Under god?

"I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America." 

Not anymore, you jackass. I'm talking about when I was younger...better. School-aged. They made us say it every morning. But to answer your question, no...I don't say it anymore. I guess I could have changed that first sentence to "I pledged allegiance...", but that's not the line. Please hold your questions until the end. Thank you. Now, let's try this again...

"I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America." 

It wasn't until the fifth grade that I starting paying attention to the words in this thing. Why were they asking us to pledge allegiance to an inanimate object, anyway? It didn't make any sense. I was as happy to live in America as the next kid in the room, but what did that have to do with pledging to a flag. It would make more sense if you were pledging allegiance to a flag... 

"and to the republic for which it stands"

Oh. Well, okay. That made it a little more sense, but what does it mean to pledge allegiance to a republic? Were they asking me to blindly follow the country, no matter what? And what did they mean by "country"? The people? In that case, I'd probably be okay with it. I'd met mostly good ones at that point. Of course, I'd only met my family, a handful of teachers, and a few cool kids that taught me how to do "the worm". I think it's safe to say that at ten years old, I hadn't met a bunch of people. Maybe I didn't know what I was talking about. I did know the government had done some awful things. What if they did something else that was really shitty? There were tens (even dozens!) of missiles pointed at the Soviet Union. Professor Boyd put Bonzo to bed and then somehow made his way to Washington. He had his finger on the scary buttons. (Okay, fine. Reagan probably didn't put his finger on any of those buttons. But they would have let him had he wanted to). There was more, though. I'd just seen a movie with Rambo (John J). The government screwed him over and left him for dead. Of course, he went on a one man killing spree and managed to survive, but it was still a shitty thing for the government to do to him. After all, we were supposed to be... 

"one nation under God"

Wait...what?!? Why is that in there. I definitely wasn't saying that part. I didn't know much at ten years old, but I knew there was no Spiderman, no Santa Claus, and there was probably no god. (I was still undecided on the Rambo thing). I couldn't be the only one that didn't believe, right? There had to be others, right? Come to think of it, I hadn't heard anyone else say they didn't believe in god. Surely others existed, right? And if they did, why would the government put those words "under god" in this stupid thing. Does that mean I'm not included? (When I said hold questions to the end...I was talking about you. Not me. I'll ask all the fucking questions I want). I mean, if we're supposed to be... 

"Indivisible. With liberty and justice for all." 

...why the fuck were they excluding me. I really liked that last line, but isn't it null and void if this pledge thing only applies to people who believe "under god"? Fuck them, I'm not saying it! They can't make me. I'll say the rest of the stupid words, but I'm not saying those two.

And I didn't. Day after day, week after week, I omitted those two words each time I said the Pledge of Allegiance. Soon, it wasn't enough to not say the words. I wanted something more. I started closing my mouth in a very goofy looking, animated way during those two words. I closed my mouth hard and even lifted up on my toes while the other kids happily chanted along. Boy, I was clever. So clever, in fact, that the teacher noticed my little one man protest. Apparently, those two words meant a lot to him, because he promptly marched me to the office.

I was a good kid. I had never been to the office for a disciplinary reason. I was scared. When we arrived at the office, my teacher announced my crime to everyone. I was not saying the Pledge "correctly" and my parents needed to be notified right away. It got worse. The principal decided they would be called into the school. The school was going to fix me right away. 

I'll never forget seeing my parents walk through the door to the office. My father was in his police uniform and he looked really angry. When he saw me, however, he gave me a big smile. My mother did, too. They announced themselves to the secretary and the principal invited them back to his office. He offered them a seat, but my father said he'd rather stand. "This won't take long," he said. I was seated in the lobby area, but within earshot of all that was said. The principal began to speak, but my father cut him off right away. He told him without any hesitation that I didn't have to say any of the words in the Pledge. He added how angry he was to be called from work for such a ridiculous thing. The principal tried to "correct" him, but that wasn't going to happen. He told the principal the conversation was over. Dad walked over and told me I didn't have to say it and they weren't allowed to make me. I must have looked scared, because my father turned to the principal and announced that I'd had enough fun for one day. They would be taking me home with them. Stunned, the principal told me to go gather my things. 

As we walked out of the building that day, I looked up at the flag outside of the school. I think it was at that moment that being an American made sense to me. I was free to believe what I want. No teacher, no principal, no government could take that away from me. My little protest had worked, and I was filled with pride as we walked to our car. My parents both hugged me before we got inside to drive off. Once inside, my mother began to cry, and all my feelings of pride and victory disappeared fast. I knew why she was crying. Her son didn't believe in god. My father told her it would be okay. 

The lesson I really learned that day? Telling people you didn't believe in god caused a lot of drama. It made assholes angry and it made the people you loved sad. I promised myself that I would never tell anyone again. A promise I kept for a long, long time.

