Crazy Like God

It is often said that there are no atheists in foxholes. This is undoubtedly true; what I find remarkable, however, is that there are no foxes in foxholes.

Interlude: Two French soldiers huddle in a foxhole.

Pierre: Any news from the front?

Jean-Claude: No. All is quiet on the western front.

Pierre: Any news from the back?

Jean-Claude: Quiet there too.

Pierre: Do we have any more croissants?

Jean-Claude: Let me check.

Pierre: Well?

Jean-Claude: Sacre bleu!

Pierre: What is it?

Jean-Claude: Foxes! A whole den of cute little baby foxes feasting on our croissants!

In unison: We surrender!

This, of course, never happened. French soldiers are known to have surrendered to marmosets, chinchillas and, in a particularly embarrassing incident, a small bit of dryer lint, but never to foxes.

I suggest, due to the absence of both atheists and foxes, that from now on we refer to holes dug for protection against an enemy in wartime "God-holes." In addition to being more technically accurate, this new appellation would also give rise to a renaissance in the area of battle-scene dialog writing:

"Get your head out of your God-hole and get me some ammo!"

"You call that a God-hole? I've seen 90 year old grandmothers with better God-holes than that."

"Sarge, have you seen Private Sandusky pretend to walk down the stairs into his God-hole? It's hilarious."

I guess you could use that last one with "foxhole" too. Still, just once I'd like to see somebody in a war movie do that pretend stairs thing. That gets me every time.

It was, coincidentally, a Frenchman who said that there is a "God shaped hole" in each of us. (It was either Pascal or Sartre. Google and I aren't sure which one, but either way, he's French. I'm pretty sure you could attribute the quote to either of them at a party and appear equally snobbish and effete.)

Now if there's one thing the French know about, it's their holes. I wonder, in fact, if maybe that "God-shaped hole" line was misinterpreted. French is a notoriously difficult language to translate into English, particularly for Americans who don't want to learn French. Perhaps Pascartes' statement was not an abstract philosophical expression but rather a very literal admonition to the French people to do what they do best: Run and hide in a hole.

In this light, Pascartes can be seen as advising his countrymen to find the nearest hole and hide in it until the trouble passes. What trouble? you ask. Well, the heaviness of being, for one thing, not to mention the whole problem of never being able to get that damn rock up the hill. Oh sure, maybe the danger is all in my head, but what do I have to lose by hiding indefinitely in a hole? Surely far less than if I were to risk being crushed by a large rock.

Wow, all this philosophizing is making me hungry. I feel like I've got a hole in me the size of a fox.

Can't We All Just Get Along?

It seems to me that there is a lot of unnecessary strife in this world of ours. I think this would be a good time to do what we can to eliminate the petty disagreements among us and live like the brothers and sisters we are in the great family that is humanity. This post is my humble attempt to encourage all of us, whatever our ethnicity, political persuasion, gender, or attitude toward pork products, to put aside our petty differences and focus on what unites us as a species. So here, for your considerations, are a few suggestions that I think could help us move in that direction. This is just one simple American's take on things, but I think if everybody would make an effort to follow these simple guidelines, we could make the world a better place.

1. Speak English. Imagine how many misunderstandings we could prevent if everybody would just speak English. Pretty much everybody important speaks English these days, so there's no point in sticking with whatever doomed language your parents are trying to foist on you. What language did Shakespeare write in? English. What language are the ten most popular movies of all time in? English. What language is the Bible written in? English. The other day I saw something on TV where two kids in Holland were speaking Hollandaise to each other. Now I know for a FACT they teach English in schools in Holland. So these kids were obviously just trying to be provocative. Speaking a foreign language when everybody knows you speak English just raises suspicion. You saw what we did to Iraq; don't be stupid.

2. Use dollars. Everything important is denominated in dollars these days, and frankly your hexagonal coins with the hole in the middle and your paper money with Queen Amidala on one side and a purple chicken on the other are just plain embarrassing. This is especially the case for those of you from countries that peg your currency to the dollar anyway. Your economy is too unstable to support your own currency but we're supposed to be impressed by the portrait of Jose What's-his-face on your peso? Do you know how big the U.S. national debt is? Five trillion dollars. So do you want a piece of that action or are you really going to stick with the purple chicken? Yeah, that's what I thought.

3. Drive on the right side of the road. You know why it's called the "right" side of the road? Because it's the right side to drive on. That's pretty straightforward. I don't mean to be overly harsh, but we invented cars, so we get to decide. If you invent something we'll let you decide how it works.

4. Be respectful of normal people's lifestyles. If you're gay, or Hindu, or vegetarian, or whatever, that's great. But keep it to yourself, would you?

