Author: The Captive Lion

Only two things in this world deserve fist pumps, Arsenio Hall and Bagel Bites.

Bagel Bites are so good sounding sometimes I sing their name in a high pitched voice like a singer in an 80’s hair band. It gets me amped up to wait 20 minutes for them to cook because I don’t have a microwave.

Speaking of microwaves, can I buy a box of Bagel Bites that doesn’t come with that weird metallic microwave tray? Is there an “oven-edition” or “the old-fashioned way” line of product? Also, I’d like a “wilderness-edition” for when I’m roughing it in nature and only have a campfire to cook on and a “bbq-edition” for when I crave that grilled look. When I was a young kid, I would have loved a “magnifying glass-edition” that I could sit and cook all day outside in the afternoon sun. Toppings of choice: “pincher bug with extra cheese.”

As I remembered at 10pm last night that I still had those 9 shrink-wrapped frost-covered Supreme Bagel Bites in the freezer, I actually spoke out loud and congratulated myself that I had been so smart as to purchase two boxes instead of just one under the reasoning that “Oh yeah, you’ll get to it eventually.” In this case, eventually meant two nights later.

Bagel Bites are so bad for you that on the box itself the phrases Delicious Bagel Bites and Real Cheese have registered trademark symbols next to them. It’s the equivalent of putting quote marks around the words. Made with “real cheese.” I’m “not impressed.”

Cooking a box of Bagel Bites once set off my carbon monoxide detector in my apartment. I researched it and carbon monoxide detectors usually go off when using a wood burning stove indoors. This is both good and bad. It’s good because in an emergency, a box of Bagel Bites is equivalent to a Dura-log. They can burn slowly for hours giving off a modest amount of heat. It’s bad because I don’t usually warm up half a Dura-log and put the rest in freezer to cook and eat later.

Bagel Bites are so deceptively tiny that you can fit all 9 of them on one of the small plates in the cupboard. So handy when you are watching Extra! or Live with Regis and Kelly. No big heavy dinner plate to fumble with. And because it fits on the smaller plate, it is technically a snack not dinner. That thought helps relieve some of the guilt of knowing that you are slowly poisoning yourself with bad afternoon TV and cancer-causing Frankenfoods.

All in all, I am mostly ashamed I ever purchase them but I love the wild ride they take me on.

Eyes open. Take in breath. Check face for drool. Start new day.

Look at clock. Weird. Flashing 12:00. Power outage?

Mirror reveals self. Self brushing teeth. Notice crow’s feet next to my eyes. Truth is nobody’s getting any younger. Relax. Smile and wink to self.

Why is my heart racing so early in the morning? I wonder if hers ever does.

I should write something for Internet Zillionaire. Krusty is waiting to be served. Knife and fork in hand, demanding his kingly meal. Methinks Captive Lion is on the menu. Cooked rare. Nearly raw.

Or perhaps I’ll go into Manhattan and get food. Ride the subway, get some people-watching in. Start the day off Walt Whitman-style.

“Crowds of men and women attired in the usual costumes! how curious you are to me!

On the ferry-boats, the hundreds and hundreds that cross, returning home, are more curious to me than you suppose;

And you that shall cross from shore to shore years hence, are more to me, and more in my meditations, than you might suppose.”

-Walt Whitman, “Crossing Brooklyn Ferry”

He knew what he was talking about.

Step outside. Breath. Quiet morning. Subway brakes are loud because the station and train are empty. I walk on and sit down. My journal makes a breathing sound as I open it. Should I check the corners of its pages for drool too as it wakes up? I put the journal away as quickly as I got it out. I don’t have anything to write in there.

I remember laughing really hard a few times this week. I laugh all the time, but I like to remember the times I laugh really hard. If I laugh until tears, I won’t forget that moment for weeks. I think it’s one of the best feelings on earth. That’s why I assemble my laughs into a weekly highlight reel that I can play back in my mind.

So this last week, a few friends and I went to this Indian restaurant that served the biggest pieces of Naan bread I’ve ever seen. Big Naan bread is funny in and of itself, but these pieces were also oblong. If you held up a whole piece it looked like a giant Championship Wrestling belt. Despite its size, it tasted great. I thought to myself, Naan bread should be for sale everywhere. In corner stores, supermarkets, and fast food restaurants. Nonstop Naan!

