by Michael Kun
“You’re the best son anyone’s ever had.”
“Well, it looks like my signature.”
“That little snot tricked me into signing that document. I had no idea I was giving him all of my property.”
“Milton, dear, why are you taking notes?”
“It was a bowling ball, Milton. It could’ve knocked things over and broken them.”
“Look, a bird. Not there. Over there.”
“Can I have some apple juice?”
“But I don’t like grapefruit juice.”
“Can you get me another pillow please?”
“The pillow should go under my head.”
“Why are you pressing the pillow against my face?”
“Milton!”
“It was a bowling ball, Milton!”
“Ack-ack-ack.”
Please be advised that any person or persons using these phrases without paying royalties will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.
And we mean it.
“And we mean it” has been trademarked too, in case you were wondering.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
We have checked, and it appears we were way off on our estimates of the sales of Michael’s novels The Locklear Letters and You Poor Monster.
Way, way off.
And we made a point of not mentioning Michael’s novel My Wife and My Dead Wife earlier. That book actually had negative sales for a while. (We had given away more promotional copies of the book than the number that were actually purchased, resulting in a negative on the balance sheets.)
But that does not speak to the quality of that book, which was excellent and not even remotely “half-baked” or “unfocused.”
Nor does it in any way diminish the outpouring of affection for Michael when he returned to the spotlight at the World Literature Forum in Budapest, Germany, a remarkable, spine-tingling event that we described in detail earlier in this book.
We were proud to have been there.
We will be telling our children and our grandchildren about it for years to come.
We will also be telling them about the next story, “Touched, Very Touched.”
And we probably will tell them about how that one book had negative sales because, you have to admit, it’s pretty funny.
But, I digress.
Let’s focus on the outpouring of affection in Budapest, okay?
TOUCHED, VERY TOUCHED
Thank you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.
This is like a beautiful dream from which I hope never to wake, a dream of heaven, and in that dream you are all angels. Thank you, angels.
When I was first informed that I’d been nominated in the category of Best Interoffice E-Mail (Nonviolent) (Nonsexual), I was thrilled. To have my name announced as the winner, well, let’s just say that I am touched, very touched.
Of course, I would be remiss if I didn’t share my great and general distaste for competitions among artists. All of the nominees for Best Interoffice E-Mail (Nonviolent) (Nonsexual) are incredible, talented writers, and I share this award with them. Tom Filla’s “Purple Monkey Dishwasher” was clever and sweet. It reminded us that our own foibles can enrich our lives. Nancy Meares’s “Ten Differences Between Men and Women” made us laugh and cry at the same time because each line bespoke the truth. Men and women are different, and Nancy reminded us why. And what can I say about Stanley Druckmiller’s “Forward This E-Mail to Ten Friends for Good Luck” that hasn’t been said before? It touched a place deep in our souls, a place where each of us longs for fulfillment, a place where we all imagine a better life where we wear much nicer clothing. For a moment, through the magic of his simple words, Stanley made us believe that life could be ours. So, Tom, Nancy, Stanley—this is for you! This is for us!
There are so many people to thank tonight. Of course, my e-mail, “Kiss This, Glassbutt,” would not have been possible if not for my former supervisor at AeroTech Products, Larry Glasslutt, who asked me to work over Labor Day weekend. As many of you know, I lost my job as assistant manager of Distribution when Larry learned of my e-mail. Larry, wherever you are, no hard feelings! I’m on top of the world, Larry!
I also wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for Steve Reese, my former coworker at AeroTech Products. Steve, when I sent “Kiss This, Glassbutt” to you, it was intended for your eyes only. I never anticipated that you would forward it to everyone at AeroTech, ultimately costing me a job I’d held for eight years, or that the e-mail would soon work its way through offices around the globe—France, China, Hungary. I apologize for any harsh words I may have spoken to you, Steve, and I wish you nothing but success as the new assistant manager of Distribution.
