February 28, 2012

Trivia Blog: Santor-dumb

These Trivia Blog posts come from the emails I send out as Quizmaster of the Gael Pub Trivia Night every Tuesday.  But seeing as how they comprise most of the writing I seem to do these days, I thought it fitting to include them on the Pale Writer blog as well.  I won't include things like info about categories or drink specials, but will keep the bulk of the rest.  Hopefully you enjoy, so much so that you come out some Tuesday at 8:30 (3rd Ave. b/t 82nd and 83rd)...

A short play…

[Republican presidential candidate Rick Santorum sits in his office late at night, looking at gay porn reading about the baseball news, when a shining, brilliant light, heralded by a singing host of angels, fills the room.]

God:  SANTORUM!!!
Santorum:  [Falls out of chair.]  Sweet, sassy sweater vests!  The Lord Almighty??!!
God:  Call me Lord.  Look, guy, thou and I need to have a bit of a chit-chat.
Santorum:  Would it be inappropriate if I embraced you, Lord?  In a completely heterosexual way, of course.
God:  Eh…  Nah, I’m good, pal.
Santorum:  Okay…  [Slowly, stealthily tries to reach out to God.]
God:  [Slaps his hand away.]  Stop that.  Let’s get down to brass tacks.  Thou’ve been doing a lot of talking lately and it’s just completely eroding all the good will we built up with the whole Tebow thing.  Just this week thou said that the idea of the separation between church and state made thou “want to throw up.”  Thou understand that I need the separation between church and state to keep people like thou from tarnishing my name, right?
Santorum:  I believe it’s what the founders would’ve wanted…
God:  The founders still thought that sticking leeches on thyself was a good way to get rid of a fever!  They also made no mention of me in any of the stuff they did.
Santorum:  I think it’s in the subtext…
God:  There is no subtext!!  They were pretty clear about it all.  I mean, ”Under God” wasn’t even part of the Pledge of Allegiance until the 50s!
Santorum:  The 50s were pretty close to Bible times…
God:  The NINETEEN-50s!!  Not the zero-50s!
Santorum:  Sorry, Lord.
God:  Enough with the sniveling!  Thou certainly like to talk a big game, at least.  When thou were in Greenville earlier this year, thou said that thou’d bomb Iran if thou thought Iran was developing nuclear weapons, because if they were, “Greenville will not be safe.”  Thou really think Iran has it out for Greenville, South Carolina?
Santorum:  Greenville, South Carolina certainly seems like a reasonable Iranian target to me…
God:  Iran doesn’t give a damn about Greenville, South Carolina!!  And what’s with thou and gay people, seriously?  Thou think about gay people more than they do!  I can’t endorse thy stance there, dude.
Santorum:  But the Bible makes it clear that homosexuality is an abomination in God’s eyes…
God:  Thou’ve read the Bible, right?
Santorum:  I’ve flipped through it.
God:  [Sighs.]  I don’t know if thou’re aware, but in my later years, I’ve actually been more of a fan of tolerance than damnation.  I even had a son who talked about it.  A lot.  Thou actually once compared same-sex marriage and the relations within it to pedophilia and bestiality.  Thou really think that’s what I’m all about?
Santorum:  Well…
God:  What if it was between Jon Hamm and George Clooney?
Santorum:  Uh… [His eyes sort of drift away while a bit of drool forms at the corner of his mouth.]
God:  Snap out of it!  Look, man, I’ve had a long cadre of people trying to attach their causes to my whole thing for their benefit, and for the most part, I’ve been cool with it.  But thou’ve gotta tone it down a bit.  Thou’re bad for our image, and thou’re not exactly media-friendly.  I mean, have thou seen what happens when thou Google the word “Santorum”?
Santorum:  I believe Google to be a tool of the devil.  Have you ever noticed that “Google” is just a smushed-up form of “go ogle”?  It’s practically telling our nation’s children to lustily leer at members of the opposite sex in a tawdry manner.
God:  See, that’s what I’m talking about, right there!  I don’t need to be associated with that kind of loony crap!  It’s bad enough that I’ve got to deal with Fred Phelps and his lot.  So do a brother a favor, cut back on the crazy talk, find some sweaters with sleeves, and pull thy head out of thine ass.  Capiche?
Santorum:  I’ll try, Lord.  But Lord, aren’t you going to put a stop to Mitt Romney and his ridiculous Mormon ways?
God:  Oh, no.  They’re actually pretty close to dead-on with the whole magic underpants, divine golden plates, Jesus-in-America thing.
Santorum:  Oh…
God:  Yeah.  God out!  [Disappears.]