5. Stop using the metric system. Our system is WAY easier, trust me. There are 12 inches in a foot, three feet in a yard, and a hundred yards in a football field. Simple, right?

6. Stop making us ask permission to fly over your country. We have important shit to do on the other side. You wouldn't understand.

7. Stop making Mexican food that tastes like crap. I am really tired of food in foreign countries not tasting like it's supposed to. You people in South America are particularly bad. You seem to think you can improve on Chevy's. Well, you can't. First of all, you don't use enough cheese. Good rule of thumb: You can never have too much cheese. Also, nobody likes corn tortillas. Chevy's would probaby fly somebody down to help you out if you're having trouble.

8. Stop making your own movies. You don't have enough money to make them any good. And nobody wants to read a movie (see #1). We don't mind making the movies for you. Also, music and TV. And books, magazines, and software. Consider it our gift to you.

9. Show some appreciation. We don't mind defending the whole free world from the Nazis, Communists and Islamofascists. But it would be a nice gesture if you would say thank you once in a while. Maybe have a parade for us. Oh, and you could pick up a check occasionally.

10. Use the term "American" correctly. I know that this is kind of confusing, so I thought I would get it out in the open for once. Here's the deal: People from the United States of America are called Americans. I don't make the rules; that's just the way it is. There's really nothing else you could call us. United Statians? No, we're Americans. Which means that nobody else can be Americans. If you live in North America and you're not American, then you're Canadian. And if you live in South America, then you're Hispanic or, more formally, Mexican. Pretty easy when someone explains it, right?

Peace and goodwill toward all of you, especially those living in backward countries where you don't have a bicameral legislature or Wal-Mart.

A Small Proposal

A lot of people ask me what, in my opinion, is the biggest problem facing the world today. I answer, without hesitation, "global warming." Why? Because I value a quick response over accuracy, that's why.

If I were given a little more time to think about it, I would probably say "overpopulation." Because think about it: If the population were a quarter of its current size, greenhouse gases could be cut to a quarter of their current levels, we'd have four times as much food per capita, and they would have to cancel Fear Factor because of the dropoff in viewership.

So, you ask me, how do you reduce the size of the world's population by 75%? The answer is simple: We assemble the earth's brightest minds in one place and assign them a single task: to genetically engineer smaller people.

If this doesn't immediately strike you as a good idea, just imagine how much better the world would be if we were all a quarter of our current size. Consider, for a moment, how impressive the world's largest ball of twine would be. That's right, it would be sixteen times as impressive. Wait, you object, don't you mean four times as impressive? No, intrepid reader, I do not. For as you may recall from high school calculus, as one's height decreases arithmetically, one's susceptibility to being impressed by mundane objects increases geometrically, making that one seriously impressive ball of twine. And holy crap, don't get me started on the pyramids, because they are freaking huge already. Speaking of which, why don't they put the big ball of twine in front of the Sphynx, so it looks like a big cat toy? OMG that would be SO cute!!!

Anyway, let's move on to the part where you say, "Ok, that does sound like a good idea. But is it technologically feasible?" To this I respond: Did John F. Kennedy pause to ask whether his plan was technologically feasible before committing 400 American "advisors" in an unwinnable conflict in Southeast Asia? No sir, he did not! And yet, JFK is revered as a hero for his exploits as captain of PT-109, demonstrating that if you have to go on a trip with a Kennedy, the surest way to avoid drowning is, ironically, to travel by boat.

You may object that there are logistical challenges to reducing the size of the population of the entire world by 75% simultaneously (my understanding of genetic engineering is that it works something like sorcery). I am way ahead of you on this one, which is why my plan is to shrink the population one geographic region at a time, starting, of course, with the Middle East. Now I'm aware the "Middle East" is a somewhat nebulous term, but I believe it can be roughly defined as the region between Europe and Asia whose geology is characterized by layers of shale and petroleum deposits, covered by a layer of sand, and topped off by a layer of crazy people who want to kill me. This combination of strategic importance and collective insanity make the Middle East a prime candidate for shrinkage. And if something goes horribly wrong, hey, dibs on the free oil!

Any questions?