I also want to thank my loving wife, Hannah, who has stood by my side through these past six months of unemployment. Hannah, honey, we did it! We won! So maybe now would be a good time for you to come home. Or at least just call.
I should also thank the undergraduate writing program at the Johns Hopkins University. All those classes have finally paid off. I wouldn’t be here without you. I especially want to thank my professor, John Barth. I understand now that your scathing words were not meant to discourage me, but to make me appreciate and hone my talents. The fact that more people have read “Kiss This, Glassbutt” than Giles Goat-Boy in no way diminishes your achievement, John. May I call you John? I sincerely hope you will bask in the glory of your student’s success, John.
What is next for me, you ask.
Well, of course, I’ll be returning to my seat to see if “I’ll Kick Your Sorry Ass, Glassbutt” wins for Best Interoffice E-Mail (Violent) or “Want to Know What Steve Reese Did with Your Wife Last Night, Glassbutt” wins for Best Interoffice E-Mail (Sexual). During my sabbatical, I’ve also been working on a few new pieces that I hope to release later in the year: “Honey, If I Want to Lay on the Couch All Day, It’s My Prerogative”; “Yes, Honey, I Ordered That from the Ad on TV”; and “Hey, Look, Honey, Ben & Jerry’s Has a New Flavor. Honey? Honey? Honey, Are You Upstairs?” They’re a little more experimental than the Glassbutt trilogy, and I can only hope that my audience will embrace them as you’ve embraced me tonight, this most special of nights.
And, of course, I’ll continue working on my résumé.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
You have just read one of Michael’s timeless critiques of modern society, “Touched, Very Touched.” We hope you enjoyed it as much as we enjoyed presenting it to you.
At this time, we would like to make a correction. Apparently, Budapest is not actually in Germany. It is in Europe, however.
Our apologies for the error.
This is why we hire proofreaders.
Or, in this case, why we will be firing a proofreader and looking for a new one.
Goodbye, George. Don’t ask for a letter of reference.
HEAVEN HELP ME
At this moment, you are holding in your hands a copy of a short story collection called Corrections to My Memoirs. Until recently, it was called The Handwriting Patient, but we changed the title at the last minute. It had something to do with test marketing. No one wanted to buy a book called The Handwriting Patient. Go figure.
Anyway, if you are holding this book in your hands, you are likely a man.1
There’s a good chance you are in your twenties or thirties.2
This article is for you: men in your twenties and thirties.
Which is not to say that women shouldn’t read the short story collection, or men over age forty. I just don’t want you saying, “Hey, what this guy is saying doesn’t apply to me.” I just want you to understand that it’s not supposed to.3
Now, if you are a man in your twenties or thirties, let me tell you something: Although you were not thinking about it when you picked up this book, you are growing older, second by second.
Soon you will be old.
Maybe not today or tomorrow, but soon.
And getting old sucks.
Trust me.
You see, I am old.4
Not as old as the guy who lives next door to me, whose name is Morrie.
Not as old as the guy who sometimes tends bar at the dive around the corner from my home, whose name, coincidentally enough, is also Morrie.
Not as old as that Morrie guy from Tuesdays with Morrie, who was in his seventies or eighties when he stopped being altogether.5
Not as old as the guy who works on my car, whose name is not Morrie, but he sure looks like a Morrie.6
In short, I am not as old as anyone named Morrie, or anyone who looks like he should be named Morrie. But I’m still old.
I am forty-two years old.
Two years ago, I was twenty-five years old.7
Soon, you will be forty-two years old.
You will say to yourself, “How did this happen? Last time I looked, I was twenty-five years old!”8 And I will laugh when you say that.
Unless I’m dead, which is possible because, as I’ve said, I’m old.
I am old, and getting older, and it sucks.
My knees creak when I walk on a hard surface. They make a noise that sounds like a small machine that hasn’t been oiled.9
Little white hairs are popping up on my head like the weedy lawn in front of a haunted house.
