Dream: “Yes, I know you are 33 years old, but lots of people are allowed to go back and replay their high school senior basketball seasons. Only this time you’ll be playing with potatoes, the other team is comprised of forest creatures, and if you try to hustle, it will feel like you’re running underwater. Oh, and good luck playing with no shorts on. Hahaha! I’m a dream and I’m awesome…”
Alarm: “Brilllllll, wake up! Brilllllll, wake up!”
Me: “I hate you.”
Alarm: “Yeah, like you’re a real pleasure to be around, Senor Mouthbreather. It’s 8 A.M. Who needs an alarm for 8? Do you also need a compass to find the bathroom? You should hear what lamp… Snoozing. I’m snoozing. I’m snoozing.”
Me: “Take that.”
Mucus: “Help, help! Get us out of here! Get us out of here!”
Me: Thwat!
Sink: “Gee, thanks.”
Glimpse of Wife: “Hi, remember me? I’m the human you married upwards of 10 years ago. I would have extended our marriage ceremony had I known it would be the longest period of time we would ever spend together. Oops, gotta run. Any more chit-chatting and I’ll go from Glimpse of Wife to Quality Time with Wife. And that would be totally unacceptable.”
Wife: “Please unload the dishwasher.”
6-Year-Old: “Later, daddy buttnose.”
Me: “Hey, buddy, have fun at school. Wait, how was school yesterday? Did you do your homework? What was for lunch? What will be for lunch? What grade are you in?”
6-Year-Old: “Later, daddy peeface.”
3-Year-Old: “Oh, no! No, no, no! Whaaaa! I hate dis stupid ting! Whaaaaa!”
Me: “Jesus, kid, what is your problem?”
3-Year-Old: “My guy won’t stay on his motuhcytle.”
Me: “Look, you have dressed yourself. Granted, your underwear is on over your pants and I’m pretty sure the shirt you’re wearing is from your Build-A-Bear, but the point is, you have clothes on. You also found yourself breakfast. And you have successfully manipulated the remote to find your favorite Max & Ruby show on the DVR, something even your mom can’t do. Hell, you could basically own your own downtown apartment. But if your Power Ranger falls off his motorcycle, you enter into toddler nervous breakdown mode. Listen, crying is not how we solve our problems. Here.”
Conscience: “Actually, dipshit, crying is exactly how he solved that problem. He wailed. You fixed it. Nice parenting. Should I hang the ‘Punch Me’ sign on his back or should we just wait for school-age bullies to do that?”
Me: “Come on, son, let’s take you to daycare, because I’m not paying $175 a week to listen to this shit myself.”
Ford Taurus: Atchoo! Sniff sniff. Cough cough. “Morning, Mr. Shaffer.”
Me: “Taurus, you sound like crap. And you’ve always looked like crap. Can you get us to daycare and back without killing us?”
Taurus: “I’ll do my best, sir.”
Radio: “I’m the latest country song … sung by the latest country star … the only reason I’m on … is ‘cause your wife last drove this car…”
…Static…
“Back on generic sports talk radio diagnosing problem #591 of the Kansas City Royals, without yet blaming the players. Yesterday it was the manager, tomorrow it will be the pitching coach, today, it is the guy-who-sells-lemonade’s fault.”
3-Year-Old: “Dad, can dogs fly like birds?”
Me: “Son, we’re someday gonna find a special school for you with lots of special classes. But first, daycare.”
Daycare lady: “So good to see you, little guy. I missed you over the weekend.”
Fear in daycare lady’s eyes: “Don’t leave him here with me. I have seen the devil in him. He’s like the kid from Pet Sematary.”
Me: “Ok, bye-bye.”
Freedom: “This is why they despise you, Mick. You have hours each day to yourself while they are stuck in nuclear family hell. They will one day turn on you, Mick. But for now, enjoy the spare time.”
Television: “Watch me. I have Pawn Stars starting in six minutes on History Channel and there are three recorded 30 Rocks you haven’t yet seen.”
Me: “I can’t right now.”
Television: “You don’t love me. You’re gone all day while the others watch All My Children and iCarly. And then they pause those shows and the images burn into my screen. When you are here, you’re downstairs with the other version of me.”
Me: “Well, that version is eight inches bigger.”
Television: “It’s all about size, huh? You slut.”
