What I'd Say to the Martians (11 page)

I
think the best Thanksgiving I ever had was the one where we didn’t even have a turkey. Mom and Dad sat us kids down and explained that business hadn’t been good at Dad’s store, so we couldn’t afford a turkey. We had vegetables and bread and pie, and it was just fine.

Later I went into Mom and Dad’s bedroom to thank them, and I caught them eating a little turkey.

I guess that wasn’t really the
best
Thanksgiving.

When we would go for a drive in the family car, I used to love to stick my head out the window, until one time we passed an oncoming car and my head knocked off a dog’s head.

When I was seven, I told my friend Timmy Barker I would give him a million dollars if he would eat an earthworm. He ate the worm, but I never gave him the million dollars. As of last week, all I had given him was $9,840.

One day Dad asked me to go fishing with him. I got scared. I had the feeling he was going to try to drown me. I don’t know why I thought that, because so far he had never tried to kill me. But he had never taken me fishing either, so I was suspicious.

When we got to the lake, he walked right up to it. “Hey, son, come here,” he said. “Look at these minnows.”

“Nice try, Dad—if that’s your real name!” I yelled. Then I ran back to the car and locked myself in.

Dad never took me fishing again. So I think that proves my case.

I remember when we were kids, one of our favorite games was to play “pirate.” We’d dress up like pirates. Then we’d go find an adult walking down the street and we’d go up to him and pull out our butcher knives, which we called “swords,” and say, “We’re pirates! Give us your money!” A lot of adults would pretend to be scared and give us their money. Others would suddenly run away, yelling for help. We played pirate until we were twenty or so.

Mom used to make the most beautiful Easter eggs. Then she’d hide them in the backyard. But they were so beautiful, when we found one, we weren’t allowed to pick it up. We had to point at it, and then Mom would come pick it up with her white gloves and put it back in its case.

Somebody ended up smashing all those eggs with a hammer. I think it was our dog.

When you’re ten years old, and a car drives by and splashes a puddle of water all over you, it’s hard to decide if you should go to school like that or try to go home and change and probably be late. So while he was trying to decide, I drove by and splashed him again.

When I was in the third grade, a bully at school started beating me up, every day. At first I didn’t say anything, but then I told Dad. He got a real scared look on his face and asked if the bully had a big dad. I said I didn’t know, but he still seemed scared, and just a few days later we moved to a new town.

Dad told me if anybody picked on me not to fight back, unless I knew the kid didn’t have a dad or the dad was real small. Otherwise, he said, “Just curl up in a ball.”

It was really sad when I went to visit my friend Jim at the state mental institution. He was convinced he was on a tropical island with no cares and no worries. It took me a long time to convince him that no, he was in a room with bare walls and a bare bed and he was wearing a straitjacket.

Once, when I got lost in the woods, I was afraid that eventually I might have to eat Tippy. But finally I found my way home, and I was able to put Tippy back in the refrigerator with my other sandwiches.

Mom always told me I could be whatever I wanted to be when I grew up, “within reason.” When I asked her what she meant by “within reason,” she said, “You ask a lot of questions for a garbage man.”

One year Dad decided he was going to take us on a “surprise vacation.” We wouldn’t know where we were going until we got there. We were all real excited when we piled into the station wagon early one morning. We went about five blocks, then we got in an accident at a four-way stop.

I guess it was a pretty good surprise, but why did we need all that camping gear?

I remember one night I was walking past Mom and Dad’s room when I heard them talking about how they might not have enough money to pay their bills that month. I knew what I had to do. I went and got my piggy bank and buried it in the backyard, where they couldn’t get their mitts on it.

When Dad found out the house was full of termites, he got real mad. But I was glad, because now I wouldn’t have to go all the way to the woods to get termites for my termite farm.

When I was about ten years old, we set up a lemonade stand on the sidewalk in front of our house. But we didn’t sell many glasses, and after a few hours, we took it down. I think that was the first time I realized that the world doesn’t give a damn about you or anything you do.

I’ll never forget the time the president came to our town. When I saw him go by, he looked so much older and sadder than I thought he was. Also, why was he driving an ice cream truck?

I remember lying there and watching an anthill for hours. I would watch them scurrying back and forth, carrying things, digging new tunnels, and finally it hit me: these are the things that are biting me.

