Travelin' Mark

Every comedian has a rant about airport travel... here's mine.
  My company sends me all over the country on restoration jobs. They're usually last minute decisions, so I often find myself on the fly and less than prepared. There are a few constants with air travel that I have come to expect, and more than a few questions I have always had about the process. First of all, my company, in setting up these trips, seems to think I want to be in the air as soon as humanly possible. My flight out of Buffalo is usually at, like, 7:00am, which means I need to be at the airport by 6 at the latest, which means I need to be up at 4:30. WTF?! I do not want to start my day scraping ice off my truck in the damn 8 degree dark! The whole time I'm scraping away, I'm thinking about how tired I am, and how tired the pilots must be... nothing of import should be done before 10 in the morning, because I don't care what you say... you're not awake yet. Standing in the line at security, I will invariably detect the smell of breath so foul it can cause an athiest to believe in hell. I don't even have to look around and identify this person, because it is my fate that this passenger, who obviosly took extra time this morning to eat a breakfast of raw crayfish and a side of garden slugs, will be sitting next to me on my flight. It never fails. I manage to choose the security line that ends up stopped dead because someone who has never done this before didn't understand the procedure. They're standing on one leg like a stork as they take off forty pounds of bling, and unlace knee high fashion boots, and get stopped again when their belt buckle sets off the metal detector. Then it's the cellphone in their pocket. Then it's the loose change they're carrying. Then they didn't put their pastes and lotions into a Ziploc. Now this is one of my questions; What's the big deal with the Ziploc baggies? As I understand it, the Dept. of Homeland Security is concerned that explosives can be hidden in toothpaste, or lotions. What properties of the Ziploc baggie render these dangerous substances innert? I can carry a cellphone, a device with any number of mechanical mysteries. A device that, the pilots will tell you, can affect the GPS of the plane and cause it to veer off course. I can have the cellphone with me on board if I adhere to the honor system and keep it off during flight, but I can't have loose toothpaste?
  Then it's the boarding procedure. I have never had a ticket that had anything but 'Zone 4' printed on it. The planes load by Zones, as any reasonably intelligent person would guess, and of course, the cool kids get to go on first; First class passengers who spent extra money to disdain others, and people with crippling afflictions (Which is God's way of saying stay the hell home, in my opinion) who need assistance, then Zone 1, and so on... but the Zone 3 and 4 people crowd the entrance ramp door like they'll miss the whole trip if they don't storm the damn plane. I'm in no hurry to jam my ass into a tube full of strangers who's breath I'm about to spend the next three hours breathing at thirty thousand feet.
Of course, by the time my social caste has been chosen to take our seats, all of the overheads are filled. There's always some asshole who decided he didn't want to check any of his baggage, and is trying to cram a major appliance in the overhead compartment. It's for purses, not dishwashers you idiot. And there's my seat... between mr. Crayfish and some woman who brought 8 kids under 10 years old. They, of course, are scattered all over the back end of the plane, annoying their alloted group of passengers... none of them remembered their Ritalin this morning. No one should be allowed on any form of public transportation with children under eighteen. This is what station wagons are for. When John F. Kennedy invented the station wagon back in the 60's, and named them 'America's family vacation car', it wasn't just for shit's and giggles. If I ran the airline industry, a gas would be released on each flight that rendered anyone under 18 unconscious, and killed their legal guardian. Then we'd get some rest.
  Of coure, then it's time to hear the on flight instrucions. In the event of a water landing, the seat cushions can be used as a flotation device... sorry, but in the event of a water landing, I'll already be using my seat cushion as a diaper. Then the complexities of the seatbelt are addressed. Anyone who doesn't know how to use a seatbelt is not supposed to survive. it's called 'Natural Selection'. Stop trying to thwart Mother Nature! I was born into this world with the knowledge to work a damn seatbelt, therefore, nature will allow me to reproduce. That's how it works, people.
  Of course, by now my stress and anxiety has reached critical, as I sit, wedged between the breather, and the woman constantly twisting around to give her little hellspawn 'eye signals' to behave. We're, of course, over the wing, so I can't even look past mr. Crayfish and see the wonder of flight below me. All of my ailments (Heart problems, anxiety disorder, weak stomach, and the fact that it's friggin 7am and I'm exhausted) are threatening to overwhelm me, and I've already been 2 hours without a cigarette and the 3 hour flight is just beginning. Mr. Crayfish grips the seat armrest and accidentally pushes my recline button, startling me so badly that as I flip backwards I vomit on my own forehead and the lap of the woman behind me. I have my right elbow driven somewhere between 6 and 8 inches into his left nostril, shouting something unintelligable, when I'm foceably introduced to the Air Marshall.
  I travel to New York City next week... can't wait.

