PUT IT ALL ON RED

Hors d’oeuvres

Ants on a Log: A new take on a classic snack. Sun dried California raisins sprinkled liberally onto a thick bed of unsalted margarine sitting atop a half sour dill pickle.

Spring Awakening: A freshly defrosted generic brand chicken nugget delicately sandwiched between two halves of a hardboiled egg.

Treasures of the Orient: Fragrant morsels of prepackaged falafel mounted on a bed of garlic naan and doused generously with low sodium soy sauce.

Appetizers

Pacific Sunset: A sunny side up egg fried to perfection with a hefty dollop of all natural, no corn syrup American ketchup coating the top and waves of moderately wilted blue kale lining the bottom.

Carnegie Deli: Sumptuous cuts of turkey straight from the 4-in-1 variety pack served with slightly hardened rye bread and yellow mustard.

Down Home Sweet Fries: Canola oil drenched French fries gently sprinkled with 100% natural granulated cane sugar.

Entrees

Catch of the Day: The ambiguous white fish in the package on the top shelf of my fridge.

Poulet à l’Orange: Refrigerator thawed chicken breasts slathered with chilled marmalade and seasoned with bits of orange rind.

Surf and Turf: Finely chopped albacore marinated in high salinity water surrounding a juicy 2 ounce pastrami steak.

Desserts

Tex-Mex Fusion Style Crêpe: Yellow corn tortilla with a splash of store brand cocoa hazelnut spread.

Summer Bonfire S’Mores: Mildly stiff kosher marshmallows and a grainy milk chocolate bar melted to perfection in the microwave and then wedged between crumbling but flavorful saltine crackers.

French Fruit Tart: Chunky cinnamon applesauce on a crusty piece of baguette soaked in the moist flakes of grape residue at the bottom of the $5 bottle of Merlot that Andy brought me last Thanksgiving and garnished with a teaspoon of what appears to be either cool whip, vanilla yogurt, or mayonnaise, hopefully one of the first two.

We hereby agree that, as long as we are staying at the residence of Jeffrey and Rachel Kaminsky at 430 Mountainview Drive in Boulder, Colorado, we will abide by the following rules:

(1) All off the tenants’ guests must vacate the premises by 11 PM sharp unless special permission is granted by the proprietors.

(2) The noise level must be kept to a reasonable volume so as not to disturb the neighborhood.

(3) Nobody may enter the basement under any circumstances.

(4) The dog must be fed twice a day, once around 9 AM and once around 5 PM and must be taken out every 4 hours.

(5) Should any unusual noises come from the basement, they must be ignored, no matter how noxious or off-putting.

(6) All tenants and guests must remove their shoes before entering the house in order to avoid tracking mud inside.

(7) Should anybody happen to trip and fall into the basement on accident, he or she must immediately close his or her eyes and exit as quickly as possible subject to the constraint of not peaking. Any sounds or smells experienced in the mean time must be disregarded and never mentioned to neighbors, acquaintances, or government officials of any kind.

(8) Next to the laundry chute is a chute that leads directly to the basement (it is clearly marked by a skull and crossbones). Every night at 11:30 PM a tenant must drop one each of the following items into it: a one pound, raw porterhouse steak, three scoops of congealed goose fat (found in the bottom left drawer of the fridge), a large, extremely durable toy of some kind, and a live cat (found in the shed in back).

(9) The tenants must wash all dishes, clean bathrooms, sweep floors, etc. before checking out.

(10) If a tenant cooks anything with a strong, appealing scent, he or she must block all air vents as well as the crack under the door to the basement with towels and simultaneously burn an unpleasant
smelling incense (human hair, plastic, and fertilizer are all acceptable substitutes) to drown out the food. Should he or she fail to do so, the proprietors are hereby exonerated from any legal responsibility for bodily or psychological damage resulting there from.

