November 20, 2006

Diary of an Unemployed Slob

by Rick Shvantz, guest columnist

Monday. Got up, masturbated. Made beanie-weanie. Decided to go back to bed. Woke up in time for Jerry. Interesting episode about an obese hillbilly mom who slept with her obese hillbilly daughter’s obese hillbilly boyfriend. A catfight broke out. Both shirts ripped off. No one hurt.

Tuesday. Leftover beanie-weanie for breakfast. Decided to look at the want ads. Didn’t make it past the first lingerie ad. Ended up taking the paper into the bathroom. Don’t know why I don’t feel comfortable doing it anywhere else. Haven’t lived with my parents in years.

Wednesday. Found some pizza in the fridge. Not sure how old it is. Tasted all right. Decided to take a break from The Young and the Restless. Watched some court shows instead. Started to think really deep thoughts. Why can’t people just get along? Mistakenly received neighbor lady’s copy of Good Housekeeping. Really hot moms, might not give it back.

Thursday. Watched guy across the street install new garage door. Doesn’t really know what he’s doing. Another catfight on Jerry. More crying on Divorce Court. The new anchorwoman on Channel 9’s pretty sexy. Speaking of sexy, whatever happened to Ricki Lake? Spent all afternoon trying to find her show. Settled for Oprah.

Friday. Showered and shaved, got ready for church. Finally realized what day it was. It’s so hard to keep track of things anymore. Set new masturbation record. Six times. Wasn’t even horny after the fourth time, just intent on setting new record. Watched another episode of The View. Rosie really does bring a lot to the show.

Saturday. Got up, tried to masturbate, realized my penis had fallen off. Thought I’d better go to the hospital. Started to look for my car keys when Maury came on. Really interesting episode about gay midgets. Decided to stay home. Later in the afternoon, found my penis in the pantry, next to the potato chips. Had a few chips, stroked my detached penis. Didn’t feel as good. Finally decided to go to hospital.

Sunday. Found more old pizza in the fridge. Still tasted good. Tried to watch football, kept falling asleep. Too bad Jerry’s not on during the weekends. Woke up in time to go to Mom’s. Made sure to stuff pants, but first thing she asked was what happened to my penis. Got nervous, told her I’d been really constipated lately, that’s why I’d been in the bathroom so much, really really constipated.

Tuesday. Not sure what happened to Monday. Must’ve slept through it. Saltine crackers for breakfast. Watched more Jerry. Beginning to wonder if the fights are staged. And why do the women always take off their shirts? Called the hospital, learned my penis would be ready in the morning. Tried reading some Hegel. Someone once referred to it as mental masturbation. Saw the masturbatory qualities but definitely not as good as the real thing.

November 1, 2006

Midlife Crisis

by Murray Bloom, guest columnist

The weather here is beautiful. Christmas is approaching. I’m doing great. Really, really great. Well, except for this midlife crisis. Yeah, but other than that, y’know, things are great.

Okay, I’ll tell you about the midlife crisis.

It all began a few weeks ago. I went to this show at the Hayden Planetarium called “Cosmic Collision.” And stop me if you’ve heard this before, but evidently our solar system is on course to collide with another solar system. And you know what that means. It’s going to be the end, the complete and total end, to life as we know it. The bright side to all this is that it isn’t supposed to happen for several billions of years. But, I dunno, I’ve never been one to see the world through rose-colored glasses.

To help me get through all this, I bought a book entitled “Your Midlife Crisis and You.” And I took some of the book’s advice. For example, the author talked about creating this safe place in your mind. Whenever you feel down, you’re supposed to close your eyes and sort of will yourself there. So my safe place ended up being a beach. But, I’ll tell you, the beach isn’t working out. Every time I go there, these Mormons show up asking me if I’ve read the Book of Mormon and would I like some information. And they’re nice kids and all and we end up having some interesting discussions (mostly about the BYU football team), but sometimes I just wish they’d get off my beach.

Now I don’t want you to think I’m joking here. I really am going through a life crisis. And the Mormons really do keep coming to my beach. And, when you get down to it, I really don’t get it: how on earth are they able to pedal their bikes through all that sand?

So I went to an analyst. And that didn’t go over so well. I later learned I reminded her of her ex-husband. I’d be in a session, talking about my problems, and she’d start weeping uncontrollably. And I’d try to comfort her and then next thing I knew she’d be taking her clothes off and then, without warning, she’d be punching me and telling me to leave and never come back. So I’d leave, and then when I got home there’d be seven or eight messages on my answering machine asking that I give her just one more chance.

So I finally got out of that relationship. And I went to another shrink, a man this time. And for several sessions we sat around and talked about my feelings and my past. And he ended up concluding that my problem was that I was a big, selfish, uncaring, two-timing asshole. I later learned that I reminded him of his ex-boyfriend.

But things have been looking up lately. I finally have some focus in my life, as I‘ve just enrolled in the psychiatry program here at NYU. So we’ll see how that goes.


Originally published at The Cynic Online Magazine.