The Ajax of legend (the greater) is one of the true badasses of the Iliad. He's pretty much top dog after Achilles, and neck and neck with Odysseus. Truth be told, Ajax the lesser really isn't a slouch either. Apparently he was fast on his feet and pretty deadly with a spear. Still, I have to imagine it really sucked to be him on a day-to-day basis as his very name implied he was always going to play second fiddle to the other guy. Imagine being a production assistant named John Wayne on the set of The Searchers. Yeah your name is really John Wayne, not just a pseudonym used by an actor. Heck, you might even be good at your job and overall a pretty cool dude. The problem is that other guy casts a long shadow. One which you aren’t getting out from under, no matter how hard you try...
Agamemnon: Lord of the Greeks: “Summon mighty Ajax for this new assault against the Trojans! We will need his strength and skill to send these dogs to Hades!”
Ajax the lesser: “I am here to serve, my lord!”
Agamemnon: “Not you, loser!”
Later on in the overall story (after the Iliad is over) things take a turn for the better for our lesser Ajax. Ajax the greater goes batshit insane and kills himself. There are a couple of different versions of how and why this came about, but the end result is the same: dead is dead.
Despite his great heroism and the loss to the Greeks that he represented, I can’t help but think that Ajax the lesser was the only one standing around the funeral pyre with dry eyes. It’s hard to be overly sad when you’re probably thinking “Oh yeah. Ajax the ONLY now, baby.” Sadly, once a second fiddle, always a second fiddle. Thus it still probably sucked to be him for some time afterwards...
Menelaus: “Oh woe is us! Our greatest heroes have fallen. First Achilles was laid low and now this! If only Ajax was here to bring us victory.”
Ajax the lesser: “I am sire! I stand ready with sword and spear to crush the Trojans.”
Menelaus: “Not you, loser!”
Poor guy probably couldn’t catch a break. Personally if I had been stuck being Ajax the Not as Hot Shit As That Other Ajax, I think the whole epic might have played out just a wee bit differently at the end...
(Before the impregnable gates of Troy)
*knock* *knock*
King Priam of Troy: “Who is there? Woe to him who dares to knock on the impregnable gates of Troy!”
Ajax the lesser: “It is I, Ajax!”
(an entire squad of heavily armed guards suddenly appear on the wall)
Priam (trembling): “Mighty Ajax? You have returned from the dead?”
Ajax the lesser: (sighing) “No, the other one.”
(The guards all relax and wander back to their posts)
Priam: “Oh. What do you want, loser?”
Ajax: “You know that big horse you just dragged in?”
Priam: “Yes! It is truly a gift from the gods proclaiming the majesty of Troy!
Ajax: “Sorry, Priam. Not a gift from the gods.”
Priam: “No?”
Ajax: “Nope.”
Priam: “From our allies then?”
Ajax: “Survey says XXX. Try again.”
Priam: “The Titans?”
Ajax: “*sigh* It’s full of Greeks, stupid!”
Priam: “Really?”
Ajax: “Really. They’re gonna climb out and sack your city the second you turn your back.”
Priam: “Guards with me! Bring torches!!”
Ajax: “You have fun with that.”
(End the epic saga with Ajax the lesser walking away whistling happily)
Blood for Bob the Dead Plumber
“What are you doing with that?” my girlfriend asked me.
“What?”
“THAT!”
“Oh this?” I said, holding up the Toys-R-Us bag I had just brought in.
“Yes!”
“It’s a bag.”
“I meant what’s in the bag, stupid.”
“It’s one of those Ouija boards.”
“I know what it is. Why do you have one?”
I explained to her that it had just caught my eye. That part was true. The Chinese food I had been sent to pick up wasn’t ready yet, so to kill some time I had wandered a little bit further down the strip mall to the toy store. I conveniently left out the part about how I was actually looking to see if they had any new and interesting Transformers in stock. No point in lowering my already non-existent coolness factor any further. Not seeing any, I had wandered through the game aisle and noticed the Ouija boards. Buying it amounted to little more then a thought of, Eh, why not?
