Give Me a Break, I Got Hit by a Car

In an effort to A) populate this blog with good writing, B) share some of my favorite works published elsewhere, C) maybe drum up some interest in starting a comedy writing workshop group because I miss the old writers meetings from when I worked on the Times New Roman, I am going to be publishing several of my old comedy pieces. Enjoy.

This piece was published in the June 7, 2006 issue of Boston's Weekly Dig.


Last week, I got hit by a car.

Don’t worry, I’m fine. I was walking to Northeastern from my apartment in Mission Hill, and I was going down Wigglesworth (teehee) Street when I saw the T. It was just sitting there, with its door open, saying, “Art! Come ride me! It’s not far to campus, but you might as well be sitting comfortably.” I considered the T’s offer, and decided that indeed I should sit comfortably, as sitting is one of my favorite things.

So I bolted across Wigglesworth (teehee) Street, careful to check to see if there were any cars coming, and sure enough, there were. However, in my haste to catch the T before it left, I performed my car-check only after I had already committed myself to a full-out sprint into the middle of the street.

I decided I could probably jump and let the oncoming car pass under me, à la Mario dodging one of those bullets with a face, but the car was too fast. I slid up the hood of the car, coming to a momentary stop on the windshield; then physics had its way with me, and I was deposited onto the street.

I did a quick mental once-over of my entire nervous system, and nothing was telling me: “Over here! This is where your death-inducing injury has occurred!” I was fine. Nothing was broken, nothing was fractured, nothing was bleeding. Only two parts of my body were remotely in pain: my Primary Impact Zone, the upper right-hand quadrant of my back where I hit the windshield, and my Secondary Impact Zone, my left shoulder where I hit the street.

Wait a minute. I ran into the middle of the street without looking both ways, got hit by a car (as I was warned would happen every day of elementary school ever), and then what? Nothing! What the hell!? I’ve had worse injuries falling off my bike. Onto a bed of pillows. Pillows that feed you candy somehow.

I’ve come up with a few possible explanations for this remarkable turn of events. First, it is possible that I am invincible; after all, I am a 21-year-old man. Second, it is possible that the driver was a puss and didn’t accelerate when he saw me run into the street, but instead slowed down (what a baby). Third, the car that hit me, a Toyota Prius, was probably so wussed-out—since it uses hybrid-electric power and a higher mixture of ethanol instead of burning only pure, delicious gasoline—that it couldn’t do any damage to anyone, ever. I mean, had I been hit by a Hummer or something of equal manliness (I’m kidding, I know there is nothing as manly as a Hummer), I would have been squashed like the pedestrian bug that I was.

It was probably a combination of these elements that allowed me to stand up, brush the dust off my pants, and head directly to my girlfriend’s apartment, where I proceeded to kick her ass at Monopoly (apparently, I was on a winning streak against cars that day). But damn it all if the T didn’t leave before I could catch it.

America's Next Mighty Caesar

In an effort to A) populate this blog with good writing, B) share some of my favorite works published elsewhere, C) maybe drum up some interest in starting a comedy writing workshop group because I miss the old writers meetings from when I worked on the Times New Roman, I am going to be publishing several of my old comedy pieces. Enjoy.

This piece was published in the October 2005 issue of the Northeastern Times New Roman.

When I was in Rome recently, roaming if I wanted to, I came across a few pieces of a statue carved in the image of an old Roman of some sort. I’m not sure whom it was meant to portray. Maybe he was a Caesar.

The sheer height this stone guy must have been! You’d have to measure him in days, not feet.

That got me to wondering: Why don’t we build things that spectacular any more? Is it one of the many regrettable side-effects of the abolition of unpaid indentured servitude? Perhaps. Or maybe it’s because we don’t have anyone to build monuments to any more.

Consider it. We no longer have mighty Caesars. We don’t even have Pharaohs. We have piddling “presidents” who are “elected” “periodically” by the “public.” There is nothing mighty about that.

I believe monuments are no longer built on the scale they used to be because there is nothing to monumentalize to that scale. All our leaders are half-hearted and lack the commitment needed to be truly great enough for a large monument.

But you know what? You know who doesn’t lack the commitment for glory? Glory on a moon-touching scale? Me. That’s who. I know how to whoop people with blunt and sharp objects. I know how to oppress the poor. I know how to dictate commands to secret police. And I look rather dashing in a flowing toga with a crown of leaves. I have all the qualifications to be the next Mighty Caesar. America’s next Mighty Caesar.

Elections will be a thing of the past as I hurl America into the future. There will be no need for them, because I am willing to rule until the time of my death, whereupon I will be gracious enough to appoint a successor with my full confidence to carry on my legacy.

Taxes will no longer be an issue. I will eliminate all taxes and instead require a tribute of 50% of all material assets. This generous allowance on my part will endear me to the people. However, I will set out the military if needed to keep people from giving more out of their great reverence for me. A line must be drawn.

America’s divisive foreign policy will be a debate of the past. I will have a foreign policy everyone can agree on: It’s ours and we’re going to take it.

I will also solve several problems you didn’t know were problems. October will become Arttober. The streets will be torn up and filled with delicious mounds of salami, and mailboxes will be stocked with mustard for convenience. I will go farther than making clothing optional; I will make it illegal. Except for old people. And fatties.

