Panda/Express

Fri., Nov. 20, 2009

WASHINGTON, D.C. - Tai Shan, the National Zoo's main attraction for the last four years and its only surviving giant panda cub, will be taken to China in early February. Tai Shan is being sent back as part of a long-standing agreement made with the Chinese government. Under the agreement, any panda cub born at the zoo must be returned to China for breeding.

What’s with all the balloons, yo?

You don’t think I know? You don’t think I’ll notice when I’m in a country where everyone speaks like my parents and there’s no Google?

You take me for a fool, fools?

I’m born and bred in the hood, THE DISTRICT. The Wire, son!

Where any fool can walk into the cheetah enclosure with a .45 - who’s faster than a speeding bullet NOW, cat?

Surprise party? That’s the most passive/aggressive form of communal expression. You don’t think I saw this coming? I may be a bear, but I ain’ t no Yogi Bear..

I know what this is about. What it's always been about.

It's about getting laid.

Be fruitful and multiply. And for us, that is a multiple of one.

What do they expect? I wear my fur baggy, and my baseball cap backwards. You think my odds are better over there? Not with my accent..

I get it.. They don't want me in some Oedipal clinch with my mom. And the nearest chick is in San Diego and I don't do the long distance thing.

But to pimp me out like some racetrack stud. Man, that is just plain WRONG.

What is this – Fiddler on The Roof? Maybe I’m plain ADD not interested in girls right now.

Maybe I'm gay. Or Jewish. Does anyone ask? Nah..

And I know how this story ends.

It ends like the Elian Gonzalez story ends.

Only Oreo-boy here ain’t got no shot at swimmin’ back up Chesapeake Bay on a Michelin Man rubber raft and seeking political asylum. It’s a slow-boat to China, one-way ticket, yeah!

And in the current security climate, there’s no way I’m sneaking back into the U.S. of A. disguised as something you win at the Chuck E. Cheese skee ball.

Once I’m gone, I’m AUDI..

And I’m an American, yo! I was born here! I gotz rights! Right?

Whatever happened to DEMO-crasssy, Mr. Obama?

The People’s revolution didn’t fall in Tiananmen Square, Tiananmen Square fell on us!

Man, I got no love for the Frogs and Nationalisme Français..Top oBottom of Form

But I don’t see them repossessing the Statue of Liberty, comprenez?

Sure I've heard all the rumors -- How good my life will be there under the rice paper umbrella of the People’s republic.. Hell-o? Marco! Polo! You think I give a year of the rat’s ass how strong the Chinese Yuan is against the dollar? Like the 'bamboo" over there tastes so much better?

Bamboo is bamboo, yo!

You're thinking - this is just another way for the Chinese to fuck us over..
And you're right..

But how do they know I'm not just some type of Manchurian candidate who's going to snap and tear off your kids face.. uh-huh-huh!

So c’mon China. Come and get me..

No zoo can hold me. I’m all like Damon in All The Pretty Horses. I’ll fight club my way out of there with a lunch tray or sharpened bamboo shiv. Fuck with me, you fuck with the eagle.

The American eagle.

Sniff-sniff..

The moment I smell their cheap knock-off perfumes – Charlie(Chan!) Ancient Spice! – wafting into my habitat, I'm planning my escape like Lecter.

I’ll be back.

Like 80s music and wide lapels. Like Brett Favre.

Lovable? I’m money, baby. I am a cottage industry. I am studied and adored. They make stationary from my shit and sell it in the gift store.. and shit..

I’m unstoppable. I’m a force of nature.

I’m bigger than Jesus.

Sniff-sniff..

1.3 Billion people can’t all be wrong.

Sunday Sceneggiata

Post/Op

Fri., Nov . 20, 2009

CHICAGO - Holding back tears, Oprah Winfrey told her studio audience Friday that she would end her show in 2011 after a quarter-century on the air, saying prayer and careful thought led her to her decision.

----

What’s next?

I already know. Or at least believe I know. In my heart.

But the spirit of openness. And propriety. And gratitude. Commands that I ask this question of you. The people. My staff. Because I truly belong to you. The universe. (not the other way around, though often it does seem that way. )

That.
And second-guessing.

So. I ask (humbly)
What’s next?

Suggestions. Anyone?
Or should I just read the response cards from the audience?

Let’s see..
Here’s one..

Why not rename The first decade of the 2000s “The Opraughts?”
Why not? Because there’s only one year left.

Might as well rename Kleenex – Oprex? Why? Because it’s something we use everyday. Or let’s rename the sun.. umm. “Oprah.” We use that everyday.

And then we can call the Roman calendar the Oprah calendar. What’s the difference?

It’s the same. Only more gratitude for each day.