I often fall asleep on the couch before ten o’clock whether I feel like it or not.10
Ten years ago, when I saw photos of Cindy Crawford in cutoffs, I would tip my head a little and say, “Hmm.” Now, when I see photos of Britney Spears in similar attire, I think, “She really should cover up.”11
Yes, I am old.
I am old enough to be Britney Spears’s father.12
People keep telling me I’m not old, which only makes it worse.13
I’m tired of people saying, “You’re only as old as you feel.”
Well, I feel like I’m forty-two—forty-two on the nose.
And if I hear one more person say that “forty is the new thirty,” one of those cute little expressions making its way through the country, I’m going to hit something. Hard. Maybe with my fists, maybe with a bat, maybe with my car. I don’t know yet. All I know is that it’s going to be hard. Very hard. The only people who say “forty is the new thirty” are precisely the same people who said “talk to the hand” and “that’s too much information” even after those expressions had run their course like some kind of flu.14
People like that cannot be trusted.15
Do not listen to them.
Listen to me.
Why should you listen to me, you ask. Heck, you hardly know me.
Then let me tell you a little about myself before showing you how you can learn from my life. My terrible, miserable, wasted life.
My name, as you know since you bought this book, is Michael Kun.16
I am a writer.
I am proud to tell people I am a writer. Often, they buy me a drink when I mention it.
I should also mention that I am a lawyer.17
I am not proud to tell people I am a lawyer. Often, they walk away if I mention it, giving me a look as if I have a bizarre and flaking skin condition. Which I don’t.18 For that reason, when I meet people, I usually do not tell them that I’m a lawyer. I tell them that I “work downtown.”
Or I tell them I’m a writer, if I think I might be able to get a drink out of it.
So, there you have it. I am a writer19 and a lawyer.20
I have seen good and bad in this world.
Those alone should be reasons to listen to me, don’t you think?
I will be forty-three soon.
How old is forty-three? Well, John F. Kennedy was the president when I was born. The Soviet Union was scaring the bejesus out of everyone.21 Man had not yet walked on the moon. Diet Coke had yet to be invented. People wore shoes when they went into public restrooms.
As you can see, forty-three is old. Very old.
And, someday, you too will be forty-three. It could be five years from now. It could be ten. It could be twenty. But it’s going to happen. And it’s going to suck.
So let me give you some friendly, unsolicited advice on how to live your life before you are as old as me. I give this to you so that I might do some good on this earth. I give it to you so you might find happiness. I mean that from the bottom of my heart. My tiny, black heart.22
You do not have to take my advice, of course.
You also don’t have to shower.
It’s up to you, dear reader.
That said, in my life, I have learned twenty things. Twenty useful things. That’s all. Twenty. I share them with you now. Put them to good use.
TELL PEOPLE YOU ARE A WRITER. Even if it’s not true, they will want to buy you a drink. If they ask you what you write, tell them you are writing a novel. Be sure to have a name for your novel on the tip of your tongue, maybe something like Heaven Help Me.23 If they ask, tell them it is the story of a young boy searching for his father in a strange city. Then order another drink.
DON’T TELL PEOPLE YOU ARE A LAWYER, EVEN IF YOU ARE ONE. THE SAME GOES FOR UROLOGISTS AND CAR SALESMEN. Generally speaking, you don’t want to tell people things that will make them run away from you. The only exceptions are if you are on fire, or if you have had explosives strapped to you by some madman, which is what happens in your novel Heaven Help Me, if anyone should press you for more details. That should get you another drink.24
DON’T LOOK AT PORNOGRAPHY ON THE INTERNET AT WORK. I believe it was Benjamin Franklin who first said, “Don’t look at pornography on the Internet at work,” although I might be mistaken. I was never very good with history. Or math. Or science. I’m not exactly a history buff. In any event, regardless of who first said it, it is very sound advice. If you look at porn at work, you will get caught. Someone is going to look over your shoulder and see it, then file a sexual harassment complaint with the human resources department. Or the computer guy is going to see some Web site with the words “hot” and “wet” in some report and do a little checking. However it happens, you will lose your job.25 Then, when you apply for your next job, they will do a reference check and will not hire you once they learn you were looking at porn at work.26 You will be given a very technical, legal name that you will carry for the rest of your life: pervert.
