by David Cross
Thank you,
David Cross
An Afterthought
AS THIS WAS GOING TO PRESS AND I WAS SKIMMING IT OVER FOR one last time but not really paying that much attention because I had already gone over it before, my mind started drifting, and it occurred to me how much subject matter I left out. Or, didn’t cover, might be a more appropriate thing to write, since I can always cover it later in a second book (if you’d be so generous enough to have me) and I didn’t think of it to include initially, so it wasn’t knowingly omitted. Anyway, I realized that I’ve written about the dangerous lunacy of the more prevalent and obvious religions, specifically the sexist, sadly insular, and antiquated demands of extreme Judaism, but have barely commented on the criminality and immoral depravity of Islam (which translates to, literally, “be in submission” to God). Nor of the attendant dangers of Sharia law to not just all women and unbearded men but most of humanity and its very future on this planet.
When this book was written, we didn’t have a new president yet, let alone the first blackish president. We thought it might be a woman!! Or worse, an Oldie. Can you imagine!! Ewwwww! As a country and world, we were economically only sorta fucked, not super-insanely fucked as we are now. We were still in a seemingly predominately right-leaning country who proudly yelled their love of Jesus and of watching minor celebrities competitively dance against each other while mindlessly parroting the cherry-picked half-facts that supported our ideas of whether global warming was a real, urgent issue or a scam. Or whether members of the Democratic Congress were not so secretly American-hating communists who wanted nothing more than to cede America to a figment of those on the right’s imagination. Or whether the Republicans secretly want to facilitate Armageddon in order to show everyone else that they were right the whole time and snicker and “tssk” as they ascend to eat grapes fed to them by the most attractive American angels imaginable in a temperature-controled Heaven with questionable gravity issues.
There’s so much more to write about! There is not one mention of liposuction, for instance—the lazy man’s (mostly woman’s, though) way to a slimmer, trimmer, unhealthy you. Certainly not enough about “Life Coaches,” perhaps the single greatest example of our crybaby culture that clearly has too much money and is all too happy to play the victim.
And in order not be overly negative, I didn’t really touch upon some of the things that make America great, like our propaganda machine, the best in history. And how we are the single greatest culture that forcibly exports that culture and ideas for how to best live your life to the rest of the world (who gladly lap it up) in history! Oh well. If I do get a chance to put together a second book (hey, people always have to shit, right?), I will include these subjects and many, many more.
Oh, and one last thing; Gil Scott-Heron once famously wrote that “the revolution will not be televised.” I’m not so sure about that. But I do know that it will be Twittered. And that’s real progress.
Acknowledgments
WRITING A BOOK IS NOT EASY, UNLESS IT’S JUST A COLLECTION OF your shitty stand-up routines that you don’t do anymore, with full-size childish illustrations on every other page. Then yes, it’s easy. But that’s not this book. This book was thoroughly and intensively researched. It was vetted by Colonel Harman DeWitt and given its final “thumbs up” by the editorial staff at The National Review. But it wasn’t just me who wrote this book. I mean, yes it was just me literally but figuratively there were so many additional authors. So with them in mind I would like to thank the following, without whom, through their selflessness and friendship, this book would or would not have happened:
Suzanne Estherburg at Connecticut Muffins for her delicious Patriotberry Muffins. They kept me going through a tough summer.
My agent, whom I’ve never met and who, just for making a couple of phone calls, receives 10 percent of all pre-taxed income from this book.
Tammy, Brenda, Ng, Cee-Cee, Gordon, Miz Tuffstuff, Big Lips, The Butcher, Creamzie, Puddin Pops, Misty, Pearl Neck, Tonya, Heather, Lil’ Tits, Scrim Shaw, Cum Eyes, Turtle, Poochy, Princess, Tiny Cock Grinder, and Necromancer at Grand Central Publishing. You folks were my patient guides through this whole ordeal. Each one of you contributed to making it slightly less horrific. You reached inside of yourselves and saw how to make a book not only smile but gurgle a bit and then spit up on your shoulder. Thank you.
The boys down at Q107.5, playing the greatest collection of soft hits from the ’70s, ’80s, ’90s, and now. Keep the Al Stewart coming, y’all!
Ethan Allen, your sensible turn-of-the-century furniture helped this old man get comfortable and get to sleep at a respectable hour.
Dev and Shonalli Paktika at 4th Street Samosa’s ’n’ Things.
The gang down at Rock Honda off Route 17.
The Gertrude Stein Institute for the lovely gift of the hand-carved birthing tub.
Everyone who priff-read this.
Buttercup Henderson for his stoicism. You are the wings of a bird flying high above a verdant valley of dreams and well wishes. This is true, by the way.
The good folks at the Dallas/Ft. Worth Airport TSA, you are all heroes. How you manage the strength and fortitude to do what you do is beyond me and an inspiration for us all. Keep fighting the good fight!
The great Harland McYannish, cantor to the stars. Hey bro’! Save some of that charoset for me!!!
All the middle relievers for the Washington Nationals, except for Saul Rivera.
Celine and Dave at Monsanto.
