Napalm and Silly Putty (26 page)

Bulimia. There’s another all-American disease. This has gotta be the only country in the world where some people are digging in the dumpster for a peach pit while other people eat a nice meal and puke it up intentionally. Where do we get our values?

? HYPERLINK “file:///E:\\Documents%20and%20Settings\\Dom\\Desktop\\1791_NapalmSillyPutty%5B1%5D\\Napalm_body-contents.html” \l “TOC-100” ??FACE-TO-FACE WITH THE CLOCK ?

I remember when they tried to teach me to tell time as a little boy. What they didn’t know, of course, was that you don’t tell time; time tells you. Still they tried.

“Now, George, the big hand is on . . .”

“I don’t have a big hand. Both my hands are little.”

“Never mind. Just look at the clock.”

And I did. It was wonderful. I love the face of a clock. To me, there is great emotion attached to the face of a clock. A conventional analog clock.

Digital clocks are all right in their place, I suppose, but they lack the friendly spatial relationships that exist between the hands and the numerals on an analog clock.

There’s a psychological component: to me, the first half of any hour, as the minute hand falls from 12 to 6, passes a lot more quickly than the second half, when it has to struggle upward, fighting gravity all the way.

I’ll say this much: If I had only half an hour to live, I’d want it to be the second half. I just know it would last a little longer.

? HYPERLINK “file:///E:\\Documents%20and%20Settings\\Dom\\Desktop\\1791_NapalmSillyPutty%5B1%5D\\Napalm_body-contents.html” \l “TOC-101” ??GOD HAS GOTTA GO ?

I make fun of people who are religious, because I think they’re fundamentally weak. But I want you to know that on a personal level, when it comes to believing in God, I tried. I really, really tried. I tried to believe there is a God, who created us in his own image, loves us very much, and keeps a close eye on things.

I tried to believe it. But I have to tell you, the longer you live, the more you look around, the more you realize . . . something is fucked. Something is wrong. War, disease, death, destruction, hunger, filth, poverty, torture, crime, corruption, and the Ice Capades. Something is definitely wrong.

If this is the best God can do, I’m not impressed. Results like these do not belong on the résumé of a supreme being. This is the kind of stuff you’d expect from an office temp with a bad attitude. In any well-managed universe, this guy would’ve been out on his all-powerful ass a long time ago.

So, if there is a God—if there is—I think reasonable people might agree he’s at least incompetent and maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t give a shit. Which I admire in a person, and which would explain a lot of his results.

I Got the Sun in the Mornin’

So, rather than becoming just another mindless, religious robot, blindly believing that everything is in the hands of some spooky, incompetent father figure who doesn’t give a shit, I decided to look around for something else to worship. Something I could really count on. And immediately, I thought of the sun. It happened in an instant. Overnight, I became a sun worshipper.

Well, not overnight; you can’t see the sun in the dark. But first thing the next morning, I became a sun worshipper. For several reasons: First of all, I can see the sun. Unlike some other gods I could mention, I can actually see the sun. I’m big on that. If I can see something, it kind of helps the credibility.

Every day I can see the sun as it gives me everything I need: heat, light, food, flowers in the park, reflections on the lake. An occasional skin cancer, but, hey! At least there are no crucifixions. And we sun worshippers don’t go around killing other people simply because they don’t agree with us.

Sun worship is fairly simple. There’s no mystery, no miracles, no pageantry, no one asks for money, there are no songs to learn, and we don’t have a special building where we all gather once a week to compare clothing. And the best thing about the sun . . . it never tells me I’m unworthy. It doesn’t tell me I’m a bad person who needs to be saved. Hasn’t said an unkind word. Treats me fine.

Praying on My Mind

So I worship the sun. But I don’t pray to the sun. You know why? Because I wouldn’t presume on our friendship. It’s not polite. I’ve often thought people treat God rather rudely. Trillions and trillions of prayers every day, asking and pleading and begging for favors. “Do this; give me that; I need this; I want that.” And most of this praying takes place on Sunday, his day off! It’s not nice, and it’s no way to treat a friend.

But still people do pray and they pray for many different things. And that’s all right with me. I say, pray for anything you want. Pray for anything. But . . . what about the Divine Plan? Remember that? The Divine Plan? A long time ago, God came up with a Divine Plan. He gave it a lot of thought, he decided it was a good plan, and he put it into practice. And for billions and billions of years the Divine Plan has been doing just fine.