Even a Traffic Whore Has Some Standards

I'm a traffic whore. I labor under the delusion that if some day my readers outnumber the teachers who wrote on my report cards "Not meeting his potential," my desperate hunger for approval will at last be sated. To this end, I occasionally submit my site to blog directories. I don't think this generates much traffic for me, but I figure it can't hurt, unless the blog directory is called "Blogs That You Should Never Visit Because They Are Hella Lame." And even then, I'd probably submit mine, because how much damage could it really do? Judging by the number of blog directories out there, somebody must be starting a new blog directory every time a Starbucks opens. Or maybe every time somebody orders a Venti Carmel Macchiatto. I think at this point there are more blog directories than blogs, and since every man, woman and child alive has 12 blogs, that's a lot of blog directories. Anyway, the other day I ran across a blog directory that didn't list my blog, let's call it Not Another Blog Directory. So I dutifully filled out the submission form and waited for the hit to come rolling in. Not long after, I received the following email:

Hello Quasimofo,

Your blog has not been added to the Not Another Blog Directory. Due to the amount of submissions, we cannot explain the reasons for each. Most likely it is due to one of the following:

• blog is listed more than once in the directory
• site is not a blog
• blog is offline
• blog is new (must contain 5 posts and be at least 7 days old due to excessive spammers submitting).
• site contains nudity
• site is a shill site intended to simply promote products/affiliates
• site construes something illegal If you believe your blog should be added, please contact us (be sure to mention what your blog URL is).

- Not Another Blog Directory Team

This, of course, hurt me deeply. In an effort to mask my pain, I fired off the following email:

Hello Not Another Blog Directory Team,

I don't care. Due to the amount of blog directories, I cannot explain the reasons for not caring about each. Most likely it is due to one of the following:

• Your blog directory differs in no meaningful way from the 17,000 other blog directories.
• Your blog directory contains too many other blogs. - Some of the other blogs suck.
• Your blog directory still has the price tag on it, and is wrapped in cellophane.
• Your blog directory uses a color scheme which reminds me of the wallpaper in my bedroom during 5th-7th grades. This was a difficult time for me. Thanks for bringing the memories flooding back.
• Your blog directory does not list my blog; ergo it sucks.
• You used the phrase "amount of submissions," when what you really mean is "number of submissions."
• Not a single blog about Jewish race car drivers.
• Tasteful nudity is what separates us from the animals.
  

If you believe I should care, please contact me (be sure to mention why I should care).

- Quasimofo "Team" (we haven't really been a team since we lost our power forward)

I'd give their real name and a link, but due to the amount of not caring on my part, I don't have the energy.

A Fitting Tribute

If you're like most people, you probably can't imagine living without me. The fact is, however, that one day I'm not going to be around any more, and you need to be prepared for it. Relax, I'm not planning anything; I just want you to be ready for my eventual demise. By which I mean, of course, that you should be prepared to immortalize me in some suitable way. I like the idea of an eternal flame, but I don't want that Bangles song ringing in my head for eternity. A bronze statue would be nice, but those things tend to turn green over time and I wouldn't want people to look at it and go, "Whoah, what's up with the giant emaciated Hulk?" There would be less confusion if I didn't insist on being sculpted wearing only a pair of torn purple trousers, but hey, that's the way I want to be remembered. Sure, for the first 50 years or so the locals would be like, "That's not the Hulk. That's Quasimofo." But eventually that generation would die off and no one would be left to correct the tourists who insisted on meeting "at the Starbucks across from the Skinny Hulk." And just like that, I'm forgotten.

So I'm thinking T-Shirts. Everbody loves T-Shirts. What's not to love? It's a shirt, but shaped like a letter T, unlike most shirts, with a long vertical part for your body and then two short horizontal bits at the top for your arms. But not your whole arms, just the shoulders and your upper arms. Brilliant. It's functional, and it has the most apropos name since they called those things that broke on the space shuttle 'O-Rings.' You know, because they're round, with a hole in the middle.

Where was I? Oh yeah, T-Shirts! All the famous historical figures are on T-Shirts these days: John Lennon, Bob Marley, Jesus, Chuck Manson.... It's like a who's-who gallery of people who really made a difference. That's where I want to be, not hanging out across from the Starbuck's in my purple pants with tourists putting out cigarettes on my feet. So I've been doing some research, trying to figure out the criteria the T-Shirt people use to determine whether one is T-Shirt material. I've come up with the following guidelines for helping my chances:

1. Be a fictional character. People love Batman, Superman, Mickey Mouse, Pocahontas and other colorful, nonexistent individuals. Unfortunately, my odds of achieving a purely imaginary existence are rapidly dwindling as I continue to incur credit card debt attesting to my corporeality. Oh, I can hear the existentialists out there insisting that any idea of Quasimofo as a definitive being is fictional in the sense that there are an infinite number of potential Quasimofos existing at any given moment, no one of them any more or less real than any of the others. But let's face it, none of that is going to turn me into the Tazmanian Devil.

2. Die at a relatively young age. This worked for John Lennon, Jesus, and James Dean, among others. Unfortunately, I'm already older than all of them were when they died. Also, it seems to help to be murdered by Romans or a crazed loner, and I don't know how to go about arranging that. I'd hate to go to the trouble of provoking the residents of the Lombardi Home for the Criminally Insane into offing me only to find out that I missed the age cutoff by six months.

