Category Archives: Opinions

Chaim Witz Files A Complaint

You might think this a no-brainer but my tongue is really tired. I can hardly form a sentence much less enunciate a lyric about how I want to rock and roll a lot, like all night for instance. You people—ladies—take that line way too seriously, seriously. I love rocking out and rolling around, but give me a break. Everything is taken so literally these days. What you’re probably thinking when I sing about wanting to stay up all night long and then wag my tongue for a few bars of deep, body-penetrating bass—I can’t even imagine. Gross.

genesimmonsbasstongue

Back when I wrote the majority of my musical cannon, back when brown and yellow and fake wood were cool and long hair was rad, back when people made love missionary style because the other two styles hadn’t been invented by me yet, back when nobody painted their face or wore studded leather or platform heels until I solicited three super-cute-cool guys I met at the beach to dress up like I had always really wanted to but had felt self-conscious—like BDSM demons, though I specifically asked them to make their costume-identities less masculine and named them Starchild, Catman, Catwoman and me, the Demon—back when my Dad told me I wasn’t from Long Island but was actually born in Israel and that my real name was  Chaim Witz, I started wearing my hair up in a cute little bun, and music started rolling off the pointy tip of my very average-lengthed tongue.

Kiss1

From then on I started getting mail, telegraphs, packages, phone calls, voice messages, voicemails, text messages, texts, emails, comments, tweets and vines from people asking me if I would use my tongue to service their bodies in every disgusting and perverted way you can imagine. You can’t imagine. It has been awful.

Gene_Simmons_and_Surrey_Mayor_Watts

What’s worse, people have always confused me with other celebrities: Ozzie Osbourne—obi, Patton Oswalt, The Wizard of Oz, Liza Minnelli, Mario Batali, Pavarotti, Boy George—a close friend, and Muammar Gaddafi. But I’m a Jewish Rock Demon, so that last one doesn’t make sense at all. Ghaddafi was all Country Western. Anyway, I’m about to lose my patience with you people. I’m not servicing any of you anymore. I’m tired of being stereotyped, tired of being used, tired of being profiled, tired of being judged, tired of giving and never taking, tired of being your little toy, tired of doing whatever you say, tired of being scared to say no, no matter who you are or how well I know you or how strong you are or how you make me feel inside.

gene_simmons

This isn’t fun anymore. I don’t need this. I don’t need you. I have a band and we’re going to be together forever. Forever. Stop taking my lyrics so literally. I don’t want to stay up all night. And I don’t want to rock or roll past 9:30 on a weeknight. I never have. I never will.

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Negative Feedback

You submitted in Comic Sans.

You submitted in Franklin Gothic.

You submitted in single-space.

You submitted in size 8.

You submitted in size 16.

You said, I think you’ll find this interesting, I’m really proud of [this]or You’ll love this, in your cover letter.

You didn’t bother to write a cover letter.

Angrywriter

You fail to exhibit a mastery of English Grammar.

You fail to exhibit a working knowledge of the English Language.

You use ampersands.

You use and/or three or four times.

You use too many…dot-dot-dots…

You say like, like way too many times.

brokenpencil

Your self-congratulatory essay about being an Ivy Leaguer is very self-congratulatory.

Your feminist essay about your terrible ex-boyfriend is pretty feminist.

Half the story is narrated in French.

There are lots of clichés.

It is offensive.

It is offensive on multiple levels.

imoffended

The first sentence takes up the entire first paragraph.

The first sentence takes up the entire first page.

The first page is all dialogue.

You say, she says, happily.

You say, she says, peevishly and inappropriately.

You say, she says, like a falcon floating on a warm weather wind.

angryguy

You describe the misty landscape a lot.

You describe a glint in someone’s eye more than once.

You(r characters) are prejudice.

You(r characters) are misogynistic.

You(r characters) are phony.

angry-joe

The characters are animals.

The characters are plants and animals.

The characters are drunk the entire time.

The characters are named Bruce, Beverly, Bert, and Benny.

The characters are named Ping, Ling, Wing, Singh, and Geraldo.

geraldo

Your characters have a habit of saying, “Cool-beans,” “Giddy-up,” “Right-e-o,” “Aw Jeez,” “For sure,” “You go, girl,” “YOLO,” or “LOL.”

Your southern-accented first-person narrator reckons everything.

Your characters are bored.

I’m bored.

Stressed-teacher

The title is named after a movie.

