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01/02/2005: "A New Year's Story"
Excuse me, I don't mean to bother you, but aren't you Tommy Cannacelli?
Yeah-heah, I know it. I knew it. Wow, I can't believe it: the Tommy
Cannacelli of Tommy Cannacelli Chrysler/Plymouth. Jesus, I love you ads.
That one - you know the one, the one where you push that midget into that
little pool and when he come up he spits out a mouthful of water and goes
"If you don't buy your next car from Tommy Cannacelli Chrysler/Plymouth
then you're all wet" in that funny-assed real high midget voice. They're
all good, but that's my favorite. I'm not embarrassed to tell you that
that ad made me laugh so hard I shit my pants. Not a lot of shit - just
a little. I mean I'm not gonna sue you or nothing. Hey, can I shake your
hand?
Tommy Cannacelli. Wow. Tommy Cannacelli. I just can't get believe that I'm
really standing here in the SafeWay talking to you like you're a regular
guy. It's like some kinda dream - but not like the bad ones with that dog
with the scary eyes in 'em. I swear on the lives of my children that not
two minutes ago I was standing over there in the frozen food section when
I turned to my wife … Snjófridur, get over here now!
She's a little shy because she bumped her eye into a doorknob last weekend
and the swelling still hasn't gone down. That's why we were in the frozen
food section. She likes to lay the bruised side of her face against bags
of frozen peas. It's what you might call a "folk remedy."
Anyway, I turned to my wife and I said "Snjófridur do you know who that is
over there?" Well, she can only turn her neck a little, so she had to
guess. Tell Mr. Cannacelli what you said. Goddamn it, stop your fucking
crying and tell Mr. Cannacelli what you said! Louder! For Christ's sake,
Mr. Cannacelli is a celebrity, not a superhero with some sort of
super-hearing. He sells cars, OK? He doesn't sell cars by day and then use
his super-hearing to fight crime at night. He just sells cars!Can
you wrap you goddamn bruised head around that concept?
Oh, fucking great. Here she goes with the water works again. OK, fine. Mr.
Cannacelli did not drive all the way to the SafeWay to hear you bawl like
a fuckin' infant. You wanna know what she said Tommy? Well I'll tell you.
She said "Lassie." No shit, "Lassie." Like Lassie doesn't have a trainer
who buys his food. What were you thinking? What goes on it that
irregularly shaped head of your, woman? What?
And the kicker is that I should've seen it coming. She said the weird-assed
thing two weeks ago, when we went to the Rite Aid to pick up some burn
cream and a pair of those fancy "acid-washed" jeans, which - and you are
not gonna believe this - Rite Aid doesn't sell. So, we're in the check-out
line and I spot Chuck Conwell, the weather guy, looking at eardrops. Do you
know him? Well, be glad that you don't because he's an asshole.
Tommy, I've only known you a little while, but I can tell that you're not
all stuck up on yourself. Not like Mr. big, important channel 11 weatherman
- no, excuse me - "meteorologist". Yeah, like we care about
meteors. You know I asked him to do one little thing for charity and he
blew me off. Can you believe that? He totally blew me off.
Tommy, I don't want you to say yes right away. I want you to think about
this. Have you ever heard of "Sadie's Fund"? No? Good, because I don't
want anybody else to steal the name before I can copyright it. The thing
is that I have a fifteen-year-old daughter named Sadie who is afflicted
with Buhdsmegg's Syndrome. Basically, she can't talk or move and her skin
is kinda like oily butter. Oh, and she's really, really fat. Like 300 and
change. But she was huge before she got sick.
Thank you. That's a very kind thing to say. It means a lot to me coming
from a celebrity like you. Listen, if it's not too much to ask, do you
think that you could swing by the hospital sometime and - you know - maybe
make out with her and feel her up or something.
No, she's the one who's sick. She has Buhdsmegg's Syndrome. Maybe I didn't
explain it right. I'm a little nervous. See, she's been sick for about two
years now and she never really had what you might call a "real boyfriend."
So, a couple of month's ago I sent a letter to the Make-A-Wish
Foundation asking them to send that Leonardo Di-What's-His-Name around
just a few pictures and some dry humping, but I still haven't hear back
form them. They must be swamped. That's why I was hoping that you might
agree to be her celebrity boyfriend for a couple of hours. I promise that
you don't have to "go all the way" if you're uncomfortable with that sorta
thing or with her greasy, lard-like flesh.
A hidden camera? Well, I'm sure that the SafeWay has 'em. That's how they
catch shoplifters, isn't it? I honestly don't see what that has to do with
me asking you to do some simple charity work…
Oh, so that's it? Just gonna walk away, eh? Just like Mr. big shit
weatherman, Chuck Fucking Conwell? Too big of a star to visit a sick child
in the hospital? Too important to take ten minutes out of your busy
schedule to slip your hands under a sheet and fondle a comatose girl? You
fucking celebrities are all alike! Well just remember that the same people
that you meet on the way up are just like the ones that you meet on your
way down.
ouranoqen - from Heaven
If the above word looks like ippojshit to you,
then you need to go here
and download the SPIONIC font for either MAC or PC. Dude.
umbrosus - full of shadows
