by Jeff Strand
Out of Whack
by Jeff Strand
Hard Shell Word Factory
This story copyright 2004 by Jeff Strand. All other rights are reserved. Thank you for honoring the copyright.
Cover Art by: Mary Z. Wolf
Published by: Hard Shell Word Factory.
PO Box 161
Amherst Junction, WI 54407
[email protected]
http://www.hardshell.com
Electronic book created by Seattle Book Company.
eBook ISBN: 0759945047
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatever to anyone bearing the same name or names. These characters are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
To Janice. My bestest.
Table of Contents
The first twenty pages 1-20
The next twenty pages 21-40
Twenty more pages after that 41-60
Page sixty-one 61
Pages sixty-two through ninety 62-90
Perfect bowling score 300
Amount in my bank account $1.57
IQ of my cousin Goober who eats his own earwax 62
Number of times Goober bumped his head on the ceiling fan before he realized that it hurt 7
Number of times we had to tell Goober to quit making that creepy noise with his armpit during social gatherings 19
Page one-hundred-and-sixteen 243
Really? No
Introduction
She moaned with unrestrained ecstasy as he cupped her surprisingly hefty breasts with perspiring hands. His tongue slowly roamed her neck... probing... seeking... searching... hunting... questing for the place that would make her snarl with pleasure and demand that he service her sweet spot.
Okay, I have to apologize for that. I wanted a nice opening for this book, and “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times” was already taken. It was either this or the meat loaf recipe, so consider yourself lucky.
Anyway, my name is Seth Trexler, who you may, but probably don’t, know as one of the founding members of the comedy troupe Out of Whack. I was the sensitive one. This sure-to-be bestselling book that you’re holding (or listening to on audiotape, or reading off a computer screen, or having beamed directly into your brain by state-of-the-art alien technology) is my life story. Granted, I haven’t been alive all that long, but there’s no story so short that you can’t pad it to book-length. Trust me.
If reading about my life doesn’t thrill you, that’s okay, because even if you don’t read a single word beyond the introduction, this book is still worth the cover price. It makes a handy weapon if thrown with the proper velocity at a soft, protruding part of somebody’s face. It contains a wide variety of words that can be cut out and affixed to any ransom note, allowing kidnappers to practice their livelihood without fear of the police recognizing their handwriting. And the glue in the binding is mighty tasty. (If you’re reading an electronic version, you’d do well to avoid licking anything.)
In addition, every cent I earn from this book will be donated to make life better for babies, puppies, and kittens. Adorable ones. Ones that would be taken outside and stomped with steel-heeled boots if not for the extra money.
So, buy this book! Buy a copy for your mother, who thinks you just don’t care anymore. Buy a copy for your senator and see an instant improvement in performance. Buy a copy for that guy you see every once in a while who is always staring vacantly at the ground going “Oooooh dirt!” Buy every copy you can find, and the next morning when you look at your reflection in the mirror you’ll be able to say, “Good God, I’m attractive!” and truly mean it.
And remember, I love you.
Special Bonus For Students
Hey, Kids! If you checked Out of Whack out from the library to use it for a book report, have I got a treat for you! To reward you for your incredible taste, I’ve already written the report so you can spend the extra time playing outside and getting some fresh air, or rotting in your mildew-laden rooms playing mindless video games.
I took the liberty of writing this report so you won’t have to actually read Out of Whack, because it’s an evil book that will make you into a bad person if you experience it at an impressionable age. It’s got sex and violence and unclean language and an ample helping of regurgitation jokes and even somebody wetting their pants. Adults can enjoy this for the gleeful entertainment that it is, but you children will be worshipping Satan by the end of chapter six.
So, copy this book report, making sure to misspell all the words you would normally misspell, hand it in to your unsuspecting teacher, and enjoy yourselves.
OUT OF WHACK - A Book Report
by ( Your Name Here )
For my book report, I read the book Out of Whack, by Seth Trexler. It’s the story of Mr. Trexler’s comedy troupe, named Out of Whack, which provides the book with its fascinating title. I found this to be the best book ever written, excluding, of course, the materials our brilliant teacher selected for us to read in class. He/she knows the value of literature in the educational process, let me tell you. If we had more teachers like him/her, we’d be stomping those Japanese twerps into the ground.
What I appreciated most about Out of Whack was its use of foreshadowing, symbolism, and foreshadowing of symbolism. “Watch out,” says Travis, one of the primary characters, “because in a few minutes I’m going to throw this conch shell at you.” The shell symbolizes money, which is something that the teachers of our nation should be given in large quantities. Symbolism practically bleeds through the pages, making Out of Whack a challenging yet joyous read, one that enthralled me so intensely I read the book eight times.
