FireVaney

JULY 14, 2004 : The new toilet upstairs drives me nuts. "Flush the shit,” said the plumber, “then the Charmin.” But Pop, Betty, and me, we keep forgetting. *   So that new toilet upstairs, it keeps stopping up, it keeps overflowing. This means more plunging. It means cleaning up a flood of piss and poop and spent Charmin squares on a damn near daily basis. That my Toyota Echo’s front and rear bumpers are scraped and nicked up, that there's a ding in the driver's-side door, and another and near the fuel door hatch, and that none of them are my fault, and this is my first new car; and the cost to repair all these scrapes, nicks, and dings will run me between one and two grand — it drives me nuts. What the devil happened to rubber bumpers, anyway? † I blame the body shop lobbyists. That Pop pushes food onto his fork with his forefinger — so that the knife stays clean — it also drives me a little nuts. That he doesn't believe me when I say we’ve got a slight ant / spider ...

[Take the stage and pull the microphone out of its stand. Thank the emcee and the venue. Thank the crowd for attending the show. Comment on how great it is to be back in _________. Assuming there’s nothing else with comic potential to take note of, begin the bit/chunk/routine:] Question: What one annoying thing do trucks, SUVs, minivans, and bulldozers have in common?  [Repeat answers, if any, and, if applicable, consider following up with, “What’s annoying about that?”] The one thing that annoys me most about trucks, SUVs, minivans, and bulldozers is this: Whenever the driver throws any one of them into reverse, the damn thing goes: “Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!” [Back up slowly as you...]  “Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!”  [Stop and pause.]  “Beep-beep!”  [Stop and pause.]  “Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!”  [Continue until laughter, if any, abates.] If you live in suburbia, it’s no big deal, right? A minor inconvenience. But if you’re an urbanite? And the ...

OCTOBER 30, 2001 : Earlier this month, the government warned us about the potential for another terrorist attack. Soon thereafter, two U.S. senators, several newspapers, and the news divisions of multiple TV networks were mailed envelopes full of anthrax spores. Then, a day or two ago, the U.S. Attorney General issued yet another non-specific warning to the public. Police agencies nationwide are already on their highest state of alert. But without something specific to go on, what more can be done? Maybe the CDC should send each of us a hazmat suit. Ask my stepdad, and he’ll tell you that opening the mailbox is now a lot like defusing a bomb. We can blame his wariness of opening the front door to his house on TV news — cable TV news, in particular — which exists to cause its viewers stress. In sooth, if news of newborn puppies and bunnies held our attention as fully as news of strife and calamity, we’d be an entirely different species — and likely extinct by now. But stepdad’s inflame...

Up on the stage, under the spotlight, The FireVaney draws the back of his hand across his damp forehead. He’s “dying” up there. Nobody’s laughing. Their silence is “murdering” him. FireVaney  People…  [He tries to swallow, but his throat is drier than the Sahara.]  People say...  [He reaches for the glass of water sitting on a nearby stool. In his haste, he nearly knocks it over. He panics and takes too much care to prevent it from spilling. Several members of the audience snicker. The water in the glass quakes in FireVaney’s shaky hand as he brings it to his lips, sips, and then carefully sets it back down. He clears his throat.] People say I’m stiff—  too stiff, too rigid—  herky-jerky.  Throughout my entire life,  I’ve been referred to  as a walking, talking  ramrod;  less flexible  than a lamppost;  from head to toe,  a potential toothpick  for,  say,  King Kong. You’d think at least I could dance...

SEPTEMBER 28, 2001 : Yesterday made the list of my top five worst days at work. I’ll tell the whole story tomorrow. I’m too tired right now. I’m going on something less than three hours of sleep. * Donny, the guy I worked with yesterday afternoon, is a stubborn son of a bitch. He also lacks common sense—which is common of stubborn sons of bitches. I got pushed to the edge yesterday—it wasn’t entirely his fault—but he did send me over. I worked a double and then some, without a break, during which two lunatics really got under my skin. One was a “guest” and the other was a drunk Donny should’ve left alone. I’ll explain tomorrow. SEPTEMBER 29, 2001 : Here’s the story—it’s a pathetic story, but it happened; and I suppose it sums up why I avoid coffee shops…  So I’m scheduled to work a double, starting at six in the morning. It’s a typical AM shift at the Chicago Coffee Cadre (store #7) on the corner of Broadway and Aldine. Donny clocks in at noon and takes over the espresso bar. Two...

