Jan 07

Anatomy of a Face

Sho Swoop

Jan 07

Goodnight Sweet Tyrant

Goodnight Sweet Tyrant
(An Ode To Saddam Hussein)
by Michael Showalter
Goodnight Sweet Tyrant
You killed lots of your own peeps cause you loved power.
Goodnight Sweet Tyrant
You rocked the beret better than anyone (except for Picasso in his old age.)
Goodnight Sweet Tyrant
When they found you in that hole after we invaded your country you looked pretty worn out and shitty. Your eyes were very puffy, you were in bad need of a haircut and you just looked bad. Then again, so would I if I’d been hiding in a hole for 90 days.
Goodnight Sweet Tyrant
You seemed not to have had a very good sense of humor about yourself. I say this because you murdered anyone who said anything bad about you.
Goodnight Sweet Tyrant
Am I shallow for thinking that in your last days you looked very stylish in your salt & pepper gray beard with the white shirt no-tie and black suit? Nice.
Goodnight Sweet Tyrant
It didn’t pan out so good for you and stuff.
Goodnight Sweet Tyrant.
You had a moustache.

Jan 07

Thanksgiving Recipes

Michael’s Thanksgiving Recipes

This is pumpkin pie but pronounced in a funny way. The “mp” is replaced with a “n” to give it a “Down Home” feel. Check any recipe book for directions.


Buy a pound of potatoes.
Boil them.
Put them in a bowl and mashed them up.
Add salt and butter.


Go to any supermarket frozen food section.
Buy a bag of frozen green beans.
Go home. Take out a frying pan. Put the frozen green beans in the pan.
Heat until hot. Add salt and pepper and butter. Serve.


Go to a deli and buy a loaf of French bread.
Heat it up.
Serve it.


Go to your local deli or supermarket. Ask the guy where the canned gravy is. Go get the gravy. Buy it. Go home. Open the canned gravy with a can opener. Put the gravy in a sauce pan. Heat it. Put in a bowl. Put a serving spoon in the bowl. (Maybe buy two cans just in case people are really loving it.)


Chicken stock/Butter/Onions/Celery/Sage/Thyme/Parsely/Bread/Nutmeg/Raw egg/Butter/Apples. Chop it all up. Put it in a pan. Test it out at certain intervals. Improvise by adding a little more chicken stock. Keep baking it. Serve it. Recieve compliments. Feel good about yourself. Gloat about how great you are.


Buy farm suitable for growing apples. Preferably a pre-existing orchard that is up for sale.
Harvest apples. Process them. This may require a processing plant. Bottle and mass produce the cider. Save one jug for yourself. Pour into sauce pan. Heat. Add cinnamon stick and cloves for extra zing.


Go to dessert shop and purchase a box of pecan pie. Ask for their best one. This will make them like you because you are interacting with them. Take it home. Take it out of the box. Cut out a slice to make sure it’s good. Cut out another slice to double check. Eat one piece before bed tonight. Eat another piece after that. Eat a piece for breakfast tomorrow morning. Take remaining pieces, wrap in plastic, hide in fridge for a later date. Having now finished the pie, take tin and throw out.



1 Turkey (12 lbs.)
1 Duck (5 lbs.)
1 Chicken (4 lbs.)
1 Hamburger meat (1/4 lbs.)
1 Hot Dog
1 Sausage Link


Stuff the hot dog in the chicken’s butt. Stuff the chicken up the duck’s butt. Stuff the duck with the chicken up its butt up the turkey’s butt. Stuff the turkey’s mouth with hamburger meat. Stuff the sausage up your own butt. Let simmer.

Jan 07

Why I Haven’t Blogged

Thursday, December 21, 2006

Top Ten Reasons Why I Haven’t Blogged In A While
(In no particular order)


Not the slow moving Amazonian beast. Though, if I had a sloth or were for some reason needing to deal with a sloth on a regular basis that would probably be a good justification as well. I would imagine that dealing with a sloth is major undertaking. I, of course, mean “Sloth” in the sense of being lazy, resting on laurels, and the like. Another word for this might be “Proscrastination.” Herego, I might have called this reason “Procrastination.”


Having been on tour I was rarely in one place long enough to actually compose a blog. Sadly, they don’t have wireless internet at casinos otherwise I’d have written thousands of lengthy blogs. “Blog” has been on my “To Do” list and having just completed “Do Laundry” and “Pay Bills” I am ready to check off “Blog.” After “Blog” I have “Buy ’07 Filofax Inserts” and “Return David Wain’s Projector.”