Speaking of the 21st century, There’s been talk of my seizing the White House, which I would like to dispel. First of all, the job is already taken, and Valerie Jarrett is a good friend and homegirl.

And while I would not be the first black president, I would be the first “real” black president. And the first woman president. But what does that make Stedman?

And if you think trudging to your acupuncturist in Chicago in February is a Siberan death march, try keeping your hair straight in D.C.! In August?. .

Suh-WAAMP-EEEYY!

Next?

Host the Oscars?

(a moment of contemplation)

But wouldn’t it be odd if the host won an Oscar?
Let me ask you - Why Oscar?

Why not Opscar?
My name on the statuette bearing my name?

And hosting the Barbara Walters interviews after.
Interviewing myself about myself.

(another contemplative pause)

Two words (one hypen)
Over-kill.

Next!



Why would I want Dubai?
What would I do with Dubai?
I don't have a closet big enough for Dubai..

What's that?
Well that IS a good price…
Can we talk 'em down if I pay cash?

Put it in the “maybe” box..

Nexxxxt..

Something juicy please, something..
(blush)
Oh no no no..
Yoko-oh-no-no-no..

No, because I'm more of a spiritual person than a religious person
and I'd be competing with the Jews and the followers of the Buddha
and the Mormons. And Travolta.

And while I love the idea of my own religion (in theory)
the responsibility, the paperwork..

And if the Beatles were bigger than G-d..
And I'm bigger than the Beatles..

Well.. do the math.

Wait - aren't all those (air quotation marks) “churches” tax-exempt?

Hmm..
Intrigued.
Not sold.
But put a pin in it - VERY intrigued…

Batter up!

Ooooooo..
I like this..

I like this A LOT
This.. speaks my name..

Say what?
Don't tell me that girlfriend!

There's no such thing as Emperor of the Universe??
Then who was that old fool in “Star Wars?”

Get back to me on that.
And bring me a pomegranate seed salad while you're at it..

(Lunch Break)

(Nap)

(Massage Break)

Hello, beautiful.

I thought on it
I mediated.
I visioned.
I prayed.

And on this, the 21st day of the month of Opranary in this final year of the Opraughts..

I have made a decision.

I'm going to do what I do best.
What I was put on this planet..
(in gratitude)
To do.

I'm going to do a tv show.
But not just any tv show.
Not just my old tv show.

No, in this one..
I play a cop.

Sunday Sceneggiata

Killer/App

This is the greatest app.. ever..

No.. really..

It’s not just YouTube and Facebook and built-in compass and light saber-sound cool..

But get this –

(must make sure that there’s no one within earshot)

My iPod can see the future.

Cool!  Right?

I wouldn’t suggest you run out to the apps store and get one.. For one thing, I’ve got the only one!  For another, Once you get past the stock tips and the sports scores (this thing has paid for itself .. twice over!) it becomes a heavy responsibility.

Ipso facto/Q.E.D. (both learned from my latin dictionary app) --

Do I tell everyone (or just Facebook friends) about the coming biblical flood (calamity caused not by melting ice caps, but a 2% rise in..  shh!  I've already said too much!)

Take it from Bob Dylan (iTunes!) you better start swimmin', or you'll sink like a stone!

I know what you’re thinking.  (My iPod is not merely clairvoyant, but telepathic as well.)  At first I thought – impossible!  Maybe it’s just a system error, a glitch which would resolve itself when I downloaded the new iPod operating system ($29.95 presently, but only 111,121,111.00 Buffetian Universal Ducets (BUD) in the future currency system, I’ll explain later.) 

Or maybe it was just my neighbor’s iPod which could see the future, and I was siphoning off his Wi-fi?

And furthermore, why me?  How me?  Maybe it’s just another one of those wonky apps I shouldn’t have downloaded after seeing the silhouette people dancing on the commercial – like say… the “Are you a Foodie or A Jew?” app  (turns out I’m both!)

But then I got to thinking – if I’m Steve Jobs.. and I want to get this thing out into the water supply.. I ’m not going to advertise it (this ain’t New Coke!) but rather he’d slip it out on little cats feet.

The man’s the living embodiment of Willy Wonka (only not so menacing) and I got a golden ticket!  Woo-hoo!

Before you get jealous (see: burden, above) note that I didn’t ask for this.. and I certainly don’t want to hog it..  If you want to know more, especially those of you with interests in financial market crashes (I cannot say more.. just.. cash in your cash – it’s Monopoly money!)  just send me an email.. better yet..  a tweet at..

Hold on!  Message coming in..  From tomorrow!

..............................

Sorry, ‘bout that.   Correction: It was my neighbor’s Wi-Fi. 

But then in the interest of science, and societal ethics, and, since, y’know.. he changed his password protection (what kind of password is “My Modem?”) I was forced to find a new “hotspot.”

