For those of you who don't get the allusion in the title of today's post, that's a paraphrasing of a line from an old Three Stooges movie, where the Stooges played doctors in a hospital; yes, I am slightly older than dirt.
It was back in the early '80s, just after I had split up with my -ex and while I was still a Pope-in-training, and long before I became Pope John The Tall of the All John All The Time World Church, that I pulled up stakes and moved into the City. That's right, the City of Big Shoulders, as Carl Sandburg's epic poem about Chicago once described my hometown. (Sandberg also characterized Chicago as The Hog Butcher Of The World, which was true when Sandberg wrote his piece in 1916, but since most of the hog butchering that's done these days is done in places like Iowa and Lower Zimbabwe, I'm pretty sure that's not the case anymore. So as not to fall prey to the evils of repetition, I'll skip the obligatory joke here about the ebert being from Lower Zimbabwe. If you want to know what an ebert is, read my previous posts. If you're not interested, poop on you.)
Having been a suburban Chicago kid all my life prior to that, actually living in the city was exciting; there's a vibrancy, a different pace of life in a big-city setting that just doesn't obtain in the tranquility of the 'burbs. Even here in LA (pronounced LAH), its different, but then, I live in the Valley, and that's not the same as living "downtown". (Yes, children, that's the infamous San Fernando Valley, home of the porn industry and Valley-speak; remember "Like, gag me with a spoon" and other highly offensive prostitutions of the English language, which, sad to say, have found their way into our everyday conversations, such as the insistent use of the word "like"? Yeah, that Valley.) (Here's a challenge to all my faithful followers under the age of 40: 10 bucks says you can't have a five minute conversation with anyone without using the word "like" 50 gamillion times. Go ahead, try it. You'll be rendered speechless, which by the way, is the side-effect I'm hoping for.)
Now my split-up with my -ex was amicable, based largely on a desire on both our parts to make the transition as painless as possible for my then 5-year old daughter; additionally, I had always gotten along well with my in-laws, and those relationships didn't change, either, despite the divorce. In fact, at different times in the Eighties, I had one or another of my ex-brothers-in-law as roommates. And therein lies today's tale.
My -ex's youngest brother, who we all called Skip, after his maternal uncle's other sister's second niece, was 18 at the time and, like so many of us at that age, having problems at home. (Remember being 18 and living at home? Yeah. Then you can empathize.) Nothing serious, no ax-murdering or torturing of small, defenseless animals, just...difficult. (Boy, I so wanted to put the ebert joke in there right after "defenseless animals" but I resisted. Am I the model of restraint or what?) So, because someone had once done the same for me, and I'm a big believer in "paying it forward", I invited Skip to move in with me, and found him a job at the medium-sized steel warehouse where I was the plant manager at the time. I enjoyed his company, we had fun and he was in a better situation.
One evening, after our work day had ended and dinner was eaten, we sat in the living room of my apartment, watching television and doing typical guy-type activities like belching, farting and scratching places that we wouldn't scratch in public, at least not with anyone looking, when a commercial came on the TV, soliciting donations for research into the disease of spina bifida. (Now let me make something clear here; in no way, in my quest for humor, am I making light of this dreadful disease or any of the unfortunate folks who suffer from it. I Googled it as I was writing this, and according to the WikiPedia article, its a developmental birth defect of the spine. That's no day at the beach, by any means. Be big spenders and kick in something to the Spina Bifida Association Of America. Here's a link: http://www.spinabifidaassociation.org/site/c.liKWL7PLLrF/b.2642297/k.5F7C/Spina_Bifida_Association.htm.)
(Thanks.)
So young Skip says to me, "Spina bifida, what does that mean?" And before I could stop myself, I took a big swing at the ball he had just teed up for me. "It's a disease of the spine and its named after the scientist that discovered it, Dr. Biff Kadooty." (Obviously, I am totally making this up as I go.) Now Skip might have been naive, but he wasn't stupid; he was pretty sure I was yanking his chain, he just wasn't sure enough to stop himself; besides, he had been my straight man so many times before that he just naturally fell into the role. I am shameless sometimes.
"Dr. Biff Kadooty?" he says.
"Yeah, the guy that discovered it, they named it after him."
I got this look: huh???
"Well, shit," I said, "they had to call it something; besides, how much money do you think they'd collect if they called it "spina kadooty"?" (Ba-dum bum.)
What made it even funnier to me was that, for a brief moment, he continued to look at me like he wasn't sure if I was serious or not. Like I said, I am shameless sometimes.
All these years have passed by, and although I don't see Skip often, he's still a friend, on Facebook and in real life, so I'll do something here I probably should have done a long time ago:
Skip, I was just screwin' with you, buddy, and you were a good sport not to smack me a good one, and I apologize if I ever went too far with my silliness. Popes-in-training shouldn't act that way, I suppose, but in my own defense, I didn't know I was a Pope-in-training then; besides, it was just too good to pass up.
I hope none of my followers in the AJATTWC will think ill of me for messing with an eighteen year old kid. And look at like this: at least while I was telling this story, I was leaving Kim Kardashian alone, although making fun of KK is like picking on a third-grader; its just too easy.
I'm thinking of calling the Spina Bifida Association Of America, to see if they need any experimental animals; I think I have just what they need: the ebert, a small, furry two-headed mammal with an enormous sex-organ from Lower Zimbabwe. The ebert is from Lower Zimbabwe, not it's sex-organ.
I'm not sure where KK's sex-organs are from, but I know where they are; they're in this month's edition of "W" magazine, the magazine dumb enough to put the words "culture" and "reality TV" in the same sentence.
And I was worried about being shameless.
Love and research,
PJTT
copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.
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