Author: The Centaur

My wife and I intend to be responsible parents, so we decided to get some life insurance to make sure our fetus will be provided for in the event I die in a tragic Whirlyball-related accident (currently the #1 cause of death for Zillionaires.) This was a reluctant decision on my part, and not just because my wife and the fetus would soon have a vested financial interest in my death. I was hesitant because the insurance company required my wife and I to undergo a blood test before our coverage would begin.

Now, for the record, I hate needles. This is the main reason I didn’t opt for a paternity test when I found out my wife is pregnant. I decided that even if the child bears no resemblance to me, or is of another ethnicity, or has a weak mastery of the Force… I’ll choose to delude myself into thinking the kid is mine simply to avoid facing a needle.

Concerned Friend: “Dude, your kid doesn’t look anything like you…”
Me: (awkward laughing) “Ha ha… That means he has a chance in life…”
Concerned Friend: “Ok man, whatever you say.”

Understand though, this has nothing to do with the bleeding involved. Hell, I bleed all the time. Instead of using the needle, I pleaded with the nurse giving the test to let me tinker in the garage for five minutes, as invariably I’d come back bleeding from somewhere.

But she insisted on the needle. After seeing her tools, it became clear. First off, why is it that nurses and dentists feel compelled to set out all of their pain-inducing instruments in plain sight? Is the whole process not unpleasant enough that it needs an element of psychological torture to it? The worst part is that it’s simply impossible to focus your attention on anything but the sharp and shiny tools in front of you. The nurse could have been showing spectacular cleavage and I wouldn’t have noticed… that’s how bad it was.

I was transfixed on the needle, as I realized the device was really more of a spigot. The “needle” actually had a little valve on it so the nurse can shut off your profuse bleeding while she changes vials.

That’s right: Vials. Plural. It’s like she’s doing her winter canning or something. I was going to be tapped like a keg.

Sure enough, she pulled out a heroin-user strip of rubber. She tied it tightly on my arm, causing my veins to bulge out prominently. I couldn’t take it. I asked the nurse to give me some nitrous oxide to knock me out. I pleaded with her to prick me in a less-sensitive area… I suggested my ass, like they do for shots. She didn’t budge.

And then she injected me. My eyes were closed, but I could feel the blood flowing out of my arm. Why do needles have to be so sharp and pointy? Honestly, I’d rather have blood drawn with a switchblade. At least then all my whimpering and theatrics would be justified.

It was over two minutes later. Apparently, she was able to top off a few milk jugs with my blood in that time. My arm felt weak, but the nurse refused to put my arm in a sling. Like my wife, she had no sympathy for me.

So there will be no flu shots for me this winter, or any winter for that matter. And I’ll pass on donating blood too. And, I don’t see how anyone can be an intravenous drug user. The same goes for diabetics. If I was put in the position of having to give myself a shot of insulin, or die… I’d be pretty indifferent. Both are about equally undesirable in my book. It would probably come down to a coin flip.

Truth be told, Internet Zillionaire began as a scientific experiment: As far as writing ability goes, could we produce better content than a group of monkeys chained to typewriters?

While the scientific community watched our experiment unfold, we soon realized that matching the professionalism and work ethic of monkeys would be nearly impossible for us. They were better groomed. They were more punctual. The monkeys even had fewer episodes of throwing feces at each other. Clearly, we were in over our heads. Ultimately, when the monkeys were able to reproduce the entire works of Shakespeare, we admitted defeat.

Fortunately, 9Rules wasn’t interested in sonnets or prose. They were more than willing to feature our disjointed thoughts on remote controls, wedding vows, and saving the universe on their site. And we were pleased to be able to reach a new audience that wouldn’t hold us to the impossible standard that primates set. So here we are, the newest members of the 9Rules network, eager to give you a look at life through the eyes of imitation high-rollers…

The following is the true account of an evening spent watching Dustin Diamond (Screech from Saved by the Bell) perform a stand-up comedy routine on Halloween night, 2001…

There were eight of us. I won’t mention any names, because in my opinion, voluntarily attending a live Dustin Diamond performance deserves the same level of anonymity as testifying against mob kingpins. Forgive me. That’s just my bitterness talking. Truth is, back then, all eight of us wore our love for Saved by the Bell on our sleeves.

We weren’t the only ones. Dustin was performing twice that night in Seattle, an early show and a late show. We arrived about 35 minutes prior to the early show, as we were legitimately concerned that this baby would sell-out. Sure enough, a line snaked around the side of the club. Excitement was in the air. Prior to that night, there was a decent chance my first born son would have been named “Screech.”

Before Dustin came on stage, a couple comedians came out to warm up the crowd as part of the opening act. Their material was decent, but looking back, their opening lines were ironically the funniest part of their act…

Opening Comedian: “Alright! You guys are a great crowd! Thank you! I’ve just got a few jokes for ya…. Because I know you’re all excited to see Dustin Diamond!!!!”