The title is “Adventure to Nowhere”

The title is “Choas and Beautiful”

The title is “My Father’s Secret Garden”

The title is “A Bad Idea”

The title is “Politics: A Manifesto”

fiscalpaulryan

The character in the story is really You.

The character is really Me.

The character is really Us.

The character is a symbol of a man’s transcendence of gender identity. Actually, that was cool.

The character is a caricature.

goslingteacher

You have multiple paragraphs that start: And then…

It ends: And then he died, suddenly.

It ends: And then he became someone different.

In the end it was all just a dream.

frabz-WHAT-IF-IM-STILL-SLEEPING-AND-EVERITHING-IS-JUST-A-NIGHTMARE-e338a1

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Fly Fishing on Hawthorne

Keep your eyes on the corners at all times. They’ll catch you in an eddy of strolling weekenders, singling you out, because you’re the one who looks people in the eyes.

They pop up out of nowhere. Once they’ve got your attention, you won’t escape without severely disappointing them or feeling guilty to the point of rethinking your reasons for denying them your attention and sympathy.

Some of them ask for your sympathy, or just a minute of your time. Some beg you to rethink, to care, to make judgment about their causes, their problems, their artistic talent.

You’re walking across the street to buy some pens and paper in “Presents of Mind,” a fancy card store next to Starbucks. There aren’t any stationary stores on Hawthorne, just artisanal card stores. They have ballpoint pens with trees and woodpecker designs, and the only plain paper they sell is Mole Skine. Halfway across, you see one standing on the corner outside Starbucks.

The problem is catching their eye. Try not to make eye contact. Make eye contact no more than once. The second glance is the baiter. Third glance, you’re already reeled in and flopping on the deck as they jab at your ears and pound your head to death with their gimmicks and guilt spears. At that point, you have to fight or wait until it’s all over. You’ve listened to their rap CD, signed their petition, written them a check, and put an angry grin on your face.

canvasser

This guy is good. He has such strong hooking skills, he has himself a fish flopping on his deck as soon as an unassuming loner like you walks by. He catches your eye with a wave.

Excuse me!

Sorry! You shake your head.

I just want to ask you a quick question.

Ok.

Can you count to 30 while listening to my rap CD and tell me—

No. I’m really in a rush.

Where are you headed?

I’m sorry, that’s my business. You look him in the eyes like, don’t make me say it out loud because it’s embarrassing, which is true. No one is ever in a rush to shop at “Presents of Mind.”

So you’re not going to give me the time of day?

No.

You walk three steps away and decide not to go into “Presents of Mind” for obvious reasons.

No one is ever in a rush on Hawthorne. That’s why they’re here. It’s a solicitors spawning ground—a canvasser, busker, artisanal card store swamp. You walk around the corner and loop back around to your car or your bike. Your head wades through a muddy puddle of maybe-I-should-have-said and who-does-he-think-he-is and maybe-he-was-right.

You forget to buy a pen, which you still need, which is why you remember this guy from last weekend when you went to Hawthorne to shop for stationary supplies and now you’re back on Hawthorne on a weekday and there aren’t enough people around to get sucked into their nets, so I’m just saying: keep your eyes on the corners. If you see one, let’s cross the street quickly or both receive important phone calls at the same time or start crying.

No second glances. Look away.

cat busker

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Wanted?

Do you have trouble understanding your partner? Does your partner have communication issues? Do you?

Does your partner ever pretend like you don’t exist? When you call your partner by name, in the sweetest voice you can, does your partner come to you? When you touch your partner, do you expect anything in return? Do you ever get anything in return? Are you still cuddling together, or has most of the intimacy tapered off lately? Is there something you need that your partner seems incapable of giving?

Have you been feeding your partner the same food for the past five years?

Do you often leave your partner at home alone all day? Does your partner ignore you when you come home? When you come home, do you ever find the house in a state of disarray? When you ask your partner what happened, do you get a response? Does your partner just sit there and watch you clean the mess all by yourself? Does that make you angry? Does your partner know you get angry or do you hide your emotions from your partner?

Do you ever feel afraid of your partner? Have you been lying awake at night, trying to sort through the arguments you’ve had with your partner? Do you worry your partner might try to hurt you in your sleep? Have you been sleeping with one eye open? How long has this been going on? Have you been developing a deeply rooted hatred for animals? Do you need a break? Have you ever tried to end things? Do you want help? I can help.