(The FireVaney takes the stage.) FireVaney Good evening.  Mmm.  That looks refreshing.  I hope you’re enjoying it.  But I can only hope.  Because when it comes right down to it, I don’t know a thing about your taste buds. And that’s sad. It’s sad because if I knew about your taste buds…  and your taste buds…  and your taste buds…  we’d all have a fighting chance at achieving global taste bud harmony. But why would we want that? We’d want global taste but harmony because it’s become impossible to agree on anything. Our culture is so fragmented that society is unraveling. We can’t get on the same page anymore because we can’t even agree on what the page is. How can you get on the same page about anything when the other guy (or gal, or nonbinary carbon based unit) …hates paper? So I say:  Forget the page.  Just… recycle it. If nothing else, you can tell Larry that you made some progress on the deal.  Alec Baldwin as Larry: ...

Do you ever listen to your eyeballs as they roll in their sockets? I discovered this sound only recently. It terrified me. I never wanted to move my eyes again. You think something’s wrong. You shouldn’t be hearing this. Perhaps your sockets require some sort of oil change. Like sex, is this yet something else mommy and daddy failed to adequately explain? That every few decades you might need to replace your eye lubricant? If so, is it an in-patient or an out-patient procedure? Will insurance cover it? Does it hurt? Will it affect your sight? And if it’s not done, will your eyes eventually freeze and stare in one direction? Can you imagine that? Everyone looking at you while your eyes are permanently lodged up, down, or askant?  “Hey!” snaps every woman you talk to, “I’m up here!”  “I know,” you plead, “but my eyes are stuck!”  They’ll slap you anyway.  And while we’re on the subject of corporeal embarrassments… When you’re really anxious or scared do you ever start...

 I live on the top floor of my building and I see a lot of birdies. I like birdies. They have feathers. They chirp. Some are tasty. But the birdies in my neighborhood, they’re kinda weird. Seeing that I’m kinda weird myself and many of my neighbors are kinda weird, too, this makes some sense. Said neighbors sit broadly on the weirdness spectrum. And, with this knowledge, it seems we have confirmation that “it takes one to know one” and “birdies of a feather flock together.” They’ll perch on the ledge outside my bathroom window—the birdies will, not my neighbors (only “Tiny,” the giant who lives on the third floor, is that potentially weird)—and they’ll chirp the entire morning away. And as I’m sure you know, there are people in this world who, without knowing it, tend to mistake a monologue— their monologue—for a conversation. Likewise, the birdies on my ledge seemingly tweet at , rather than with , each other. True, this is more annoying than it is weird. But weird is coming. The...

11/24/96:  You think a triple shot of espresso is stimulating? Pour a can of Jolt over a bowl of Fruity Pebbles. The mere thought bulges the eyes, eh? The trick is to do it by mistake. Intoxication helps. Are you a man? If so, do you ever leave home with a dollop of shaving cream hanging off the lobe of an ear? I don’t mean on purpose. You catch glances from fellow pedestrians as you stride toward the train. You assume you’re having a good hair day. But then you hear a little girl whisper, “Mommy, is that man foaming at the ear?” Instead of taking the hint, you rationalize that this kid is talking about the Mighty Morphin Power Ranger toy in her twin brother’s hand. You forget that denial can eclipse the sun. On the train, an attractive woman takes the seat opposite yours. She looks at you and smiles. What with your good hair, could this be your lucky day? Has your natural animal magnetism reached its zenith? Everything is possible in this moment. Her smile is a gift. At last, have...

 11/19/1996: You wouldn’t believe the truth. That’s why we’ve got to bedizen it with special effects, million dollar marketing campaigns, and celebrity endorsements. Volcanoes are little more than the acne of the earth. When one erupts, it’s just God giving a good squeeze. Earthquakes happen when the world has a heart attack. That is unless they’re the result of sphere-fisted blackbelts whacking their hands against the sidewalk. Typhoons are earthly sneezes. An avalanche is a runny nose. A blizzard is a dandruff problem. A parking lot is a bald spot. A lake is water retention. It is. People are the lice of the planet, but lice with character. (And, no, I don’t mind offending lice with that last remark. Methinks lice would appreciate the comparison. If you can provide evidence that one single louse feels differently, I will consider modifying my position.) My room is so messy, it’s like a Toys “R” Us exploded. * I toot the horn because it’s there. There needs be no motivation other...