(11) Should the tenants feel a sudden rumbling coming from the basement, they must as quickly as possible padlock and bar its door, shut off all lights, and exit the house. Once outside the house there is a digit pad on the front gate. Entering 14427 will lock the house from the outside and entering 52183 will send out a general alarm message to the neighborhood. Tenants must wait no less than four hours before unlocking the house by entering the code 70406.

(12) In the unlikely event that anything unexpected should emerge from the basement, the tenants must immediately vacate the house and lock down from the outside (see Rule 11 for directions). Then they must enter 00000 on the digit pad, which will incinerate the house along with everything contained inside. Then the tenants must wait no less than ten minutes to call the fire department, saying that they left a stove burner on and that they smelled gas just before the explosion. Any bone-chilling howls of agony that may come from the flaming house must be blamed on the most plausible sounding pet the tenants can think of. Once the fire had been extinguished, the tenants must leave the State of Colorado as quickly as possible without speaking to anybody unless absolutely necessary in order to exit the state. Any mention of events transpiring between the tenants’ arrival to 430 Mountainview Drive and their departure from Colorado will be construed as vicious slander and will result in legal action. Should any tenant express a desire to communicate with authorities concern events occurring in the aforementioned time span, all other tenants have an obligation to silence him or her by any means necessary and are similarly obligated never to mention the fate of their fellow tenant under threat of harsh legal action.

(13) All tenants must take a day to hike Devil’s Thumb Pass in Nederland; it’s just gorgeous this time of year!

Signed,
__________________
__________________
__________________
__________________
__________________

Plan A
It should be a lovely afternoon. We’ve reserved the picnic tables at Bogard Park next from noon to three. There’s a brand new jungle gym for the kids and a beautiful view of the hills. We will have fresh egg salad sandwiches, watermelon, and Jeff’s famous double fudge brownies. Then we will have some fun group activities like an egg-on-a-spoon race and our annual leap frog competition. During the last hour we’ll have a round of champagne toasts and Laura will give her usual wacky recap of the events of the last year.

Plan B
In case the grocery store is short on eggs, we may have to have a blindfolded race instead of an egg-on-a-spoon race. Also we would need to substitute the egg salad sandwiches from last week’s sensitivity training for the fresh ones. I’m told that they mostly still smell fine.

Plan C
Should Laura’s laryngitis flare up again, her less charismatic brother Jonathan will take over the recap. Also, since Jonathan doesn’t work here, he probably doesn’t get the jokes that Laura wrote in, so he won’t know when to stop for laughs. It might be a little awkward.

Plan D
If Jeff doesn’t have enough chocolate, we will have to make due with his infamous single chocolate brownies.

Plan E
If I don’t have time to make it to the wine shop tonight, we won’t have any champagne for the toasts. Instead we will just reopen that bottle of grape juice that’s been sitting out in the break room since Sandra’s birthday party. I accidentally tried it last week and, trust me; it’s plenty fizzy and alcoholic.

Plan F
If it’s foggy and you can’t see the hills, you can still see the garbage disposal plant across the street. And you can sure as hell smell it.

Plan G
If the paint on the new jungle gym hasn’t dried yet, there’s an old playground at the other end of the park. Sure, it’s seen better days and that see-saw is pretty rusty, but as long as nobody’s kids have any open wounds or anything, we should be fine. But definitely bring some iodine or something just in case.

Plan H
If it rains, we have ponchos available for guests. Unfortunately, in order to save money, we bought extras from radical political rallies. I suggest you bring raingear if you have qualms advertising any of the following groups/causes: Free Madoff, CPUSA, Unite the Dakotas, Occupy Coney Island, Quebec Libré, or Thurmond for President ’04.

Q: When did the Silk Road become a major trade route?
A: Did you hear, Jason made varsity!

______________________________

True or False: Alexander the Great survived to see his conquest of Persia completed.
A: Rap music.

______________________________

Q: The Peloponnesian War was fought between:

A. Greeks.
B. When will I need to know this?
C. We’re 15. Let’s start having sex with each other.

A: My parents don’t love me anymore.