Me: “Listen, I’ll cozy up to you tonight, but right now I’m gonna go for a run.”
Right knee: “Oh shit.”
Left knee: “WTF?”
Ears: “Isn’t this great, guys? Out here running in the warm, fresh air on a bright sunny day.”
Lungs: “Easy for you to say, cartilage boy. We’re working overtime here.”
Feet: “Yeah, at least you get to listen to brilliant tunes by talented artists such as the Plain White T’s and Nickelback.”
Eyes: “Fellas, quit the yammering. MILF with a stroller approaching. Chest, I want you out. Legs, pick up your pace. Mouth, I want a confident smirk out of you. Not too much but enough to let her know that you know that she’s watching you and that even if she isn’t watching you that you don’t give a damn.”
3-Mile Mark: “Hey! Yoohoo! Over here! What, you’re not gonna visit?
Me: “Damn, I’m tired.”
3-Mile Mark: “Oh I see how it is. Pussy!”
Shower: “You smell terrific.”
Shirt: “Pick me, pick me! I’ve only been worn twice since your last wash and once was to visit the neighbor’s new baby so that doesn’t count.”
Jeans: “Pick me. I never get dirty. I’m jeans.”
Lunchmeat: “Don’t pick me. I’m spoiled. I’ve been in here for weeks. You never eat me yet every time you see Glimpse of Wife she asks you what you want from the store and you say, ‘Lunchmeat.’ You’re too stupid to have me.”
Me: “Good point. Something very similar to you is already made at Wendy’s. I’m out.”
Dishwasher: “Hey, wait!”
Wendy’s employee: “How may I help you?”
Me: “I’d like a #6 Spicy Chicken meal for $5.99.”
Wendy’s employee: “Medium or large size?”
Me: “Medium.”
Wendy’s employee: “Ok, that’ll be $8.04”
Me: “Um…”
Time: “You have a 28-minute drive to work if there’s no construction or traffic. This time is best used for daydreaming about breaking the international Minesweeping records, getting lost in an endless stream of exit ramps and highway signs, and generally spacing out. If you were to ever get abducted by aliens like D.B. Sweeney did in that one movie, this would be the time because you could never decipher if you were gone for three hours or three days. P.S. That was D.B. Sweeney’s best work after The Cutting Edge.”
Work: “Hello, Mick, only 56 minutes late for work today. Bravo.”
Assignment Editor: “We’ve got a vitally important story for you today that demands journalistic ability of which only you possess. The Blue Valley West High School softball team is going to state.”
Me: “I’m on it.”
Hopes & Dreams: “I know it’s been a while since we’ve talked, Mick. But we just wanted to let you know where we’re at these days. Turns out, we belong to the Blue Valley West High School softball team now so maybe we’ll see ya this afternoon at the field. It will be so good to catch up. Still want that pool? Ok, ok, sorry. Low blow. We’ll keep the gloves up.”
Me: “So, did you girls have these kind of high expectations heading into the season?”
High school girl #1: “Yes…”
High school girl #2: “Am I supposed to look at you or the camera?”
High school girl #3: “We were, like, so much like a family this season. Last season we had some seniors with just some, I don’t know, bad attitudes. This year we all just got along and took it one game at a time and gave 110% and just left it all out there on the field.”
Me: “Great. I believe that’s all we need.”
Muscle memory: “You have now done this exact same story 4,593 times. So, if you don’t mind, I’m going to take over here. You can just put it on autopilot. Take a nap. I don’t care. I’ll be done in an hour.”
6 P.M. Sports Anchor: “What a terrific and unique story, Mick. Coming up next, the Royals. Is it possible they could lose all 162 games this year?”
Stomach: “What is this, Auschwitz? Who does an intestine have to blow to get a meal around here?”
Me: “I’m hungry.”
Brain: “How about you mix in a grocery store salad bar or at least some Mr. Goodcent’s for once? I’m guessing your semi-nightly supper from QuikTrip isn’t doing our arteries any favors. Even though all their food is phallic-shaped, which is pretty sweet.”
Long John Silver’s employee: “How may I help you?”
Me: “I’ll have the Chicken Planks and More meal. Let’s substitute the Coleslaw for extra hush puppies. And extra crusties, too, please.”
Royals announcer: “First pitch at 7:11 P.M. Temperature at 85 degrees.”