Call my office: 1-800-CAT-CALL

If this is an EMERGENCY, call my Cell: 911-CAT-HELP

Sincerely,

Mittens “Mitt” Roflmao

Professional Cat Whisperer

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Ambition

Dear Woody / To Whom It May Concern:

Is it who or whom? It is I, or is it me? Shall I or will I get the job? These are the things about which I am concerned. I am a perfectionist: I seek out the undotted, uncrossed, uncomma’d, unimportant imperfections that could perfect a manuscript or land a major publisher.

My last job was ghostwriting a ghost story, which truly characterizes my career ambition. I aspire not to be a writer, but a ghostwriter. The fact that my employer, the author of the ghost story, was my father, does not mean I was hired due to nepotism. I did a good job, though the story was never finished.

You consider yourself a comedian, and I agree. You can be very funny, in a way, at times. I have not seen many of your films, but I have heard all about them from my father. Comedy ghostwriting is not my forte, but I am willing to try new things. The idea you have for this particular manuscript needs some tweaking, in my opinion. You have a doctor, a lawyer, and a writer sitting around a table at a kosher diner, sharing their wildest sexcapades, romances and existential crises. My question is, does the diner have to be kosher? You may risk deterring your gentile (myself included) readership.

I want this job, because I love city culture—the food, the smells, the people, the languages. I speak roughly four languages, in other words, I speak four languages very roughly, but if you ever need a letter written in German, I am an experienced Google Translator. I live on Long Island, so I speak Yiddish as well as anybody else would a dying language.

I am very excited to hear back from you. I check my email about fifty times a day. Please don’t leave me hanging.

Sincerely,

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Dawn of Crack

I’m not going.

Go get it already. I need it.

I’m sick of this.

My class starts in five minutes. I don’t have time.

It’s hot and I’m sick of running around for you.

But I’m tired.

No, you’re not.

Go get my whip!

I’m not waking up at the a**crack of dawn every week if you’re going to treat me like s**t.

Ugh…Mom!

Now get your a** out there and beat that little girl with the ponytails.

But I’m too tired.

You’re not tired.

I need you to get my whip.

I need you to win.

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Your Majesty

This way, please.

Pardon me?

Come with me, please, your Majesty.

Come with you where?

Please, your Majesty, this is difficult for me.

Where are you taking me?

This way, please. We need to discuss an important issue.

I do not understand, your Excellency.

Oh, your Majesty, I’m afraid I am not worthy of such a title.

But I thought—

The headdress is just a cultural symbol.

Not titular.

We all wear them.

Right. But I’m afraid I still do not understand what you want, sir.

To talk.

About what?

Look, it’s not about the monarchy or money.

What then?

It’s an important issue.

Where shall we talk?

This way, please.

I’m afraid I cannot abandon Phillip over there.

Who?

My escort, Phillip.

Oh, he’ll understand.

I’m afraid I can’t—

He’ll be fine. Act natural. Let’s go.

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Win Mad Stuff

I win mad stuff. I spent the last ten years of my life training, and now I win mad stuff in competitions and shows.

Winning

I win mad people’s approval. My gf approves of my life choices and loves to watch me win. Mad people clap hard for me after every performance. It’s nice.

I win mad trophies and mad money. Last month I won $150 in the final competition of the spring season. That was my biggest win of the year. I won a Benjamin and a Ulysses together in one single show.

C.R.E.A.M. get the money

I used to have a trainer, but she left me. I can’t afford her anymore. I was kind of expecting her to stay on through the financially rough patches, but you can’t force someone to have faith in your talent and/or future. Whatever. Now I win mad stuff, and I don’t have to pay her commission. She’s probably super jealous about my mad winnings and my gf. The money I used to spend on her, I now get to spend on my gf.

5th Avenue

Flush with prize cash after last month’s victory, I took my gf shopping on 5th Avenue. We walked all the way down 5th past all the fancy stores. I bought her a hot dog and a diet coke and a huge, glossy DVD. She was mad appreciative. She deserves the best.

My gift to you, baby girl

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Who’s That Waiter

Afghan President, Hamid Karzai, will stepping down. Soon. In two years.

President Hamid Karzai a-pointing his successor

With the end in sight, the corruption-interested world, viz. the Karzai family, is taking a look back on the last decade wherein they have secretly amassed a massive fortune and are in the throes of fighting over who earned what and who embezzled how much. The assassination of Ahmed Wali Karzai, the President’s brother (or son or whatever) and ex-family-tribe leader, is looking rather fratricidal, and the newly appointed family-tribe leader, the brother who replaced him, Shah Wali Karzai, is looking rather abominable.

Ahmed Wali Karzai telling you to GTFO of his pillow room.

