The Turd Finally Hits the Water

Somehow, I feel like we’ve been here before. As I mentioned a couple days ago, I had this great idea for ridiculous “Of the Month Club” ideas and offerings, and then I thought to myself, “Wait. Haven’t I done that already?”

And then I found myself unable to remember whether I had or not.

I suppose that, after 545 posts-or-thereabouts, it’s going to happen. I’m going to repeat myself. And that irritates me. There’s really no possible way to ensure that I haven’t already written about something, other than sifting aimlessly through the archives of this blog. And I’m not sure I want to do that. I have precious little time to blog and, when I have the time, I like to just sit down and do it. Rather like a big shit, it sort of just blorps out without me thinking too much about it and, the great thing about blogging as opposed to bigshitting is that my ass doesn’t get wet when the turd hits the water.

What?

This is kind of the reason why John Cleese left “Monty Python’s Flying Circus” after the end of the third season. Well, not because of blogging, or bigshitting, but because of repetition. He was growing tired of the lads same old schtick and, while it may seem to us, looking back at old recordings of their famed television show, that they were always creative and inventive and groundbreaking—really, they weren’t. Not all the time. They were beginning to get self-referential, beginning to use stock characters and careworn jokes, the same premise for a sketch that had been used three years prior, just with a slight twist. Or not. And Cleese, always the most restless and challenging to satisfy member of the group grew bored, stifled and, well, irritated. It’s no wonder that he went on to create, amongst lots of other things, a film called “How to Irritate People.”

And so he left the group. If you watch any episode from their fourth season, you will notice that tall, lanky, very funny figure being conspicuously absent. They tried to carry on, of course, but the show was doomed. In the “Michael Ellis/Ant” sketch, Graham Chapman is doing characters that were clearly meant for John to have done. It just wasn’t right. The show was finished. Yes, John came back for the feature films, but he wasn’t always happy about it. He was like the chick who got boobies first in middle school that the other awkward, portly, braces-wearing former friends kept dragging to the ice cream parlor on Saturday night.

I admit there were some ideas that I had brainstormed about this “Of the Month Club” calendar that made me chuckle. If you signed up for the STD-of-the-Month Club, they would send you Chlamydia or Herpes or Syphilis in a petrie dish. “STD’s: Collect ‘Em All!”

And there was the Autopsy Picture of the Month Calendar courtesy of your local sheriff’s department mortuary. “Support Local Law Enforcement by buying the Autopsy Pic of the Month Calendar. Remember: February is Transient Ischemic Attack Month!”

When you’d sign up for your AAA membership, for $29.99 more, you could upgrade to the Random Auto Part of the Month Club, where they would send you a roll-up window lever from a 1978 Chevrolet Malibu in June, or a catalytic converter from a 1981 Dodge St. Regis for whatever your birthday month is. Ever wanted the front passenger seat to a 1993 Plymouth Acclaim? Cross your fingers in January, and it might show up on your doorstep!

There was the Old School Cellphone of the Month Club and the Used Celebrity Underwear of the Month Club and the Sex Toy Lending Library and the Interstitial Disease Photo Album.

There was all of that. And then I started feeling like John Cleese. And I don’t want to feel like that. Worse, I don’t want you to feel like that either.

I also don’t want to feel like I’m blogging when I need to be looking for jobs—the guilt I feel, the pain it’s causing Mrs. Apron. If something doesn’t give, I’ll be unemployed in two-and-a-half lousy weeks, and I feel a little ridiculous sitting here trying to make merry and pretending like that isn’t happening when, really, it is. So I’m shutting this candy shop down until I’m gainfully employed.

Yes, I know I will lose readers and it’ll break my heart to see those stats I’ve worked to keep up (heh heh— keep up) take that inevitable downward dip, but I’ve got to grow up and stop kidding myself, and you.

Maybe I’ll be back for the feature films.