Fucking with Mr. Stickpin

     "You just don't fuck with the Stickpin, you hear what I'm sayin'?" The tall, muscular man's mouth twisted into a snarl, exposing his white, white teeth that shone less than a foot away from the face of Vacuole Blort. Blort leaned back in his chair, out of the reach of his client. He raised his arms as if he was being robbed, while smiling as if he had just seen an old friend.

     "Now, calm down Mr. Pin. If you would just look at our agreement you would see that it quite clearly states -"

     "Shove it out yo' ass, boy!" Blort involuntarily leaned back a bit more in his chair when the man straightened up slightly. A hairy paw grabbed a paperweight off his desk and threw it against the wall with one smooth arm movement. It didn't break. The paw's owner turned abruptly, and was out of the room in two strides. The door slammed like a thunderclap. He could hear the footsteps echoing down the hall, a drumbeat to the words, "Mother fucker thinks I'm gonna play the MER-maid, he's gottanother thing coming, you got that right. I don' DO that shit..."

     "He'll come around," he said out loud before depressing the subtle panel on the floor that turned the tape recorder off. After it began to rewind he added, "and who knows? He may even learn to like it..."

     Another switch invoked the sounds of Carmina Burana. The huge picture window on the side wall showed the magnificent mile in all its glory. A sun setting, car headlights beginning to trace paths in the dusk like fireflies, and all for him. He stood before the window, spiritedly conducting either the chorus or the city with his right hand. He sang with the music:

     ...statu variablis semper crescis aut decrescis...

     Continuing became difficult because he began to chuckle, lightly at first, as he was remembering a favorite joke he had heard repeated many times. Soon, however, he had both feet over shoulder-width apart, one hand on his head, the other on his stomach, and he was laughing cruelly and loudly, drowning out the music that provided an insane harmony.

     ...nunc per ludum dorsum nudum feri tui sceleris...

     Absolute silence. We see Lisa, an overweight woman, framed in a stairway. She is wearing nightgown and curlers. She looks a little disturbed, a little depressed, a little guilty. As she goes down the last stair, and turns to walk stealthily down the hall, just a little short of an actual tip-toe, we pan back, so it is as if she is walking towards us at all times. We cross a doorway, and soon realize we are in the kitchen. We hear the soft ticking of a clock, one a second. tick... tick... tick... tick... After the fourth tick they get louder and we cut to a full-frame shot of a wall clock with a pendulum swinging.  Tick... Tick... Tick... Tick... Now we cut to an above shot. We are looking down at the woman, from behind her. She is standing in front of a white refrigerator, with one hand outstretched, nearly touching the door handle. The next four ticks are pretty loud. Tick! ... Tick! ... Tick! ... Tick!.... Tight close-up. Pure white except for the chrome refrigerator door hand le filling up the right third of the screen. The next four ticks are extremely loud. TICK! ... TICK! .... TICK! ... TICK! ... Right before the first, we see her hand come into view on the left, approaching the door. After the fourth, and close to where the fifth would come in, the hand is about to touch it. Suddenly, instead of the fifth tick, we cut to a medium shot from the refrigerators point of view. She is startled by an influx of happy, brass-bandy music, and multicolored lighting, and confetti all over the place. From both sides of the screen, entering from the back of the kitchen and running up towards her, are all these handsome young men in tuxedoes and beautiful young model-type women in spangly party gowns, each a different solid color. Music continues as we cut to a medium shot, slightly overhead. They have formed a ring around her, and begin to sing gaily,

     "You're not really hungry, You're not really hungry, You're not really hungry, It's your mind!"

     Cut to her point of view. Multicolored moving lights play on the wall. The dancers parade by the screen right to left, with maniac happy expressions on their faces as they sing.

     "You're not really hungry, You're not really hungry, You're not really hungry, It's your mind!"

     Volume goes down, as we cut back to the medium shot. She is happy now, although it may be difficult to see. Voice-over begins. Halfway through the voice-over, we switch to a close-up of her, laughing and clapping with the music. Voice-over is sort of sexy female voice. A voice belonging to someone who obviously once was fat, but took the weight off, and kept it off, and has some information for YOU.