3. Have crazy hair. Crazy hair makes for great T-Shirts. Check out Albert Einstein, Bob Marley, Che Guevara, Jimi Hendrix and countless others. I think I could pull this one off. But very few people make it into the ranks of T-Shirt immortality based solely on their hair. The only one I can think of is Peter Frampton, and I'm not leaving the house looking like that.

4. Kill a lot of people (Charles Manson, Che Guevara, etc.). The problem with this is that I wouldn't know where to start. And I certainly wouldn't know where to stop. Also, I don't want to go to jail.

5. Be a pop star. Unfortunately, I have no talent. Which wouldn't matter except, as I mentioned, I'm also old.

6. Be a hot chick. Well, I'm tall and I have great hair. I'm practically Jessica Rabbit. See #1.

Well, that's all I've got. I don't like my odds. I'd better press my purple pants.

Sorry You Feel Like Crap. Have Some Dog Hair!

I could never be an alcoholic. I say this not to brag about my willpower, as I have little. My problem, in fact, is the opposite. I lack the discipline to force myself to drink all day. I used to be pretty good at getting drunk. In college I would go to a party and down six or seven beers in a couple of hours, and then pass out on a couch or small shrub. It helped that at the time I weighed about as much as Kate Moss at the nadir of the binge/purge cycle, but I attribute my ready inebriation primarily to youthful enthusiasm. In college, I had a single goal in mind: get wasted in as little time as possible. As I got older, I lost focus. It was no longer about just getting wasted; I became seduced by the allure of sleeping in my own bed and not vomiting into a strange man's dresser. When I finally gave in to the desire to avoid making an ass of myself, I could no longer maintain the drive I needed to drink three beers during an episode of Alf. By the time I started to actually drink beer for the taste, it was all over.

Sometimes I can still get pretty toasty by having several rum-and-Cokes or Seven-and-Sevens in a row, but I have to psych myself up first so that I can keep my focus. I can't be distracted by other activities, like "socializing", "eating", or "driving". I need to be head down with a drink in both fists. And don't be slowing me down with pretzels or peanuts -- I need to focus, people! Only when I've got a healthy supply of alcohol on its way to interfere with the proper functioning of my synapses can I allow my vigilance to waver even slightly.

Even when I was in college, I couldn't drink when I was hung over. I needed a good three days before I could stomache alcohol again. I never got the whole "hair of the dog" thing. I never even understood it as a metaphor. "Sorry about that rabid dog tearing into your quadracep, but hey, have a clump of its hair!" The only thing I would want from a dog that bit me was its head on a plaque. The saying should be "Have the head of the dog that bit you on a plaque." But come to think of it, I can't see how a line of bottle caps mounted on my wall would make me feel any better about vomiting up my pancreas either.

It's a losing battle. The older I get, the harder it is to get drunk and stay that way. I might as well accept it:

My name is Quasimofo and I'm sober.

Zipping Thru Town

Sometimes I'll be driving through a strange town and need to stop for gas. I put my credit card in the pump and it says "ENTER ZIP CODE." This irritates me. How would I know the freaking zip code? I'm new in town.

The locals always look at me funny when I ask them to tell me the zip code, because they're not big on cheating or whatever. Get off your high horses, people, I just need some petrol for the old coche. Usually they give me some bogus zip code that doesn't work, so I'm like "Thanks for NOTHING, jerkwad!" I hate townspeople.

Occasionally they'll give me a zip code that's like 9 digits long, and I'll be like, "NOT! Zip codes have 5 digits, smartass." A nine digit zip code, I'm sure. I was born in the early evening, but not last early evening, pal.

What really worries me is that pretty soon they might start asking what the state bird is, or the name of the local high school football mascot. I'll guess "PANTHERS" or something, and the gas pump will shoot flames at my head and townspeople with pitchforks will appear and poke me to death. Time to steal some more of those AAA guidebooks. Do AAA guidebooks list the local high school mascots? Maybe I'll write a series of guidebooks called Zipping Thru: What You Need to Know to Get Gas in Local Towns Across the U.S. and the Habitated Parts of Canada. A sample entry:

South Egypt, Kansas
ZIP Code: 62323
High school mascot: The Caustic Sphynxes
Sister City: Akimbo, Thailand
Mayor: His Hon. Skip "Skippy" Clinkenbeard
Best Place for an omelette: Denny's
Turn-Ons: Sherman Parkway
Turn-Offs: McKinley Ave & 4th St.

Man, I am going to make millions on this idea. What? Oh, my zip code. Yeah, that makes more sense. Nevermind.