“They’re evil!” she continued.
“They’re made on an assembly line by Parker Brothers,” I explained, slowly and patiently as if to a dull child. “Last I checked; they weren’t exactly considered one of the great forces of darkness. I doubt they have some dude on an assembly line somewhere making sure that each gets exactly one dollop of hellfire before being packaged up.”
“Don’t make fun of me. I’m telling you they’re evil. Look at the weather!”
“It’s raining, so?”
“Yes. But it only started raining right before you got back. That’s an omen.”
“No. That’s the weatherman being an incompetent douchebag again, not exactly an uncommon occurrence. Besides which, I seriously doubt the gods have suddenly decided to start sending me omens. Even if they are, I say screw them. I don’t see them raining down a bonanza of winning lottery tickets on me, so why would I listen to them now?”
“Stop joking, I’m serious! People who use those can get possessed by Satan. I’ve read all about that.”
I could feel the beginning of an annoyance headache starting to build up in my frontal lobe. I always seem to get those when confronted by excess stupidity. I’m not an overly religious person; however, I’m not an outright skeptic either. I keep an open mind. I like to believe I live in a world where ghosts, Bigfoot, and aliens are possible. As for Satan, well I’m pragmatic about that. My thoughts are that even if there is a supreme evil in this universe, he’s gotta be a pretty busy guy. I would like to think that the great grand poobah of wickedness would have slightly better things to do then answer questions from teenage girls at slumber parties.
I’m of the mindset that Ouija boards are pretty much fifty-percent power of suggestion, forty-percent people actually moving the planchette (then lying about it), and maybe ten-percent idiocy. But like I said, I try to keep an open mind. Even if there is a supernatural answer, though, I’d be willing to bet it’s just the ghost of some bored dude looking to screw with people’s minds. Why? Think about it. If you were a ghost haunting a house and some teenagers started bugging you with questions, what would you do? What would be a more fun way to answer: “Hi, I’m Bob, a dead plumber from Piscataway,” or freaking the shit out of them with “I AM SATAN, LORD OF THE DAMNED! YOUR SOULS ARE MINE”?
I know which one I’d pick.
Anyway, my girlfriend continued on, “Well I’m definitely not using it with you.”
“OK then,” I said opening my closet.
“What you doing?”
“I’m putting it away.”
“You’re not going to use it?”
“Why would I use it alone? It’s supposed to be a group thing. Besides which, if I use it alone I’m going to cheat. Will I ever strike it rich? YES! Will I marry a supermodel? YES! Will I finally meet my end in the throes of mind-numbing sex with this supermodel? YES again!”
“There’s something wrong with you.”
“What? Who wouldn’t want to...eh, what’s that noise?”
“Sounds like it’s coming from outside. Is that your car alarm going off?”
I walked over to the window and sure enough she was right. My alarm was going off. Odd. I didn’t remember setting it and I had tossed my keys onto the counter the second I had walked in the door. Oh well, I grabbed them, opened the door and clicked it off. No big deal.
“See!” she started in on me again. “It’s another sign.”
<
br /> “Yeah. A sign that I should get the electrical in that piece of shit checked.”
“Why are you being so obstinate?”
“So you’re telling me my cheap-ass Saturn coupe has now become Christine? The forces of evil must really be getting desperate.”
“I give up. You’re on your own,” she said. With that, my girlfriend put on her coat and left for home in a huff.
That night, as I slept, I kept being woken up by what I could have sworn were voices coming from various parts of my house. A short time later, I was fully awakened by the sound of my fire alarm going off. My apartment was ablaze! My room was quickly filling with smoke and the way out looked to be blocked by the fire.
Just kidding!
Actually nothing happened. I never did take that thing out to use it. My girlfriend and I pretty much forgot about it for the next several months until one day I was cleaning out my closet. I came across it and just wound up tossing it out. All in all the great cost to my soul amounted to about twenty dollars plus tax.