Friends I've met

I've met some interesting people in my life, and I've decided from time to time, here on the blog, I'm going to describe how I met some of them for your enlightenment.
Mikki
I had just left Spencers with my new Ernest Borgnine scratch and sniff poster, when I was accosted by two thugs and dragged into an alley. They duct taped me to a dumpster and began beating me with International Harvester catalogues. Suddenly a voice rang out 'What smells like Ernest Borgnine back here?!' The thugs fled, and Mikki arrived, took advantage of my compromised position for a while, and then cut me loose. We went to my house and watched 'Raising Arizona'. After the movie, she taped me back to the dumpster, and told me; 'If you survive, look me up on Myspace'.

Stephie
I was doing freelance hits for the Cosa Nostra (Italian for 'Nose Car') and had been contracted by Vito 'the lozenge' Romano to whack Frankie 'the inappropriately loud in movie theatres' Potenza. Frankie had made the mistake of pointing out that Vito's girlfriend looked a lot like Tommy Lee Jones. I was moving a little slow do to my recent penile reduction surgery, and by the time I kicked in Frankie's door, I found a young red head had beaten me to the hit. Stephie. She had already scooped out Frankie's head like a candy dish, and she stood over the body with a bloody spork. We looked at each other and laughed. We spent the rest of the night doing each other's makeup and eating candy out of Frankie's head. When I wasn't looking, she tied my shoelaces together and split.

Jamie
I was in Vegas. I had just finished a hot bowl of donut soup, and was using the fountain at the Bellagio as a bidet... the water fountain in the lobby. I looked past the security guards rushing toward me and saw the most beautiful creature I had ever laid eyes on in the casino. This creature was, however, sneaking up on a pretty young woman, so I yelled out; 'Hey, lady- duck!' I saw her escape, just as security dragged me into the men's room and gave me swirly after swirly. All I could think about was the young woman I had saved. Jamie. I called my mother, whom I had not spoken with since the day she super glued me to an Asian guy and tossed me in the pool. 'Mom, I've found her... the one!' She was so excited she divorced her husband and used the alimony checks to buy enough cans of creamed corn to fill her living room knee deep. She then spent the afternoon rolling around and 'swimming' in it. Later, she opened the cans and had a hearty lunch.

My daughter Jesse
One day I was rummaging through her mother...

Peter Pan

Im pretty much the poster boy for Peter Pan syndrome. I never want to grow up, I always wear a hat, I'm frequently in the company of a little leggy blonde, my house looks like a fort, and I look good in green tights. The down side is I'm pretty sure there's an effeminate Pirate stalking me.
I really don't get why people want to grow up and be mature adults. As far as I can tell, mature people are among the most boring group of losers you could ever encounter! Men my age, when thrown together in a group, end up talking about fixed mortgage rates and lawn equipment. I would rather get in a heated debate with someone as to whether Captain America could kick Batman's ass. I've noticed that people I've known all my life get to a certain age and start using words like 'Davenport' and 'Dungarees' when they mean 'Couch' and 'Jeans'... they start listening to Kenny G. and Dido instead of Zeppelin and Blue Oyster Cult. I understand that the things I have loved in my youth will seem dated in time, but I'm not reverting to my parents generational loves, and I'm still learning new things every day to stay current.
At one point it looked like I would succumb to age like everyone else, but I found the escape hatch; divorce. Being single opened so many doors it made my head spin! Let's face it, every marriage is a hostage situation, and the best you can hope for is to develop Stockholm syndrome early on. Now I can use the good scissors and don't have to fear any retaliation! I guess I realized that there comes a time in every man's life where he either stands for what he believes in, or abdicates to society's standards... I chose option three; Find a cute 25 year old and lick the back of her teeth. This has proven to be a happy lifestyle choice for me. Bring it on, Captain Hook, I'm gonna go find me some Mermaids!

