A delicious concoction of tasty morsels of thought, epiphany and general anger management

 
Appeal To The U.S. Government

White House
c/o J.E. Carter, Jr.
1600 Pennsylvania Ave. NW
Washington, D.C. 20500

February 6, 1977

Dear Mr. President,

First, let me congratulate you on your ascension to the presidency of the United States. As you know from my many letters to your campaign headquarters, I am a fervent supporter of you and your party. I cannot vote (I was convicted of a felony) but you must know that were I allowed to participate in the electoral process, my vote would have certainly gone your way. Both my ex-wife Farrah Fawcett and I are extremely enthusiastic about the great changes that your presidency promise to bring. I mean no offense to Farrah Fawcett. Farrah Fawcett is a dear friend of mine. In the halcyon days of our wedded bliss, we would make sweet love like sea otters on the hood of a 1974 Chevy Nova. After that, we'd go to the house of Lee Majors and ingest enough horse tranquilizers to kill, well, a horse. It is no wonder that my dear sweet Farrah and he are married now. He is, after all, the Six Million Dollar Man. I assure you, that show isn't simply fiction. Many, many of the episodes that they produce are exact replicas of the life that he leads. Also, Farrah Fawcett is a dirty, dirty tramp. I digress.

In any event, I have a simple request for you. I would like to request that you grant me diplomatic immunity. I know that this is not a decision to be rendered lightly but I do ask that you consider the finer points of the case that I am about to present. Here for you, 12 reasons that I should be granted diplomatic immunity:

1. The three kilos of cocaine stacked on my living room table aren’t going to sit there forever.
2. My life as an asbestos magnate, living on my 150-foot yacht in tax-free splendor just 4 miles off of the coast of Florida isn’t as splendid or luxurious as the description might imply. For instance, when I demand fresh tail, my houseboy Ralph must take the helicopter and ferry women in from Cocoa Beach.
3. I really have to pee.
4. I really shouldn’t have to fake my own death … again.
5. A lifetime of fraud and malfeasance isn’t something to be proud of. I understand that now. I promise I’ll stop paying radio stations to play the hit singles of my boy band.
6. I’m tired of getting calls from your creditors, offering me “0% APR for the first year to transfer my unsecured debt.” What the hell is unsecured debt?
7. I’ve been looking for an hour and I can’t find a goddamn parking spot. (New York City only)
8. These gallons and gallons of oil pouring out of my tanker and into the environmentally sensitive habitats of small marine creatures could be put to better use, like processing it into gasoline that pollutes our atmosphere and destroys our ozone layer in the form of toxic Sport Utility Vehicle exhaust and emissions.
9. Life is too short to be granted diplomatic immunity in an insignificant country like Belize, Lesotho or France.
10. My mere presence in any country has a small but significant impact on the Gross National Product of said nation. In fact, just last year, the GNP of the Netherlands increased 1.2% due to my presence. Given the current economic state of the U.S., I believe you need all of the help you can get.
11. You drive us wild; we'll drive you crazy. You keep on shoutin', you keep on shoutin'. I wanna rock and roll all nite and party every day.
12. Russia has been bugging me to get them more information about your government.

I trust you will find this evidence most compelling.

Thank you in advance for your consideration,

Geoffrey Aloysius Wolinetz

cc: Vice President Walter Mondale
Secretary of State Cyrus Vance

posted by G.Wo at 12:32 PM

 
You Like Me, You Really Like Me

The public thirsts for knowledge of me. With all that I provide for them of my exploits, it is still not enough. They demand more. My life has been analyzed several hundred times. Different angles, slants and points of view provide innumerable new insights into my enigmatic personality. When I was a brash young scholar, I took to writing my autobiography. Since my life sees more action than Eddie Murphy in a Portuguese cathouse, I had to write my life story in several volumes. I mean no offense to Eddie Murphy. Eddie Murphy is a dear friend of mine. In those loopy younger days spent in the Roosevelt section of Queens, Eddie Murphy and I would join the children frolicking in the powerful spray of the fire hydrants. After our subsequent arrests for indecent exposure, we'd use our phone call to ask Tim Kazurinsky if his refrigerator was running. At night, Eddie Murphy and I would mix common household chemicals into a powerful aphrodisiac and hunt down some loose women. Our lovemaking sessions would last deep into the night, while the women would watch. Wolinetz loves all people equally and he can't help but get a little bit on you. I digress.