I wrote a really long blog about this girl that I had asked to my 7th grade prom and I was really excited about it and I lost it. Somehow it made its way into my “Trash” and got erased and I felt very deflated and moribund. Moreover, I have no idea what “moribund” means but I’m too lazy to look it up (See: 1. SLOTH). That having been said, I’m quite certain that “moribund” means “deflated” and if it doesn’t then it should. As such, I felt like I had pushed a boulder up a hill and it rolled back down the hill and it’s taken me a while to get my wits back about me.


It’s not that I’m depressed. I’m not depressed at all. It’s just a “general malaise.” Other symptoms of “general malaise” are: clothing strewn all over floor; emails left unanswered; phone calls left unreturned; body left unwashed; teeth left unscrubbed; cigarette becomes primary food of choice; isolation becomes best friend.


Are my personal stories too personal? Maybe I need an angle? Maybe I need to find “threads”? These are some of the questions that I ask myself in my periods of “creative distance.” Was it mean of me to say that Alice stopped growing after 6th grade? And what if it was? She did stop growing after 6th grade. It’s honest reportage. And I say that mainly because I’ve always wanted to use the word “reportage” in a sentence. Should I shorten my stories? Should I lengthen them? Should I play nice? Should I let it rip? How far can I go? Who will be affected and how? Knowing that your parents and sister are reading your blogs is a bizarre plot twist that requires special consideration. How do I navigate this bizarre plot twist? Creative distance helps me gain a new perspective. I use this period of creative of distance to do mind expanding things like going to museums and by going to museums I mean playing poker; and seeing artistic films and by that I also mean playing poker; and reading books and by reading books I mean reading the NY Post sports section.


Sometimes I sit at my computer and I will begin to write. The first sentence flies off my fingers and onto the page. It might go something like, “The time I shit in my pants at summer camp.” But then a sort of fear sets in and I am rendered immobile. I am unable to find the second sentence. There are so many potential second sentences and I am incapable of choosing one. Should it be, “I was at the lake and suddenly needed to poo”? Or should it be, “It was 1982 and I was at summer in the Berkshire mountains”? Or should it be, “At age 12 you still take great pride in your ability to control your sphincter muscles”? The choices overwhelm me and I have to take a nap and/or watch TiVo’d episodes of America’s Next Top Model. (Twins got robbed!)


Sometimes I will start writing a blog and then have to go somewhere and there’s no way to save the┬ádarn thing and finish it later. As a result, I have to do the whole thing in one fell swoop. Again, I say that primarily out of a desire to use the idiom “one fell swoop” in a sentence. And I say that primarily out of a desire to use the word “idiom.” All of this being said, Myspace is, in many respects, Byzantine, which, of course, I say primarily to use the word “Byzantine.” What’s my point? That Myspace should have a “Save Blog” button? Perhaps. But not like “Save the Whales.” Blogs are anything but endangered. By all accounts “Blogs” are thriving. God forbid that suddenly there’s a Internet shortage and all the blogs die.


This one is self-explanatory. I’d be lying if I said that I haven’t read all the comments requesting blogs. Does it make me feel good? Yes. Does it inflate my ego? Of course. I’m playing coy.


I don’t have it but I’m afraid I could get it if I don’t blog less. Moreover, I never want to have to wear those wrist braces. They get dirty and brown. If I ever get Karpel-Tunnel Syndrome I’m going to get black wrist braces so no one can tell that they’re dirty. I hate dirt on my clothing. I carry Tide spot remover with me where ever I go for this reason. If I’ve offended anyone with Karpel-Tunnel Syndrome I don’t mean to. My sincerest apolog. (I left off the “ies” because I feared that typing extra letters might give me Karpel-Tunnel Syndrome and I’m trying to find places where I can be economical with my letters.)


I needed a break from reliving all of these painful experiences. Being dumped after 3 days has left permanent emotional scar tissue. Reliving the experience of how stupid I looked riding no handed on a ten speed bicycle has left emotional scar tissue. Get my ass kicked by college lacrosse players has left scar tissue. Telling you in this blog that I shit in my pants when I was at camp has left scar tissue. I needed to get some strength back in order to relive these painful memories.

In future blogs I will tell you how I shit in my pants and I will also tell you about the girl I asked to my 7th grade prom.

Sorry for the delay.
I hope everyone is having a Happy Holiday.

Jan 07

Santa Letter

A Letter From Santa Claus
This is an actual letter from Santa Claus to a friend. The friend’s name is John. The letter was found without an address. Based on numerous references to Weslyan University, I presume that John is an old college buddy of Santa’s.