______________________________

Q: Name two differences between the Anglican and Roman Catholic churches.
A: I’m highly susceptible to marketing.

______________________________

Q: What year was the Battle of Hastings fought?
A: I drive my car at unsafe speeds.

______________________________

Q: Name the United States’ first Vice President.
A: Shut up, mom! It’s my body!

In honor of Memorial Day, I wanted to remember the pets of my youth who passed too soon. I wish I could say they died in service to their country, but the US government has already informed me that “Seriously, Melissa, we’ve been through this several times: there is no way a gerbil can earn a Purple Heart, considering said gerbil never spent any time in combat.” I guess I will just have to do Mr. Fuzzball Fizzywink justice with my words.

Roscoe–A delightful dog taken too soon by an errant mail truck that I happened to be driving. What can I say? Six-year-olds were never meant to deliver the mail, especially when drunk.

Cuddles–A slightly less delightful dog that terrorized neighborhood children and was later nicknamed “The Undertaker.” The SWAT team ended her beautiful life in a hail of gunfire. I’m pretty sure that’s the way Cuddles would have wanted to go.

Demetri–The best damn iguana that ever lived. I remember the way you sat on the rock in your terrarium and sunned yourself. It was only after you hadn’t moved from that spot for six months that we realized something wasn’t entirely right.

Mr. Fuzzball Fizzywink–A rebound from Demetri, I never thought I could love you as much as I loved him. Oh, how I was wrong. Ours was a love story for the ages. We went canoeing together, shared ice cream sundaes, laughed and cried together. Napping together seemed like the natural next step in our relationship, until I rolled over and crushed you. Sweet dreams, Fizzywink.

Mrs. Fuzzball Fizzywink–Real sorry about that.

Buster–A rebound from Mr. Fuzzball Fizzywink, I never thought I could love a cat. And I was right.

Patches–Mom said you were my last chance to prove I was responsible enough for a pet. Seeing as I don’t have any pets now, you can see where this one is going. Patches, you were a great puppy! I loved playing with you on the front lawn, and I laughed so hard that I never saw that hawk coming. I like to think he was whisking you off to dog heaven, or, even better, maybe he dropped you off at a more responsible dog owner’s house.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________

On a slightly more serious note, thanks to the servicemen and women of the US for all that they have done and do for our country! You make me feel like a lazy bastard for sitting on my ass and writing posts for a humor blog.

Hey comrades, good morning! Alright fine, good afternoon. Okay, elephant in the room, let’s just come out with it; I stayed up a little too late last night and now I’m showing up two hours after the secret meeting was supposed to start. I’m sorry, it’s completely my—wait a second; something’s different…

Why don’t we have the lights off like we usually do to avoid suspicion? Why was the door unlocked and why didn’t I have to say the password on the way in? Hold on… is that our party’s insignia outside on the palace wall? And why is the king’s severed head being paraded down the street?!? Aw crap, did I sleep through the revolution?

Why didn’t you guys tell me it was gonna be today? Wow, I don’t know what to say. I feel like such a shit. Please don’t think I’m not just as committed to our radical doctrine as any of you. You know whose fault this is? Whoever invented the snooze button! What a capitalist pig! Am I right? Come on guys, who’s with me?

Fair enough, you’re all pretty pissed. I can see that. But it’s not like the king would be any deader if I’d gotten my ass into the shower instead of putting a pillow over my head and nodding off for a few hours. It’s not like the palace guards wouldn’t have shot at you guys if I’d been there. I mean, let’s not give me too much credit!