Jomo Grafficha, Burr Hispy, Jordy Zapp, Gush Tushy, Mal Christ, Yunel Winfart, Flick Dristan, Pooey Puff, and everyone at the Funny Name Institute.
Trevor Cleveland, my Shaq-Fu teacher.
The Ho-Chunk nation for keeping the loosest slots in the Midwest. Over 99 percent payouts!
Vandana Hanfannan. Your stories of courage and daring at the DMV filled me with shame and moisture. I will never forget you, lady.
Grilleth Bear. You came and you stopped me from shaking. And I need you today.
Toliver, Sissy, Bleedle, and Ponch Ahoy. Fuck it, let’s make it the whole Ahoy family! You guys really took me under your wingdings and things.
And lastly, thanks to Battlestar Galactica.
*See: The Luzene Study, 1987.
*Also, who is the governor of Mississippi? Is there an actual governor of that state? There must be. Total redneck, right? I figured. How proud is he of his state being at the bottom of virtually every major “quality of life” category? I bet there are people in war-ravaged Chechnya who would get to Mississippi and feel like even they had gotten stuck in a backward time warp.
*Not really. The lawyer said I can’t say the real name (but trust me, it’s way better than the one I just made up), although you might be able to find a picture of the shop placed somewhere else in this book.
*Examples: Why don’t you like the color purple? Someone’s a pillow hog. I don’t want to fucking watch The Wizard of Oz again! …well then, YOU fucking drive!! I don’t care what it’s supposed to be made of; it made me sick! How can you spend that much money on baseball cards?! I didn’t know there wouldn’t be any hot water left! It’s not a fucking conspiracy! You used to fuck a magician?! You really, honestly believe that the Spin Doctors were underrated?
*This being subjective, of course. For some seeing a woman in pigtails wearing skin-tight footie pajamas with the ass cut out and clutching a teddy bear is disturbing; for others it’s highly erotically charged. No judgments, it just is.
*Except for people with diseases and life-altering debt. It’s funny how so many great, and not so great, literary stories or movies adapt the similar theme of how a poor family with seemingly nothing can be happier or more at peace or laugh more than a rich, well-fed family who have grown detached because they bicker over their money or for whatever reason. A Christmas Carol, or It’s a Wonderful Life, or Fieval—An American Tale. It’s all a childishly optimistic view of reality. It’s what let’s us ultimately
mitigate the slaughter in [fill in the name of country where poor people are being rounded up and killed]. “Those poor, terrified, malnourished people probably know a greater joy from just being alive and sharing a piece of week-old nan around a dung fire than I do, especially with all the shit I’m getting from McCready in Development. Christ, I wish that asshole would get off my back!”
*Soon.
*True—I’ve been there. I’ll save it for the memoir.
*Mandy would play my mom.
*I lost to Weird Al Yankovic, but so did Garrison Keiller, who might be the only human less funny than Whoopie Goldberg. What am I saying, that’s absurd. Whoopie Goldberg hasn’t said one goddamn funny or original thing in her life.
*There seems to be a strange, double standard when it comes to attributing the emotional status of bloggers as opposed to their responders. On numerous occasions I have responded to something someone wrote about me because of a set I did, or some “racist” or “sexist” joke I made. I would defend myself or at the very least attempt to correct the impression that was given by the blogger by describing the context in which the comment took place. Then, and this is where the double standard takes place, someone would comment on my comment and without any thought whatsoever assume that I am “angry” or “bitter” or “thin skinned” when I made my comment. I (almost) never get as upset about that stuff as they assume. As of right this very second I am in a good mood, my girlfriend is asleep in my bed, my dog is playing with an empty Vitamin Water bottle, and it’s a beautiful day outside. I’m going over to my friends’ Gavin and Emily’s place for a rooftop cookout in Brooklyn later, and I’m gonna pick up some baby back ribs to throw on the grill, so I’m doing pretty good. I just truly believe that it’s my place, and more pertinent to the issue, my right to defend myself against spurious comments posted by unidentified strangers who will forever remain nameless, that’s all. Ironically, this itself can be perceived, and no doubt would be if I were writing this in the Comment section of a blog, as whiny and feckless. It’s a frustrating and dangerous trend that does not seem to be abating. This is more than getting on a Myspace page and calling someone a fat fuck. This is lazily denigrating someone and their work based on a misperception at best, and then, once it’s put out there forever, retreating into protective anonymity, much like a slug would when faced with salt, its mortal enemy!
*Side note rhetorical question: Why does the Devil only seem to inhabit the very young or old? In other words, weak people? Why wouldn’t the Devil inhabit the body of Arnold Schwarzenegger or someone like that? Then he could not only tear the heads off of his enemies in true “Hulk” style but also pass legislation outlawing crosses and holy water, or whatever it is that makes the Devil scared. Holy water, right? Isn’t that what turns the Devil into a shaking, quivering mess, retreating in the corner while pissing himself in fear? I know that if you sprinkle some tap water from Tel Aviv and wave a small metal sculpture of Jesus on the cross at him, that he nearly shits himself in fear and general discomfort. The Devil. Right, Sean Hannity? That’s what your religion teaches you, yes? Why would anybody in their right mind be scared of such an ineffective Devil? The Catholic Devil is an even bigger pussy than Ralph Nader. And I say the Catholic Devil because he doesn’t really exist in other cultures. You never hear of the Devil inhabiting the body of Mrs. Rabinowitz in North Brook, Illinois. Or Lee Po Hung of Guangdong Province. That’s because they don’t believe in that kind of devil. The Devil only shows up and does harm if you believe in him. That’s how it works, so perhaps the best way to get rid of him is to stop believing in him. Sort of like a reverse Tinker Bell. Holy shit! That’s a fight I would love to see! Satan vs. Tinker Bell! Pay-per-view on Imax in 3-D!!!
