Single gentleman. Call me gay now, thank me later.
It is imperative that you bone up on the prices of women's clothing. Whatever you gotta do. Secret subscription to Vogue. Spending time on the toilet with mom's magazines (which can serve double duty if your mom is hip). I don't care. Just learn about what it costs for women to look hot. It's going to be important someday.
"Love your show," says Teen Manager at the ticket booth.
Yes, but it's not on anymore. Maybe he said "loved." A fan's a fan.
"Thank you."
We're in the movie theater lobby before "Knocked Up," the summer's top anti-abortion comedy. It's about this loser who gets a hot chick drunk and pregnant after a one night stand. I don't want to give away the shocking ending, but it basically outlines how women need men more than men need women.
Anyway, the theater was filled with young ladies and their quarry. Wearing the same clothes as all the hot actresses in the movie. It was absolutely insane. Life aping art? Art aping life? It was a big, circular monkeyfest. It was brazen. The women, by agreeing to go this movie, were telling their dates to their faces, "This is how much I'll probably cost. Pay attention."
According to my wife, who has been worth every penny (ass-kisser), "Some of these girls are wearing $1000 worth of clothing, and are not hookers or bankers. These guys have no clue what they are getting themselves into."
$1000? For a Sunday night date with some schlep who works as a ball cleaner at Monkey Joe's whom she met while her little brother had his 4th accidental birthday party? No way! My wife is just saying that so I don't look at them and think about them in the shower. That can't be true. My wife didn't wear expensive stuff when we were dating, and when I say dating, I am, indeed waggling my fingers in an airquote with one hand and a pantomime of slipping a roofie with the other.
After we got home, I went on Google Clothes. Damned if my wife wasn't telling the truth. Based on my research, it wouldn't be a stretch to say that at least half of the teen princesses in that movie palace were canning the goods with at least a grand, sometimes two, on their hills and valleys. And the guys... They were certainly dressed to their income level with Gap crap that fell on the floor during a sale and managed to evade security. Maybe, just maybe, a Banana Republic Outlet item purchased during a family trip to Destin. They really do have no clue what they are getting themselves into.
So, do yourself a favor. If you aren't willing to fuck a woman of character and integrity, and that can be tough without liquor sometimes, then go ahead and know women's clothing lines and what they cost. Use your leverage while you have it.
Now that I've helped you, back to my own moral dillemmas. Here's an email I received today:
Dear Mr.Wachs.
My name is [MALE NAME], I am 15 and attend XXXX. My parents always hated your show when you guys rocked the rock (96 rock) in the mornings, however I loved it. You provided sense and humor and sexuality in your show and made mornings legendary. My best friend and I, XXXX, always listened to you every morning, and even if I had to take a dump, I would not miss a minute of the show. Now that the reminicing is over, I can really tell you something.
It wasn't two days into the first time I heard you guys that I really started looking up to you guys. I realized that one day, I didn't want to be a radio co-host, but I did want to have as much humor and sense like you. I realized I wanted to be like you. My neighbor is XXXXX who is a DJ on XXXXX and me and him talked about you. He said he had met you before and said you were nice people. It was before that moment that I dreamed of meeting you. I still have that dream, is there any way It can be fulfilled?
Your Friend,
XXXX
Certainly you can see the problem. Hey, look up from that copy of Elle for a second. I'm talking to you.
On one hand, the email is very genuine sounding and flattering. On the other hand, it makes me nervous that I could be getting Punk'ed by someone trying to frame me as a lover of young boys. I don't want to be mean, if this is a sincere email, but these days....
OK, here's what I'm going to do. Shine some light. I will respond here, in a public place, to XXXX's email, and everything will be above board.
Hey pal--
Thanks for the email. It was very thoughtful and flattering of you. It would be great to meet you in person because then you can ask me all the questions about the show you want.
Meet me at Ryan's Steakhouse in Alpharetta, Tuesday at 3. After I get off my shift, we can hang and chat for awhile. Cool? Oh, and bring a sleeping bag with you if you want.
Later.
Nice. Problem solved.
Speaking of Punk'ed, I have a great idea for that show, if it's still on, although I don't think they'd have the balls to do it. The person who does this should be inducted to the Comedy Hall of Fame automatically and handed a lifetime contract on Comedy Central.
OK, I'm watching Dr. Kervorkian, fresh out of jail and onto 60 Minutes. A hero's welcome for Dr. Death. They love him over at 60 Minutes because he helped people kill themselves. Great dude.
But Dr. Kervorkian is a little pissed. First, because he's frustrated as he thinks of the money lost by not being allowed to put Mike Wallace out of his misery right then and there on the interview floor with his hypnotic death stare that he perfected in prison to stave off unwanted lovers.
The other reason Dr. Kervorkian is upset is that he's out on parole, which means....
"I can't talk in detail about the procedure or advocate a procedure, especially with individuals," he explains.
He says he cannot offer counsel to anybody or advise people how to commit suicide. And he cannot be present at a suicide or euthanasia.
So how great would it be to set up Dr. Kervorkian in a mall food court or hotel room or something with hidden cameras, and some actor comes along and pretends to slit his wrists in front of Dr. Kervorkian? The look on his face would be priceless, don't you think?