While the author’s use of symbolism is on a par with the great literary geniuses of the past, such as Ernest Hemingway, Charles Dickens, and Hugh Beaumont, I would be remiss not to discuss how the use of character development, atmosphere, simile, metaphor, and punctuation blend to form an unbeatable word stew. What can I say about character development, atmosphere, simile, metaphor, and punctuation in such a short space that can truly do justice to the power of its use in this book? As much as it pains me to deal with such a thing, I simply cannot discuss these brilliant concepts in the space allotted without doing the author a grave disservice, and therefore I shall refrain.
Overall, Out of Whack changed my life. After the fifth reading, I took up meditation, and I have become a more fulfilled person because of it. On a scale of 1 to 10, I’d give this book a 10+. It has made writing book reports fun again. Hooray for the world!
Chapter One
“Prenatal Endeavors”
I’m going to start with a dream sequence that may explain why I’m such a weirdo.
* * *
Diane Trexler sat up in the hospital bed, holding her newborn son. The birth had been just as painful as the Adoption: The Smart Choice pamphlets promised, but now she was truly happy.
Her friends Maxine, Louise, and Elaine entered the room, bursting with excitement. “Let me see him!” said Maxine. “Oooh, he’s so precious!”
“What a little darling!” Louise exclaimed.
“A sweetheart!” Elaine added.
“Ooooooooooooooooh!” the three women said in unison.
“Can I hold him?” Maxine asked. Diane nodded and handed over the child. “Oh, isn’t he beautiful?” Maxine pressed her face to the child’s. “Are you beautiful? Yes you are, yes you are, yes you are! Just think, I could be holding a future president of the United States right now!”
“Or a famous surgeon!” Louise exclaimed.
“Or a Pulitzer-Prize winning author!” Elaine added.
“Ooooooooooooooooh!�
�
Louise took the baby and cooed.. “And he even has his father’s eyes! See him smile? Diane, he has your dimples!”
“Of course, you’ll want to start saving for a nose job,” Elaine remarked.
“What?” Diane asked.
“Well, look at that thing. It looks like an oversized lump of Silly Putty.”
The other women murmured in agreement.
“He has the same nose as my mother!” Diane protested.
“She didn’t exactly have men breaking down her door after your father died, did she?” Maxine pointed out. “Oh, but look at those little hands!”
“Ooooooooooooooooh!”
“Let me hold the sweet angel,” said Elaine.
“Here you go,” said Louise, handing over the infant. “Just watch out for his breath.”
“What’s wrong with his breath?” Diane demanded.
“Oh, don’t be naive. Your child’s breath could burn a hole through an armored car.”
“Babies don’t have bad breath!” Diane insisted.
“You’re right,” Maxine agreed. “It must be a medical problem.”
“There’s nothing wrong with him!” Diane snatched back her baby.
“So what did you name the little heartbreaker?” Elaine asked.
“Abner.”
The other women groaned. “Well,” said Maxine, “I hope you know a good doctor for when the other kids kick the living crap out of him every day at school.”
“We named him after his great uncle!”
“The rapist?”
“No! The scientist!”
Elaine sighed. “Oh, wonderful. So your son is going to be a total geek.”
“I’ll have you know that my great uncle Abner did vital medical research.”
“Then your son stands a good chance of catching an infectious disease in the line of duty,” Louise pointed out.
“Oh, I hope it isn’t a horribly debilitating bacteria,” said Maxine. “It would be a shame for such a precious child to die a misshapen, pus-oozing freak.”
“Hidden from the rest of humanity,” Elaine elaborated, “living in misery, sleeping in his own vile excrement...”
“...cursing the forces that condemned him to this soulless existence...”
“...holding the rusty razor blade to his wrist, working up the courage...”
“...and finally, as the hot crimson blood jettisons from his savaged flesh, shrieking ‘Why, Mother, why?’ at the top of his phlegm-clogged lungs.”
Diane stared at her friends for a long moment, then burst into tears.
“Oh, now you’re upsetting the little darling,” said Louise, taking the baby. “I hate to see such a lovely child cry.”
“And he’s truly a beautiful baby,” said Elaine.
“Ooooooooooooooooh!”
* * *
This was an actual dream my mom had before I was born. Depending on how much she’s had to drink, when she reaches this point of the story she’ll either say “And then I woke up screaming,” or let out a shriek that could dislodge any kidney stone within a hundred feet. Mom’s pretty laid-back and conservative, but she doesn’t handle alcohol well.
She was eight months pregnant when she had the nightmare, and had been suffering juuuuuuuuuust a bit of angst over having a child. My dad was having a smidgen of angst himself, considering that they weren’t married, weren’t out of college, and he hadn’t even worked up the nerve to tell his parents. But, as he did every night that she spent in his dorm room, he tried to reassure her.
“Everything is going to be okay, sweetie.”
“Oh, Howard, do you really think our child will turn out all right? I mean, he is just the product of a discount condom...what if that affects him throughout his life?”
“He’ll be fine, sweetheart. We’ll be wonderful parents. I know the pregnancy was just as unexpected for us as the conception was for all those people who were there when the elevator doors opened, but we’ll do great.”