Dear John,

My butt is aching like Hell from squeezing through so many fucking chimneys last night. I swear, I’ve probably got a bruise on my ass cheek the size of an oven mitt.
And speaking of oven mitts, I ate so many homemade cookies last night my tummy’s about to pop. The worst part is that I needed to take a crap so bad but didn’t want to go in someone’s bathroom. Can you imagine the horror if some little kid woke up in the middle of the night and found Santa Claus sitting on the pooper with his pants at his ankles reading Newsweek?
Thankfully, I found an all-night diner in Tuscon who let me use their toilet. I had to buy a fuckin’ muffin though for the privelege. Didn’t even eat it. Fuckin’ assholes, “Bathroom For Customers Only.” What about Saints? Do we have special priveleges? I guess not.
Overall, it was a good night though. Rudolph was in rare form. Damn that kid can fly. His nose is so distracting though. It really is red. It’s hard not to gawk.
Donner and Blitzen were dragging it a bit which completely got on my nerves. I’m sure they did it to piss me off. Mission accomplished. Donner’s mad at me because I said his coat of fur looked “gay.” Big deal! It does. Donner says that “gay” is a derogatory word and I was like, “Not to the Romantic Poet’s it’s not.” He had no rebuttal and I felt vindicated. Either way, he was flying so slow and it was totally fucking up our pace. Rudolph tried to calm me down but I was seriously postal. I told Donner that there were probably fifty reindeer with the ability to fly just itching for a chance to take his place. Donner shrugged it off and I took a swing at him. I decked him right in the snout and he kicked me in the balls. I had to lie down for like 20 minutes before I could even barely breath.
Blitzen and Donner are such a clique. They’re always telling secrets. I think they’re a bad influence on the other reindeer. In particular, I feeling like Dancer is joining their club. Fuck them! I feel wierd trying to get in with a bunch of deer anyway. They’ve got their own deal and that’s fine with me. Truthfully though, I overheard Blitzen call me a “tub of shit” behind my back and it kinda bummed me out. I shook it off and everything but it stung. Blitzen can be really mean.
On an upbeat note, I finished on time this year. I’ve completed my task on time for like 6 centuries now. I feel really good about that. Punctuality is something that means a lot to me. Remember how much it got on my nerves that Grady always sleep late at Weslyan? He was such a Goddam loafer? Have you heard from him? Last I heard he was in San Francisco working for a non-profit. Anyhoozle, I’m all about sleep, sleep, sleep these next few months. Then it’s back to work. Tell Nan and the kids, I say “hi.” How’s Nan’s Dad? Is Jeff still trying to be a screenwriter? That’s such a tough biz. Let me know if you’re in the North Pole and wanna go ice-fishing or something. I’m always in the mood for a hang. Maybe we can roll a spleef and watch a DVD or somethin’, somethin’. (I haven’t seen “Caddyshack” in years! I’m having a jones for it.) A’ight killa, I’m out. How are you? Still teaching at Lehigh? I heard you were up for tenure but never got the full scoop. Lemme know the 411.

Peace and Love

Jan 07

New Year’s Eve Resolution

On New Year’s Eve 2005 I made a resolution to be “less cut” in 2006 than I was in 2005. By “less cut” I meant “less Adonis-like in appearance” or “less replete with Bowflex model-esque muscularature” To date, I have succeeded in this pursuit. I can tell you with certainty that I am, in fact, less cut this year than I have been in year’s past. My abs are not rippling. Unless you consider pot-belly pigs to have rippling abs. Quite the opposite, my abs tell the story of many sandwiches, bowls of soup, cookies with milk, and the like. My arms have no muscle that I’m aware of, and are not capable of lifting anything other than a coffee mug to my mouth. If there was a war and I was required to fight, I’d have to join the the Army Debate Squad if I was to be of any real value to my country because I am incapable of physical exertion of any variety. My legs are spindly and weak and get tired from A) Climbing stairs; B) Walking to the subway; C) Getting up from chair. They, my legs, remind one of dowels draped in cloth. My pecks simply do not exist. I have no upper body strength what-so-ever. Mission accomplished. My chest more resembles a common table top than anything else. My back is strong, but only in the way that paper-mache is strong. My back is capable of many things, including: 1) Being sore; 2) Being thrown out; 3) Being rubbed; 4) Needing to be rested. My calves exist, but only in the abstract. Post-Modernist visual artists would have a field day representing my calves in the abstract .

In other words, it’s been a very successful year in terms of New Year’s Resolutions completed. Yay, me!

On New Year’s Eve 2006, I will make a resolution to be “even less cut” in 2007 than I was in 2006. This will mean the consumption of even more cookies with milk, and I will have to increase my sandwich intake by at least 5% if I am to obtain my goal. My abs, hopefully, will continue to decrease in rippling strength and my arms will, if all goes well, atrophy and shrink. In order to prepare for this I have gone to the deli and purchased one loaf of white bread, a half a pound of smoked turkey breast, a quarter pound of swiss cheese, one bag of Dorito’s, one bag of Famous Amos chocolate chip cookies, one can of Spaghettios, one quart of milk, one jar of pickles, and a pack of cigarettes.

Wish me luck & Happy New Year One and All!