P.S from the U.S.P.S: A Story of the Not So Distant Future

The following is either a subversive postscript from the inner bowels of the United States Postal Service or a completely made up story by a trouble maker.

P.S.– Buy outs, early retirements, forced work furloughs and hiring part-time no nothings who at least have an inkling to what the phrase “priority mail” will soon turn every outpost of the U.S.P.S (that remains) into a living hell.

“Inadvertently damaged” will now be designated “Thank God it got here and you can sort of tell what it must have been”.

“Slightly damaged” will be replaced by the new designation “torched beyond recognition”.

Negotiations are now on-going to privatize the U.S.P.S. and fold it into a private corporation jointly owned by Fed-ex, UPS and Microsoft. This corporation will encompass all mail in the U.S. of A. and possibly every other nation in the world except North Korea. (Where any communication outside of sidling up to someone and whispering in their ear is punishable by decapitation.)

Effective immediately this will be our new delivery schedule. We are proud to announce that all of the currently mail-free holidays such as Christmas, Martin Luther King Day, President’s Day and Thanksgiving will
now be days on which mail will be delivered. However, on all other days NO mail will be delivered.

We trust you will stick with us during these trying times. And we hope to be trying and heck, even succeeding once in awhile, real soon.

Thanks,
Your (still nameless) Plant Manager

So You Think You Can Run a Network Television Show and Earn the Big Bucks?

So, you think you could do a better job than those guys who grabbed the brass ring and are now driving around Palm Desert in their Lexus convertibles?

Consider those poor shmos who had to be in charge of The Time Tunnel. Your two male leads are mannequins. One of the guys isn’t too bad. He asks about his motivation too much but mostly he’s just happy to have this gig so he can play a lot of golf during hiatus.

But the other lead is James Darren. Not only is he a big wooden nothing with a nice smile but he is also a MOVIE STAR. (If being the non-title star of Gidget Goes Hawaiian counts.) James may like to throw his weight around and he’s not shy about asking for his “emotional trajectory” on day one of the Pilot.
Of course, it’s all your fault because you should have noticed that his autograph is five times the size of the rest of the cast. “Get out the way”, John Hancock!

Your female lead is Lee Merriweather. In real life she was a Miss America. (If you think of that as real life.) This means she needs to get dolled up all the time. You explain to her that as a scientist she has to wear a lab coat. After the 1,000th blank look the writers have to figure out a million witty reasons for her to remove the lab coat and why she’s so glammery all the time.

Whitt Bissel has appeared in so many sci fi movies that he is always taking issue with the basic premise of the series.

The other guy in a lab coat has the least clout but as with most actors in lab coats feels like he can be Ass #1 at the drop of a hat.

Add in the period costumes, constant time travel arguments (Doesn’t everyone know we can’t save Lincoln from assassination? If I have Genghis Khan’s DNA shouldn’t I look more like him?) and you’ve got a mondo migraine.

The only thing you got going for you is that cool psychedelic/hypno wheel in the background.

Acting 101: Chapter 3– Maybe there are some small parts.

“Many a time audience members come up to me after a show and question my decision to play Pill Garlic. They say — That character is a piffle, a poofter, a sad wallflower of a clown. You should be playing Hamlet or Ahab or at least the lead on one of the CSI shows.”

“After thanking them for their droll if heartfelt comments I set them straight. Pill Garlic is the greatest role a man or woman could ever hope to play. I say woman, since I once saw Dame Peggy Entwhistle play it in Surrey. A night so stormy I feared that it would pull the venerable Gibraltar Theater up by its very roots… I’m sorry… where was I?”

“I am afraid that as an actor I rely on the words of others. I am often six ways to Sunday and at sea, simultaneously when I have to relate a monolog from my own life.”

“Though, not long ago I did manage to cobble together a rather charming children’s play — Tommy Tuffle & the Amazing Locomotive Robbery. It did rather handsomely summer of ’82 at the McVickers. I bought myself a spendid jumper with the profits.”

“There were dozens of requests for a sequel but I was too busy doing McB– I mean the Scottish Play and XVI Daggers for Caeser in rep.”

“As I was saying before I interrupted myself– Pill Garlic is a marvelous character. He is Jesus, Beowulf and Everyman all rolled into one Sad Sack. He is fire and ice. He is the Battle of Hastings meets Sir John Falstaff’s beard.”

“It is an honor to play him not a duty. Which is not to say that I couldn’t do without the 27 pratfalls in act one or the exploding pie in the face at the climax of the curtain call… but se la guerre, eh?”