But now you come along and pray for something. Well, suppose the thing you’re praying for isn’t in God’s Divine Plan? What do you want him to do? Change his plan? Just for you? Isn’t that sort of arrogant? It’s a Divine Plan! What good is being God if every rundown schmuck with a two-dollar prayer book can come along and fuck with your plan?

And here’s another problem you might encounter. Suppose your prayers aren’t answered? What do you do then? What do you say? “Well, it’s God’s will. Thy will be done”? Fine. But if it’s God’s will, and he’s going to do what he wants anyway, why bother praying in the first place? Doesn’t it seem like a big waste of time? Couldn’t you just skip the praying part and go straight to “his will”? It’s all very confusing to me.

To Each His Own

So, to get around all this, I decided to worship the sun. But as I said, I don’t pray to the sun. You know who I pray to? Joe Pesci. Two reasons. First of all, I think he’s a pretty good actor. To me, that counts. Second, he looks like a guy who can get things done. Joe doesn’t fuck around. In fact, he came through on a couple of things that God was having trouble with. For years I asked God to do something about my noisy neighbor’s barking dog. Nothing happened. But Joe Pesci? He straightened that shit out with one visit. It’s amazing what you can accomplish with a simple piece of athletic equipment.

So, I’ve been praying to Joe for a couple of years now, and I’ve noticed something. I’ve noticed that all the prayers I used to offer to God and all the prayers I now offer to Joe Pesci are being answered at about the same 50 percent rate. Half the time I get what I want, half the time I don’t. Same as God. Fifty-fifty. Same as the four-leaf clover, the horseshoe, the wishing well, and the rabbit’s foot. Same as the mojo man, or the voodoo lady who tells you your fortune by squeezing a goat’s testicles. It’s all the same, fifty-fifty. So just pick a superstition you like, sit back, make a wish, and enjoy yourself.

Tell Me a Story, Daddy

And for those of you who look to the Bible for its moral lessons and literary qualities, I have a couple of other stories I’d like to recommend. You might want to try “The Three Little Pigs.” That’s a good one, it has a nice happy ending. Then there’s “Little Red Riding Hood,” although it does have that one X-rated part where the Big Bad Wolf actually eats the grandmother. Which I didn’t care for.

And finally, I’ve always drawn a great deal of moral comfort from Humpty Dumpty. The part I like best: “All the king’s horses and all the king’s men couldn’t put Humpty Dumpty back together again.” That’s because there is no Humpty Dumpty. And there is no God. None, not one, never was. No God. Sorry.

? HYPERLINK “file:///E:\\Documents%20and%20Settings\\Dom\\Desktop\\1791_NapalmSillyPutty%5B1%5D\\Napalm_body-contents.html” \l “TOC-102” ??BULLETS FOR BELIEVERS ?

I don’t worry about guns in school. You know what I’m happy about? Guns in church! This is a terrific development, isn’t it? And finally it’s here! I’m so happy. I prayed for this. Oddly enough, I actually prayed for this. And I predicted it, too.

A couple of years ago I said that pretty soon there’d be some fuckin’ yo-yo Christian with a Bible and a rifle who’d go apeshit in a church and kill six people. And the media would refer to him as a “disgruntled worshiper.” I had no idea it would be a non-Christian. That’s a really nice touch.

And my hat is off to the people of Texas for once again leading the way when it comes to the taking of human life. Texans are always in the vanguard of this important activity, and here they are again, setting a good example, showing the way. And finally they’re going after the right people: the churchgoers. Let’s face it, folks. They’re askin’ for it. They just want to be with Jesus. Give them a helping hand.

“Wanna see the Lord?” BANG! “Off you go!” BANG! “Are you a Christian?” BANG! “Say hello to Jesus!”

Give ’em a Christian helping hand. Don’t think they wouldn’t do the same for you. They don’t call themselves “Christian soldiers” for nothing.

? HYPERLINK “file:///E:\\Documents%20and%20Settings\\Dom\\Desktop\\1791_NapalmSillyPutty%5B1%5D\\Napalm_body-contents.html” \l “TOC-103” ??THE LATE-NIGHT NEWS ?

The Supreme Court has reversed a lower court ruling which had let stand a Circuit Court decision allowing an injunction that restrained a defendant from contesting a court order forcing him to show cause why he should not be enjoined from suing his lawyer.

A government witness who has been demanding twenty-four-hour protection today was given a roll-on deodorant.