“Do you really think so?”
“Yes, I do. And the whole situation is filled with benefits. Now when somebody asks you if you’re pregnant, you don’t have to take it as an insult.”
“I love you, honey,” said my mom, snuggling up against him. “But can I ask a favor?”
“Of course.”
“Could we name our son something besides Abner?”
“Sure we can. I still kinda like Seth. Go back to sleep, sweetie. And don’t worry, our son will make us proud.”
* * *
Note to readers named Abner: Please feel free to revise the previous section to read “Milton.”
* * *
Note to readers named Milton: Please feel free to leave the previous section as “Abner.”
* * *
Though I was definitely present, my actual birth is not at the forefront of my memory. But apparently it was quite an event. My mom went into labor in the middle of one of the worst snowstorms in recorded history. She was watching TV in her dorm room with her roommate Sally Harpesty and Sally’s nerd boyfriend Chuck. My dad was in his own dorm studying for his Sex Education final, which he eventually failed. Here’s a transcript of what happened, and please keep the accusations of “creative license” or “slight exaggeration” or “blatant lying” to yourself.
* * *
TV ANNOUNCER: ...that’s right, this amazing watch is truly a bargain. Any watch can tell you the time and date, but the incredible SPUD 2000 also goes “beep” every hour on the hour. And that’s not all! It also differentiates between a.m. and p.m. to protect against those inconvenient—
NEWSCASTER: We interrupt this program to bring you this important announcement. The plows are trying hard, but most of the area remains snowed-in. If you have a pregnant woman around who’s ready to go into labor at any time, it’s time to get out that book on home delivery.
[ Mom grits her teeth and winces in pain. ]
SALLY: You know, you’ve been having these sharp pains for the past few hours. Are you sure you’re okay?
MOM: Yeah. It was probably just the chicken bone I had last night.
SALLY’S NERD BOYFRIEND CHUCK: But the pains are hitting at shorter and shorter intervals? Don’t you think you should see a doctor or something? It could be your appendix!
[ Something quite gross happens, which I shan’t describe here. ]
SALLY: OH MY GOD!!! I think she’s about to become unpregnant!
MOM: Pant, pant, gasp, gasp, moan, moan, grunt, grunt!
SALLY: Take Chuck’s hand! Squeeze it if you feel pain!
[ Mom takes Chuck’s hand. ]
SALLY: All right, go for it! Go, go, go!
[ Sound of bones breaking. ]
CHUCK: Aaaargh! My hand! My hand! This bitch is crushing my hand!
SALLY: I think it’s coming!
MOM: I’d appreciate it very much if somebody would kill me now.
SALLY: I can see the head! Oh, yuck, it’s got gook all over it!
CHUCK: Aaaaaaargh! Get her off me! Get her off me!
[ Chuck bites down on Mom’s hand to loosen her grip. ]
SALLY: It’s a...a...a...dang, it’s all the way out and I still can’t tell what it is. A boy, I think. Congratulations!
Soon after my birth, my parents graduated, got married, moved into their own home, and finally informed my dad’s parents that they were now grandparents. And we became one happy family.
Chapter Two
“Suffer From the Children”
I was a noisy child. I admit it. According to my mom, who develops a nasty facial twitch whenever she recounts it, I relished nothing more than to kick the sides of my crib and scream, scream, scream. When my parents would come in to see what was the matter with me, I would giggle and carry on like it was the most fun I’d ever had. After they returned to enjoy the average of forty-five non-consecutive minutes of sleep that they got each night, I’d start kicking the crib again. Dad was getting to the point where he didn’t trust the new
voices in his head not to tell him to smother me with a pillow.
Like my birth, I don’t remember my second birthday, but it was supposedly an interesting event. The entire extended family had gathered to see cute little Seth blow out his candles, and cute little Seth proceeded to dunk his face into the cake, ignoring the fact that the cake contained a pair of lit candles. I was rushed to the hospital with a great deal less of the hair I’d cultivated up to that point, and my mom entered the elite society of Valium users. I remained an only child simply because I had been born first.
I started telling jokes at an early age. At age five, I interrupted my mom’s bridge group to share a joke I’d overheard from my uncle. I can’t remember it exactly, but it involved a farmer’s daughter and a door-to-door salesman. Fortunately, I didn’t tell the joke quite right, and my mom’s friends were left wondering what kind of agricultural development was responsible for a twelve-inch peanut.
One day, when I was seven, I was walking through a friend’s kitchen, paying as little attention as possible to where I was going, and smacked into the refrigerator. This elicited a laugh from my friend, and boom, I became Slapstick Man! Anywhere I thought I could get a laugh, either by bumping into something, falling, dropping a messy food product, whatever, I did it. Sure, I got hurt a few times, but to me the laughs were worth it. I hadn’t yet learned the difference between people laughing at me and laughing with me. This went on for about a two-month period, known affectionately as Seth’s Really Stupid Phase.
