If I Were Gilligan

I was thinking how I used to be a team captain back in school. I think I'm a fair basketball star. I always foul out, to give my team mates some active game time. I don't like the skipper. Nothing against the late actor. I don't like his character. If I were Gilligan, I would dropkick the skipper. I bet he'd yell 'Umf!' If I were Gilligan on those radioactive spinaches, I pick up the skipper and launch him over the hut. Only if I were Gilligan. That would bring out my dark side. Otherwise, I'm a very agreeable person. And not the least bit violent.
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© 2010. Scripts by David Skerkowski. All rights reserved.

What He Said

I remember writing back there somewhere that philosophy can be dangerous when it touches a feeble or unbalanced mind. This may be why Professor Noam Chomsky may be keen on the kind of credentials that suggest academic tenure. Academic tenure is a kind of licence to have an opinion. It's meant to distinguish people with an objective and thorough understanding of sophisticated and often touchy concepts from the rest of us. As such, it's meant to save us from ourselves. And some of those early morning radio programs are not helping. We needn't feel left out. We may each speak with authority on our peculiar areas of expertise. I may have strong points to make within the realm of musical and artistic expression, but, once I venture over into more serious territory, it often slips into comedy. This is not initially deliberate and far from effective in advancing my hypotheses. One way to advance any hypothesis, regardless of critical analysis, is to resonate with what a large block of people already want to think. A lot of us distrust authority. Fertile ground for half-baked theories. I laughed out loud when Professor Chomsky walked off the Alex Jones program. Jones then turned around and called the man who has been flying in the face of US aggression since the 1960's and who was on the ground in East Timor to witness it firsthand alongside its victims a 'corporate shill.'
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Go Fish

If a group of sexy young chicks ever wants to meet me at MacDonald's or something, I would want to have a pen and paper with me so I could ask them all for their phone numbers so I could call them for a date. 'Cause last time all I had was a magic marker and no paper. I have given some thought to how I would accomplish such a feat as being with multiple female partners. I imagine the main group to be sitting at a table, playing a card game or something, while I have my way with each of them on the floor, one at a time, in the same room. I would stay with each girl just long enough for her to have her orgasm and then move on.
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Chariots of the Dogs

Having already covered dog frisbee in a previous entry, I thought I might touch on another form of play this morning, ball throwing. For some dog owners it's an option, for others a preference. If your dog is hyperactive, chances are you need to take it our for some playful exercise. Depending on how restless it is, you may need to have it tow you to the park on a bicycle or a derailed train. Just remember to follow the dog's path with your steering and watch out for any last-minute changes of direction. If you didn't bring your tennis ball with you, just look for one on the ground somewhere. It might be a little chewed up from passing through the mower, but that will just give the dog a head start. Hold the ball over the dog's head until he's stood on his hind legs for ten seconds, then hurl it with all your might, taking care not to aim in the direction of any elderly citizens with heart problems. Repeat until dog is huffing and puffing on the run back and still wants more. One way to save some wear and tear on your shoulder is to throw the ball into a lake and let the dog swim after it. It slows them down while making them work harder. Or you could invest in some sort of launching apparatus to ease your throwing. If done properly, your dog should heel normally for the duration of your walk home. You may permit it to carry the ball in its mouth if you don't want a handful of slime.
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The Good Old Days

I was just thinking of how piercing my crying must have been when I was an infant. I guess you can't blame my older brothers and my mother for stuffing my mouth with cotton balls and duck-taping it closed. Even that would probably only muffle it. I vaguely remember the time, and I'm sure I was only upset from being left to sit still after being thrown across the room - wrapped safely in aluminum foil, of course. I used to like flying through the air like that, and one of them would never fail to catch me. Sometimes the catch made a touchdown. Made me feel like a winner.
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Funny Penny

This happened this morning accidentally, as I threw some pocket change on my table. I got ESP from it, and one of the thoughts told me I reminded him of Dick York. Then, when I had to move the computer to get the web cam in close enough to take a picture of it, it fell over. But I stood it up again with little difficulty.
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Folk Night

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What War?

I watched a funny documentary a while ago about the beginning of modern television broadcasting in Germany during the 1930's and 40's. That's right, TV networks began in Nazi Germany. The strict policy of German broadcasting during this period was to offer a pleasant diversion from any wartime realities which might be having an adverse effect on public morale. Apparently, it was a stubborn policy. They kept tap-dancing right up to when the Russians had Berlin surrounded. (I guess they liked tap dancing.) When I think of how mainstream television treats the war today, there doesn't appear to be much difference from the original approach. As long as the bombs aren't landing on your doorstep, you'd have no clue whether you were winning or losing. At the risk of sounding hedonistic, I have no objection to this policy. My passion for Harryhausen movies is also well known. While this is how I like my video entertainment, it does not undermine my awareness of the real world. That would only be the case if all I ever did was to watch videos.
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Take the Logos from Your Eye

