him for a walk in the woods? How nice! And what is the gun used for?

To ward off bears? But there are no …. Anyway where is your gun normally secured?

In a locked safe? Excellent, And your child has no access to it?

What do you mean ‘for now?’

Until he gets older and learns what from you?

To crack safes?

Now you’re being funny, aren’t you?

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Do you believe existence precedes essence or that life is essentially absurd?

Can you explicate and expound?

Or would you prefer to submit your answer in writing, no more than three pages long, double-spaced and on my desk by 9:00 AM?

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Now as I understand it, you have a very dangerous and ferocious dog, make your living as a mob hitman, and prefer Sartre to Camus, is all this correct?

Okay, how about Friday?

                                     

Is Every Third Person Batshit Crazy?

 

Trump’s approval ratings are now historically low at 30%. 

That’s good news.  Or is it ? 

It still means that every third person you meet in the course of a day is batshit crazy.  

“Excuse me, Stacie,” I said to the store manager at my local Giant.

“Yes, Perry?” she answered. 

“Where do you have cumin?” 

“Oh, sure, its aisle 7 way up top.” 

One. 

"I can take you in this aisle,” said the checkout guy in aisle 13 as I approached the front of the store. 

Two. 

I drove home, looking nervously to my left and to my right, parked my car, and began to unload my groceries. 

And in that moment my neighbor Farbman poked his head out the front door of his house and chirped:

“Hey, Perry, how are you?” 

Three! 

I dropped a full bag of groceries on the doorstep – including two whole cartons of milk - flung myself through the door and into the house, slammed the door shut and locked it behind me, and dove under the covers of my bed! 

Hands trembling I punched in the number of my friend, Julie -  probably the smartest person I know - to tell her what had happened. 

“Julie, I had no idea Farbman was a Trumper!" I cried. “True, he sometimes wears a red baseball cap backwards - which he’s way too old for BTW -  but I always assumed it was a Phillies cap.  I never read the front of it. Or the back of it, as it were." 

“Perry, I think you’ve got that wrong,” said Julie. 

“I do?” 

“Yes.” 

“Well, what is it then?” 

“It isn’t the third person that you meet in the course of a day who turns out to be a Trumper.” 

“No?” 

“It’s that out of any three random people you meet in the course of day, one of them  turns out to be a Trumper.  But you never know which one!” 

“OMG! So life is a game of Trumper Whac-A-Mole?” 

“Exactly, Perry.” 

 You knock one down and another one comes right back up at you?” 

“You’ve got it.”

So maybe it was Stacie who’s the Trumper.  Or the Checkout Guy.  

Maybe Farbman is a member of Indivisible! 

I doubt I’m ever coming out from under these covers.  At least not until after the election. 

Except of course to vote. 

And to negate the vote of the batshit crazy guy to the left or to the right of me.

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A face only a batshit crazy person could love

"I've Been Through the Cosmos From A Planet With No Name"

 

The slender silver disc landed directly on my front lawn and out popped a greenish elfin figure. 

“Greetings,” he spoke.“ I come in peace from across the cosmos.” 

“Welcome to Earth,” I said.  “And to Havertown PA, just outside  of Philadelphia, home of the Philadelphia Phillies. But tell me how do  you know our language?” 

“We have monitored your television broadcasts over many years. We especially love The Three Stooges. That Curly is hysterical!” 

“Yes, we like him the best of the three down here too.  Tell me, from which planet have you come?” 

“I've been through the cosmos from a planet with no name."

"Really?  A planet with no name? Sounds like a popular song from years ago."

 "Umm ... I think I might have heard that one too.  Now take me to your leader.” 

“Our leader?  But he’s an idiot.” 

“Oh, I know. I don’t mean him. I mean Governor Shapiro.” 

“I think I might be able to arrange that. But first can you tell me your name?” 

“It is Zardan.” 

“And now, please, your home planet must have a name.” 

“Yes, our home planet …  uh, uh … you're right, it does have a name ... that’s the planet from which I’ve come … yes, our home planet … Sure, yeah, homina, homina …. that’s the 7^th, rock from the sun.” 

“Oh, I know which one you mean now:  Uranus!’ 

“Shh, no, no, it’s not that one … not tha …. Well, okay, actually it is that one, but please don’t say it so loud!” 

“Why?”

 “Because it’s a completely embarrassing name!” 

“I have to admit generations of high school and middle  school students in science class on Earth have been giggling about Uranus … I mean ‘your planet’s name’ … since  time immemorial.” 

“So you see why we’re embarrassed.” 

“But then why didn’t you just tell me a made-up name like, say Pookieland?  We wouldn’t know the difference down here.” 

“You mean lie? Your president lies all the time and he’s a big fat blubbering slob.” 

“True, true,  but he always was. I have another idea before I arrange a meeting with Governor Shapiro.” 

“Yes?” 

"Why don't you tell me what the people on your home planet themselves call  your planet."

"That won't help at all."

“Why?” 

“Because by a strange quirk of fate …” 

“Yes?” 

“We also call it Uranus.”

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