Things That Try As Hard As It Can Bill Steinkellner’s Brain “Just Can’t Get”.

Hunting.

Everyone at some adult gathering who would rather be somewhere else including the host.

Personalized license plates that just spell out the model of the car even though that was put on the back of the car by the folks at the factory, already.

The Indianapolis 500.

Caviar, oysters, clams and scotch.

Field and Track.

Most of the music created since 1976. (Excluding Sister Act and anything written by John Boswell.)

Getting dressed up.

What the STAR of a show is thinking most of the time.

Sushi.

Jewelry for men.

Stunt casting with actors or characters from tv shows that are still on the air.

Owning lots of shoes.

Why Glenn Close felt she had to dress up as a man in a movie.

A Hundred Years Ago And A Hundred Years From Now A Beach Is Just a Beach.

Papa got sand in his shoes but wouldn’t take them off choosing to grumble all the way home in heavy traffic and all the way through supper.

Mama worried all day about the enormous amounts of sand that everyone was ingesting along with their lunch. She didn’t find Poppa’s “sand-witches” joke the least bit amusing.

Clarissa hung around the life guard’s station all day until he dropped his pith helmet on her and didn’t even bother to apologize.

Jonquil somehow got tar on her favorite bow. It seemed that she would never stop crying. But she did instantly once ice cream was purchased.

Buster ordered strawberry for the first time ever. (They were out of butter pecan.) He found out that he was allergic to strawberries when he swelled up with so many hives that he looked like a pomegranate.

Li’l Elsie dozed all day from her car sickness medicine. She will stay home with Mrs. Janas the next time.

Lent– Or Whatever Happened to Those Old School Sacrifices?

What ever happened to sacrificing stuff to God? I guess it’s possible they still do in other cultures but it seems more symbolic and less bloody now.

When I was a kid and Lent rolled around we had to “give something up”. Usually, candy, gum or play time. This was to show how much you loved God and wanted to thank Jesus for dying for our sins. (My sins at the time usually involved candy, gum or play time so pretty much “two birds with one stone” time.) This seemed only fair since Jesus sacrificed His life for ours.

Now, don’t start thinking about how Jesus died and came back to life. Did the “God” part never die? It’s very confusing and as I recall they always end up trumping all your queries with “it’s mystery and you just have to accept it”. Game. Set. Match.

All in all it’s tough to sacrifice something when you are a kid. You just give up some weenie thing and feel half assed about it. Except the really good kids who give up the something that is really valuable to them for forty days. And nobody likes them.

In the age of Tivo, Skype, Netflix and Fed-exed pizzas from the east coast is anyone sacrificing any more?
I know somebody who gave up Facebook so she won’t read this for another month. Have we lost something by not sacrificing any more? And is God watching… and taking names?

Nixon: A One Man Apology –Written by Bill Steinkellner

“My fellow Americans, distinguished guests and Team Steinkellner. I’d especially like to shout out to little Emma.
She probably read about me in World History. I am all over them history books as the kids like to say…”

“I wish I had a little better recollection of when I died but if you think the brain bucket is faulty now, well you just wait. At any rate it’s good to have you all here. To paraphrase an old joke — when you’re dead it’s good to be anywhere.”

“Well let’s get to it. The reason all of Team Steinkellner is here. Originally it was just going to be them but I’ve got a bit of ham in me and I felt it was an opportunity to be in front of a crowd one more time. So, here goes– I’d like to apologize to Bill Steinkellner and the rest of Team Steinkellner for trying to send him to Viet Nam and possibly jeopardizing all of their existences.”

“Now, I assure you that it was not personal. Heck, I sent a lot of young guys. Had to be done. Honor of America, domino theory and all that. It’s right there in the textbooks. Those books are a lot prettier, nowadays… and they sure show a lot of movies…but I digress.”

“No thanks to me but your Dad had that 2-S college deferment going for him plus as it turns out a pretty high draft number so as the great Bard said alls well that… whatever.”

“Plus, that was really LBJ’s war. I was just trying to disengage with honor. Well, glad to get that off my chest. … And for the record– we’re going to keep Checkers…sorry brain fart! Though, truth to tell, Checkers went right to doggie heaven while I have to sweat it out in Purgatory for the next 300,000 years… Oh, shoot I think that’s supposed to be a secret… Well, sorry and thank you. God bless you and God bless America!”

How to Not Cure a Mama’s Boy: A Cautionary Tale

“I’m terribly frightened, Mother.”