A woman who left her two-year-old son at a day care center yesterday morning says that when she returned to pick him up in the afternoon he was completely grown. Day care officials are crediting the hot-lunch program.

Here are the results of the Blind Person’s Golf Tournament. The winner was Johnny Dowling, with 2,829 strokes, just enough to beat Larry Powell, who lost any chance he may have had when he took a 612 on the final hole, including 115 separate putts.

A priest who has performed over 300 exorcisms was eaten today by a green boogeyman.

Twenty-one patrons of a Miami bar suffered numerous gunshot wounds to their feet and ankles as two armed dwarfs ran amok in a downtown tavern. Police say the two tiny men entered the bar riding horsey-back, and things got out of hand when the one on the bottom began to get drunk. In addition to the many foot wounds, extensive damage to the baseboards and electrical outlets was also reported.

Mary Pierce, a woman who claimed she was filled with great love for everyone in the world, was killed today by a man who says he didn’t know that.

An unregistered nurse in Phoenix has been arrested for sending obscene get-well cards.

In a bizarre accident, a man who looks like Dean Martin ran over and killed a man who resembles Jerry Lewis. Police spokesman Dave Brewster, who looks like Sammy Davis Jr., said they can find no significance.

The international sword-swallowing championships were held in Sweden yesterday. The judges say the level of competition was especially fierce this year, and they will announce the winners as soon as they are able to remove them from the platform.

Hollywood film star Vicki Lick, and her husband, Mark Stain, have called it quits after a seventeen-minute honeymoon in a pew in the back of the church.

And finally, on the lighter side: The Guinness Book of World Records announced today that Harold Twirlfine of Boston has amassed the world’s largest collection of chocolate pudding. Twirlfine, a carnival organist, has over 6,000 separate servings on display in his living room. He says that on many of the older servings an almost impenetrable skin has now formed, and in some cases the pudding has pulled completely away from the side of the dish. This has caused the formation of huge crevices where Twirlfine now stores part of his award-winning collection of Raisinets.

But Twirlfine’s feat is nothing compared to the largest single mass of Jell-O in the world. That title belongs to the good citizens of Lemon Lime, Minnesota, who last year poured 200,000 boxes of Jell-O powder into the lake. Most of the locals are happy with the results; however, some people diving at the lake’s shallow end have injured their heads on large pieces of fruit cocktail.

? HYPERLINK “file:///E:\\Documents%20and%20Settings\\Dom\\Desktop\\1791_NapalmSillyPutty%5B1%5D\\Napalm_body-contents.html” \l “TOC-104” ??I NEVER FUCKED A 10 ?

I never fucked a “10,” but one night I fucked five 2s. And I think that ought to count. It ought to go down in my record as a positive achievement. But here’s something I’m really proud of: I never fucked a 1. Well, I never got drunk enough. You have to swallow a lot of chemicals to even talk to a 1, much less actually fuck one.

Of course, some guys will fuck anybody. We know that. There’s always one guy in every crowd who’ll go,

“Hey, guys! Look! Let’s fuck her!”

“That’s a coat rack, Bob.”

“So?”

Some guys will fuck anybody. Not me. Not anymore. Not since herpes and AIDS have been floating around. I’m playin’ it safe these days. In fact, I’m being so careful I’ve stopped jerking off. You never know where your hand has been.

But if you’re one of these guys who’s still happily bashing the candle, I strongly suggest that you practice safe-sex masturbation. Don’t take chances. If you’re going to lie in bed and pretend you’re fucking some unsuspecting female, for God’s sake use a condom. It doesn’t take much time out of your fantasy to get up and go over to the dresser and get a condom. She’s not goin’ anywhere, that’s for sure! In fact, if you handle your fantasy correctly, you can probably talk her into goin’ over and gettin’ the condom for you.

? HYPERLINK “file:///E:\\Documents%20and%20Settings\\Dom\\Desktop\\1791_NapalmSillyPutty%5B1%5D\\Napalm_body-contents.html” \l “TOC-105” ??SHORT TAKES ?

To spice up the Miss America contest, I think they ought to make the losers keep coming back until they win. Wouldn’t that get spooky-looking after about thirty years? How would you like to see some seventy-year-old woman in a bathing suit?

“I’d like everyone in the world to live in peace and harmony.”

“Fine. Sit down before you fall down. And pick up all those fuckin’ batons!”