The End

February 21, 2012

Trivia Blog: National Treasure 3: Just Give Me the Damned Money

These Trivia Blog posts come from the emails I send out as Quizmaster of the Gael Pub Trivia Night every Tuesday.  But seeing as how they comprise most of the writing I seem to do these days, I thought it fitting to include them on the Pale Writer blog as well.  I won't include things like info about categories or drink specials, but will keep the bulk of the rest.  Hopefully you enjoy, so much so that you come out some Tuesday at 8:30 (3rd Ave. b/t 82nd and 83rd)...

Four score and seven Wicker Man sequels ago…

This past weekend I took a trip to the Natural History Museum to take in the sights and get out of the cold for a while, ready to while away the hours in a peaceful, educational atmosphere of fascinating scientific facts and slightly creepy taxidermied animal carcasses.  That is, until I took a detour to grab a bite to eat and, rounding a corner, ran directly into a frazzled, panicked Nicolas Cage.

“WE CAN’T STOP HERE!” he screamed at me, eyes wide with fear and possibly cocaine.  ”THEY’RE ONTO US!!”

“Schwa…?” came my reply.

“COME ON, WE’VE GOTTA FIND THE DOCUMENTS!” he cried, lurching in my general direction.

All I wanted was to go down to the cafĂ© and grab a hot pretzel, but he came at me, a dazzling tornado of severe hairline, disjointed kung-fu moves, and teeth.  I had no choice but to submit to the power of his crazy will and follow him into the subterranean depths of the museum.  I got so swept up in my impromptu quest that I wasn’t even able to ask him something I’ve always wondered about: how, in Face/Off, he and John Travolta could just switch faces when Travolta clearly had a much, much larger head and greater body mass.

What followed was a non-stop, action-packed thrill ride full of brain-teasing puzzles, near-death experiences, and sweet, sweet romance.  I won’t bore you with all the details, at least not until we finish up our deal with Touchstone Pictures, but I can share with you some of the fruits of our labor.  Nic Cage and I were able to uncover a secret conspiracy that’s sought to hide nefarious secrets about America’s presidents going all the way back to Washington, and now we’re ready to bust this bitch open and bring the truth to the American people.  And also to extort millions of dollars from the government to help clear up what he kept referring to as “some tax stuff.”

Here, then, is a special sneak preview of just some of the shocking facts that Nic Cage and I uncovered about out nation’s presidents:

  • George Washington’s famous wooden teeth were not, in fact, made of wood.  Rather, they were a titanium-palladium hyperalloy, controlled by a powerful network of hydraulic servomechanisms linked to a neurocenter fused to his spine.  Also, George Washington was a robot.
  • Many rumors abound that Abraham Lincoln was a homosexual.  Not true.  Lincoln was actually pansexual; a sort of 19th-century, Matthew McConaughey/Italian prime minister amalgam of raw sexual energy, ready and willing at a moment’s notice to drop trou and get it on with any man, woman, dog, crocodile, space alien, or properly shaped notch in a tree.  Fun fact:  The nickname “Honest Abe” is actually a shortened form of the full nickname: “Honestly, you’ll bang anything you lay your eyes on, Abe.”
  • Four words: Zachary Taylor, cross-dresser.
  • Richard Nixon’s famous enemies list included the following:  The McDonald’s Hamburglar, Jim from Accounting, “The lady in the cafeteria who keeps buying the last of the Cool Ranch Doritos,” Evel Knievel, the African Elephant, and “That guy in line at the multiplex who said that Star Wars ’sucked ass.’  What a dick!  God!”  No further explanation was located.
  • William Howard Taft was actually a woman.  A really, really ugly woman.
  • Thomas Jefferson wasn’t really the author of the Declaration of Independence.  According to a secret journal, he “totally copied off of John Adams because I was ri-DIC-ulously hungover from doing shots of corn liquor and blow with Ben Franklin the night before.”
  • Millard Fillmore invented the phrase, “No fat chicks.”  Franklin Pierce, however, had the wisdom to turn it into a t-shirt.

February 14, 2012

Trivia Blog: Happy Valentine's Dud

These Trivia Blog posts come from the emails I send out as Quizmaster of the Gael Pub Trivia Night every Tuesday.  But seeing as how they comprise most of the writing I seem to do these days, I thought it fitting to include them on the Pale Writer blog as well.  I won't include things like info about categories or drink specials, but will keep the bulk of the rest.  Hopefully you enjoy, so much so that you come out some Tuesday at 8:30 (3rd Ave. b/t 82nd and 83rd)...

