I checked my imaginary pet giraffe, Hector, into rehab today. It was difficult, and not just emotionally. The Dunes in East Hampton is lauded for its decadent quarters and lavish grounds, but I’d argue that any rehab facility that doesn’t mandate twenty-foot arch doorways and window access to Acacia trees is undervaluing market for imaginary methamphetamine addicted ungulates.
Hector was rescued from Pablo Escobar’s menagerie during the police raid on his estate. His mother, Assata, had been abducted from The Savanna against her will as a Quinceañera gift for Manuela Escobar, whose ample frame she was forced parade through the streets of Medellín amid cheers from onlookers. Her longing to return to Africa soon gave way to complete intoxication with the Escobar lifestyle, marked by an affinity for cocaine laden mangos, and an almost savage taste for human blood. One night, high on an eight-ball and feeling invincible, Assata surrendered her body to Pablo’s steroid fuelled attack giraffe, Alfonse, and after an abnormally short gestation, Hector entered the world, addicted to cocaine, coffee, and various opiates. By the time we stormed Escobar Manor in 1993, Assata was long dead, having fallen victim one of Manuela’s bouts of rage, and Hector was left to fend for himself. So I poured my life savings into having him flown to the States so I could raise him.
People thought me insane for spending so much money on an imaginary pet giraffe. My friends, Stefan and Steven, tried to hold an intervention, and even went as far as to have a therapist show up. “This is crazy” they said. “All that money on an imaginary animal?” I quickly pointed out that they were the crazy ones, having themselves spent tens of thousands of dollars to bring something as pedestrian as a real Asian baby to live with them. But I’m nuts for bringing a majestic imaginary giraffe with a top hat, running sneakers, and a monocle to live with me? Okay, guys.
It was tough at first. I managed to nurse Hector to health by weaning him off of cocaine with a cocktail of Redbull and Ritalin, but the solution was short lived. In spite of my outrageous healthcare premiums, my provider refused to cover brand name Ritalin for imaginary animals, and I’ll be damned if I was going to subject Hector to the generic bastardization that’s become all the rage amongst the nation’s peasant children. I took all the money I’d been saving for a stainless steel, Breville masticating juicer and put it toward Hector’s treatments, but even that was only enough to last a month, at which time I had to trust in Hector’s willpower, and dedication to the 12 step program he’d been attending. For years he managed to keep his old habits at bay, but as the 20th anniversary of his mother’s beheading/benecking at the hands of Manuela Escobar began to approach, Hector fell into his old routine. That’s when the trouble began.
Last night I had to work late at my night job with Sleep Hut International, and when I got home I found Hector passed out cold, his head through the kitchen window, his top hat nowhere to be found, and his monocle shattered on the floor. Enraged, I demanded he tell me what had transpired. I didn’t get much out of him, because he was unconscious and his breath reeked of cheap absinthe, but when he finally came to, boy did I get a tale. Hector spun me a yarn about three black, inner city penguins jumping him, forcing him to ingest meth, funneling alcohol down his long, silly neck and then proceeding to beat him without mercy. “Hector, do I look stupid to you?” I asked him as I struggled to disrobe from my mattress costume. “Do you honestly expect me to believe that penguins did this?!” Just the night before that he’d come home drunk at 4am with pupils the size of saucers, holding a woman’s prosthetic leg in his mouth. His monkeyshines were becoming more than I could handle, and I knew I couldn’t let his self-destructive behavior continue. I’m a man who addresses his problem head on (with the exception of the minor abandonment issues that led me to adopt a make believe, drug addicted, African beast) and I wasn’t going to sit idly by while my imaginary pet threw his pretend life away.
So, this morning I emptied my 401K and drove Hector to the The Dunes where I’ve enrolled him in the same four month rejuvenation program that helped Bjork’s imaginary narwhal Barnabas end a yearlong hording addiction that some pesky mermaid he was dating got him into. Hector will be just fine. He’s got heart for days, and if you can wean yourself off of Pablo Escobar’s cocaine mangos and live to tell the tale, alcohol and crystal meth should be a walk in the park.