What is the logos? The reason. The word. An important term in philosophy and religion, according to Wikipedia. We need a reason. We need answers, so we can feel rational about our actions. Look how calm and rational news of wartime operations is broadcast. They won't come out and say they wiped out a village and cremated everyone within a mile-long radius. If it's mentioned at all, it will be mentioned as a footnote, with words like 'aerial mishap' (or 'oh oh spaghettios!') Religion supplies these answers in the fashion of a Hollywood blockbuster, which seems to have popular appeal. But, if you look carefully at some of the gospels, you'll find that part at the end where Christ cries out from the cross, 'Why do you people need a logos anyway! Look here, I'm being crucified because you all need a logos! And it's not even a Jewish idea! It's Greek!' (It's there. You just have to read between the lines.) Philosophy delves into it more seriously, but still presumes to supply the same impossible answers. The philosopher takes the question one step farther, 'Why am I contemplating why we need a logos?' If he's a hedonist, he may conclude, 'I don't know why. I guess I'll ... get high.'
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Veality Check

Believing you're meat 'til it's all over town But you're already tender and your steaks are too round I'm covering you in saltines I've ground And leaving you in at twenty minutes a pound Boneless Might as well be cutlets
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The Last Word

Son, in my day I'd take that dollar and go buy a pound o' baloney and a couple loafs o' bread and still have some change left to go and shoot pool or something. But you don't just want baloney and billiards. You want all that and dancing girls and fancy walkie-talkies that shoot laser beams and flying cars. Son, we didn't have all that in my day. So? So look how I turned out. I'm fine. I did just fine without it. So? So I'm going to deprive you of it.
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The Littlest Boo-Boo

Cut! What are you doing, London-6? That wasn't in the script! Now you've shaken water all over the star's hair and make-up. Time is money, London-6. You see this cattle prod? Does it bring back any memories? Don't make me call in London-7 and retire your ass. We can easily copy those markings with shoe polish, you know. Okay. Roll.
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Not Like That, Like This

I just thought of how the hand could be artificially modified for enhanced guitar playing. This might be an option for ambitious musicians in the future. All fingers should meet the palm on a rotating base. Knuckles and sub-knuckles should be refitted to bend sideways in either direction. The Russians might be ahead of us on this technology, given their success with surgeries on Red Army hockey goalies. On the other hand, my new JVC HA-S150 headphones have pivoting phones. They are also very plush and stay clean sounding at the higher volumes. A good deal for $29.95 (plus tax) at London Drugs.
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Just Bluffing

I still think you're beautiful, Noam. (As an artist, you know what I mean.) And I hope you can keep serving the public for another fifty years because we need you.
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Pro Tool

Scientists have worked wonders in improving our standard of living at home. Our homes are generally very comfortable here in the Western world. But we usually can't spend all of our time there. We have to go to work and pay for it all. I'm not putting these great minds down. I think they might simply be distracted with other ideas. But I saw something on Star Trek one time that I was hoping someone would have invented by now. It's a device for lifting heavy weights called an anti-grav. This thing is far superior to a forklift. It's portable. You can take it up a staircase. You can attach it with a magnet to any heavy object and it makes it light as a feather. I know that, from a scientists's point of view, within laboratories filled by test tubes and computers, we are living in a wondrous, technological age. But I'm almost certain they weren't participating when all the heavy stuff was being brought in by labourers whose view of the modern age might not differ much from a scientists's view of ancient Rome. With anti-gravs, accidents would be reduced. Like when you are clutching the plastic wrapping of an industrial fridge from the top and trying to pull it toward you. Your hand slips and you punch your nose very hard. And it starts to bleed, so you have to tilt your head back to finish the job, and then you can't see your feet to tell you to stop walking backwards before you go tumbling off a third floor balcony, with the fridge not falling fast enough - as Galileo proved - to land below or beside you, rather than on top of you. The problem's never going to be solved as long as everyone keeps making the other guy move the washing machine up the stairs for them. If these scientists had to do it for themselves, we'd probably have some results out of them by now in this area.
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Trespassers Will Be Proselytized

There's a saying, rules are meant to be broken. It's not a slogan for crime. It's a guidepost for free thinkers. The rules tell you everything except one thing. They don't admit that they are incapable of flexing themselves around every situation that arises. They just expect you to know that already. They are to be followed, but not to the letter. The fundamental rules are usually so practical that they follow themselves. Even I stop for red lights. It's only the finer details that might need some fine tuning here and there. And it takes a free thinking person to do it. A person with a good, strong mind will not merely look at the rules in a certain situation, but at the situation, itself. You're new on the job in a cafe. A customer comes in and, noticing you are new, tells you he's been buying coffee there every morning for four years. You might conclude that this customer is telling the truth. After all, he knew you were new. The customer wants a coffee on credit. You weigh the risks. A cup of coffee won't be missed, even if the guy is lying. Odds are 99% that you can let him walk out safely with a borrowed coffee.
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Dissent into Madness