Gilbert Gottfried -- Roaster Extraordinaire

I enjoy the Comedy Central roasts. Comedy Central aired the New York Friar's Club roasts from 1998 to 2002. Once the contract expired in 2002, they decided to produce their own version of the show. The roasts have turned into a bit of an event in our house. We don't miss them. This year, Comedy Central announced this year's roastee will be James Franco. More interesting (disappointing) to me than who they are roasting, is that Gilbert Gottfried is not going to be on the dais as one of the roasters. To me, Gilbert is the highlight of every roast he participates in. As I said, I enjoy all the roasts...even the ones that don't feature Gilbert. I love the other regulars, such as Jeff Ross, Lisa Lampanelli, (and more recently) Anthony Jeselnik, and Amy Schumer. But I'll miss seeing Gilbert this year. In honor of his brilliance in the roasts, I've collected his last five appearnces on the show here -- as well as a clip from The Aristocrats, discussing his telling of that famous joke during the roast of Hugh Hefner in 2001. Okay, on to the list.


The Bob Saget Roast (2008)

 

 

The Joan Rivers Roast (2009) 

 

 

 

The Roast of David Hasselhoff (2010)

 

 

 

The Roast of Donald Trump (2011)

 

 

The Roast of Rosanne Barr (2012)

 

 

And here's the clip from the Aristocrats...



 

 

 



Spiderman Made Me an Atheist

I remember it being hot. Fuck, it was hot! It was the type of hot that causes two trees to fight over the same dog. (No, I don't know what kind of dog.) I'm pretty sure it was 1982. That's a long time ago now. I can't remember all of the little details the way I used to. A stupid alien with a sweet tooth and a glowing finger phoned home that year. I'm about 40 percent positive it was 1982. Stevie Wonder and the cute Beatle sang a stupid, stupid song that year about the way piano keys fit together. Did I mention it was hot? It was so hot I saw a dog chasing a cat and they were both walking; but I didn't care about that. I had been anticipating this day ever since my father came home from work and said Spiderman was coming to the Baltimore Zoo; and we were going. Excelsior! I didn't even know what that meant, but stupid words and their definitions didn't matter. We watched a gorilla vomit an orange into his hand, then watched in fascination and disgust as he shoved the liquified orange back into his mouth. Somewhere, in an air conditioned living room far far away, a family that wasn't ours was watching Higgins scold Magnum for not minding the hounds.  I was sweating like a hen wrapped in a wool blanket, standing in a line longer than a row of cotton; but I wouldn't have traded places with the loser kid in that loser family for the world. The stupid gorilla made my sister cry and it smelled like...a zoo, but I was able to ignore all of that. The wall-crawling, web-slinging, webhead was coming to my friendly neighborhood and I had a ton of questions to ask him about superheroing. It was going to be the greatest day of my life.

Patiently, we stood in line with the rest of the crowd. And by patiently, I mean me asking, "When is Spiderman coming", and then waiting at least thirty seconds before asking again. Finally, after what felt like a four day wait (probably less than half an hour), Spiderman poked his head around the corner of a large building to a chorus of oohs and aahs. A beautiful chorus. Not that lousy, "Living in perfect harmony" crap that the Beatle and the blind guy were singing. This was different. This meant that I was only moments away from meeting my hero. Everyone was saying that he looked just like the comic books. Of course he did. Why wouldn't he? They obviously weren't real fans. The line was moving along at a Motor Vehicle Administration pace. As each one of the lame kids ahead of me got their audience with Spidey, they just shook his hand or asked to have their picture taken with him. I half watched them, and half kept an eye out for the Green Goblin. This would be the perfect time for him to ambush my hero. That's the funny thing about eight year old kids. They don't know a fucking thing. I told my parents I was going to ask Spiderman to shoot some webs or climb the side of the building. I wasn't going to be content with a handshake and a Polaroid like these other kids. They looked at each other and smiled before saying, "He's not really Spiderman, buddy. He's just a man dressed up in a costume. Nobody can really climb walls like a spider." I thought, "WHAT?!?!" What were they talking about?

(I need to back up here just for a moment, dear reader. I was a pretty quiet kid. There were no children my age that lived in our neighborhood. Sure, I had friends at school. But there were no kids my age within walking distance of our house. I made up for that by having a big imagination. I fed that imagination with comic books. I was a big reader at that age. My favorite thing to read other than superhero comics? The "Children's Illustrated Bible", given to me as a gift by my grandparents. I didn't read the illustrated bible any differently than I read the four color process pages of Marvel or DC Comics. In my mind, they weren't fiction. The comic books were my thing, but I read that Children's Bible just as seriously. It was obviously something that meant a lot to my grandparents (still does), so I finished that book as soon as I could. I wanted to be part of it all. Now...back to that story.)