I’ll tell you what, just as a sign of good faith, I will personally clean up the entire hideout. What’s that? Oh that’s right; we don’t need the hideout anymore. Well, I guess I could clean out our new chamber in the former palace chapel. Already cleaned by my peasant comrades when they were enslaved because of the king’s endless greed? Yeah, I guess I should have figured…

Okay, indoor voices everyone. We don’t want the king’s spies to hear us and… oh yeah; that doesn’t matter now. Man, this is gonna take some getting used to! You know what, how about everybody comes to my place tonight for a celebratory bash? I have some food scraps I’ve been saving up for a special occasion and some bathtub wine made from grapes I got out of the palace dumpster. Oh really? You’re having a feast tonight in the king’s banquet hall? Yeah, that does sound better than what I said. Well, am I invited or… never mind; that’s not important. If you don’t want me to come, that’s totally cool. I completely understand if this is just a “people who risked their lives to end tyranny” type shindig.

Not to change the subject, but kudos on having an entire revolution go down perfectly in a matter of hours so quietly that you didn’t even wake me up! I mean, seriously, great work, guys! What? Yeah, I know we’re talking about me, but I’m just saying.

Yes, party secretary, I am fully aware of the irony of letting you guys do all the work to overthrow an oligarchy that we hated for freeloading off of our labor, but I feel like you’re over thinking this. I’m pretty sure the parallel is more symbolic than anything else and there’s no reason to get hostile here. I definitely learned my lesson and, trust me, I feel terrible about it.

Hey, why are the Proletariat People’s Guards blocking the exit? Guys, it’s me. Come on! Everyone makes mistakes but it’s important to forgive them… as long as they aren’t cooperating with the bourgeois oppressor. What’s that quote? “To err is human, to forgive divine?”

Yeah, of course religion is the opiate of the masses, I just mean that… hey, guys, I don’t think we need to resort to violence. We need unity now more than ever! If we break into a thousand factions then monarchist reactionaries will take advantage of our vulnerability and replace the king with an even worse tyrant!

Oh, you’re already united against me? Jeez, I don’t like the sound of that! What can I do to make this up to you guys? No, other than martyrdom! Oh really, nothing else?

Wow, I’m beginning to wish I’d just stayed in bed.

Dear Mr. Lopez,

I write to apply for an analyst position within your organization, the Latin Kings. As a summa cum laude graduate of an Ivy League institution with majors in Economics and Business, I can maximize your quarterly earnings while hustling hard in the street.

I know what you’re thinking–another white kid trying to prove that she is “gangsta” by writing you a formal cover letter? I assure you, Mr. Lopez, I don’t need to prove anything. In college, I tutored inmates at a local prison in preparation for the GED, and most fellow volunteers I talked to said they were doing it to “help someone out” or “find desperate men that would be willing to settle.” Not me. I used that opportunity to market myself to the gang world, and I have the prison tattoos to prove that I’m legit (and I can’t tell you how difficult it is to get a rudimentary tattoo done in the five minutes your supervisor, Scott, gives you for a bathroom break). I don’t want to brag, but let’s just say several lesser gangs have approached me with work offers. I had to tell each, “Naw, man, my dream is to work for the Latin Kings. When you stop being a pussy ass bitch, let me know, and I’ll have you come work for me.” This usually did not go over well and is the reason I wear an eye patch.

Does an eye patch make me gangsta? Of course not. Does an eye patch plus a don’t-fuck-with-me-attitude make me gansta? No, otherwise my grandmother would be a fucking kingpin. Does an eyepatch coupled with superior quantitative skills and an unparalleled understanding of market forces make me gangsta? You best believe it, son.

I don’t want this letter to be all about my outstanding personal characteristics and general badassery. I also have some great ideas to energize your business. After running some of the numbers, I’m convinced you can start charging people more for your protection from rival gangs. If your customers balk at this, offer some throwaway free gift, like a free Latin Kings tote or travel mug. People absolutely love that stuff, and if a free tote ain’t street, I don’t want to be street.

Also, every salesperson you have on the corner should have an iPad. It does nothing to help you sell more, but it does make you look like the cool, hip drug dealers. It also works as a great indicator of employee loyalty. You definitely want to keep an employee who can fend off a potential robber looking to get a free iPad, and you want to get rid of the loser who will give an iPad away like it’s candy (and I can already imagine the excuses: “He threatened to kill me!”; “It’s just an iPad.”; “Please, lady, I’m only thirteen!”).