Then, and only then, will I be ready for my monument. We will dig up the entire state of Kansas (will you miss it? I know I won’t), and from its dirt form clay, and with that clay build a true-to-life representation of my bulging muscles and rugged, manly good looks ten million days tall! Then, with the top ten best sculptors in the world, we will carve my face into the moon so the entire world will always remember the Mighty Caesar Art.

All hail Mighty Caesar (me)!

Travel Abroad

In an effort to A) populate this blog with good writing, B) share some of my favorite works published elsewhere, C) maybe drum up some interest in starting a comedy writing workshop group because I miss the old writers meetings from when I worked on the Times New Roman, I am going to be publishing several of my old comedy pieces. Enjoy.

This piece was published in the February 2005 issue of the Northeastern Times New Roman. The photo used here was the photo originally intended to be used with this piece, but was not the photo used in publication.

As a college student, you will probably be doing a lot of travel over the next three or four years to Europe, Asia, and Canada. World travel is the best gift you can give yourself (after perhaps a 4-wheeler or a PlayStation 2), but before you embark on your journey, you should know a little more about how to travel. If this is your first time traveling, you will probably want to travel somewhere in Europe, because if there’s any reason to travel to a foreign country, it is to closely emulate the environment you’re used to.

First you are going to have to decide on a destination. As an experienced world traveler I can tell you all European cities are the same, so get out your map of Europe and a dart.

So you’ve hit Vienna. What’s that? Oh, it’s in Austria. No, Austria, no kangaroos. No, not the other England. You know what? Just throw your dart again. Ah, good, Rome.

Rome is the cultural political fashion history capital of the world. All you need to know about Rome to understand its vast historical significance is summed up in the B-52s classic Roam If You Want To, which both Hillary Duff and Mary Kate and Ashley Olson have cleverly used in movies about Rome.

You will need to buy your airline tickets. Let me tell you, international business class is the only way to fly. If you can’t afford business class (and you still want to go), you can always fly what airline companies quaintly call “economy class.” Let’s just say supply is never more than demand.

When you arrive at the airport (at least 24 hours in advance for international flights), you should check your luggage (otherwise it can’t get lost), find your gate (and number and a letter?! Information overload!), and sit patiently. You’ll undoubtedly get restless sitting at the gate. This is the perfect opportunity to get started on your vacation shopping!

The airport is full of reasonably priced shops filled with friendly staff. Here you can buy anything from a Snicker’s bar ($7.00) to extra luggage (5 souls). If shopping is not your thing, you can watch (but not listen to) one of the many airport TVs showing a program you’d rather not watch.

Once you’ve boarded the plane, sit patiently through the flight crew instructions (yes, they still do that) and get ready for an excitement-packed flight! If second-run family movies aren’t your idea of a good time, you can always enjoy your complimentary issue of Sky Mall, the on-board catalogue of items for purchase. The selection in Sky Mall is vast, including puppies, houses, and mail-order brides.

After the eight hours of whacky fun (a.k.a. your flight) you will deboard the plane. Now you are in Rome! You will wait patiently at the luggage carousel until everyone else has left with their bags. Then you will report to lost luggage. Here you will discover that your bags have gone to Vienna, where the airline company though you had intended to go. They also will not be able to get your bags back until three days after you return home. Don’t worry though, you didn’t come to Europe empty-handed! You just arrived there that way.

The bad news is now you don’t have any luggage (don’t you wish you had bought extra at the airport?), which means you don’t have any clothes. The good news is: wardrobe overhaul! If you can’t afford Italian designer prices, don’t worry, Italians have second-hand clothing stores too.

Once you arrive in Rome you will probably want to see the sites. Don’t waste your time on things like the Coliseum or the Roman Forum, you have probably seen plenty of pictures of these things already. It’s not worth the 10 Euro to walk through something you have already seen pictures of, even if it is old.

My suggestion is that you rent a car and drive to one of Italy’s many topless beaches. Don’t worry, you don’t have to take your clothes off, you can just sit and observe with your binoculars from afar. I must warn you, however, there is no bouncer or other approval process for admittance onto the nude beaches. This means old ladies with droopy racks can take their shirts off. Yuck.

But Art! I don’t speak a word of Italian! How will I get by? One word of advice, my friend: Italians love when you talk down to them, especially in English. But if you’d rather make the effort to speak Italian, here’s a simple trick: just add “O” to the end of every word. Youo willo beo talkingo Italiano ino noo timeo!

I have found that Italy is best enjoyed from indoors, especially the inside of a hotel room. With such exciting features as CNN World, miniature bottles of alcohol, and a bed, hotel rooms are non-stop thrills. If you get homesick while in Italy, don’t worry. Just go into a McDonalds; their employees barely speak English too!

Although they wish they could, Italians do not accept American Dollars. This means you need to find an exchange booth and exchange your real money for Euros. Just think of them like Disney Dollars: they are all sorts of pretty colors and the conversions don’t add up nicely so you spend more than you think you are spending. By the way, all Europeans prefer it when you refer to American Dollars as “real money.”

By the time your trip is finished, you will probably spend most of the money you have. When you finish shoving and breaking everything to fit into your new suitcases, it is time to go to the airport and get back to real civilization.

On the airplane you will be asked to fill out a few customs forms for reentry to the US. These forms are simple, but if you do it wrong you are obviously a terrorist seeking entry for devious reasons. You will be detained indefinitely.