by David Bickel
Anyway, that’s enough of my jabbering. I have plenty more thoughts (That shopping cart has to go! Depressing!), but I don’t want to overwhelm you. I just figured, sure, I can give you a handout, but in the long run, my advice would be worth a lot more.
Sincerely,
Dave
CREEPIOSITY INDEX: 6.91
Glen was the richest chicken in New York until the Madoff scandal.
IMAGINARY FRIENDS
It’s supposed to be adorable when three-year-old Dylan talks to his imaginary friend “JoJo,” but it’s not. It’s creepy.
Because if Dylan were fifty instead of three he’d probably be talking to “JoJo” from inside the cuckoo’s nest.
CREEPIOSITY INDEX: 8.11
Michael leans in for the kiss that never really comes.
GUYS WITHOUT ANY SIDEBURNS
God bless Bruce Hornsby. I’m a huge fan. “The Way It Is” is a really sweet song, and I’m sure he has some other good ones (that’s just a guess). But for all his talent, I always found it hard to look at him. It took me awhile to figure out why and then it hit me: no sideburns. At all.
Now look, Bruce, I’m not asking you to be Neil Diamond or Fat Elvis, but without any burnage at all, you look a little creepy.
Again, big fan. Of that song at least.
CREEPIOSITY INDEX: 7.22
Bruce Hornsby singing, hopefully, “The Way It Is.”
NECCO WAFERS
Every March at the annual creepiologist convention (held at an abandoned carnival in Upstate New York) we have a lot of fun debating creepiosity levels. This year, the discussion turned to candy, and it got a little heated.
The room was basically divided into two camps: those who thought black Chuckles were the creepiest candies, and the more intelligent group who knew for a fact that NECCO Wafers were way creepier.
The case for the NECCO Wafers is clear-cut: They’re pastel-colored (candy is meant to be colorful), they taste like shit (candy is meant to not taste like shit), and they’re reminiscent of Communion wafers, breaking the number one rule of candy: It’s not supposed to remind you of religion in any way.*
Sure, black Chuckles are creepy, but to compare them to NECCO Wafers is like comparing apples to oranges (apples are the much creepier fruit).
CREEPIOSITY INDEX: 6.14
I like them better under their other name, Tums.
*Jujubes are creepy for the same reason.
ANYTHING BEING PUSHED IN A BABY CARRIAGE THAT ISN’T A BABY
Maybe it’s your groceries, maybe it’s laundry, it might even be your dog. It doesn’t really matter. If you’re pushing something in a baby carriage that isn’t a baby, you are creeping us all out.
And if you’re carrying anything besides an infant in that Baby Björn, you really need some help.
CREEPIOSITY INDEX: 9.18
Minutes before Tania tried breast-feeding her cactus.
ADS THAT ARE SUPPOSED TO LOOK LIKE THEY’VE BEEN DESIGNED BY LITTLE KIDS
For some reason, advertisers think that if their ad looks like a four-year-old designed it, we’re going to think it’s adorable. Only problem is, we all know that a fifty-five-year-old man designed it, and that creeps us out.
This is an ad that appeared on a billboard in Los Angeles not too long ago:
CREEPIOSITY INDEX: 7.97
God help me, but after seeing it I actually started rooting for the cancer.
INFOMERCIAL DOCTORS
Imagine you’re watching an informercial for Ronco Ass Whitener or the Gerry Cooney Grill or whathaveyou. And when it’s time for the doctor’s endorsement, the doctor they trot out is your doctor.
YOUR DOCTOR: “I’ve used a lot of ass whiteners in my day, and Ronco’s is the best!”
Now do you (and his other patients) sit there and think, “Cool, my doctor is on television”? Or do they think, “Oh no! Creepy! My doctor is a whore”?
On the upside, a whorish doctor is probably pretty fast and loose with the Vicodin prescriptions.
CREEPIOSITY INDEX: 8.02
Dr. Schwartz’s real dream was to be one of Charlie’s Angels.
LUCY IN COLOR
Watching I Love Lucy, in glorious black-and-white, the lady was hilarious. She was America’s favorite wacky redhead, even though on TV, she was a grayhead.
Once we saw her in color, though, she somehow stopped being funny and started getting kinda creepy.
Sadly, the combination of the ultrabright red hair, the precancerous smoker’s voice, and the attempt to do physical stunts when she was one banana peel slip away from a broken pelvis made color Lucy hard to love.