I have regaled you with pieces of my most famous autobiographical volume, Camels Have Two Humps. Here now, is page 37 of my autobiography, Wolinetz: Macho Donkey Writer Man (translated from English to Japanese and back to English):

As small child, I had a small place of living with many family members who indulged little in the ways of materialism. The children of the school would make fun of Geoff. They were all well oiled and coddled by parents who were lined with the rich opulence of squid ink and the strong entrails of the meaty gazelle girded their loins. They all had buffalo dung. Geoff had no buffalo dung. The children would laugh.

Geoff entered 7th grade Geography Bee. Competition was stiff and children of competition were brainy as great monkfish. Geoff has fear? A thousand times no! Geoff was fierce like lion. I pressed on with studies and made foolish American children look fat, lazy and boorish. I emerged from cloud of dust with victory blue ribbon. Geoff’s parents beamed with pride for number one son, dragon powerful ruler of geography.

My parent support was great, like that of the powerful ox. Many times, Geoff’s parents sacrificed personal pleasure for the advancement of my living. My father imparted many impressive pieces of advice to the product of his loins. “The mule is stubborn,” the exalted man who produced me said, “and he lives with gonorrhea.” There is much of him in me.

Geoff never has fear. For I knew that good things come to those who are true to the ways of Ho Lu, Grand Emperor of the Wong Dynasty. If I kept working on the textbook of school studies, I would soon be off to do what my destiny calls for. I would found small company of television and produce shows of great magnitude. Entertainment for the masses would be the great joy of Geoff’s life.

posted by G.Wo at 12:27 PM

 
It Will Always Be Burma To Me

In the deep days of my puissant youth, I was an accomplished stage actor. As I have detailed in Pickle This!, my presence on the stage is not only commanding, it is also at times commanded. I was 4 when I had done my first Othello and 6 when I had done my first Lear. At the age of 8, I tackled the role later made famous by Mel Gibson. I mean no offense to Mel Gibson. Mel Gibson is a dear friend of mine. In the days when we roamed the scorching Australian countryside, Mel Gibson and I would stalk and kill wild boars for sport, consuming all but the tusks. We'd take the extraneous tusks and throw them at the boorish elitists that sat in the boxes at the Sydney Opera House. At dawn, Mel Gibson and I would wander the beaches and urinate on the jellyfish. There's nothing quite like the site of a peed on jellyfish. You can hear their muffled shrieks, as they absorb the uric acid. Mel Gibson and I would laugh and laugh. Also, we were drunk. But I digress.

The role of which I speak is, of course Hamlet, the melancholy Dane. And I am reminded of those days of wonderfully performed Shakespeare, as I am on the floor of a Burmese prison. I think it is called Myanmar now. I will have to ask Cuban Bob when I get home. I am naked, but that is just for fun. It is dark here, so very dark. There are noises in the distance but no one has come for me in hours. I write in my journal by the light that seeps in through the food hole. The light is milky white and blunted, much like the albino Burmese woman that I had sex with last night. She was passionate and stern, all at once demanding my touch then smacking me across the face. I basked in the warmth of her body and I woke up here. She was a villainous she-devil. I loved her deeply.

Footsteps. I am not scared. I have been in prisons far worse than here. I lived in Dayton, OH for a year.

"Wolinetz!"
"I am."
"Wolinetz, we have been looking for you for some time. I see that you were easily brought to us by our 'Burmese White'"
"My weakness for flesh is no secret. What do you want from me?"

The voice which had been disembodied was revealed to belong to a surly Burmese man with a wont for blood. He raised his hand to me and unleashed a vicious slap that moistened my eyes and shot pain through my head. I fell to my elbow and checked my nose for blood. There was none. I rule. The man helped me to my feet and stood before him. He had an ingrating presence, much like my ex-wife Carmen Electra's parents.

He opened the door to my cell and I was thrust out the door. I was on stage. Thousands cheered my arrival. I waved to the adoring folks that had likely paid good money to see me. I would demand a cut of this money, of course, as well as some opium to hold me until I got back to the States. I turned to my captor and he nodded. He did not need to say anything. They had come to see me perform as the melancholy Dane. Where be your jibes now? Your flashes of merriment? They be here, amongst the people of Burma. For the moment, anyway.

posted by G.Wo at 3:42 PM