Category: Life

If anyone is looking for a Christmas gift for me, may I suggest some sort of a Zillionaire Bat-Signal. As it stands now, we are essentially reduced to posting a daily bulletin and relying on homeroom reps to stand at the front of the room to alert everyone of the breaking news… (sigh)

Another One Bites the Dust: First, let’s give our sincerest congratulations to Bailes & Kami on their recent engagement. I think it’s more of a relief, really. Bailes is now free from the pressure cooker that every woman turns into when her marital clock starts ticking.

And now Bailes, I offer you some marital observations. I liken a man getting married to putting a lion in captivity. There are some advantages. For instance, they will generally live longer, be better fed, and have fewer diseases than roaming in the wild. However, you’ll begin to understand why it is such a landmark and newsworthy event when an animal actually breeds in captivity.

In all seriousness, Kami is a great catch. She passed the standard test I administer to all women seeking to marry into the Zillionaire bloodlines. It all happened on a camping trip two summers ago… I sat down next to her while holding a beer in one hand and a cigar in the other hand. As both my hands were full, this left me unable to defend myself against mosquito attacks without setting my beer down. Since neither of us wanted to see that happen, Kami agreed to swat any mosquitoes that landed on me so that I could fully concentrate on drinking and smoking. With Kami killing mosquitoes by the dozen, I was able to focus all of my attention and energy to the vices in my hands. That, my friends, is the mark of a damn good woman.

Guests of Honor: I hope you didn’t really believe that Krusty and Maleah would miss the unveiling of the Zillionaire’s Lounge. I’ll admit I was worried, but as we always do, we found a way to make the plan come together. Hannibal from the A-Team would have been proud.

Of course, his trip up North will mean that a few hundred children at Krusty’s camp will be left in the wilderness without food, medicine or supervision of any kind. It will only be for a couple of days, though. As Krusty has assured me, it usually takes about a week before things develop into a scene from “Lord of the Flies.” Anything short of that is just building character.

And so, I am pleased to announce that we can all look forward to spending a solid 10-12 hours with Krusty before a concussion on the ski slopes renders him a vegetable. You’ll soon understand why Maleah skis with a stretcher strapped to her back at all times.

Stocking Stuffers: I know, technically, it isn’t the last minute. However, I just wanted to remind everyone that there is still time before Christmas to order Jon Solo’s latest release, Piano. It’s different than every other CD in my collection, and it will be played heavily in the rotation at the Zillionaire’s Lounge. But truthfully, the ideal location to listen to Solo’s music is in your car.

Only a month ago, I was routinely running school buses and ambulances off the road during my morning commute. I had as much regard for the posted speed limit as the Dukes of Hazzard. And I had even mastered the “Terminator II method” of steering a vehicle at top speed while simultaneously re-cocking a shotgun.

Now, I just pop in Solo’s CD. My drive is relaxing instead of stressful. So when you’re looking for a gift for those difficult to shop for, give the gift of serenity. Pedestrians the world over will thank you for it.

In the spirit of the season, I thought I’d share some of my fondest Christmas memories…

Christmas in the 80’s: One thing was certain on Christmas Eve. Before any presents could be opened, a never-ending list of chores would have to be completed. You see, this was the one night of the year where my dad could develop an extensive work list for his children with very little backtalk or insubordination. Needless to say, he took full advantage. Every family has their special Christmas traditions. Ours were unloading the dishwasher, shoveling the driveway and cleaning our rooms.

Growing up, I loved seeing presents under the tree. I would race home from school and make a fortress with my presents. I’d sit behind a barricade of gifts, and bring my Transformers or He-Man action figures back there to keep me company. So you can understand the psychological torture I experienced when forced to delay opening presents for the sake of helping out around the house. It was tantamount to depriving a diabetic of insulin.

Of course, the gifts we received were always worth the wait. One year, I received a toy laser gun that made a particularly loud and high-pitched noise at the pull of the trigger. It was as if Hasbro designed a toy encompassing all of the annoying characteristics of a car alarm.

Naturally, I spent an entire three-hour car ride home after Christmas blasting my sister in the head with it. And naturally, she cried like a little girl. Since she was a little girl at the time, I suppose this reaction was justified. As always, my parents failed to see the humor in making my sister cry. They made repeated threats to confiscate my laser gun if I shot it one more time. Of course, these warnings would buy them about 45 seconds of silence before I would shoot her again. To reiterate, this went on for three hours.