Ahmed Wali Karzai was undoubtedly a nefarious family-tribe-leader-brother-son. He was, however, an American citizen and has been since last millennium. Ahmed worked as a waiter in Chicago, then moved back to Afghanistan in 2001 to become one of the most powerful men in the country.

Try the lobster bisque, one of our chef’s finest creations.

It has been alleged that much of the political and business operations take place out of the public eye, which is rare these days. Ahmed Wali was suspected to have been involved in the Afghan opium trade. Doesn’t the opium trade account for, like, %80 of Afghanistan’s economy? How could he not, right?

Note: Controlled/Occupied by Transitional Government in ’04

Who else could possibly be profiting from the Afghan opium trade? Some war-profiteering mongrels, I guess. I have no idea. But hey, look who’s clapping.

Shah Wali, who replaced Ahmed Wali after his assassination as leader of the tribe-family-thing, viz. the Populzai tribe of the Kandahar region, is even more corrupt. He caused a rift in the family, when he embezzled $55 million from his brother Mahmoud Karzai’s corporation, AFCO, which oversees infrastructure and development in Afghanistan. Shah Wali said he did it to protect the people of Kandahar, because who knows what could happen or where the hell money could end up in Afghanistan. Essentially, he embezzled the millions to protect Afghans from corrupt individuals like himself.

The Karzais are all pointing fingers at each other, but the truth is, they’re all pointing at themselves.

If you’re Afghan and not a Karzai, good luck.

If you’re Afghan and a Karzai, watch your back.

Keeping it white-gloved

Also, if you become a waiter in the U.S., you might assume a life of wealth and power.

Not a Karzai

If you’re a Karzai—sorry.

Hamid Karzai will soon be stepping down from his post as President in two years, but I don’t understand why we’re even discussing that because two years isn’t soon.

Soon, this finger might be pointing at you, if you dare send your overcooked fish back to the kitchen.

“Like”

This time you’d better like it.

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Motivational Prosecutor

Patrick Fitzgerald, U.S. Attorney for the Northern District of Illinois, member of the Department of Justice Office of Special Counsels, former federal prosecutor, nemesis of corruption, Roman Catholic, Brooklynite, son of a doorman, husband, father, and practical joke lover, will be stepping down after eleven years as a federal prosecutor.

“Can you see me as a defense lawyer?”

Fitzgerald became infamous for his tenacity in targeting and tackling corrupt business moguls and politicians all across the political spectrum. He is considered the most a-political U.S. attorney ever to serve in Chicago, a city where everything is politically branded.

Fitzgerald’s most notable accomplishments were:

• Prosecuting and convicting Dick Cheney’s chief of staff, Scooter Libby, for perjury, after he leaked the covert identity of CIA operative, Valerie Plame.

SCOOTER! That man there! Off with his head!

• Investigating Rod Blagojevich’s attempt to sell Obama’s vacated U.S. Senate seat on Ebay,

Rod, you blowhard

which led to Blagojevich’s arrest and eventual conviction.

• Going after John Gambino of the Gambino crime family for drug trafficking.

“Are you sure it takes 5 minutes to cook my product!?!”

• Prosecuting terrorists Sheikh Omar Abdel Rahman and eleven others in the 1993 WTC basement garage bombing.

Seriously. This guy.

There were cases of bribery, extortion, mail fraud, scandals, rumors, and drugs. Fitzgerald went after bureaucrats, autocrats, politicrats, dixicrats and mallrats. His top secret investigations had code names such as Operation Crooked Code, Operation Site Down, Operation Jolly Roger, Operation Rapid Cheetah Kosovo, Operation Firestorm Thor Hammer, Operation Electric Koolaid Testfire, Operation Snow White and the Eleven Dwarfs, Operation Cool Hair Luke, Operation Tickle Me Enron, and Operation Monster Under the Bush. They’re not supposed to mean anything in particular.

This has nothing to do with anything

Having had such a productive career prosecuting terrorists, drug traffickers, and politicians, Fitzgerald is hanging up his lawyer boots and becoming a volunteer motivational speaker. He says he wants to pass on his tenacity to the next generation of federal prosecutors. Also, the next case he was assigned was going to be really boring, so—time to wrap it up.

Rod Blagojevich Jr. trying to buy his way into Harvard Law. On Craigslist. Ugh…

While still in office, he tried to adopt a cat, but was denied by the ASPCA due to his work habits. He found a friend who lent him a cat in the meantime.

You need to check yourself, boss. Yeah, you.

He also has two kids.

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