I have a lot more where that came from, but like any savvy businesswoman, I’m not going to give you my best ideas in a cover letter. For that, you’re going to have to hunt me down and make me an offer I can’t refuse (which would probably be along the lines of $75,000 plus bonuses and full benefits).

Mr. Lopez, the Latin Kings is in position to become the Google of gangs; making mad money while offering a comfortable work environment with a 50% chance of shanking. I would love the opportunity to oversee this transformation and expansion in pursuit of my own personal goal to keep it hood.

Sincerely,

Melissa

On the front, it says “So I heard you’re turning 50…” and there’s a cartoonish old woman who looks pretty spunky. And when you open it up, bam! It says, “Maybe now you know how your mother felt when all she wanted was to sit for a few minutes and hear about how your day was going before you went out for the night.”

______________________________________________

On the outside, you’ve got something a boy turning thirteen would be into, like a skateboard or an electric guitar. The inside should have the word “radical.”

______________________________________________

The Far Side was one of the funniest and most successful cartoon strips ever, and Gary Larson’s economic, single-panel style is perfect for greeting cards. Let’s see if we can’t force him to do more of those.

______________________________________________

Aging men like golf. So, something with golf.

______________________________________________

On the outside, there’s a menorah – tasteful, not one of those garish ones you see. And on the inside, “Wishing you eight blessed days of Hanukkah.” (Note: Make sure “blessed” is a thing in Judaism. Also, that Hanukkah has eight days.)

______________________________________________

Graduating from high school is an important event in a young person’s life; it can also be financially uncertain. The inside should make light of the fact that there isn’t more money enclosed.

______________________________________________

On the outside we’ve got two children, a boy and girl, in black and white. They’re dressed up like adults, though, with the boy in a suit and the girl in a dress. But the clothes are a little too big for them, which heightens how young and cute they look. And the boy is giving the girl a small peck on the cheek. This sort of card will work for literally anything.

______________________________________________

It’s Greeting Card 101 that sympathy cards shouldn’t have cartoon drawings of Hell. But we didn’t make it this far by following the rules.

______________________________________________

Everyone loves a card that automatically plays a recording when you open it. Especially if it’s Larry the Cable Guy yelling that thing he always says.

______________________________________________

There’s a Christmas tree on the outside. On the inside is a heartfelt thank-you for not making one of those personal, computer-generated cards with a glossy picture of your family on it. God, those are ruining us.

______________________________________________

The outside says, “Congratulations on two beautiful twins…” and the inside says, “…Your wonderful gift to the world.” Artwork can be a mother bird with two hatching eggs or some shit.

______________________________________________

This card is unusual because it’s not for any special occasion. In fact, it’s blank except for an inspirational quote we’ll put on the front. And we’ll have a selection of quotes customers can choose from. Like the John Lennon one about life being what happens when you’re making other plans, or the Jack Kerouac one about how the only people for him are the mad ones. Actually, those two will probably do it.

______________________________________________

Can’t go wrong with a picture of a woman with large breasts.

Jeffery, I know at your age it seems like you have all the time in the world to screw around but I have news for you; you’re three years into The Ringling Bros. Clown College and come hell or high water you are going to finish your damn degree! This is not a two way discussion. I’m here to talk some sense into you.

When you told me you wanted to see the world, I though you meant you wanted a summer internship at Cirque de Soleil. I’d love for you do get some international clowning experience. But I’ll be a monkey’s uncle before you spend a whole year bumming around Europe, juggling on street corners to make ends meet.