CREEPIOSITY INDEX: 8.86
Little-known fact: Lucy and Prince had the same costume designer.
LITTLE LEAGUE UMPIRES WHO TAKE IT WAY TOO SERIOUSLY
We’ve all had dreams. I tried to be a professional gambler, although that didn’t work out. Perhaps focusing solely on scratch-offs was my downfall, but ultimately I’m better off for it. Not only am I now universally respected as the world’s leading creepiologist, I no longer have to worry about constantly cleaning scratch-off residue from my clothes and furniture.
Others haven’t adapted as well to a failed dream, most notably the guy who couldn’t cut it as a major league (or minor league, or college, or high school) umpire and makes up for it by umpiring children’s baseball. Yes, you still get to dust off the plate, but it’s a lot harder when the tee is sitting on it; sure, you get to yell your signature “You’re oooooooooout!” but the tears of the five-year-old strikeout victim, as cute as she is, is a cold reminder that this ain’t Pujols you’re sending to the dugout.
On the plus side, sometimes the team mom does have an extra packet of postgame gummy fruit to share with you, and that’s pretty awesome.
CREEPIOSITY INDEX: 7.12
It’s widely known that Paul will throw a game if you play “Find the baseball in my pocket” with him.
THE AUTHOR
David Bickel is a veteran TV writer and producer whose credits include a nine-year stint on the award-winning series The King of Queens. He is currently writing and executive producing a series he developed for the Walt Disney Company.
David lives in Los Angeles with his wife and kids and ten cats.
CREEPIOSITY INDEX: 9.72
Sorry, ladies—he’s taken.
CONGRATULATIONS!
You’ve just read an entire book!
Besides an overwhelming feeling of accomplishment, you’re probably a little sad, and you know what? That’s OK.
Here are four ways you can shake those doldrums:
1. Buy another copy and read it again.
Sure, you could just reread this copy, but don’t you miss that new book smell?
2. Buy a copy for all of your friends.
Unless you’re friends with Dick Cheney or Bazooka Joe. We don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings.
3. Check out the official Web site of all things creepy:
www.creepiosity.com
It’s more fun than a barrel of red-ass monkeys!
4. Tell us what you think is creepy!
Send your ideas to [email protected]
Who knows, maybe we’ll publish them in the next edition!*
*By submitting ideas or suggestions (“Contributions”) to Creepiosity, you agree that: (a) Creepiosity is not under any obligation of confidentiality, express or implied, with respect to the Contributions; (b) Creepiosity shall be entitled to use or disclose such Contributions for any purpose in any media worldwide; (c) your Contributions become the property of Creepiosity without any obligation of Creepiosity to you; and (d) you are not entitled to any compensation or reimbursement of any kind from Creepiosity under any circumstances. But you will (e) feel pretty cool having your idea in print. And who knows? Maybe it’ll help you (f) that certain young lady you’ve had your eye on.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
A lot of people have been instrumental in my journey from street urchin to the world�
�s leading creepiologist (and, ultimately, back to street urchin).
First and foremost, Dr. Edgar P. Reisdorf, who took a chance on a kid with a dream and helped make that dream a reality. Was he a bit of an octopus when we were alone together? Sure. But in fairness, I did dress rather provocatively back then. Other mentors include Lowell Ganz, William Goldman, Jonathan Stark, Tracy Newman, David Litt, and Michael J. Weithorn.
Big thanks to all the people who lent their faces and/or brains (metaphorically speaking, for the most part) to this project: Cliff Kaplan, David Goldhaber, Curtis Wilmot, Joseph Garvin, Marisa Garvin, Mike Granberry, Michael Bickel, Zachary Bickel, Marc Sedaka, Michael Sedaka, Amanda Sedaka, Charlotte Sedaka, Rock Reuben, Tania Reuben, Ben Reuben, Julia Reuben, and Jeffrey Ganz.
And to those who pushed, prodded, and cajoled me to get all my years of research into print: Dennis Palumbo, Kathy Green, and Lane Butler. I don’t have the words to thank you enough, but hopefully a gift basket from Hickory Farms can do the trick.
But more than anyone, my unending gratitude must go out to the three least creepy people I know: Judy, Camden, and Jesse. You guys will be thanked in more detail when, God willing, I’m awarded the Nobel Prize that Dr. Reisdorf didn’t live long enough to win.
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