For a while I amused myself with documentaries about mass manipulation and mind control. The search words inevitably led to the works of some well known alarmists. When you're a restless bachelor listening to one of these types at some indecent hour, your guard is likely to be down. You may be looking for thrills more than information. It is thrilling to think, however erroneously, that you are privy to some hidden master plan for global domination. You can go ahead and list all your statistics for me. Show me all your evidence. Do it openly, just like the man on the radio. Except, if the government were as evil and as brutally dictatorial as he claims, it's unlikely you'd be hearing from him and even more unlikely that I'd be hearing from you on the matter. Sophie Scholl just spread pamphlets around. She didn't even open her mouth. They decapitated her. What do you think would happen to one of these guys now? Some of the claims seem credible. 911 was a little fishy. But these people that go off half-cocked, levelling groundless accusations in every vaguely suspicious direction ought to be seen and heard for what they essentially are. Listen to what you like. Please, just don't push it on me. I might be single, but I don't wish to appear any more pathetic than I do already.
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Justice Is Blind as a Bat

Batman likes to think he knows justice, but I couldn't understand why he thinks the jewellery store should have all the jewels. Then I remembered that beneath his costume he is millionaire, Bruce Wayne. When watching Batman, we must try to remember that. He's out to protect his people more than anyone else. And, after all, they have the most stuff to protect. But that's not justice for people like us. I only hope that, one day, I can afford to change my opinion on this.
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Doctor Who: The Daleks (The Dead Planet) Part Two

I say, Doctor, it's remarkable how you've genetically modified this biscuit! Why, the first bite tastes like eggs, and the next tastes like bacon. Have another bite. Why, how extraordinary! It tastes precisely like Yorkshire pudding! That's my favourite dessert! And you? How did you like your biscuit? Woof! Woof! Oh, ha ha! We forgot to put his translator on. There. Try it now. I say, old boy, how did you like that biscuit I gave you? Amazing, Doctor! How did you do it? Why, the first bite tasted like Kibbles. And the very next bite tasted like Bits! Remarkable! Utterly remarkable! Have another bite. Well, I'm afraid I can't do that. You see, I consumed the entire biscuit in two bites. And, as long as we're still on the subject, I'm still rather hungry.
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Green and Mean

Are we off the air? Good. Now, Rusty, you go out and let the peasants know I'm coming to collect the taxes. Tell 'em they better not be short this time or I'll step on their new barn. God damn hydro bills are getting outrageous in this castle. How the fuck can we heat up the place with this tiny fireplace? Might be big enough for you, but it doesn't do shit for me. And let my cousin in the factory know the pea shipment will be on time. After we're done shaking down those bums, we'll put 'em to work all night harvesting. Ain't no free rides in this estate.
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Wakey Wakey

I still haven't figured out how to stop my computer from falling asleep. It's too lethargic, I think Sometimes only its monitor pedestal falls asleep. Then it loses all sensation in its keyboard, much to my frustration. The only way to wake it back up is to restart it so it can hear that loud chord.
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You Looking at Me?

While my style of laundry washing may seem odd, it is my preferred method. Each of my clothes need individual attention as they are being washed. The machine treats my socks and undies as though they were one load. Big mistake. More like three of my socks equals one load. (Do cut me some slack in the summertime or after a sweaty job.) I, on the other hand, can don my plastic gloves and fill the tub with hot water, keeping my liquid detergent available in whatever amounts may be needed. If the water turns to mud, I know I have to fill it again and wash it some more. Each garment receives close inspection while it is being washed and rinsed. And socks with holes are removed and thrown into a fire. (I made a little campfire out of sticks on my porch. But don't worry, I put some stones I found in the driveway around it, to stop it from spreading.) I don't see how me doing my laundry should attract any more attention than someone else having a backyard barbecue.
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For Those that Like to Rock

Look up. Way up. Hi there, children. Welcome to my castle. It looks like styrofoam cups were used with wet sand to make the outside of it, but the bricks are visible on the inside, where they decrease in size as they lie closer to ground level, in your domain. Come take a gander at this rooster! Look! It's a rooster in a bag! Poking out of a bag with a little pumpkin on his head! You know what the other word for rooster is, don't you? It's chicken. Hi, Rusty! That's right! It's Hallowe'en! And we got someone extra special for you boys and girls. Someone with an extra long neck! He's about to poke his head through the window any moment here. Hey, Jerome! Now, children, I know we promised you a visit from the psychoanalyst today to tell us about his fascinating job, but he hung up on me when I called him...
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