Dick and Jane (an excerpt from my upcoming book Random Thoughts From A Broken Mind)

Apparently, rat urine is bad for you.
Okay, now onto the article (I like to be informative as well as entertaining). 

It's common knowledge that I have a thing for younger ladies.   The scientific term for this thing is 'penis'.   I've always hated the word penis.  My God, is there any word that could possibly make it sound smaller and less threatening?   Maybe the word 'prick', but even that sounds uncomfortable thanks to tetanus shots.   'You're gonna feel a prick.  You'll probably be sore for a couple of days'.  

When I hear the word penis, I think of that little flap of skin that hangs from a turkey's neck, or the dangler in the back of your throat.  Even the dangler has a more impressive name: Uvula.  If I were to say to you 'I'm gonna shove my uvula into you all the way up to my tonsils',  you'd know you were in for a pretty hectic evening.  But I digress, and I've typed the word penis far too many times, so let's visit the actual subject again shall we?

For whatever reason, I've had an enormous amount of luck with women in their late teens and early twenties.  I don't lurk high schools or malls, or in any way initiate these relationships.  They just kind of happen.  As a man about to turn 50, I've found that there is good deal of finesse involved in keeping pace with the energetic young women of the 21st Century.  I forcibly took a crash course in phone texting.  My problem is that I HATE abbreviating and LOATHE acronyms, for example, ROFLMAO!   And I'm sloooow. Typically I'll get a text from my girl.  'How R U?'   And seven more as I respond to the first one.  I'll get flustered as I spell out words I have no business using in a text (such as 'ambidextrous'), and I find myself rushing.  I hit send, and invariably find myself yelling, 'Oh My God,  I forgot the I before E rule! She's gonna think I'm fuckin' stupid!'  By the time I send the first response she's already sleeping with someone else. Young girls can make you feel young, but a lot of it's like babysitting.

There are pluses and minuses, and I've decided to tap the benefit of my experience and make a list for those of you considering this lifestyle.  A definite plus: you can sneak her into work on bring your daughter to work day.  Who'll know, right?

Drawback: Sometimes you have to cancel dinner reservations because she's grounded.  

Plus: At Denny's she eats free! 

Drawback: She can't go on any of the good rides at Disney Word.

Plus: Sex. I promise you'll learn stuff.

Drawback:  Taking her trick or treating is kind of demoralizing. There are others to be sure, but I don't want to take all the fun of discovery from you.  Just one last word of warning: turn your phone off at all business meetings because if she has a study hall, she's gonna call you.

Man Vs. Nature (an excerpt from my new book, Random Thoughts From A Broken Mind)

            Yesterday my daughter told me about a couple of news stories she heard recently that made her wonder about the human condition and how far it's fallen.  Apparently, a man was caught having sexual relations with a cow and was arrested for animal cruelty.  As you might guess, I've got a couple thoughts about this.  Could a case be made that the cow was asking for it by walking around in that leather outfit with her teats hanging out all the time?  I would think a savvy lawyer can clear this guy on that fact alone.  A good lawyer could at least get the charges reduced.  Animal cruelty?  Really?  Have you ever seen a bull's package?!   Animal disappointment is more likely.  In fact, unless the cow is currently reading this article, my guess is she isn't even aware she was raped.  

            Thanks to Michael Vick, we have established precedent for how this should be handled.  The farmer (I assume he was a farmer and not just stalking cows randomly) will not be allowed to play in the NFL from now on, and is never allowed to work in a supermarket deli. Petting Zoos are also a no-no.

            The other news story was strikingly similar, but it involved a young man and a small dog.  I won't go into details here because I don't have a vomit guard for my keyboard, but suffice it to say, after reviewing these stories I've come to the conclusion that women aren't keeping their end of the bargain.  Face it, the only thing that can drive a man into lusting after livestock is women completely dropping the ball so to speak.  