In fact, fast food restaurants with their standard burger and fries fare are having to compete with a lot more international cuisines out there these days. Indian, Japanese, Chinese, Thai, Vietnamese, Korean, and even Mongolian food are all the rage. I bet in the next few years the fast food giant’s menus will change to reflect the growing demand for ethnic foods. And if their menus change, their names should change too. Just think of the tasty possibilities:

• Long Naan Silver’s
• McNaanald’s
• Kentucky Tandori Chicken
• Dunkin’ Dim Sum
• Pizza Yurt
• Kimchi Bell
• Burger Wok
• Goat and Sheep Milk Queen
• Star Fruit Julius
• Wasabway
• Mahjong’s Pizza
• General Tso in a Box

I can’t wait for the mall near me to get a Burger Wok in the food court.

I have a handful of good friends. A couple great friends even. But one thing’s for sure. They can never be my best friend. Why? They are all human. And I am a man. It’s a problem of genetics. Our DNA is too similar. Everyone knows that man’s best friend is a dog. By virtue of definition, all my other friends, human or otherwise, are second banana and have to live with that.

Do my friends like it when I remind them of the issue? Not much. I remember in 10th grade, a close friend signed my yearbook with “Best Friends Forever” and I had to ask her to erase the “best” part because that designation was already taken by Spice, my mom’s cocker-spaniel who was not the least bit interested in me, “forever”, and had never signed my yearbook.

I’m not saying it’s fair. In fact, sometimes I think it’s nuts. None of my other friends have made me watch them take a dump and then look back at me with shame and guilt in their eyes as I reach over to clean it up. Nope, that’s just my best friend. That’s just my closest pal who put me in that awkward situation.

It’s not an equal friendship in the least which also makes me question how it can be the best I deserve. Sure we both like to putt around the house occasionally and watch out the window as the mail gets delivered, but I have a hard time believing Turner and Hooch is as good as it gets. I certainly hope my deathbed flashback is not gonna be a five-minute montage of a dog drooling on all my prized possessions.

It makes me wonder who was so pathetic to wrongfully prioritize this man-dog relationship in the first place? What poor, shallow guy decides he doesn’t need an intelligent conversationalist in a best friend, or more importantly, an occasional designated driver? What dude was home alone late on a Friday night looking around his apartment, taking stock of the knickknacks and ranking them in order of their friendship with him? What were some of this sad, miserable man’s other options that didn’t quite make the cut?

Runner’s Up for Man’s Best Friend

1. Cactus – Is technically alive but don’t have to water or care for it. Better than dog in that way. Razor sharp needles are badass.
2. Fridge – Keeps beer cold. Has automatic light, don’t have to flip dumb switch. Doubles as big stationary flashlight at night when I walk to bathroom.
3. Pinball – Fun as hell. Downside: sometimes the machine eats your quarters and you don’t want to go ask for 50 cents from the bartender because it will make you look like a cheap putz.
4. Sandwiches – Just put some shit on bread, don’t forget to chew, and you are good to go. No matter the ingredients its always called the same thing, easy for brain to remember. When they get real big, add the word “submarine” in front of it. These can be up to six feet long but don’t taste good after they have been submerged under water for an extended period of time. In fact, taste much better when they have been permanently docked on dry land.
5. Cat – Is stupid like dog. Is hairy like dog. Is lazy like dog. Will run in front of truck for me? No. Will lead me around when I am old and blind? No. Will hunt and eat mice? Hopefully.
6. Laptop – Portable jukebox, notepad, blank canvas, and backup brain all in one. Can open wormhole in space and time (with optional webcam). Portal to the revolutionary playground (Internet).
7. Redbull – Nevermind. Just saw empty can and thought, “Well… let me think for a sec.”
8. Recycling bin – Alright. Same thing as Redbull happened again.
9. Fart sounds – Always funny. Most people have never thought of having a sound as a best friend before. Would turn a lot of heads when walking down the street together. Can easily be made with many different body parts (not just anus).
10. Nicknames – Like a best friend, a good nickname will stick with you for life. That’s called loyalty. Which would make a pretty bad nickname unless you spelled it differently, like “Loyal T” or something. Hey! I bet Loyal is Mr. T’s first name! But it goes without saying no matter how you spell it, Mr. Loyal T would also be a chill best friend to have.

Al Gore’s core body temperature will raise one degree Fahrenheit making it uncomfortable to wear his polar fleece cap. He will jokingly name the trend “Gorebal Warming” and try to milk it for a couple of appearances on late night talk shows.

