Musings on Ghouls

Originally printed in the Advance-Titan, this is an oldie, as evidenced by the reference to Donald Rumsfeld as the current Secretary of Defense. Do I need to get with the times? No, I simply need to write more original material.

Halloween season is upon us, which means spooky tales of apparitions and bloodsuckers will be told with greater regularity and deeper resonance. As far as I’m concerned, the prospect of spending a night in a haunted house is about one-hundredth as terrifying as never obtaining Social Security—living until the age of 110 and working fulltime until 108.

Ghosts don’t scare me and I’ll tell you why: you never read about a ghost hijacking a plane and crashing it into a building. Ghosts are melodramatic and harmless. When’s the last time you heard of a ghost bombing an abortion clinic or kidnapping a local girl?

While visiting the supposedly haunted house of a friend a few years back, I wandered from room to room belligerently taunting the ghosts, trying to ferret out the elusive spirits with insults. For twenty minutes or so, I walked around talking shit to thin air, but my teasing didn’t cause any paranormal retaliation. Finally, while pacing back and forth in the laundry room, obnoxiously muttering about how much it must suck to be trapped in limbo between mortality and the afterlife, my shoelaces were somehow untied with a forceful tug.

Did that instance frighten me into feeling stern reverence for ghosts? Hell no! Having untied shoelaces is a minor inconvenience; it’s not scary in the slightest. I can just picture that rascally ghoul rubbing his hands diabolically, sneering and, saying to himself, “Heh. That ought to show him.” What’s next? Is this sissified spirit going to flick my ear or steal one of my chocolate chip cookies? (Sarcastic shudder.)

Those of you who are deathly terrified of ghosts can’t deny that actual LIVING people are responsible for an overwhelming majority of the world’s wars, genocides, murders, rapes, stabbings, suicide bombings, hate crimes, thefts, child molestations, vicious beatings, vehicular manslaughters, arsons, callous insults, tittie twisters, closing-elevator-door snubs, vandalisms, plagiarisms, jay-walkings and “Now That’s What I Call Music!” It’s the living that freak me out. If you’re looking for a horrifying Halloween outfit, leave your Casper sheet at home and dress up like North Korean dictator Kim Jong Il or Ryan Seacrest.

Enough about ghosts; they don’t deserve an entire column’s worth of material. Let’s move on to vampires. Something about vampires just doesn’t add up to me. Given the fact that they don’t appear in reflective surfaces, isn’t it strange that they’re all so primly groomed and presentable? Without a mirror to use for reference, you’d think they’d all be slovenly doofs with boogers in their noses and bits of jugular stuck between their teeth. Instead of handsome men like Tom Cruise and Brad Pitt, contemporary depictions of vampires should resemble bedraggled misfits like Tim Burton and mug shot Nick Nolte—people who obviously haven’t dared to look at their reflection in years. Self-reflection is at the core of vanity, and vampires completely defy that.
A brief overview of ghouls just wouldn’t be complete without mentioning zombies. The living dead rank as my favorite breed of supernatural monsters, due in large part to my affinity with the film “Shaun of the Dead,” the video game “Resident Evil,” and my radiantly pale bare chest. (As a cost-effective alternative to lighthouses, my blindingly pallid pectorals could serve as a luminous beacon to ships gone astray on the high seas.)

To disrupt the stifling tedium of everyday life, I would heartily welcome a zombie infestation. True, destruction and casualties would be unavoidable, but let’s be realistic, when has humanity avoided destruction and casualties for longer than eight seconds?

I am neither exceptionally brave nor patriotic, but I’d sign up for the Army if the U.S. were involved in a war with a nation of zombies. Because in that unlikely scenario, you know you’re fighting for the right side. Murdering a sleuth of foreign people believed to be a threat to our ideals and lifestyles is likely to cause some nagging moral confliction, maybe even a hint of remorse. But there’s none of that limp-wristed, theatre-major ambivalence when it comes to zombies! They are intellectually stagnant, ghastly carnivores with no capacity for morality.
Suppose someone dear to you, such as your sibling, significant other or drug dealer, abruptly converted from Christianity to Islam, or perhaps decided to reject democracy in favor of communism. You’d probably feel bamboozled and disquieted, possibly even hostile, but would you resort to homicide? I doubt it. If, on the other hand, a loved one, such as your sibling, significant other, or drug dealer, converted from humanity to zombiehood, you’d be a cowardly fool not to bash their skull with the nearest dough roller you can find.