“Of what, my dear child with hair like the ocean and eyes like a mesmerist?”

“Mostly of girls with their man-trapping ways. But also, bosses who treat you like bad vomit. And, of course, thugs with eyes of metal who look at your bulging back pocket and wonder to themselves if they could klop you on your noggin and run away with your life savings.”

“Perhaps your life savings might be better in a locked drawer?”

“But would a locked drawer protect you from cars driven by maniacs with liquored breath? Or crazed canines who roam the street with foamy teeth that they’d love to sink into my flesh? Not to mention flash floods and sharks that hide in shallow water?”

“It is not an undangerous world, is it?”

“No, indeed not, Mama! And what of killer bees and old satellites that fall from the sky and burn your house down while you slumber? And what’s to be done about stray sparks that could make gas pipelines go Ka-boom with
no warning? And eighteen-wheeled trucks that go hurtling down the highway brimming with chlorine gas destined to jackknife on a slick rainy night? Not to mention mad cows?”

“You are such a smart aware boy. Go get your slanket and five popsicles and Mama will help you ease your problems one by one.”

Who’s in the Box?– A Quarter Century Old Mystery

It must be somebody famous. After all they have Milton Berle, Gene Barry, Gregory Peck and (maybe) Doc Simon and Georgie Jessel as pall bearers. The other pall bearers are probably producers, directors or other heavyweights of show biz. (No reverse pun intended.)

The big crowd in the background also gives weight (again, sorry) to the idea that this is a public figure almost certainly in the field of entertainment. But who?

The only clue other than celebrity pall bearers is the fact that this photo is from 1987. I’m not sure who all the pall bearers are either. (Is that Billy Wilder behind Uncle Miltie?)

I’m not sure how to solve this mystery. Is there a celebrity-pall bearers dot com? Dot org?

I suppose you could list all the celebrities that died in 1987. From these pall bearers the field of comedy also seems like a good bet. Then matching these two lists you might be able to use the process of elimination (kind of obscure pun) to track this guy down.

Would this make a good CSI or a terrible one?

With no way of knowing for sure I’m going to guess that it’s either George Burns or Walter Matthau.
So what do you think? Who’s in the box?

The Worst Day of 1979: A True Story of the Consequences of Directing Instaplay!

After much anticipatory anxiety and a sleepless night we perform our first business Instaplay! It’s for Hewlett Packard and it’s a big success. Hurrah! We all drive home very happy in our cars. But wait! Cheri’s Honda Civic starts overheating. Luckily, we call her Grandpa Nat and he drives us to L.A. That is the end of our luck this day unless you think not dying on the freeway in a fiery crash is fortunate.

The next day we head out to pick up Cheri’s car in El Toro. Two thirds of the way there my (used and abused) Barracuda’s engine starts giving off horror film sounds. My eyes are already burning from the Orange County smog but whatever is going on under my hood makes them worse. The Barracuda starts to die in my hands. My heart is pounding like crazy as I try to steer in a sharp diagonal across the 405 while the power steering starts to fail and the car rapidly slows to almost stopped. Cars speed around us like merry bumper cars. One of them is going to crash into us any second. Somehow, I manage to get it from the fast lane all the way to the off-ramp. Cheri and I exchange looks that you only see in movies. The Barracuda is sad and silent. Kerput.

The AAA guy says “you spun a bearing”. (To this day I don’t know what it means but it has something to do with running out of oil while going seventy-five miles an hour.) It will cost me $800 to get a new engine. (This for a car that I paid $350 for.) The AAA guy advises me to sell it for junk.

Cheri calls her Grandpa Nat and all these junk places. (At a pay phone. Cell phones are still off in the Buck Rogers future.) Cheri heads off to get her Honda. The junk guy pulls up. He is the Grim Reaper in greasy t-shirt and jeans. So, he has actually made the perfect career choice. He gives me $75 in cash. My first ever car is towed away never to be seen again.

Cheri arrives in her Honda. It is steaming like a Hill Billy cliche. Her car is still broken. We use three pounds of change at pay phones. The same AAA guy tows us to the Honda place.

After spending all day at gas stations, 7/11s, and freeway exits with smoking vehicles we have had it. It hasn’t registered yet that I no longer have a car. (In L.A. even homeless people have cars.) Finally Cheri’s dad, Howie rescues us and gets us a rental car. We go home.

Thus ends a terrible day. No day will equal this until 1995 when we decide to create a girl buddy comedy for NBC.