So take it from me. I don’t really place a lot of faith in these things being doorways straight to the abyss. Feel free to use and abuse them. I doubt much will come of it. At the very worst you might have ole Bob show up and try to scare you by telling you how he’s prepping a special place just for you down in the ninth layer of Hell. All in all good fun!
I just leave you with this one tidbit of wisdom. If that does occur and you then decide to ask Bob for proof that he’s the great Satan, at which point you suddenly find yourself and your friends spontaneously bursting into flames, just remember this: WHY DID YOU LISTEN TO ME!? I’M A FREAKING HACK COMEDY WRITER FOR CHRISTSAKES! DID YOU THINK FOR EVEN ONE SECOND I HAVE ANY FUCKING CLUE AS TO WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT HERE?”
And as long as you remember that little bit of advice, you should be fine.
The Ballad of the Bored Programmer
There he sits, tapping his pen against his teeth.
He has nothing better to do.
So far this week, nearly all the work he's done has been adding meaningless, pointless, and completely unnecessary scripts to the database server.
He didn't have to, but he had nothing better to do.
He downloads a few games and plays them to pass the time. He hopes against hope that by the time he is done some new project will roll his way.
He needn't have bothered. He played and played and still nothing came his way.
He still had nothing better to do.
Then he surfed the web. He looked at Fark, Engadget, Slashdot, and some page about Godzilla.
When he was done, he looked up momentarily with hope on his face...and then went right back to surfing
Because he still had nothing better to do.
There he sits, watching the clock.
It's two-fifteen. Why won't the damn hands move any faster!? He's tempted to reset the clock to five PM and just leave
Because he has nothing better to do.
There he sits, wondering how many people have just snapped and gone on psychotic killing sprees...
just because they had nothing better to do.
There he sits, finishing writing this poem about his day. He saves it and goes back to tapping his teeth.
He still has nothing better to do.
Pooping on the Rug
I can still remember the horror of that night so long ago. I knew what I was getting into, yet even with time to prepare I was still in agony. It was like someone was taking a razor blade to my brain and slicing off pieces, layer by layer, taking along every IQ point I owned with it.
You see, I was on a first date with a cute blonde named Tracy. We had met at a get-together of mutual friends and had gotten along pretty damn well. Considering that I was fairly well acquainted with the taste of her tongue by the end of the evening, it seemed only natural that I ask her out. So there we were, sitting in a movie of her choosing. Despite the relative emptiness of the theater and her willingness to be comforted during the sad parts, I still found myself inwardly cringing.
You see, Tracy had wanted to see a new romantic chick flick that had just come out. You know the type, it’s usually some insipid story involving two persons who meet, fall in love, break up, and then realize that they can't live without each other. In between, they often involve a lot of inane talk between various supporting characters on the meaning of love and life. Nobody dies from kung-fu poisoning. There are typically no aliens that need killing. In short, they almost all suck.
This one was not even remotely an exception; however, I was on my best behavior. Knowing what I was in for, I had made a promise to myself to be a sensitive caring male for the evening. I was going to watch the movie with an open mind and make sure no wise-ass remarks escaped my lips. Such sacrifices I was willing to make in the hopes of perhaps...oh fuck it! Let’s face facts, I was trying to get laid and mouthing off about this stupid fucking movie was definitely not going to help my odds, especially when said movie was causing her to burst into tears every few minutes at the beauty of it all.
At the end of it, my only consolation was a couple sitting directly behind us. The male of that duo had apparently made no such deal with himself. He loudly ripped apart every stupid plot point of the movie, heedless of his date’s opinion. As for myself, I kept one arm cradled around Tracy, to show that I understood what she was feeling. With my other arm I reached behind my chair and gave the dude a thumbs-up. It was the best I could do to give voice to the screams rising up inside of my head.
Such was my suffering and in return...well I never did wind up sleeping with her. Thus all was for naught. Nevertheless, one small part of this crapfest did wind up getting stuck in my head. No it wasn’t nudity. God forbid there be any of that to liven up the movie. No, it was a bit of dialogue between two of the female leads.