And the audience responded with thunderous applause. The funny thing was, the comedian wasn’t joking. Zero sarcasm. All of this was said with a straight face. Sometimes I wonder if there are some justifiably starving comedians out there with the line “Opened for Dustin Diamond, Fall 2001” on their resume…

Finally, it was Dustin Diamond time. Screech came out wearing a stocking cap, a black leather jacket, and jeans with a chain wallet. He was also sporting a goatee. Apparently he was trying to reinvent himself as a longshoreman. Coupled with coarse language, his new look was an obvious attempt to toughen his image. Unfortunately, it was the most unconvincing rendition of a bad-ass since M.C. Hammer shortened his name to just “Hammer” and started wearing Atlanta Falcons clothing. Nobody was buying into this transformation, and it only became further ammunition for drunken audience members.

Judging by his opening line, it was apparent that Dustin Diamond was ready to welcome the inevitable heckling:

Dustin Diamond: “Alright, how many of you are here tonight to hear some jokes and have a good time?”
(The audience applauded accordingly.)

Dustin Diamond: “Ok, ok… how many of you are here tonight to get wasted and make fun of SCREECH!?”
(This was followed by an eruption of applause and cheers.)

And the evening went downhill from there…

First off, it is safe to say that Dustin Diamond is the most bitter former child star on earth, which is really saying something. It’s a real Catch 22. Here you have someone desperately trying to dissociate from the character of Screech and move on with his life. On the other hand, he is far too willing to gratuitously capitalize on his former celebrity stature. I guess it is something I would wrestle with too. Sure, you’d be called “Screech” until the day you die, but occasionally you’d get to cash a paycheck for boxing Tonya Harding.

Needless to say, the show was a tremendous letdown. Dustin had no original material and zero organization to his presentation. In other words, he would have been right at home here on Zillionaire. His entire act consisted of the recycled jokes you receive in email forwards. We literally paid 13 dollars to hear Dustin Diamond recite dumb blonde jokes for an hour. Tragically, he barely discussed his past on Saved by the Bell or provided us diehards with insider insight into the show. For instance, he could have disclosed how much input he actually had in his wardrobe decisions while on the show. (I’ll bet it’s more than you think.) Or he could have detailed how Screech spent his entire high school career sexually harassing Lisa Turtle. He could have kept all of us on the edge of our seat discussing this.

Sadly, the only preparation that went into his act was rehearsing comebacks to the incessant heckling from the audience. While his pathetic comedy routine certainly warranted heckling, I felt bad for Dustin nevertheless. During his act, audience members would just shout out phrases like “Mr. Belding!!!” or “Where’s Zach?!!” These unimaginative taunts actually rattled him. To Dustin’s credit, there really is no comeback to this. Seriously, how do you respond to someone yelling the words “Mr. Belding!!!” at you? This was the one blessing of attending his performance. To this day, in a heated game of basketball, I know I can rattle my opponent by simply shouting “Mr. Belding!!!” at him. There’s no recourse, and no trash talk that can top it. That’s how you get into your opponent’s head.

And yet, the show went on. He had to fill up time. You could tell he was watching the clock. Frankly, we all were. Nobody in that room had any intention of remaining there one second longer than necessary. The end of the show was spent watching Screech monitor the second hand on his watch until the precise instant his hour was up. At that point, he gathered his longshoreman outfit together and walked offstage to a smattering of boos, profanity and some mild pity applause.

I’ve got to hand it to Dustin though, up until that night I had never left a comedy show feeling depressed. Seriously, watching “Schindler’s List” would have been more uplifting. Of course, we all have to make our career choices in life. Apparently, Screech has elected to stand on stage and let a crowd of drunken college kids berate him for an hour as his chosen profession.

Thanks to the merciless heckling by a handful of audience members, it was one of the few times I was able to exit a place with absolute certainty that I wasn’t the jackassiest person in there. (Other notable times this has happened: Any event that my buddy Tonseth made an appearance at.)

As we left the comedy club, we passed by dozens of people lining up for the late showing. This produced an ethical quandary. Do I warn these people of the impending letdown and rip off they would soon experience? Ultimately, I rationalized that Dustin Diamond could realistically commit suicide any day now, and this might be one of the last remaining opportunities to see him perform on stage.

And that was how I spent Halloween back in ‘01. Walking to my car in the rain, I wished that Dustin had just come out as Screech, wearing suspenders with fluorescent yellow Zubaz pants. He could have given us fictitious updates on Zach and Kelly’s marriage and Slater’s courageous bout with syphilis. The audience would have left that night happily thinking that Screech and Zach are still concocting crazy schemes well into their mid 30’s. Is that too much to ask? The show has been off the air for almost 10 years. Seriously, we just need a fix every once in awhile. Sadly, miracles only happen on Christmas… not on Halloween.