These Are a Few of My Favorite Fears - By Charlie Spink

 (In honor of tonight being Halloween, the year’s most frightening holiday…I have scared-up a list of my greatest fears.  I hope that you find them horrifyingly hilarious.)

There are two universal truths about human desire. The first of these universal truths is that, as people we all want what we can’t have… and two: we all fear what we don’t understand. In my mind these two truths are eternally intertwined.

                What do I really want? Immortality, which sadly I can’t have without becoming a vampire first, and what am I afraid of? Practically everything. In an attempt to itemize and consolidate my fears I thought I would try to list my top 10 irrational fears. Hopefully, this list-making experience will help me to get over some of these scary subjects and bring me one step closer to immortality.

Fear Number 10 – SPIDERS… There are an abundance of reasons to be afraid of these creepy crawlers. When I was young I fell prey to the propaganda that was “Charlotte’s Web” but after learning that a small percentage of these creatures can fill me up with po8isonous venom, then I try to stay away from the eight-legged freaks. I have individual fears of both ants and bungee jumpers, spiders are a deadly combination of the two. As if my fear of spiders wasn’t naturally bad enough the Spiderman film series revamped my fear with a vengeance. Now I’m afraid that my dad may be a supervillian who will eventually get killed by a spider. After that I’ll have to take over as an evil-genius/green goblin (which I’m afraid I’ll be terrible at. Sure I have my evil moments, but I’m a real shitty scientist).

And on that note: Spiderman’s selection of arch nemesis is far from realistic. Do spiders really have to worry about being killed by Goblins? I think that the story of Peter Parker would ring truer if his enemies were actually a spider’s natural predators.. the bad guys should be natural spider killers with names like… Mr. Tennis Shoe and Rolled-Up Newspaper Man.  

Fear Number 9 – BUBBLE GUM… Chewing gum makes me upset because it’s not a food, but it wants to be chewed. Beggers can’t be choosy (or chewy). It’s as if gum wants to have all of the fun of being in your mouth, without facing any of the hardships that come along with traveling throughout the digestive system. Come on gum, shit happens… and you’ll end up being a part of it if you stay in that mouth for too long.

My real fear when it comes to bubble gum, is that I’m afraid to be a round people who are chewing it because there is always the very real possibility that some of that gum will end up in my hair. We all know that the only way to get bubble gum untangled from your hair is to use peanut butter to flush it out. If too many folks end up with peanut butter in their hair, then there will be less peanut butter for all of the sandwiches of the world… which leads us into my next fear…

Fear Number 8 – A MASSIBE PEANUT BUTTER SHORTAGE… I know what you’re thinking, “this guy is a total peanut butter freak… I would never want to get between him and his Reece’s Peanut Butter Cups.” While it’s true that I love my daily peanut butter and honey sandwich, my fear of this shortage is for entirely selfish reasons. I’m afraid that if we start running of peanuts not only will the elephants and baseball fans of the world starve, but they will also look for replacement nuts to crush. To put things quite frankly, I DON’T WANT ANYBODY TO CRUSH MY NUTS… period! Not only would the crushing of my testicles be highly inconvenient and uncomfortable for me, but the act would be tragic for taste-testers as well. TRUST me, my nuts do not taste good when covered in jelly (Don’t believe me? Just ask any of my ex-girlfriends).

Fear Number 7 – A COMPLETELY IRRATIONAL BIBLICALLY BASED FEAR OF THE NUMBER BEWTWEEN 5 AND 7… this brings me to a fearful reworking of a classic numeric joke. Question: why was 6 afraid of 7? Original Answer: Because 7 eat 9 (pause for a rim-shot). Despite all of my other fears… cannibalism doesn’t really scare me. Due to my painfully pale complexion I don’t really consider myself as a prime subject for breakfast, lunch or dinner. I think that a newer, more appropriate version of the joke would read… Question: Why was 6 afraid of 7? New Answer: Because 6 is a fucking little bitch, that’s why! I’m always going to be suspicious of a number that is less-confident than I am. Plus, if 6 is a bitch, I have a bad history with bitches. My last girlfriend was a total bitch and she left me for a guy she met while she was in a play that I helped her train and try-out for. A brief recap… my #7 fear is the number 6!

Fear Number 6 – AHHHHH, HOLY SHIT, 6! (See above)

Fear Number 5 – SPONTANEOUS COMBUSTION… I don’t really know if it is the pure spontaneity or the fact that I would have to be combustable for this to work out, but I am utterly afraid of randomly exploding. One minute you’re here the next you’ve completely vanished… that’s some scary Hoodini/Who-Done-It type of shit. Quite possibly the only thing that I could think of that would be scarier than spontaneous combustion would be my number 4 fear.