I haven’t paid for internet access since I got this thing, nor before.  But especially not “post-Future-iPod” informed me that Wi-Fi access was a Bush (Jeb) Cheney (Mary) White House plot to monitor the private lives of Americans who opposed their formation of a third.. and fourth intergalactic/interspecies political party.

Yet this morning when I grabbed my iced-blended at the Coffee Bean, and logged in off their Wi-Fi (future secret:  every Coffee Bean will have an internet access code located in the bottom left-hand corner of their video display board.. check it out if you don’t believe me!) I was instantly online, and in touch with the leader of Neo-Interplanetary Revolutionary Underground  - salutations Anna Paquin!

Mind-blowing, huh?  Want more proof?  My iPod doesn’t have a battery.. or extension cord.. hahahaha.. thought of that, too.  I flipped it over and it’s solid as a rock, no double AAs, no solar recharger.. though that is an option the Jobs clones (more on that later) will introduce (to the Southern Hemisphere, and only on AT&T) in the year 20--..

............................

They’re after me! 

Hunting me. 

And they can smell me.  (iScent – Free!)

Fortunately, I have a plan.  Or more specifically, my iPod has a plan (iPlan – an app not available at ANY price) and if you’re reading this, you’re probably not “evolved” enough to read my thoughts and know precisely what I’m talking about.  But an app that makes EVERY decision for you (what a relief) and hatches a scheme aka “a plan” – well my friends.. that’s better than a Magic 8 Ball, or rock/paper/scissors.. or calling my cousin Max, which is how I used to make all my decisions.

I do not mean to imply that in the future the iPod has replaced all human decision making and we are at the mercy of the machines (not.. quite, though there are quantum dimensions where this has unfolded.)

No, rather, the iPod is for me, a crutch;  and like many handicaps, the casual acquaintance is too embarrassed to point it out.  Go ahead, I say!  Call attention to my “challenge.”  For I can read minds without its assistance.  Or should I say, “link” minds without it.   If you are in my iMind network, then you’ve already shared this thought.  And you know what I’ve long suspected;  that everyone with the iMind app is able to speak to both the “Windows” and “Mac” guy(s) on the tv commercials.

And by speak I mean not just speak.

But speak without speaking..

Or the use of a mouse..

Spine-tingling, right?  Brrrr…. (and ouch) My skin is very sensitive, you see.

For my skin is now a touchscreen.

My fingertips. Are like.. umm.. Fingertips.

And wherever they touch.

I feel.

This app must be stopped, the rip in the time/space continuum mended.  If only I could get back to our dimension.  I’ve been trying to get in touch with Anna Paquin, but she’s gone into hiding.

My only hope?  An audience with the future Job Clones (the good ones, NOT the evil colony.)  But I’m still on hold with customer service.  Time slows down.  It’s all irrelevant/relative when you can mold time like child’s clay.

I can wait.  Forever.  Or at least until someone invents an app to save me.

Or the Jobsians update this thing.

Still on hold..

Fading/Collapsing/rebirthing as a supernova.

Still don’t believe me?  Did I mention the Yankees winning the world series (in six?)

Aha!

Still not convinced?

Did I mention that my iPod is also a phone?

If  you’re reading this -- on paper --  It’s not too late.  The future is nigh.

And if you find my iPod, whatever you do, don’t press the app marked --

Sunday Sceneggiata

music/up&down courtesy/the mountains and the trees http://www.rockandroots.com

Roman/à clef

ZURICH (DICTATED LETTER from undisclosed location CENSORED by Swiss Justice Ministry)

My Dearest Wife(s)

As I write I sweep away the last crumbs of my paltry prison breakfast – pain au chocolat (stone-cold) orange juice (concentrate, I suspect) eggs (over-poached) and a pauper’s wedge of cheese (runny) I ask that you plead my case with the lawyers, the French government, and the court of public opinion.

Please speak to the children – perhaps in a low, gravely accent from an adjoining room, just as they are falling asleep – and remind them that although he is being held captive behind bars, like an animal without acceptable moisturizer or bottled wasser – their papa is a man, a flawed man, a man who has made mistakes. And counsel them, again, in hushed tones, perhaps over a speakerphone, oui? – not to make the same mistakes I, by no fault of my own, save for my puckish spirit and predisposition toward elfin mischief, have made.

Let us not compound these errors my love(s.) Chins up! While I am in the care of the Swiss government, life goes on! Alas, would you please set the DVR to record the Hell’s Kitchen Finale and next week’s Ramsey’s Kitchen Nightmares. And do not forget to postpone our October 11 reservation at L’Ambroisie (indefinitely.) Injustice and liberty denied shall not affect long-standing relationships with favorite maître d’s.