Of all my imaginary friends, I don’t think there was one I didn’t end up having to kill.

W
hen you think of the most amazing machine in the world, what do you think of? James Bond’s car, right? But recently I had a thought that may surprise you, and even startle you: the most amazing machine in the world is the human body. That’s right, the human body.

But how, you say, can the human body be a machine? It doesn’t have a central pump, or rotating joints, or interlocking teeth. But think again—doesn’t it?

Not only is the human body the greatest machine, but the greatest oil for a machine is any oil that goes on the human body. I’m not sure about sex oils, but Oil of Olay, Pond’s Cold Cream, oils such as these are the most beautiful of oils.

The most magnificent warranty on a machine would be some type of warranty on a human body, which I guess would be a life insurance policy, something like that.

The greatest hood ornament for a machine is one of those mirror things a doctor wears on his head.

For me, the greatest work of art in the world is also the human body. I’m not talking about an old body or an ugly one. I mean a really hot, sexy body. Man, to me, that’s great art. And the greatest way to view the art is by hiding in the bushes and hoping the art doesn’t see you.

The greatest temple in the world is, let’s face it, the Parthenon. But if the Parthenon gets any more corroded, I think I’m going to have to say the human body.

What’s the most perfect musical instrument? I would argue it’s the human body, except for the tuba sounds.

The greatest thing that can be sewn together from different parts and then brought back to life with electricity is the human body.

The most precious gift one human can give another, I believe, is the gift of a third human, such as a prostitute or stripper, for a birthday or something.

The fiercest battleground in the world is the human body. But the battle is fought on a microscopic level, which makes it the most boring battleground.

The best friend you can have is the human body, unless it’s dead and it’s chasing you.

The greatest envy of the chimpanzee is the human body, especially the roller-skating human body.

The greatest cannibal meal in the world is, surprisingly, strawberry shortcake.

The greatest engineering miracle of all time is, okay, Hoover Dam. But what else can hold back water and release it gradually, to prevent flooding? And what else can generate “electricity,” maybe by getting up and doing its funny cowboy dance? Isn’t it the human body?

The greatest evidence of a murder is the human body.

The greatest monument to human stupidity is the Washington Monument, if it ever falls over because it wasn’t built very good.

The greatest medicine in the world is human laughter. And the worst medicine is zombie laughter.

The greatest mystery in the world is the human heart, but only while it’s in the human body. Otherwise, where’s the mystery?

The most amazing computer ever made is the human brain. And the best way to shut down the human brain is have it listen to my so-called friend Don.

The greatest camera is the human eye, but a worse camera is the drunk human eye. And a really bad camera is the drunk eye that has been punched by the human fist.

I’m not sure what the greatest weapon in the world is, but one of the worst weapons is one of those bowls in bars that holds peanuts, because when you throw it at a guy it just makes him madder.

In general, though, I would say the human body or its parts or the things that come out of it are the best in their categories. And even after it dies the human body has one more trick up its sleeve: it turns into the scariest skeleton in the world.

Don says the only reason I come up with ideas about the human body is to sound smart at parties. But I don’t just toss off ideas haphazardly, like you would toss a horseshoe over your shoulder. I study an idea, then I chew on it for a while, then I spit it out. So, Don, don’t think I’m just trying to sound smart, because I’m not.

 

(Of what are generally regarded as the “Ten Greatest Speeches of Attila the Hun,” the following is perhaps the least known. However, many notable writers and statesmen have borrowed from it throughout the centuries, and it is now generally considered the greatest speech ever given by a Hun.)

 

F
our score and seven weeks ago, we came into this land, killing and raping everything we could get our hands on. And we did a good job. Never in the course of human conflict have so many been trampled so much, with so few regrets.

When we set out, all I could promise you was the blood, sweat, and tears of our victims, and also all their stuff. And I have given you that. I also promised you a rose garden, which I am working on.

Our guiding principle is that a house divided cannot stand. Neither can a peasant, although it’s funny to watch him try. And so we conquer. Our battle cry, “Damn the torpedoes! Full steam ahead!” has confused and frightened our enemies. I’m not sure what it means myself, but it seems to work.

It’s been fun to be a Hun. We enjoy life, liberty, and the pursuit of screaming villagers. But maybe you should ask not who the Huns can kill for you, but who you can kill for the Huns.