As I assume is common in movies like these (because my knowledge of them isn’t exactly encyclopedic), at one point they were having a talk about sex. More specifically, it was about good sex vs. bad sex. During this, one asked the other the obligatory question, “Have you ever faked an orgasm?” and of course the other answered with the not even remotely original, “Of course, all the time!” Truly amazing this film didn’t walk away with a best picture Oscar, no?
I’ll be the first to admit, I don’t get it. I’ve really never understood the whole point of women faking orgasms. Oh sure, I can understand that they might do it so as not to crush the man's ego, quite the altruistic motive indeed. Still, what does it get them in return? Aren't these women, who are gasping and moaning so as to make their man feel worthwhile, often the same ones who'll endlessly complain about this same man and all of his shortcomings to her girlfriends? Aren't they just hurting themselves in the long run? Think of it this way:
Say you have a dog. One day that dog poops on your favorite rug. Instead of yelling at the dog and putting a stop to this negative behavior, you instead pat it on the head and say, “Good dog.” Now, what have you just accomplished? Will your dog become house trained? Doubtful. Mostly likely, he'll continue to be a good dog and keep right on pooping on your rug.
At least for me that makes perfect sense. Tell me that I've done a good thing and I'll keep right on pooping all over your rug. In other words, yes my ego feels good when you scream that I am almighty Thor himself, but have I really learned anything? No, not really. And has the hypothetical female in question, falsely proclaiming my lineage to the Norse Gods, gained anything...more specifically, orgasmic satisfaction? Probably not (jokes about owning stock in Duracell aside). I mean, I’m not exactly Ron Jeremy with regards to my number of conquests, but on the other hand I don't speak from a complete lack of experience either.
Wouldn’t it make more sense, at least in theory, to try and have some sort of lesson be learned? For example a woman could shoot down the man in question with something like:
Him: (pant pant) “Yeah baby! I just rocked your world right?”
Her: “Oh are you stil
l here?”
Fine, she’s probably done some damage to the guy's fragile ego, but if he cares at all about pleasing her then he's learned a valuable lesson...next time try harder.
Albeit, not all guys could give a shit for how the woman feels in this regard as long as they got what they want. I think all of us nice guys have at least one friend (who we are all jealous of) who has a casual ‘Who cares? My dick got wet,’ attitude. However, in those cases it probably falls upon the woman to drive this caveman back out to the woods where she found him and drop him off in the hopes that he not find his way back.
Perhaps I’m just an arrogant snob (well OK, I am an arrogant snob), but I like to think of myself as a little more thoughtful...most likely because I’ve spent many a weekend alone watching TV and wishing I had a date. As a result, I and others like me (aka lifeless geeks) have at least a base understanding that if we please whatever female we're with, then there's that much better a chance that she'll sleep with us again. And well that’s definitely cool. Everybody wins!
As for the faking part, I don’t know. Personally, I don’t think they’re impossible to spot from the guy’s perspective. I think it’s more then possible to see through a female ruse in such case. Sure, we’ve all been forced to endure the infamous scene from When Harry Met Sally. I just don’t buy it, though. Based on personal experience (yeah, I’m high-fiving myself); I’ve seen that orgasms aren't always just a lot of moaning and grunting. For at least some people, there’s a decent amount of involuntary body movements and shuddering as well. Outside of maybe a full blown seizure, those are a bit harder to fake then a few “oh god, yes yeses.” Don’t get me wrong. I’m sure there are people who can fake that; however, most of us aren’t contortionists or Zen masters.
Anyway, my point is that a guy can always look for other things than some sounds followed by false praise...if he really cares to. Obviously everyone is different. I’m sure there are people out there that you’d need to shoot with a tazer before you’d even realize they were alive during sex. Likewise I know (from having lived next door to one) that there are freaks out there that’ll thrash around so much that you’d probably be more concerned with staying alive then paying attention to how real everything seems. Hell, I was almost strangled to death once by an ex-girlfriend while she was in the throes of enjoying herself to the point where she didn’t notice she had wrapped her arms around my neck and was crushing my windpipe (double high-five).
The Poptart Manifesto Page 7