It's a scientifically proven fact that couples attend trivia nights on Valentine's Day stay together longer, have better sex lives, and produce better-looking, smarter children than the average couple.*  For you single trivia-goers, what better way to meet a nice lady/fella than to attend your weekly trivia night?  You're sure to meet an intelligent, fun-loving, probably disease-free mate who clearly has amazing taste in bar-provided entertainment.  I myself met my girlfriend at a trivia night very much like the one we host here at the Gael Pub.**

In the spirit of the holiday, and to shed a little light on the process of a writer who does freelance work on the side, I thought I'd share with you some Valentine's Day-themed ideas for cards, messages, and love poems that were rejected by various greeting card and candy companies:

  • "Be my Valentine...  Let's face it, neither of us are going to do any better."
  • "Our first few dates have been amazing, I've successfully been wooed... But now seems like a good time to tell you, I'm actually a dude."
  • "Roses are red, violets are blue... Actually, violets are more like a purple.  I mean, why else would that purply color be called 'violet'?  Couldn't they have said, 'Roses are red, geraniums are blue'?  Or at least, 'geraniums are sometimes blue'?  The rhyme would've still worked, and the poem's narrative structure would've remained basically intact.  I should write a letter...  What were we talking about again?"
  • "Life is like a box of chocolates... Sometimes it gives you diabetes."
  • "Be Mine. Love, Chris Brown I mean, some other guy."
  • "You're my sweetheart and I could never get rid of ya... I hope this candy makes up for giving you chlamydia."

February 7, 2012

Trivia Blog: We're Number 2!

These Trivia Blog posts come from the emails I send out as Quizmaster of the Gael Pub Trivia Night every Tuesday.  But seeing as how they comprise most of the writing I seem to do these days, I thought it fitting to include them on the Pale Writer blog as well.  I won't include things like info about categories or drink specials, but will keep the bulk of the rest.  Hopefully you enjoy, so much so that you come out some Tuesday at 8:30 (3rd Ave. b/t 82nd and 83rd)...

They're not collector's items.  They're failure memorabilia.

So the Super Bowl has come and gone and taken football season with it.  Seven sad, football-less months are now ahead of us, but at least you Giants fans can relish your team's victory in the meantime.  (Courtesy, in major part at least, of the University of Michigan's own Mario Manningham and his incredible catch.  Just sayin'.)  A bit of advice, though:  Try to avoid being such giant knobs on the way to future victory parades, eh?  This morning's subway ride ranked somewhere between "Delayed for 30 minutes for no apparent reason" and "Masturbating homeless guy clears out the car in 2 seconds" for me.  I don't know who's manning the deli counters and spray-tanning booths of Long Island today, because they were all apparently jammed into my subway car, shitfaced drunk at 9:30am and (literally) knocking over old ladies in their scrabble to take the 1 train downtown.  Just... act like you've been there before, Pauly.  But I digress.

Watching coverage on NY1 of Giants fans flocking to Modell's to buy Super Bowl gear reminded me of one of the things I love about the aftermath of any major sports championship, and that's the idea that there are actually thousands of pieces of congratulatory merchandise featuring the losing team that wind up being shipped to some impoverished area of the world to help clothe the less fortunate.  It's great that they're helping folks out and all, I just love the idea of Jim Kelly traveling to some third-world country and being confronted with a village full of reminders of four straight Bills Super Bowl losses.  And then completely losing his shit and turning into some sort of weird, Colonel Kurtz-like figure, ruling the village and its people while muttering about Scott Norwood missing field goals.

It makes me wonder if, somewhere, there is a magical village that views these loser-related gifts as bounties from some supreme deity, and the people choose to worship the concept of losing as a result.  Maybe it's a place called Loserville or Losstown or Newark.  The name's not important; we'll figure that out later.  But imagine a place where every meal is served on Kerry-Edwards or Dukakis-Bentsen flatware.  Where, prior to eating, they chant their pre-meal prayer: a selection from Nickelback's latest album.  Where, after dinner, they gather to watch a stage revue of scenes from movies that didn't take home a trophy on Oscar night (Johnny Depp night would be particularly popular), or monologues pulled from Jon Hamm's Emmy-nominated clips.  Where every lottery ticket is already scratched off, showing that you needed just one more damned cherry to win the $500.  Where, at night, instead of ghost stories, they tell spooky stories about perennial winners that swoop in and snatch away happiness and awards, to keep their kids ever-mindful of their need of losers:  "And now, children, I'll tell you the Tale of Meryl Streep..."