A crusade against a throng of staggering zombies is just what this nation needs to soothe the dissention that threatens to divides us. It would also mark the first time since World War II that we’ve engaged in warfare with beings even whiter than us.

For once, I’d love to be a part of the widespread jingoism that grips America in times of war. Think of the possibilities. Country singer Toby Keith would top the charts for twelve weeks with his infectious ditty, “Only Good Zombie is a Decapitated One.” FOX News would air crudely superimposed photos of zombies burning American flags and effigies of Bill O’Reilly, Colonel Sanders and Mr. T. and Conservatives and liberals alike would malign Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld for evoking Benedict Arnold and switching his allegiance to the side of the undead. In this strange, hypothetical scenario, we’d tell ourselves we should’ve known something was amiss when he started devouring Chris Matthews at a press conference. But considering the pundit had just rudely pointed that the majority of our troops are being armed with cracked Wiffle-ball bats, we just smiled and mused, “Same Old Rummy.”

Oh, and speaking of certain members of the administration, they are also much scarier than ghosts.

Blue Tooth Confusion

*This one goes out to my pals in the Intro to Comedy Writing Class at the Second City in Chicago. Lisa, Phillip, Grant, Natasha, John, Scott, Mike, Chad, Courtney, Aaron, Kelly, Rebecca, and the elusive Elliot. Fate worse than death awaits me if I forgot anyone. Hope to return to Chicago, with the court case settled and my brain chemicals re-balanced. Someday, I can only hope, my level of appreciation will not be the most profound in hindsight.

“BLUE TOOTH CONFUSION”
10/4/08

CAST
John – 30s, Graphics Designer
Drake – 30s, Stockbroker
Dolores – 50s, Homeless Woman

(Two men face the crowd. Drake is
a smug yuppie clad in a suit and
tie. John is dressed casually. He
stares forward with an expression
of aloof dread.)

DISEMBODIED VOICE
This is a purple line train to Linden.

DRAKE
Hey, do you know who won the Cubs game?

JOHN
No clue. I’m sorry, but I don’t follow baseball.

DRAKE
I wasn’t talking to you, bro.

JOHN
Oh. My mistake.

DRAKE
Yeah.

(Beat.)

DRAKE
Hey, what’s the forecast for tonight? The crew and I want to grill some dogs on the roof and I gotta know if Old Man God is gonna piss on the party...
Hello?

JOHN
It’s supposed to rain—yeah. I tuned into the Weather Channel this morning and apparently there’s, like, a seventy-percent chance—

DRAKE
Hold on a second, babe. Some guy at the train stop is squawking in my ear.
(He glowers at John.)

JOHN
...I’m confused. You keep saying you’re not talking to me, but there’s nobody else around, and you don’t have a cell phone, either.

(Drake turns his head and points.)

DRAKE

I’m fitted with a Bluetooth, Einstein. My woman is at home surfing the Net. I get constant news updates thanks to this gadget.

JOHN
What gadget? I don’t see anything in your ear.

DRAKE
That’s because it’s a Camo-tooth.

JOHN
Camo-tooth?

DRAKE
That’s what I said. Camo-tooth is the latest upgrade in high-dollar-comm. Blends in perfectly with the color of your inner ear so you look like a normal person, not some dumb-ass listening to a piece of shrapnel. You should buy one if you’re not too poor.

JOHN
Hmmm. It seems like a neat device, but I try to be careful about splurging on luxury items. They don’t always bring people happiness, you know. Plus, and no offense, but I think Bluetooths are kind of silly.

DRAKE
Blow me.

JOHN
What? How dare you talk to me that way!