Spec Script for Sex and the Prairie
Laura Ingalls-Bradshaw struggles to find love, friendship, and dysentery medication in Waltnut Grove
V/O Laura Ingalls-Bradshaw (As portrayed by Sara Jessica Parker)
Last night, my friend Nellie Oleson went on a double first date. Edgar was not only the first Jew she’d been out with, but the first black man as well. It was out of character for her, but beggers can’t be choosers in Walnut Grove. Unfortunately, Nellie got more than she bargained for, when Edgar took her to the hanging of his soon to be ex-brother-in-law.
EXT: OLSEN’S EATERY, MORNING
He brought you WHERE?!
The hanging of his brother in law. Oh, excuse me, his EX brother in law.
We’d made the date before the it was scheduled, and he didn’t want to miss it, but he obviously had to go to the
hanging. I think it’s a cultural thing.
Oh, I think it’s sweet! They’re very family oriented you know.
What’d you do after?
We had this fabulous dinner that his mother had prepared in advanced. Apparently she was the slave cook for the Vanderbilt’s Jupiter Island estate.
Tres Chic! And did he take you out in the hay for…dessert?
But what, honey? A straight, single man in the Prairie is a hard man to find…and a hard man in the Prairie is a good one to find!
Here’s the thing…
Apparently, Edgar’s brother in law wasn’t the only member of the family who was hung that night. Only this kind would have Nellie riding side saddle for weeks.
…and now, I can hardly walk!
Then can I borrow those new Manolo Blahnik cowgirl boots?
Meanwhile, across town, Mary was dealing with problems of her own. She’d recently taken to whittling, and had fashioned her very first dildo out of a piece of oak. Ma had warned her that playing with herself could lead to blindness, but Mary didn’t believe her…
Change of Heart
An ailing Dick Cheney receives a heart from an anonymous donor, only to learn later that it belonged to 18 year old Rasheesh Abdullah, a gay Iraqi civilian accidentally killed by American fire. Cheney goes to Iraq to meets the boy’s family, where he is told that Rasheesh had been planning a solo trip across the desert on his beloved Camel, so that he could find himself. Cheney vows to complete this trip for him. What ensues is a journey…of the soul.
When President Obama’s misfit brother, Eddie (played by Sinbad), shows up on the White House in need of a place to stay, you KNOW we’re in for a wild ride! Obama reluctantly let’s Eddie stay with them in the White House, at Michelle’s request, but only under the condition that there are no shenanigans…but shenanigans are what Eddie does BEST! At one point he accidentally almost launches a nuclear missile, while on another occasion he puts on quite a display at a dinner attended by foreign dignitaries. In the end, it turns out Eddie was just what Obama needed in his life. Tyler Perry directs this instant classic.
After an embarrassing sexual incident with a one legged transsexual hooker is caught on tape and put online, Mitt Romney is forced to withdraw from the race for the White House, Santorum wins the Republican nomination, and then the Presidency. Along with his Vice President, Kirk Cameron, he vows to cleanse America of deviance. He starts by banning all pornography and sterilizing gays. It soon becomes clear that his administration’s reign parallels that of Adolf Hitler, and America must stand United to keep the events of the past from repeating themselves.