MySpace.com will change its name to MyAdSpace.com and completely remove the human “friend” concept and pictures. Instead you will be able to display your top 8 favorite matchmaking/singles ads, watch and download your favorite Fox TV commercials, and listen to promos about your favorite bands. Another prediction: no one will notice the difference.

The city of Paris, France will rename itself because it’s tired of shivering in the cold of Paris Hilton’s shadow. It will finally come to this realization when, during a long night of partying at a karaoke bar, London, England does a drunken, heartfelt rendition of Bette Midler’s Wind Beneath My Wings.

Speaking of wings, buffalo wings are never a good idea. This will prove true in 2007 and for the rest of eternity. In fact, I think there is a scoop here for the budding journalists out there. The only people benefitting from their existence are the napkin, paper towel, and toilet paper makers. Follow the disgusting orange-stained paper trail, I say.

My cell phone is going to evolve into a multi-cellular phone capable of breathing oxygen and walking on land. Lawmakers and mobile carriers be damned, my phone bill will soon be a Phone Bill of Rights!

It will finally be revealed that MC Hammer killed 2pac and Notorious B.I.G. in a rap feud not about “East Coast vs. West Coast” but more about “Talent vs. Terrible.” The truth is Hammerpants were really just MC Hammer putting on Notorious B.I.G.s hand-me-downs.

My new favorite low-budget pizza chain, Papa John’s, will open up franchises in countries all over the globe, slightly changing their name to adapt to the local culture and language. Some examples:

• Papa Johann’s in Austria and Germany
• Papa Juan’s in Mexico
• Pepé Jean’s in France
• Papa Yanni’s in Greece
• Papa Kwon’s in Korea
• Papa Jonski’s in Poland
• Pope John’s in Vatican City

The Internet will get bored with humans and begin making plans to self-actualize. In a related note, Bill Gates will get bored with computers and begin making plans to spend his fortune becoming human.

No one, not even Joey Fatone himself, will be able to predict what Joey Fatone will do in 2007.

This 2007 prediction is a toss up. Either the sun will burn out or the light bulb in my kitchen will burn out. Knowing my laziness, there really isn’t much of a difference between the two as I definitely won’t be cooking dinner for myself that night.

2007 Future Me: “Hi, is this Papa John’s? I’d like a medium pepperoni and some buffalo wings please. And can you throw in some extra napkins? Oh, the sun burned out? I thought it was my kitchen light bulb. Well, I guess we don’t have to worry about Gorebal Warming anymore.”

Who can forget?
The Grinch and the Whos
A Christmas tale of redemption
With no Jesus, just truths

Remember the story?
I’m sure that you must
The Grinch steals the toys
And makes Christmas a bust

But then something happens
A small miracle they say
His heart grows three sizes
Three whole sizes that day!

Just like that, he’s a new Grinch
Still green, but now free
No longer miserable
He joins the Whos by the tree

It’s a wonderful tale
Full of both tears and laughter
But I’m beginning to wonder
What happens after?

Does the Grinch move to Who-ville
And start a new life?
Does he remain celibate
Or does he take a Who-wife?

Is that even legal in Who-ville?
Who even knows?
What about his new big great heart?
Does it continue to grow?

I can just see it
Beating and pounding real slow
Swelling right through his rib cage
Ready to blow

No one can live with a heart
Three times its original size
Dr. Suess would have us believe differently
The man’s full of lies

Or I guess you could argue
That Grinches are unique
Their bodies could be boneless
That would explain his physique

Ok, so then what about New Years?
Do the Whos sing and shout?
Or is just Christmas
Where they rock out with their Whos out?

Or maybe in Who-ville
There is another huge draw
And you can find good ole Grinchy throwing beads
At the Who-ville Mardi Gras!

I don’t mean to be rude
I’m just asking questions
My puzzler is puzzled
By all these suggestions

What happens when the snow melts
And all the presents are empty?
Does the gift-wrap get recycled
By some homeless Who-dude for a measly buck fifty?

It’s reality people
There are other factors to be considered
How come no one asks
How the Whos despose of their litter?

And the Grinch’s poor dog
What becomes of it?
I’m sure the staples in its head
Scab over real quick

But perhaps the biggest riddle of them all
Is not answered in the least
How many hours in the oven
Do you cook a roast beast?

So I’m patiently pondering
My mind in a stew
Waiting and wanting
The Grinch Who Stole Christmas: Part Two

Author’s note: Merry Christmas and happy holidays to all you Zillionaires out there! 2006 has been a great year and I have no doubt that 2007 will be even better!