Fear Number 4 – A LENGTHY, WELL THOUGHT-OUT, CAREFULLY PLANNED COMBUSTION… This scenario adds a fear of the unknown to the fear of being upwardly  blown (and no I’m not talking about getting head from a midget… that fear narrowly missed the top 10). In this case the fear of the known overshadows it’s more spontaneous counter-part. Every time that I get explosive diarrhea I’m usually sure that I have fallen victim to some elaborate ploy by evil Indian or Mexican chefs who are trying to blow me up with their deliciously spicy food. If I were to explode while in the restroom when the air conditioner was on, then the shit would surely hit the fan (along with all of my other scattered pieces).

Fear Number 3 – WAKING UP AFTER A TRULY WICKED HANGOVER, ONLY TO FIND THAT I NOW HAVE A TRAMP STAMP… some of you folks out there may be unfamiliar with the term “Tramp Stamp”. No, it is not the form of marked postage that one uses when shipping a package to a little hussy. A “Tramp Stamp” is also not a commemorative issued tamp displaying the likeness of Charlie Chaplin. Rather a “Tramp Stamp” is the name of a tattoo that is located on the often exposed lower back of a sexy young lady (or a boldly out of the closet gay man) right above their buttocks (also known as the gateway to the coin slot).

This marking (usually a Chinese Symbol, single sassy word, or some variety of foliage) tells people, “Hey, I’m a slut and you’re just inches from my butt.”

I’m afraid that I’ll get too drunk at some point, wake up with a “Tramp Stamp” and then find out that in my drunken stupor I had done something illegal and wound-up in jail. Behind bars and inmate with a “Tramp Stamp” is  like a mailman who wears under-trousers that are full of doggy biscuits.. those hounds wanted your ass before, but now you’re going to end up with their bone dug into your backyard no matter what.

Fear Number 2 – DEALTH… While this fear is far from original, it is completely relevant to all
living beings. I, like many, am not crazy about the thought that my existence is finite. I spent the first 16 years of my life with the knowledge that the female sector of our race did not believe that I existed… and after nearly a decade of having moderate success with the ladies, I am dreadfully frightened of ht estate of no-existence returning.

As existentially depressing as not-existing would be, I am more afraid of death itself than the state of not living. By death of course, I mean the grim reaper… you know the guy. The dark black robe, the shank like staff, the Darth Vader respiratory disorder.. he’s one scary dude (for clarification on just how scary of a “Dude” he can be, I would highly suggest the file: “Bill and Ted’s Most Bogus Journey”).

A recent study of fears tells us that public speaking is the number 1 fear is America… Death ranks as a national number 2 (if Tim Tebow ere to sign with death… it would likely help death out in the BCS Power Rankings). My biggest problem with Mr. Death combines those two fears… I’m really afraid that I’ll be performing as a stand-up comedian and death will be my opening act. Knowing death, he’ll completely kill the crowd and I’ll have nothing to work with (knowing death, he’ll probably kill the club owner as well and I won’t even get paid).

AND MY NUMBER 1 FEAR OF SOMETHING THAT IS COMPLETELY IRRATIONAL IS…

Fear Number 1 – THE SONG “BILLIE JEAN” BY MICHAEL JACKSON… There are so many reasons for this song to be number 1. First off, this is the greatest song of all-time and it deserves to be number one on every top-ten list (regardless of topic). This song is so good that it is dangerous (even though it is a selection from MJ’s 1982 album “Thriller”, as opposed to his 1991 album “Dangerous”).

Every time that this song comes on at a dance, party, bar mitzvah , etc. I take over the dance floor and do the entire “Motown 25” dance routine. The power that this song has over me is quite frightening… it has become a staple of my life and social popularity. However , what if this song comes on while I’m at a funeral and I can’t control myself from grabbing my crotch and screaming “Owww!” This could totally ruin the mourning ceremony for a friend, family members or loved ones.

Or, even worse… what if this song is played at my funeral and my life-less body hops out of the coffin and starts moonwalking across the alter? Sure, that sort of reaction may be more relevant with the title track “Thriller”… but hey, who would play “Thriller” at a funeral (except for perhaps Vincent Price and Michael Jackson)?

I’m also an expectant father (my son is due in the middle of March) and a big fan of irony and the Maury Povich Show… what if years down the line I go on the show and find out that “The kid is no my son…”? I would be utterly divested by the prophecy of my favorite song.

A very brave fellow once said that, “There is nothing to fear, but fear itself.” Most likely this man has never rocked-out to Billlie Jean, in a room full of gum-chewers, during a mass peanut butter shortage. I guess when you really get down to it, “I fear nothing more than I fear myself” (Christian Slater: ear your hear out.)

The Perfect Collaboration – By Charlie Spink

In honor of mine and Kristina’s 4-year-anniversary I will share with you all how she once did something to me in the shower that no other woman has ever dared to do.  This act was creative, steamy, and completely blew my mind. For the first time in my 15 years of being in relationships I let a significant other co-write a joke with me.