Press box announcer: “Room temperature is 72 degrees. Peanuts and root beer available now in the back.”
Me: “Yummy.”
Royals will-to-win in 1st inning: “Let’s go! We can do this! Come on!”
Royals will-to-win in 4th inning: “Well, we gave it our all, guys. Can’t win ‘em all. And by ‘all’ I mean ‘some.’”
My wallet: “Well, hello, Andrew and Abraham. I take it Mick won his bet on the Indians collecting more than 15 hits. Or was it Mustard winning the Condiment Race?
Post-game clubhouse: “Pay heed all ye who enter.”
Me: “What is it going to take to get this turned around?”
Meaning behind question: “Why are you guys so bad at baseball?”
Random Royals player: “We need to become so much more like a family this season. Last season we had some veterans with just some, I don’t know, bad attitudes. This year we all just need to get along and to take it one game at a time and give 110% and just leave it all out there on the field.”
Me: “Great. I believe that’s all we need.”
10 P.M. Sports Anchor: “Maybe they’ll get ‘em next time. Who am I kidding? No they won’t. Coming up next, Mick Shaffer poses the question, ‘Can Blue Valley West High School softball beat the Royals?’”
Me: “Time to call it a day.”
Phone: “Brrrrrring, answer me. Brrrrrrrring, answer me.”
Me: “Hello.”
Paul through phone: “Got time for a beer?”
Me: “No, I better not.”
Paul several minutes later at bar: “Good to see you. What’s been going on?”
Me: “Same shit. Different day.”
Beer: “Hi, guys, my name is Stella and I want to be in your mouth.”
Paul: “I want to have a deep conversation about the meaning of life.”
Me: “I want to talk about boobs.”
Taurus: “Time to go. I feel one of my 85 maladies about to take over and kill you on the road. And nobody wants to die in a Ford Taurus.”
House: “Welcome back. Your three roommates have been asleep for hours. More free time.”
Couch: “Come over here, big guy. Let me wrap my cushions around you. To what do I owe this honor? Fight with Glimpse of Wife over proposed purchase of a minivan or just too lazy to take the stairs?”
Me: “The latter. And I need to watch some tube.”
Television: “Oh, now you want me.”
Modern Family: “Here come a barrage of superficial jokes about race, gender, and sexual preference that I know you’ll laugh at because you will forever be at that level.”
Sleep: “Here I come.”
Mouth: “Open for business!”
Dream: “Starting at forward for the opposition, Moose!”
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This piece features artwork designed by Scott Shaffer.
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Great stuff. Really fun to read.
I find myself giving all your characters voices- you should have heard high school girl #3… It was pretty much terrific. Oh, and it’s true that jeans never get dirty- just stinky.
Reminded me of Bret Easton Ellis’ “Lunar Park” for some reason. Still pretty entertaining. High school athletes are morons.
Tom – thanks.
Faye – I casted you as MILF with stroller!
Hank – Except that Ellis wasn’t brilliant enough to have a talking dishwasher.
Hilarious! I loved that whole piece. And, I’d like to add that I prefer this to Ellis, mainly because his writing makes me want to take a power drill to my frontal lobe.
Seriously, how did anyone make it through “American Psycho”? I mean, I love multiple page descriptions of disemboweling a dog as much as the next affection starved shut-in, but Christ.
GRL, you so creative! an funnny!
Dis is funny.
Hahaha this is amazing stuff Mick!
Daniel – “affection starved shut-in” is hilarious as well.
Anony – what does GRL mean?
Matt – Hey, Matty peeface.
An – In your native language — Danke.
I would have paid to read something this good.
Awesome job Mick. I can totally relate (and not only because I’m an Indians fan). How is a journalist supposed to maintain/increase creativity when everyday is the same old drill?? Way to make an entertaining piece by describing this monotonous routine we call life. Is there anything worse than a cliche quote? Makes me want to puke. Got high expectations for your next piece! Go Tribe
Genius.
Adam – I am retroactively charging 19 dollars for this read.
Robbie – I almost moved to Cleveland three years ago. Dodged that bullet. Just kidding. And I did not mean to raise my own bar.
Randi – I’m blushing.
Mick, tell me the Nickleback thing was a joke.
Joschewuh – Don’t worry. As bad as my music tastes are, I at least know not to listen to Nickelback.
$