     "Diets don't work. And what's more they can be dangerous. Science has shown that the single most important factor in whether or not YOU lose weight is your attitude. And the best way to change your attitudes about food is to visit the Doctor Harrison Weightmind institute. Through a combination of therapy, hypnosis, and some good old fashioned caring, Doctor Harrison's staff will have you thinking like a thin person in no time! Stay tuned for the number of the Doctor Harrison Weightmind Institute nearest you."

     At this point, we switch to a shot with Lisa in the center of the screen, body showing to the feet, against a backdrop of the line of dancers behind her. They aren't moving their feet in this shot, but sway in place behind her.

     "... It's your mi-i-i-i-ind! HEY!"

     Hey, hello, I'm happy to be back in New York, I mean I was born here but they made me move when I was little. My name is Matthew, and I am, of course, Jewish. Thank you, thank you. Actually, I'm proud of being Jewish, proud of being Jewish I mean, hey. We're an ancient race. An ancient and powerful race. I mean we're so powerful that even when we were in the ghettos getting the shit kicked out of us by first the Poles and then the Germans people were still afraid of us taking over the world. I mean, that's pretty cool. So like, we're this ancient and powerful people and we've outlasted dozens of other civilizations, and yet these dinosaurs, these yesterday's donuts get more respect than we do! Think of sports team names, the MSU Spartans... The Cleveland Indians... The Minnesota Vikings... Why not have the goddamn New York Jews? The New York Jews! Think of it. Think of the cheerleaders. Pert young Aryan teenagers doing human pyramids and chanting:

"Jay! Eee! Double You! We are gonna trouble you! Go-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o JEWS!"
or: "We are champs and They are bums! Pound them into matzo crumbs! Go-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o JEWS!"
yeah you get the idea:
"A tiny chance is all you had! You got the son we got the DAD!  JEWS!   JEWS!  JEWS!"

I like baseball though. You know what's cool about baseball? It's the only sport BAR NONE, where you spend most of the time waiting for something interesting to happen. That's why people like the three and two pitch. You know that this is it. Five minutes of guzzling beer and doing the wave and now you are guaranteed some change in conditions on this NEXT pitch. Here's the windup, he swings... foul ball.

This is what you see:

A round, wood endtable. There is a glass top, with no fingerprints on it. There is a vase, with some flowers in it. They are not arranged professionally; these flowers have come from somebody's garden. Next to the vase is a cassette tape. You focus on it.

This is what you hear:

"I just want the record to show that I'm against this."

"Come on, Matt. What have you got to lose, besides..."

"If I lose my gut, when I lose my gut, it will be when I finally decide to eat less and to exercise. Subliminal tapes have never been proven to work."

"Look, you already agreed to try this, so why not at least be cheerful about it..."

"Okay, put it on."

You now hear Orff's "Carmina Burana," playing very softly.

"Oh, something is coming over me. I don't feel hungry anymore. Let's go to a movie."

"You promised, Matt."

"Okay, I'll be good."

You hear the music for three minutes, uninterrupted and soft. Your eyes drift to the garden flowers, but go back to the tape when you hear:

"Well, this is pointless."

"Shhhh."

Two more minutes of music, and then, a weird voice drifting in and out of the music, trying to hide, but badly. It's a gruff voice with a thick New York accent.

"You make love with confidence and skill."

Another minute of music and then:

"You have an erection."

After another minute:

"You are ready to make love right now."

And then Matt's voice:

"Uh... Honey?"

The sound fades out. The lights dim. Just before the scene fades from view, you see a female hand in a long white silk glove gently pick up the tape, and take it off the table.

     It was 2:50 PM. The Shirts were leading by one run, and the Skins had a boy on base. Vacuole Blort looked at his watch. It was still 2:50 PM. He was a Skin, but none of the other boys wanted to see him with his shirt off, so it was understood that he was a Skin under his gym-shirt. There was one out, and Vacuole was one away from being at bat. If only it would be three o' clock, the bell would ring and he would turn around and walk right back inside, and there was nothing they could do to him because school's out at three. He put his watch up to his ear...

     It was 2:52 PM. Ball... Ball... Ball... If there was one more ball, that would be a "walk" and Vacuole would have to bat. "Swing and miss," he thought. "Swing and miss." The pitch! Swish! It was 2:53 PM. "Take your time," Vacuole thought at the pitcher. "Take your time, then swing and miss. Take your time then swing and miss..." The pitch! Steeeeerike! It was still 2:53 PM. The second hand moved slowly on its path, like it was rounding the bases in its own time, with no one calling it "Fatty" or "Vaselined Fart." "Foul Ball," he thought. "Foul Ball." The pitch! Ball!