CARRY A BOOK AROUND WITH YOU. This will make you appear smarter than you really are, and I encourage you to do anything that makes you appear smarter than you really are. I suggest carrying a copy of Pilgrim’s Progress.27 Stick a bookmark in a page at random. Leave it on your desk or your coffee table when you are not carrying it. Wipe the dust off once a week. Move the bookmark from time to time. Forward, not backward!
BUY A GOOD SUIT. You’re going to need a suit for job interviews, dates, weddings, company parties, etc., so get a good one. The extra couple hundred dollars you spend will be the difference between looking like a success and a schlub. And take a woman with you to help you pick it out. No, not your mother.28
LAUGH AT YOUR BOSS’S JOKES, BUT NOT TOO HARD. If you don’t laugh, your boss will label you a malcontent; your annual review will say, “not a team player,” perhaps in capital letters. If you laugh too hard, he will label you a suck-up; your annual review will say, “untrustworthy little weasel.” So, find a nice middle ground. And don’t break out your special laugh until you have it down pat. Practice in front of your mirror. Imagine that your boss has just said “forty is the new thirty.” Or “talk to the hand.” Now, smile a little bit, part your teeth, and give it a good little “heh-heh.” Not a “haw-haw” or an “aha-ha-ha-ha,” but a “heh-heh.” You’ll be glad you did when it’s time to talk about your next raise. Unless you were looking at porn on the Internet, in which case you’re not getting a raise at all, are you?
EAT SOME CAKE. You might as well eat cake now—and anything else that’s supposedly unhealthy for you—because you’re going to have to stop when you turn forty. I believe the medical expression for it is “getting fat.” It
happened to me.29 It’ll happen to you.
MAKE SURE YOU KNOW WHAT YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT BEFORE YOU START TALKING ABOUT IT. I know a guy who would say that he liked to brush up on his Spanish by watching C-SPAN.30 No one has listened to a word he’s said since.
DATE WOMEN IN YOUR LEAGUE. Look, we all know who’s in our league and who’s out of it, so why waste your time? Life’s too short. Before you know it, you’re going to be me. Why get shot down by the gorgeous girl who will only dump you (assuming she even agrees to go out with you in the first place) when the very pretty girl who laughs at your jokes is sitting right there. No, not there, over there. That said, I married way out of my league, so maybe you should ignore this one.
DON’T QUOTE FROM MOVIES OR TV SHOWS. Just don’t, okay? This goes double for quoting from old Saturday Night Live skits. Calling someone a “girly man” does not make you cool. Sure, it might make you the governor of California, but it does not make you cool.
WASH YOUR CAR. Seriously, it’s filthy.
LEARN HOW TO COOK A FEW DIFFERENT MEALS. Sandwiches don’t count. It’s less expensive to cook than to eat out, and women love it when a man cooks dinner for them. Trust me. If I had a dollar for every woman who swooned over my lasagna, well, I’d have a good six or seven dollars, now wouldn’t I?31
BE GENEROUS. And don’t say you can’t afford it. Generosity isn’t about money, it’s about actions. Buy a friend dinner. Pick up a CD for a coworker. Send your mom flowers. Get Christmas gifts for your friends’ kids. Unless they don’t celebrate Christmas, in which case you should get them gifts for whatever holiday they do celebrate. FYI: Satanists don’t exchange gifts on any of their holidays, at least not as far as I know.32
ONLY WATCH ESPN SPORTSCENTER ONCE A DAY. As opposed to twice or three times. You don’t need to memorize it. You’re not going to be tested.