NOT SPIDERMAN?!? This news stunned me. Maybe I could hitch a ride home with that stupid alien. All of the sudden, the line seemed to be moving faster. Maybe they meant that he was a Spiderman stand-in, like those helpers Santa keeps on his payroll and sends to the mall. You know, because Santa couldn't be everywhere at once (but somehow he alone managed to deliver all the presents in one night...stupid kid). My parents quickly shot this down as well. I was panicking. I had to be asking the wrong questions. "Ebony. Ivory. Living in perfect harmony." There were just a few kids between me and Spidey at this point. They were shaking his dirty imposter hand and posing for their stupid pictures. In a last ditch effort to make some sense of it all, I asked my father about the stories in the Children's Bible. They were every bit as far-fetched as the comic books. Walking on water, water to wine, talking snakes, so on and so on. My parents looked at each other again, but this time...no smiles. They were obviously uncomfortable; my father in particular. He answered, "Well, no...those stories are...umm...different." I was convinced that he believed that, but it was too late for me. He couldn't put the genie back in the bottle. There was no genie.

Next thing you know, I was face to face with the phony Spiderman. I said, "Hi", and stuck out my hand. He asked if I wanted a picture. I said, "Yes". He draped his leg over my shoulder and put his elbow on top of my head. My dad snapped the picture. He sure looked like a real superhero in that suit, but I knew that wasn't right. I said to him, "There is no Spiderman." He patted me on the head and greeted the next kid. 

It would be inaccurate to say I knew I was an atheist at that point (I don't think I even heard the word "atheist" until high school.) I did stop believing any of it that day, however. Until now, I've only told that story to a few people (now 10 more people will read it). Many of them have told me how sorry they were that my Spiderman visit was "ruined" by learning the truth. I like to respond to that with a quotation from Carl Sagan. "For me, it is far better to grasp the Universe as it really is than to persist in delusion, however satisfying and reassuring." (Except I butcher the quote, because stupid isn't just an affliciton I suffered from as a kid). It didn't turn out to be the greatest day of my life. But that's only because my life has been filled with some great days since then. It was super important, though and I'll always look back on it fondly. Well, except for the heat. And the zoo smells.

My Only Adult Religious Experience

That whole "your kid gets half of their genes from you" thing is probably one hundred percent accurate scientifically. I'm not doubting it for a second, so don't try to bust me on it. I'm just saying in my kid's case, it feels a little off. Okay, maybe a lot off. He's like a carbon copy of me. No, fuck that. Not a copy of me...a younger me. A headstrong me with hopes and dreams (No, not "hope and change". He hasn't found pot yet); a me not particularly interested in what you think of him. I understand him, because I remember being him (me). But that was all before marriage. Now, don't get me wrong. There's no doubt I "batted above my average" when I married my wife. She is WAY too good for me. There has never been a person that isn't at least a little shocked to discover that we're together. It's not uncommon to hear "Really?" when I say, "I'm with her". Part of the reason she puts up with my lame ass is because she has me trained. "Whipped" if you prefer (How does this happen without sex? Oh. Maybe that's exactly how it happens. Sorry, back to the thing). It would be really, really rocky if she didn't have me properly trained. It would be...exactly what it's like when she and Jeffery talk to each other. He just doesn't care that there are things she doesn't like to hear, or things he does that drive her up a fucking wall. He's punk rock like that. I'm not trying to paint a loveless picture here. They have a great relationship. There are bumps in the road, however. And these bumps get weird, because like every other mother on the planet, my wife is more than happy to break out the "You just wait until your father gets home" card when she's really agitated with him. And then comes the scenario I dread more than any other. I'm now being asked (as the well trained second or third choice) to discipline a younger, better version of me. And there we are. There I am. Standing in a room...talking to myself. Like every religious person on the planet. And as we talk, I realize I'm not interested in correcting him. I'm wishing I could live up to his image. The father, the son, and my (our?) fucking dilemma.

Husbands are tools

I was lounging in my chair, reading on my iPad, when my wife appeared (seemingly out of nowhere, but I'm guessing from the kitchen) to tell me she was struggling with the lid on a jar (of I don't even know what) and she asked if I could open it. Now I'm no alpha male, but I don't run when asked to open a jar (of I still don't know what) so I accepted the challenge. I struggled for a moment (or four) but then felt the lid start to loosen. I was about to crack a clever joke about married guys having superior grip strength because of all the masturb...and then it hit me, like a ton of soul crushing bricks. You think your wife has relegated you to dry dock to make your life miserable, or as punishment for not being her first choice...but you're wrong. It's actually a very practical decision she's made to ensure you develop adequate grip strength to open a jar of pickles (or whatever the fuck!), every time she asks. Husbands. We're nothing more than a tool in their fucking drawer. Not a particularly sharp one, either.