DRAKE
Chill. I was talking to my girlfriend. She finished giving me all the updates I asked for and then she asked if there was anything else she could do. I tuned you out after you said, “Hmmm.” What were you saying?

JOHN
Never mind.

(Dolores, a bedraggled homeless
woman, enters the scene and
flanks John. She is wearing a
newspaper diaper.)

DOLORES
That shifty doctor stole all my estrogen!

DRAKE
What does that matter?

DOLORES
Why, because it’s the most precious of all the lady juices; that’s why it matters!

DRAKE
Huh? This doesn’t concern you, lady. My woman said she has a headache. That’s a pretty sorry excuse for b.j. denial.

(Beat.)

DOLORES

Rats are stubborn about accepting direction. The stupid varmints ruined my production of The Nutcratcker.

JOHN

Clever title.

DOLORES
Nobody asked you. I’ve got a blue tooth in my ear.
(She removes a tooth from her
ear; it is colored blue.)
It ripped out of my mouth while I was trying to bite through a bike lock. The filament in there keeps me connected to my Blog on the information speedway.

JOHN
Good God. How did you get a blue tooth?

DRAKE
Scamming gullible investors has afforded me lots of cool stuff.

JOHN
Not you. Her.

DOLORES
For the last eight months I’ve subsisted on blueberry Pixie sticks.

DRAKE
Hey toots, I need to know how my stocks are doing.

DOLORES
Well, lucky for you, I got access to all the latest stock market updates.

JOHN
He was talking to his girlfriend.

DRAKE
The hell I was. This homeless woman is wearing a copy of today’s edition of the Tribune.

DOLORES
Stocks are printed on my right buttock.

(Drake nods and leans in to
inspect her backside.)

DRAKE
All right! Micronetics rose 28% today.

(He gives Dolores a high-five.)

JOHN
Why didn’t you ask your girlfriend for that information?

DRAKE
We broke up. I guess she dumped me. Said some nonsense about psychological abuse. Life moves fast. I’m a free man now. It’s time to play the field. You bring good luck, homeless woman, and I dig the way you talk.

(Overcome with emotion,

Dolores begins sniffling
with joy.)

DOLORES
It’s been so long since a man has given me a compliment. Thank you.

DRAKE
Stop crying!

DOLORES
(offended)
What?!

DRAKE
Oh, not you, baby. My ex-girlfriend is still on the line. She’s crying, saying she wants to get back together, but she’s just a part of my past—I swear.

DISEMBODIED VOICE
This is a brown line train to Kimball.

JOHN
I’ll see you two later. The train is calling me.

(He exits the scene.)

DOLORES
Who needs the brown line when we can take the blue line together?

(She produces a blue Pixie
Stick and empties it out
above their frantically
probing tongues and lips.)

DRAKE
Delicious. Hey, did that guy really think the train was calling him?

DOLORES
I think so. What a nut-job!

(Blackout.)

Nightmare on Elm Street Rock Opera

It's October, the month of Halloween and Chicago Cubs playoff meltdowns, and to commemorate the former (the latter merits no swooning tribute), I have to offer the track listing of Freddy Krueger's rock opera. Consider this a sticky globule of Worther's Original that I'm dumping into your bag of treats in lieu of the Twix bars you were hoping for.

*All songs written and performed by Freddy Krueger
1. The Raped Nun Overture
2. Daddy Dearest Murder Victim (Guest vocals: Alice Cooper)
3. Put Sawdust on Your Own Damn Vomit
4. Pedophile with Style
5. Boiler Room Barbeque
6. Satan Claws are Coming to Town
7. Water Bed Bloodshed (with Johnny Depp on guitar)
8. Motley Crucifix
9. Slayed by Some Bitch
10. Dream Infection Resurrection
11. Poolside Genocide
12. Grab Your Crucifix and I'll Grab Your Jugular...Bitch
13. The Old Man and the Sequels
14. Stab-Happy Grand-papi
15. Slayed by Some Bitch (reprise)
16. Jason Is a Total Pussy