Down and out pastry chef Minnie Bell (Gwyneth Paltrow) just can’t seem to get it right in the love department, until one day the charming, no nonsense judge Steven Justus (Malcolm Jamal Warner) stops into her pastry shop for something sweet, and it’s love at first sight. Their relationship starts out hot and heavy, in a series of montages set to 80’s power ballads, but things soon take a turn for the worse when a murderer (Jack Black) put in jail by Justus escapes, and kidnaps him. Now it’s up to Bell to find, and rescue the love of her life, and give the murderer his Just Desserts. (Spoiler alert: She fails, because she’s a pastry chef with no crime fighting skills, whatsoever. They’re both killed and dumped in the Hudson)
Tee 4 Two
After being kicked out of the big professional golfing tournament following a racial tirade caught on tape, Blake Rogers (Mel Gibson) needs a new start. He devises a plan to hire a black caddy to help bolster his image. Rogers gets more than he bargained for when the Black Caddy Agency of America sends him the sassy and hip Starkesha Jones (Raven Simone). The odd couple struggles to find common ground amidst their cultural differences, but eventually learn that they’re not so different after all, and form a familial bond. Tune in to see what happens when this dynamic duo take the golf world by storm! (Hint: he still isn’t allowed to play because the stuff he said was really racist, and was more about Mexicans than blacks anyway).
Zombie Golden Girls
Rose Nylund (Betty White) sits alone in her Miami lanai, following the funeral of the last of her housemates to pass away. When a mysterious stranger appears at her door and offers her the chance to have her friends back, she jumps at it and buys the ruby amulet of resurrection from him. Later that night, Rose is stunned when she enters the kitchen for some late night cheesecake and find her friends, Zombie Sophia, Zombie Dorothy, and Zombie Blanche, sitting around the table, eating brains and talking about how hard dating is in the afterlife in late 80’s Miami. They’re all thrilled to be together at first, but when Rose learns they can only survive if they continue to eat brains, she must make a choice to let go of the past, and move on, or to lure in, and kill paper boys for them to eat. She decides to lure paperboys and is eventually arrested and put to death.
In a valiant effort to preserve my sanity, I decided to use my remaining vacation time to take the entire month of December off, and do nothing. “You’ll get bored!” my colleagues exclaimed with distinct undertones of jealousy. “Unlike at work?” I retorted “where each keystroke and fax is more riveting than the last? I’ll take my chances assholes…see you next year.”
I bided my time with reading, excessive cleaning, trips to the gym, and enough vodka to stabilize the Russian economy, and destabilize my balance. By the end of week one, I’d already forgotten what day it was. “There’s trash on the curb. That means today must be…Tuueeesday?” Everything was coming up Shaun, and I was loving life. Meanwhile, I’d heard through the grapevine that things were not going well at work. Production was bad, and morale was worse, both of which I attribute directly to my absence. Something had to be done, and since I was the only one who had read “The Secret” upwards of 2 1/2 times, I knew I was the man for the job. The company’s annual Chrismahanukwanza party was in a few days, and seemed the perfect time for me to sweep in and boost morale. The theme was the roaring 20’s, though the cash bar gave off a decidedly un-roaring vibe. Nevertheless, I showed up in my 1920s garb (bowtie, monocle, old-timey polio wheelchair) with every intention of doing my damndest to boost morale and save the day.
Fast forward to the next morning. I woke up with the imprint of a monocle on my ass, and smelled of Kung Pao Chicken. I had no recollection of the events of the previous evening, with the exception of asking random passers by if they knew how to tie a bow-tie. My text history yielded only more mysteries, though a slew of emoticon frowny faces leads me to assume the worst. Through some detective work, I learned that nobody seemed to remember the happenings of the night (a blessing and a curse). Fortunately, the photographer for the event captured this moment of me boosting the morale of our receptionists. I’m expecting to receive my pink slip any minute now.
Midnight in Paris (Hilton)
Sherlock Homo: A Game of Dildos
XXX-Men: First Ass
Harry Potter & The Breathly Swallows
Pussy in Boots
Jack off Jill
Rise of the Planet of the Rapes
Me again! So today my ex-girlfriend just showed up out of nowhere, and was all “I LOVE you! Don’t forget me!”. I was like “Bitch PLEASE, time to move on!” THEN she was all, “I’m going to write a song about the love we had, and how you treated me, and then you’ll feel like a real asshole.” And I was all “Ummmmm, sure, go ahead and do that. Like anyone’s going to listen to your shitty little song!” She’ll never amount to anything. Stupid Adele.