Some of you may have heard about the bad break I got. Last night I was offered a bowl of dates for dessert. And I ate a date—a date which will live in infamy. It troubled my bowels throughout the night. Believe me, it was not some enchanted evening. Yet today, now that it’s over, I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the earth. And you know who the unluckiest men are? Probably those prisoners over there in that cage. Is it better to suffer the slings and arrows of out-of-practice archers, or to have a hot coal put in your eye? It’s hard to say, both hurt a lot.

Finally, we stand at the gates of Rome. All roads, I have learned, lead to Rome. I wish I had known that before. That way, instead of wandering all over the place, we could have just gotten on a road and followed it here. It would have been a lot easier.

I come not to praise Caesar, but to bury him. But he won’t let me. He struts around on that rampart, sticking his tongue out at us. Instead he should be rebuking his generals, telling them, “Well, this is another fine mess you’ve gotten us into.”

Caesar, tear down this wall!
Or at least open the gates and we’ll tear it down for you. And don’t delay. As I told the Germans,
Ich bin ein crazy guy
.

Let me conclude by saying, friends, captured Romans, and countrymen, lend me your ears. I’m not kidding. Cut them off and put them in a big pile here. I will use them on my rose garden.

And now, please welcome a time traveler from the future. I hope I am pronouncing his name right: Knute Rockne.

(It is not known what Rockne said, although it is believed he referred to Notre Dame football player George Gipp, and urged the Huns to win one for the Gipper. Rockne’s time machine was then torn apart by the Huns and used as fencing for Attila’s garden.)

W
hen I think back on all the times I’ve climbed Mount Everest, it brings a smile to my leathery, frostbitten face.

The first time I climbed Mount Everest, I was only ten years old. I was lucky to make it to the top. I didn’t know what I was doing. I was only wearing corduroys, a Windbreaker, and Keds.

After that, I decided to get some real mountain-climbing gear. I got some boots with those spiky things on the bottom, and I got one of those ice pick things. To be honest, you don’t really need the ice pick thing, but it looks cool in photos. You might also want to take some rope; any kind will do.

I have climbed using oxygen and without oxygen. Once I climbed using helium, so my voice would sound funny. When I was younger, I climbed Mount Everest five times in a row. Every time I got to the bottom, I said to myself, “What the heck, I’m going back up.”

I guess I must have been getting bored, because about my fifteenth time, when I got to the top, I piled up a bunch of rocks to make Mount Everest a few feet higher, and then stood on that. But the next time I reached the peak, someone had scattered the rocks and left a sign that read,
DON’T PILE UP ROCKS
. Screw you, I’ll pile up rocks if I want to!

Whether it’s rude signs or altitude sickness, Everest is always a challenge. It’s like a woman. A cold, unapproachable woman that you’ve made love to dozens of times. But sometimes you are denied. Once I was within a few hundred yards of the summit when I had to turn back. I remembered I had to go to a bachelor party back at base camp, and I would have been late. Another time I made the mistake of starting my climb after dark. Also, I was drunk. I stumbled around all night. Finally, at dawn, I struggled onto the summit. But it turned out to be the wrong mountain!

Probably my most difficult ordeal on Everest was when I attempted to climb it nude. I hadn’t started out nude. But it was a nice, warm day, and on my way up, I decided to take off my clothes and catch some rays. A blizzard suddenly moved in, and blew my clothes away.

I had a decision to make: I could turn back, or I could continue on, naked. I decided to go on. The blizzard got worse. I became disoriented. Finally, I spotted a Sherpa’s hut and knocked weakly on the door. The Sherpa answered. “Excuse me, sir,” I said, “but I’m climbing Everest and I’ve become nude.” I asked if I could spend the night. “You can spend the night,” he said, eyeing me suspiciously. “Just don’t try any funny business with my daughter.” It was then that I noticed a beautiful, buxom girl peeking out from behind him.

To make a long story short, I did make it to the top, wearing a woman’s dress and carrying a load of shotgun pellets in my buttocks.

Sometimes I wonder: How many more Everest climbs do I have in me? A hundred? Two hundred? It’s hard to say. All I know is that I hope I can keep climbing Everest until the day I die. And even after I die, maybe some type of high-voltage stimulator could be implanted in my brain, so that I sort of flop uphill, spasmodically. That’s my dream anyway.