            The problem is that they love to look sexy.  A woman who has no interest in having physical relations with you will get up early to doll up.  They apply lipstick and mascara, eye liner, blush, they fuss with their hair for hours, they bathe in scented body oils and perfume and they wear something that accentuates their cleavage, legs, and butts.  They smile flirtatiously and sometimes they even wag their asses on purpose.  They have absolutely no interest in you whatsoever.  They just enjoy watching you squirm, knowing you'll spend too much time in the bathroom after they walk away.  So a guy who has been exposed to this daily finally says to himself, 'I need something soft and warm now. Ooh!  The neighbor has a Pomeranian!'  I'll never resort to bestiality, though, mainly because I'm big into foreplay and can't imagine kissing a cow, much less sucking on the inside of her thigh.

            All my life I've had an addiction to the female of the species (my species) and I do mean all my life.  For example, when I was around two years old my mother caught me standing in the back yard completely naked flirting with the woman who lived behind us.  I was up against our back fence flaunting my equipment and saying 'Hey baby!'  I was two!  The protection order was finally lifted earlier this year.

            When I was five or six, I was in my back yard with Michelle (a girl who lived across the street). We were bored and she said: "What do you want to do?" I said: "I know!  How about you pee on that brick?'  It was my subtle and shrewd way to get her pants off.  So she peed on the brick for me.  Michelle was a good sport.

            When I was seven, the other boys in the neighborhood wanted to play baseball, trucks, or army.  I was in the garage attic with Valerie.  We were just standing there staring at each other with our clothes off, which is still more fun than trucks any day of the week.

            I never understood why in first grade I would just stare at the girls in class and think 'Man, I wanna bury my face in her lap!'  And the strange thing is it was completely innocent!  I didn't have some evil thoughts about where to go from there.  I just thought that it would be nice!

            I think this is why I have always been a leg man.  I was interested in girls LONG before I even knew what boobs were.  Consequently, you could have the chest of a 12 year old boy and I wouldn't care as long as you had nice legs.  Don't get me wrong; I also enjoy boobs, they're just not a deal breaker.

            It's also why I tend to like younger girls (young, but definitely LEGAL).  When I was ten, I wanted an 18 year old girl in the worst way, when I was 15 I wanted an 18 year old, when I was 18 I wanted an 18 year old, when I was twenty I wanted an 18 year old.  Why would I suddenly want a 50 year old?  People who complain that I should be pursuing women who are more age appropriate should just be glad I'm not banging their cat.

Dear Mr. and Mrs. McElligott

 Dear Mr. and Mrs. McElligott,

Your son, Mark is adjusting well to the Kindergarten environment in general, but there are a couple things I'd like to address, so that I might have a better understanding as how to best guide him at this earliest stage of his schooling experience. First of all, he's shown a disturbing trend toward looking up the skirts of the little girls in his classroom, trying to kiss them, and even two incidents of inappropriate touching of a teacher's assistant. He is quite frankly the most over sexed child I have ever witnessed in my tenure as a teacher. When reprimanded he just smiles, winks knowingly, and frequently urinates in his trousers. He shows skills in art and music, but can not be made to focus on much else. Please advise as to any medication he may be on, or should be given.

Thank you,

Mrs. Goodman

Kindergarten Teacher

Abraham Lincoln Elementary

Dear Mr. and Mrs. McElligott,

Mark has shown himself to have an above average IQ in tests we give here in second grade, but we can not seem to find that secret motivator to make him focus. He consistently turns in incomplete work or doodles of Batman rather than his assignment. Not many children have managed to build a working electric fence at this age, so we know he is intelligent. He should certainly know where to put a comma in a sentence by now, as well as have a working understanding of simple addition, but alas, it is not the case. When asked why he didn't do his arithmetic work as assigned he responded that he didn't trust numbers. Also troubling is the fact that two of his female classmates are showing signs of morning sickness. We have no way of proving anything at this point, but when asked about the girls' condition he just smiles, winks knowingly, and frequently urinates in his trousers. This young man shows no promise of getting into even a community college.