Here's the breakdown.  The two of us were in the shower, scrubbing each other down.  I was celebrating my Irish ancestry by washing myself with a bar of Irish Springs soap (nothing says Ireland quite like Irish Springs and a bar).  Kristina, who is half-Filipino and half-Italian also likes to stay true to her heritage which means that she washes herself with a bamboo stick and a meatball (of course I'm kidding, Italians don't take showers).

    We were loofah-ing each other and I don't mean for that to be used as some kind of innuendo; we were really washing ourselves with a loofah (light pause for all the ladies to go "Aww".) She has a little tattoo on her right shoulder blade that I always think will rub off if I scrub it just a little bit harder (it hasn't worked yet).

While we were in the middle of the rinsing process she had a marvelously Mitch Hedberg-like moment.  As I put down my Head & Shoulders dandruff shampoo she told me, "You know, I should create my own body wash to accompany Head & Shoulders...I will call it Knees & Toes."

Cute huh? What can I say; I'm rubbing off on the young lady.  Now, being the man that I am I took the ball of pun and ran with it. "Yep, and we can have a permanent special on the body wash: Buy One/Get One Free.  That way when people fill up their shopping cart they'll have: Head & Shoulders, Knees & Toes, Knees and Toes" (echoing the chorus of the classic children's song).

As a writer and humorist there is no greater enemy than that of the editor.  The editor’s main purpose in life is to dissect, derail, and destroy your work.

Much like the dandruff that occupies the scalp of a Head & Shoulders user, they want to dry things up in your head until your pieces are flakey at best. The writer would love nothing more than to just wash their hair of their editor's opinions, in a way that would give their work greater volume and bounce.  However, we need to realize that the editor is not just trying to destroy our dreams; they want to challenge us to get better.

I've never let any of my ladies have any say in what I write or produce until now.  Kristina is the first woman that I have ever let edit my work because I know deep down that she is not trying to chastise me. Rather she is trying to challenge me to get better. She may shower me with criticism from time to time, but every shower of scrutiny helps me clean up my act.  She challenges me mentally, and any man that doesn't want to be challenged mentally is usually a man who is mentally challenged.

Putting the “F” back into the “ARTS” (FARTS) - By Charlie Spink

 

Putting the “F” back into the “ARTS” (FARTS)

My Blurbs For A Book About  Breaking Wind  

By Charlie Spink

                This morning at the airport I walked by a newsstand and I saw the cover of a new book that really cracked me up.

                On the top shelf of a kiosk that featured trusted news periodicals like the New York Times, The San Francisco Chronicle and US Weekly, I saw it sitting there filed between a copy of the new James Patterson novel and a copy of the teen cancer romance, “The Fault in Our Stars”.

                There it was, a book that was going to be my best friend for the three and a half hour flight from San Francisco to Dallas/Fort Worth. It’s title “Farts: A Spotters Guide” by Crai S Bower.

                Now usually you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover but the cover of this book featured a drawing of an old granny breaking wind. This image’s mission was to make each passer-by take one look and then laugh their ass off. Mission Accomplished. So after one look at that cover I made the judgment that this book would be both hilarious and accurate.

                Because let’s face it, that image tells no lies. The fact that it is utterly hilarious to a passer-by when an old lady farts is truer than 98% of the things that you’ll find on Wikipedia.com. The image is practically a documentary unto itself and it is by default the best documentary that I’ve ever seen. Sorry Al Gore, but that’s the inconvenient truth.

                I don’t want to give away too much about what happens in the book because I’m really hoping that you’ll all run out to your nearest airport and pick up a copy of your very own.  But I would like to throw this idea out into the universe and hopefully Mr. Crai S. Bower, the wordsmith behind the manuscript, will hear this plea and take note.

                Mr. Bower, if you decide to write a sequel to your book “Farts: A Spotters Guide” then can you please, please, PLEASE let me write one of the blurbs on the back of the book? It would be my sincere pleasure to help you out with that.

                Here are a few of my rough ideas. I could go with…

“Buy this book, it’s a real gas!”

Or,

“This book is so good that you won’t want to blame it on the dog, you’ll want all the credit for yourself.”

Or maybe,

“Smells like a winner!”

Or simply,

“This book stinks so good!”

Or perhaps,

“Cuts to the chase when it comes to cutting the cheese.”

Or I could go with…

“The facts on these pages are silent but deadly.”

I guess that the perfect blurb for a book about farts would be loud enough to get everybody’s attention, but then also strong enough that where the blurb will linger with the reader long after it’s been read. 

My favorite blurb idea is…

“If you haven’t read this book, then you don’t know shit about farts.”

                Did that last one stink?  You bet your ass it did.  And I’m very proud of it.