     It was 2:55 PM. The Shirts were leading by one run, and the Skins had a boy on second, and one on first. There was one out, and Vacuole Blort was up. "V.F.!" came a cry from the outfield, "V.F.!" If the teacher wasn't there, Matt S. wouldn't be saying "V.F." He would be saying, "Vaselined Fart! Vaselined Fart! You think your poop is a work of art!" Vacuole got ready to swing, holding his bat just like Mrs. Harrison told him to. "Get a hit," she whispered, thinking he didn't hear, "knock it over their heads."

     "Please, God, just give me a chance," he prayed. "Just one tiny chance!"

     The pitch! A swing! A hit! It went right to the pitcher, but he dropped it, and threw it to third. Out. Vacuole's short legs went as fast as they could, but halfway to first, he began to get winded. The first baseman laughed cruelly as he easily caught the ball tossed to him. Double play

     The scene is a bedroom. Over the shoulder shot of a woman looking in the mirror. We see her reflection. She's wearing a red, sequined dress. She has an hourglass figure and a push up bra. Make-up, but tastefully applied. We see the shot long enough to realize that she's Lisa, the woman from the Doctor Harrison Weightmind Institute commercial, now become svelte and model-like. A knock-out. She takes off her long, white, silk gloves and puts them on the nightstand. She reaches behind her head, and removes something from her hair, which now cascades down, only to bounce a little before settling. She sits down on the foot of the bed which begins to ripple as a waterbed can only do when a certain kind of woman sits on it. She removes her shoes. Slow pan until we are facing her directly now, although her gaze is fixed off camera, as if still looking at the mirror. She stands and reaches behind her dress. The camera moves off her to the door, so we see the dress fall, but she is out of view before we get a glimpse of breast. "Honey?" she calls. "Are you coming to bed?"

     "In a minute, dear," responds a familiar voice. We pan into a foyer, and then to another room where Matt the stand-up comedian is sitting on a sofa, the room dark except for the glow of a television illuminating his face. He is wearing a tuxedo, except for the bow-tie which is sticking out of his jacket pocket, and the cummerbund, which is on the floor. He is sitting crouched, his face very close to the set, a channel changer in his hands.

     Shot of a rowboat at sea, guy in a raincoat and white beard. "Greetings, ye landlubbers! Welcome to Ocean Fishing with Cap'n Epstein. Today, we set our sights on the elusive -" *CLICK*

     The shot returns to Matt's face, as we hear part of the "You're not really hungry" jingle. *CLICK*

     A baseball game. (Actual footage from a televised game.) The New York Yankees versus the Cleveland Indians. We see a double play. *CLICK*

     A concert on PBS. We see a chorus in back, The Chicago Symphony Orchestra in front, and "Carmina Burana" fills the air.
"sternit fortem mecum omnes plangite!" *CLICK*

     A quick image of Cap'n Epstein *CLICK*

     A quick shot of a woman in a straw hat, pulling dandelions from the ground. *CLICK*

     The shot of Lisa from the beginning of this scene *CLICK*

     A shot of the adult Vacuole Blort, writing something on a legal pad with a big smile on his face. *CLICK*

     About twenty more rapid shots, each lasting one second. Then we switch to a shot of Matt, asleep, with his finger on the remote control. The changing lights of the rapidly channel-surfing television play upon his face.

     "I told you, Ringo, I 'm just not doing it!"

     "Aw, come on then Johnny."

     "No. It's Paul's bloody turn to write you a song, so you just go and get him to fucking write you one."

     "But he already did. Just look at this, will you?"

     "I'd like to be. Under the sea. In an Octopus' Garden. In the Shade. Oooh, I see what you mean."

     "I mean the one about the submarine was bad enough, but what the hell is an octopus' garden? I can't do this, Johnny."

     "Maybe it will sound better when we get it on tape."

     "Look, John. Since Brian died I've put up with a lot of crap. But this-"

     "Leave that Jew out of this, okay?"

     "I'm just saying that between you and Paul I should be able to get one song on the new album that has a tiny chance of being a hit!"

     "Look, just try recording it, and if you don't like it, I'll see what I can do."