Thank you,

Mrs. Knight

Second grade Teacher

Abraham Lincoln Elementary

Dear Mr. and Mrs. McElligott,

It's grading time again, and as usual your daughter Amy has been awarded straight A's and B's! She is a delight to have in class and has made many friends. Amy is very conscientious and often asks if she can help around the classroom. We see great things in Amy's future! Your son, Mark, however, is rarely focused, never hands in his assignments, and being a third grader,  really should not be urinating in his pants this often. We suggest you do not allow him to procreate.

Regards,

Mr. Asbury

Third grade Teacher

Abraham Lincoln Elementary

Dear Mrs. McElligott,

We address this letter to you directly because frankly the school administration would rather not have another encounter with your husband. We understand that he disagreed with the teacher's comments during the PTA meeting, but violence is never the answer. If you are interested in bringing flowers or an apology, the visiting hours at the hospital are between 11 am. and 8 p.m.. The Dinkleman family would appreciate the gesture I'm certain. Now, as for Mark; he has been showing great talent in art class, and that is to be commended, but his attitude toward authority is unsettling at best. He told his teacher 'When you can draw as well as me, you can tell me what to draw'. This is not the behavior we expect here at Abraham Lincoln Elementary. Certainly not from a fourth grader. At this rate, how do you ever expect him to get into a good college?

Mr. Teddy

Fourth grade Teacher

Abraham Lincoln Elementary

Ms. McElligott,

Mark is insufferable. He reads at a college level, but writes like he invented language in some remote jungle. His imagination and sense of humor are notable, but correcting his grammar and spelling is actually giving me carpal tunnel syndrome. How is it that he can design a working perpetual motion device and then trash it because he can't figure a way to get girls naked with it? On my latest budget proposal I've had to up my allotment for red pencils a full 30 percent this year! He couldn't put together a readable sentence if I dictated it to him! He took it upon himself to render an anatomically correct and startlingly realistic likeness of one of his female classmates and slip it into my notebook. It took two hours for me to explain to the Principal that I wasn't taking Black and White nude photos of my thirteen year old girl students. I shudder to think of how he got her to pose for this in the first place. Thank god he moves on to Middle school next year. I'm developing a twitch. He will never hang a college degree on his wall.

Mr. Teddy

Fourth grade Teacher

Abraham Lincoln Elementary

Ms. McElligott,

I'm sure congratulations are in order. Divorce is never an easy thing, but our staff breathes a collective sigh of relief regardless. The latest news from the Doctors is that Mr. Dinkleman will be back on solid foods within the next year, and then they can begin teaching him English again. Though Mark no longer attends our institution, and has moved on to Middle School, we frequently see him talking to the young girls on our playground and we are concerned about this behavior. It is our understanding that you have received similar letters of concern from the Catholic School a couple blocks away. Please consider keeping a closer eye on him during his free time, as teen pregnancy rates have climbed startlingly in the township, and several of us suspect your son is to blame. It has been years now, but we still find it unsettling when he smiles at us and urinates in his pants.

Vera Middleton

School Administrator

Abraham Lincoln Elementary

Ms. McElligott,

We are disturbed to hear that your Ex Husband has taken it upon himself to teach your son Mark to box. This is not the best idea. Training a young man with Mark's particular behavioral traits how to be aggressive and formidable is bad enough, but having the training done by a short tempered ex golden gloves boxer is quite troubling to us. Looking at his school records we can see that his relatively good behavior ended at Elementary school, and he is on a bad road. We only hope that he doesn't discover drugs and take it to the next level. We sincerely hope you're putting away a little money from each paycheck as bail will figure heavily into his future.

Sgt. Balletto

Monroe County Police Dept.

Deer Mrss McElliot,

I bizzle the dai I evr met Yer litle spawn Mrak! H e is a blite on nispol brivven and should brun in hel! Pligit desny every day now and for a long tim tooo! Hatehatehate!  he made my datter pregnint dat basht, and I cant no words good nymor.

mr. Dinkleman

Mrs. McElligott,

Congratulations on raising such a witty and intelligent man as your son, Mark! In honor of his celebrity status and the great sales of his book we have voted to give him an honorary doctorate here at Harvard! All of your years of hard work have finally paid off, and you can take your rest knowing you have contributed much in the way of literature.

Respectfully,

Thornton Billingsley

President

Harvard University