*2.6 percent of America is Jewish. Doesn’t it seem like so much more? I guess they’re just really good at getting on TV, or maybe it’s because the really religious ones are so unbelievably annoying and rude.
*If I am not able to make it, then the State of New York has vested Dame Judi Dench to speak in my stead.
*Totally made-up figure
*See my best-selling paperback, Make Your Voice Sound Like It’s Underwater in Twenty-Nine Easy Steps! pgs. 17–23 and pg. 109. Published by Penguin Books.
*Not to be confused with Shays Rebellion, the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory Fire, the Trail of Tears, the executions of Sacco and Vanzetti, the lynching of Leo Frank, the Mormon Slaughter at Mountain Meadows, the Civil War, the McCarthy Hearings, the Death of Emmit Till, the Vietnam War, the Assassination of Martin Luther King, the Assassination of Two Kennedys, Watergate, Iran Contra Gate, the Bombing of MOVE, the Union Carbide Disaster, Love Canal, the tragic and disheartening “Discovery” of a “Sex Tape” Featuring Paris Hilton Sucking Some Greasy Douchebag’s Cock, or the several other times when America lost its innocence.
†In the future you can change your kids’ names whenever you want for as long as you live.
*This is a proven fact. You can make of this what you will, but the fact remains, where there are the largest groupings of “Red State” ideals, there is where you will find the largest groupings of morbidly (and selfishly) obese and poorly educated people in the country. It’s also where you will find the most Christians. Now, before you get all upset that a gay Jew nigger communist from an elitist college town is saying all this, please keep in mind that it’s the truth. It really and truly is. You can choose to ignore this absolute like so many proven scientific facts, but there it is. Also, since we’re talking about it, do you think that the “Blue” parts of the Red States are thriving economically, culturally and progressively because of or in spite of the acceptance and therefore prevalence of homosexuals, multi-ethnic communities, and various other progressive minorities? I know what my educated guess is. Hint: It’s the correct one! But what good is it to sit around whining about stuff I have no control over? I’m no self-important blogger! America is number one not just when it comes to infant mortality rates in the industrialized world (okay, number two, fine), but also when it comes to top ten lists! We have more top ten lists per capita than any other country in history. At any given time in America, there are over one thousand top ten lists published for your edification and pleasure.
*Quite a few had left the country, either on their own volition or were deported. And others had either committed suicide or died in suspicious circumstances, including one older woman who was beaten, dismembered, and found stuffed into several green olives, which were served at a cocktail party thrown by Roger Ailes to celebrate his winning the Coney Island Hot Dog Eating Contest, wherein he ate an entire six-year-old Indonesian boy who was in the process of eating hot dogs, in the record-setting time of two minutes, forty-two seconds. Although it was technically a hot-dog eating contest, he was given special consideration due to his diet.
*Now, it’s extremely important that the Mafia do this quietly, because when the game starts there’s usually some hyper pain in the ass who immediately starts saying shit about how “I heard movement over there! I heard breathing. I heard jewelry jingling! It’s Brian! Brian’s in the mafia! He has a loose watch on!”
*The cool thing about the Detectives is that no one knows who they are, and they kind of have to keep it that way. If a Mafia member suspects someone of being a Detective, then the Mafia will kill them, but the Detective does need to have enough sway so as to help the innocent or lay suspicion on the guilty. They have the hard evidence in hand. The have to try and subtly lead the Village to the truth. For instance, if they know that Jamaraqui (an awesome player) is innocent, but the Village, getting desperate, is singling him out to kill, the Detective has to somehow steer the focus elsewhere without being too obvious, lest the Mafia smell a rat and kill them in the next round. “I don’t know. I gotta say, I’m not sure Jamaraqui is in the Mafia. He hasn’t been farting, and usually he farts when he’s nervous. But Toniqua, on the other hand… I think it might be Toniqua, because . . .”
*Prison Stuff Monthly.
*One p
art of the Amanda Petrusich review I would like to respond to (and several people made this mistake; it wasn’t just her) is the misinterpreted intent of the title of my second CD, “It’s Not Funny,” of which she said, “(oh, and the knee-jerk critical reaction to pre-emptive album titles? It’s not funny).” It was meant to be a reflection of my feelings about the subject matter I was covering. Like when you’re a kid and you’re trying to tell people something that’s important to you but no one is taking you seriously and everyone keeps laughing and your response might be, “Guys come on!! I’m serious! It’s not funny!” So there’s that, for the record. I could quibble about some other stuff, but just clearing the title issue is excitement enough for one day.