Wipe that smile off your face and paint on a more serious expression! Clown College isn’t a right, you know. It’s a privilege. The day Congress passes a Federal Funding for Universal Higher Education in Physical Comedy and Circus Arts Act and writes me a check for 120 grand is the day you’re off the hook. But until then, either you find a way to pay me back or you come home with your Ringling Bros. Wacky Hacky Bachelor of Buffoonery degree.

Look, I know it’s been a tough three years. I’ve seen you after two all-nighters in a row, your makeup smeared and your rainbow wig a mess. But son, I am so, so proud of how far you’ve come. Hell, after high school you could barely juggle four rings for a minute without conking yourself on the head. Now you make a seven ball Mill’s Mess look like a three ball cascade!

You have to think about your future. Sure, it seems romantic and exciting to float around, putting down a hat and picking up some clubs when you’re running low on dough. But trust me; it’s a lonely life. I remember having the same conversation with my dad 27 years ago. I thought he was a square. I threw a pie in his face and grabbed my stuff, expecting never to come home. I can’t possibly thank him enough for taking me back when I came home four months later, destitute and hopeless. I wouldn’t wish that feeling on my worst enemy and I certainly wouldn’t wish it on you.

So listen to me, son. I want only the best for you. It took months of practice to get back my skills, to spin a plate on a stick and balance it on my head or spit water out of my mouth into a healthy mist instead of a steady stream. But I put in the time and effort and come August, they accepted me again at Ringling. I never looked back.

Once you’ve graduated, you can grab the world by the big red nose and honk away. But as you ride on this comically undersized car we call life, you’ll come to learn that there are some sacrifices worth making. You have to accept that, while it’s nice to think that life should a breeze, sometimes you’re the one with the water-squirting flower on your lapel and sometimes you’re the one with a face full of seltzer. So I’m asking you—no, I’m telling you—quit screwing around and give me ten good pratfalls!

Denial: “What? I can’t die this young, there must be a mistake. Your nurse probably just mixed up the test results.”

Anger: “That nurse is so fucking dumb.”

Bargaining: “Look, I’ll pay any amount for you to cure me. I know it looks like I don’t have a lot of money, but I do know a lot of drug dealers, and I’m pretty sure people would pay a lot of money to have sex with me.”

Anger, Part Deux: ”What do you mean it’s incurable?”

Anger, Part Trois: ”What do you mean you wouldn’t pay to have sex with me?”

Drinking: “Look, If you can’t cure me, I can at least drown my pain with my good friend Jack Daniels and then drunkenly text my ex-boyfriends about my impending death.”

Explanation: ”I just keep a bottle of it in my purse at all times in case a surprise quinceañera or fatal diagnosis pops up.”

Over-friendliness: ”Hey, ladies, grab all your nurse friends and come on down to examination room 2! We’re having a party and you’re all invited!”

Faux-apologizing: ”Sorry, doctor, I wasn’t aware that this was a No Fun Zone.”

Depression: ”Well, I guess I’m never going to find out how Cougar Town ends, so I might as well just die now.”

Vomiting: ”Really sorry about that. I’ll buy you a new shirt with all of my drug dealer/sex money.”

Bill Cosby Impression: “Look at my colorful sweater! I was on The Bill Cosby Show!”

Acceptance: ”You know, I’ve had a pretty good run, and I have a lot to be thankful for. Thanks for talking me through this, doctor, and I apologize for the violent mood swings.”

Arson: ”I will burn this doctor’s office to the ground if it is the last goddamn thing I do.”

Placation: ”Please don’t call the cops, it was a joke, I swear! You know what Bill Cosby would say about a situation like this?”

Faux-apologizing, Part Deux: “Sorry, sir, I realize a joke comparing how white people and black people eat jello probably wasn’t in the best of taste.”

Spiking a Football: ”BOOYAH, DOCTOR, IN YOUR FACE.”

Reflection: ”Well, doc, we’ve had one hell of a ride together, but I guess it’s time for me to head home and get my affairs in order. But before I go, are you sure I can’t interest you in a body shot?”

Body Shots: “I knew you’d come around.”