     Vacuole Blort looks up at a television monitor. The stage manager says, "Okay in 5... 4... 3... " and makes the two and one with his fingers. From his chair, Vacuole sees the tail end of the Doctor Harrison Weightmind Institute commercial, followed by a televised image of the reality before him. There's salty old Cap'n Epstein in his row boat, with expensive hydraulic lifts rocking the boat back and forth, while a fan blows spray into his jolly (but salty) face.

     "Greetings, ye' land lubbers! I be Cap'n Epstein and this be my show. Are ye' ready far some Ocean Fishing?"

     "Yay!" the crowd of five and six year olds screams. Kids everywhere LOVE Ocean Fishing with Cap'n Epstein.

     "I hear tell that today we have legendary basketball starrr Dave 'Stickpin' Harrison with us, but I can't see him nowheres." Cap'n Epstein puts his hand across his brow as if searching the horizon. Then he looks to the left, and to the right, and finally in his pants, as his young audience laughs in accompaniment. Vacuole Blort smiles broadly. Cap'n Epstein is a master at his job, and the show's a hit. He notices that Cap'n Epstein is getting a little bit overweight. Something will have to be done about that if the trend continues. He signals, and the monitor now reveals the happy crowd, with a zoom to a particularly attractive little girl wearing a Cleveland Indians cap. He signals again and we are back to Cap'n Epstein:

     "Well,mateys, we can't hang about all day waiting for him. Arrr, there is fishing to be done. Are ye' ready to explore the mighty sea with Cap'n Epstein?"

     "Yes," responds the crowd.

     "I can't HEAR ye'!"

     "YES!"

     "Then stay tuned, and we'll be right back after these imparrrtent words."

     The stage manager holds his hand up, pauses, and then drops it. "And we are CLEAR."

     "See you in a bit, ye swabs!" calls out salty old Cap'n Epstein, as he wanders to his dressing room for a quick puff on his cigarette.

     The little girl in the baseball cap watches him go, her mouth open in wonder.

     "Are you having a good time, Carmen?" asks her father.

     "Uh-huh."

     "And how about you, sweet Lisa?"

     Lisa was looking fondly at her daughter, but she lifts her gaze to meet his. "You know, Matt, I came here for Carmen, but I'm actually having a ball!"

     Applause! The Cap'n is back, and he leaps into the boat.

     "Okay in 5... 4... 3... " and the stage manager makes the two and one with his fingers.

     "And we be back boys and girls!" Blue and green light s play on the surface of the boat, to simulate waves. "Today we be in the Carribean Sea. There are legends of pirates in these parts, but ol' Cap'n Epstein isn't scared of no pirates! Do ye' know why?"

     "No." This comes from a few of the grown-ups in the crowd.

     "I can't HEAR ye'!"

     "NO!"

     "Because I be carrying this!" He squats down in a laugh-getting posture, and picks up a bowling ball. He huffs and puffs and gets it over his head.

     "If any pirates come up to me ship, I just pick up me trusty bowling ball and knock it over their heads, like this!" The grown-ups knew he would drop the ball, but they still jump at the noise.

     Vacuole waits the perfect amount of time, and cues the fountain. A high stream of water comes up, shooting right between the Cap'n legs. He is soon soaked, as the blue and green lights rise higher and higher.

     "One chance, laddies and lasses, one tiny chance. Maybe if I call for help, a passing parrrpoise would come and save me. Help! ... Help! ... Help! ..."

     Dead silence now. Carmen is about to cry.

     "Maybe if ye' kids could help me yell..."

     Pandemonium! Carmen is too excited to yell "help," so she just screams. Suddenly, the music kicks in. When the dry ice smoke clears, Cap'n Epstein has his arms around the neck of a mermaid, suspended on wires. The costume covers the entire, massive body of Dave "Stickpin" Harrison, except for his face, which is contorted into a strange, twisted grin.

     "Oh, ye' saved my life, little marrrrmaid. Thank ye' so much far helping me."

     In a high falsetto, the Stickpin responds.

     "Don't worry, Cap'n Epstein. We mermaids LIKE helping people!"

(c) 1996 by the Reverend Douglas James. All rights reserved.
Images (c) Laurel Palmer and the Reverend Douglas James 1996

Share your opinions on this story
Back to Painless Endings
Go to the Painless Endings Guest Entry
Go to the Painless Endings archives