Death From Above

I’ve often wondered why maintenance men occasionally put ice at the base of urinals. Truth be told, I’ve never had the heart to ask. All I can suppose is it is done for sheer entertainment value. That is to say, it allows me to inflict my warm yellow wrath upon the inhabitants below, melting them before my very eyes and imbuing me with a glorified sense of godlike power for having vanquished the sleepy inhabitants of ice land, much like God himself does with a tornado over quiet villages in summertime Kansas.

(Or maybe they just need to get rid of some ice.)

BILL

Betrayal Is The Deepest, Most Grievous Wound

This hard truth was visited upon me recently and with unforgiving hurt – indeed one of life’s tougher lessons - when I slept with a good friend’s wife and he got really, really mad at me.

BILL

Why I'm So Screwed Up

Yes, I suppose, there is one iconic figure who indeed represents all that was the unholy terror I called “Mother.” You know it well by now and, yes, below pretty much sums it up. Is the picture of Bill getting clearer for you? The dark humor, the conniving ways, taking to flights of fancy, the gruesome outfit and the freakish tone that was my skin color. I suppose you would be screwed up too however if your mother was a flying monkey.

My Billionaire Friends Are No Fun Anymore

All they ever want to talk about is how to create more jobs. Their wives and girlfriends call me – in tears - confessing that they frequently have to awaken them from fitful dreams marked by tossing and turning and the nonstop nocturnal cries of “More jobs. I need to create more jobs…”

It’s like an obsession with them. So tedious…

BILL

Free sandwiches!!!

For too lung, sandwiches have suffered under the tyrannical thumb of worldwide mass consumption.

End this injustice today!

Free sandwiches!!!

BILL

My Homeland Security Story

So I’m on a flight with my Pakistani-born wingman Mahmood, covering the usual: football, ex-wives, whether or not the President has business cards, when I ask him where we’ll be meeting our pal Fenster for drinks.

“Ollie’s,” he says.

“Great. I’ll call Fenster.”

“I gotta hit the bathroom,” he says, heading up the aisle.

I’ve already dialed when my mind suddenly goes blank as to where we would be meeting. I call out: “Hey, Mahmood! Where are we meeting again?”

He pivots briefly: “Ollie’s.” The whine of the aircraft prevents me from hearing. Nearing the front of the aircraft, he turns back, only to see me cupping my ear, having clearly not heard him. Never a patient man, anger overwhelms Mahmood’s face and he yells: “Ollie’s Ox Bar!!”

He was tazed into submission by an air marshal.

BILL

"Never Look a Gift Horse in The Mouth"

Personal experience leads me to assert otherwise, having peered deep into the maw of one such beast, whereupon I marveled at the ultra-white precision of his fine choppers, prompting me to exclaim: “Wow! This one’s a dandy! Thanks a lot!”

(My unbridled – pun intended - exuberance went over quite well, thank you, such that in later years I became the frequent recipient of many pricey and unexpected gifts from this same party.)

BILL