Yours,

R.

.......

Written in spidery hand on the back of a Lindt Chocoletti Stracciatella Bar WRAPPER

Dear Madame and Mr. President Secretary Clinton (and Chelsea)

Surely YOU understand. I am the victim of a Frankenstein witch-hunt. A vast right-wing conspiracy! For too long have the names Polanski and Clinton been slandered (though rarely in the same breath) on Fox News and held over the devilish flames of politically motivated inquisition. I say to fathead Glen Beck, YOU FIB!

Sweet Madame, I know you are a busy woman, a citizen of the world whose passport has been stamped more times than Carla Bruni (wink) but as they say in America, if you want something done right, go to the top! And I know of no higher authority in the Department of State - save for Vice-President Biden, who does not list his email online.

Rest assured I would have voted for you, save for my status as a citizen of the Republique Française. France, where the great libertarian and free-thinker Thomas Jefferson – middle namesake of your own free-swinging husband “Le Willy Luisant” – could educate and cavort with his true love Sally Hemmings! I appeal to your sense of patriotism, your sense of propriety, your sense of persecution!

And if all else fails, may I opt instead for traffic school?

Check enclosed,


A victim of circumstance
 .......



Scrawled on a cigarette rolling paper found as a MESSAGE IN A (Moet & Chandon) CHAMPAGNE BOTTLE

The Most Reverend Jesse Jackson –

My pleas to Amnesty International and the liberal media have fallen on deaf ears. Won’t you please help? In casting terms, you were always my first choice. If I were making a movie -- and believe me, before this Swiss sting operation, that’s exactly what I did between ski vacations and bible study – and I needed a suave, silver-tongued spiritual and social activist leader to play the private citizen cum diplomatic emissary, the role would be yours to lose! Man-to-man – we both rock a mean turtleneck, which is my way of saying “I dig your style.”

Let me put it another way – a non-nuclear Iran may be beyond your influence, but THIS is something you can accomplish.

Praying for a hero,


The Littlest Auteur

.......

EMAIL originally transcribed on a piece of one-ply toilet paper
 

To: bono@Amnestyinternatinal.org
cc: charlierose@bloomberg.com
cc: jerryspringer@jerry!jerry.tv

Good sirs –

Together you are the three most powerful men in the Jewish dominated media, and while only one of you is “technically” a member of the tribe, the remaining pair either work for Jews, or closely “identify” with our struggle. Though none of you are a filmmaker (nor need the gig to get with chicks – you all do fine on your own!) I ask that you lend your voices, and signatures, and bully pulpits to the huddle masses which have lined up behind me in support.

These include Oscar™ winner Martin Scorcese (not Jewish, but New York Italian!) Woody Allen (King of Jews!) Debra Winger (Oscar™-nominated Jewess!) Adrien Brody (Three-quarters Jew!) Sir Ben Kingsley (Gandhi AND a Jew!)

Why should you care? It is simple my landsman - Today, a Swiss prison, tomorrow a HUAC tribunal? There but for the grace of G-d, let he without sin, etc et al.

Let me be the first to wish you a belated L’shana Tovah!


Roman (my real last name) Polański

.......

ETCHED on a 1ply Dryer Fabric Softener sheet dropped at American Express, Zurich

Dear (NAME DELETED)

Free at last! Free at last!
I am out!

Without the time nor inclination for a “Hudsucker” denouement, I took matters into my own hands and volunteered for the prison laundry - an undesirable task in inhumane conditions – ever hear of “Swiss Laundry?” Exactement! 

Mummified in the scratchy sheets of my tormented sleep (150 thread count – sandpaper!) I tumbled vertiginously through an energy-saving cycle before squeezing out, born-again into newfound liberty via the linty loins of a steam vent. I am shaken, but not stirred, and my shirts have never been cleaner.

Disguised as a homely house frau in chain store-purchased dungarees – think of a taller Linda Hunt - I intend to sneak back into my hotel suite and retrieve—

POP! Flashbulbs! Merde!

PAPARAZZI!

And me in my chain store denim!


Jean Valjean


.......

E.C.U. (Extreme Close-up) DIGITAL VIDEO recorded on media card found in pocket of Wrangler (children’s) jeans retrieved outside Zurich Prison

Forgive me for I am weak.

(And for my derivative and under-lit composition - tres “Blair Witch.”)

I am returning to my Swiss hell, a baby bird to his nest. I am not meant for a life on the streets, hounded like a fox for the sport of those blood thirsty savages who will not be satisfied until I am ensconced in a squalid American minimum security facility for a presumed stay of 16 months to three years. (minus good behavior.)

Define “good behavior.”

I’d rather eat Nutella,

(Napoleon-in-Exile)
RP.