Finally, my father reached his breaking point. He pulled the car over to the side of the road, ripped the gun from my hands, and pretended to throw it into the night. Of course, he didn’t really throw it away. He simply tucked it into his jacket during his follow-through. It was slight of hand that Houdini would have been proud of. I was devastated, thinking a pack of coyotes would soon make off with my laser gun. And sadly, for the rest of the ride home I had to resort to other methods to make my sister cry.

Christmas 1997: I was living with Krusty at the time. A week before Christmas, he brought home the leftovers from his company Christmas party, which included five gallons of eggnog and rum in a giant stainless steel coffee urn. The two of us drank the whole thing over the ensuing weekend.

While that is a landmark achievement in itself, the really amazing aspect of this story is that the urn was too big to fit in our refrigerator. The entire five gallons was kept at room temperature over a 48-hour time span. Towards the end, we were pretty much just drinking cups of salmonella, but it was easily the most festive case of food poisoning we ever got.

Christmas 1999: Surprisingly, I just could not get into the Christmas spirit that year. Somehow, even erecting a fortress of presents failed to deliver any Christmas cheer. It wasn’t until Christmas morning that it happened. Under the tree Santa brought me a lightsaber… just like the one I had when I was six years old. Even though I was 21 years old at the time, I gleefully ran around the house fighting imaginary Storm Troopers and pretending to lop off my sister’s head. And in that, I found the true meaning of Christmas.

Watershed Moments: I remember when I first figured out the true identity of Santa Claus. I awoke on Christmas morning to find a handwritten note from Santa, apologizing for breaking a toy that he had tried to assemble the night before. It didn’t add up. Somehow Santa, a toy maker by trade, is inept at assembling toys? Even at six years old, it didn’t take the cast of CSI to solve this mystery.

Finally, my all-time favorite Christmas gift? That’s easy. My Nintendo back in the fifth grade. This was all the sweeter because I didn’t think I’d actually get one. In the weeks leading up to Christmas, my dad actually cut out newspaper articles detailing the shortages of Nintendos at major retailers. I wanted to believe that a Christmas miracle would bring me a Nintendo, but it was hard to argue with the Wall Street Journal’s supply-chain forecasts.

Thankfully, economists had underestimated the inventories overseas and the short-term production capacity at manufacturing plants. This was a huge oversight, as these things often constitute the necessary ingredients of a Christmas miracle. As I clutched my Nintendo on Christmas day, it was a scene of Christmas joy only Norman Rockwell could possibly capture.

To: Fellow Zillionaires
From: MR
CC: Krusty
RE: A Grave Mistake

Fellow Zillionaires,

First, please forgive the fact that this memo isn’t printed on official Zillionaire stationery.

Now, I caution you to maintain your temperance in these trying times. I understand the cause for alarm. After reading the comments section, the thought of Krusty missing out on the christening of the Zillionaire’s Lounge seems unfathomable. It would be like the president missing out on his inauguration.

Krusty’s possible absence raises serious questions. Who will perform the splits with reckless abandon? Who will crack open beers with their teeth? Who will make drinks so potent that they inevitably lead to public indecency? I will admit, when I began crafting the bar in my basement, I did so with Krusty in mind. I was like Kevin Costner in “Field of Dreams.” Believe me, I am as saddened as you are that Krusty will not be in attendance.

But please, I implore you to look back on some recent history:

• First, let’s not forget our Las Vegas trip. It happened to be scheduled on the same weekend as his brother’s wedding back in Washington. Now at this time, Krusty was living in California. Somehow Krusty managed to traverse the country in 48 hours to make appearances at his brother’s wedding and at the Spanish 21 table in Vegas. To this day I have no idea how he pulled all of this off, but I’m pretty sure a DeLorean with a Flux Capacitor was involved.
• And then there was the Halloween Party of 2002. We went with a “Saturday Night Live” theme that year. Krusty flew up for the weekend so that he could perform an endless array of keg stands in a Matt Foley costume. He was in rare form, as I found him passed out in eight different rooms of our house throughout the evening. It was almost as if the spirit of Chris Farley had possessed him that night…
• There was never any doubt that Krusty would attend my bachelor party. Yet again, he flew up from California to insure that everyone in attendance would get near fatal cases of alcohol poisoning.
• And when I got married, Krusty found a way to deliver head spins on the dance floor into the wee hours of the morning. Others had gone to bed, or simply refrained from break dancing, but not Krusty. This is what wedding memories are made of…
• And finally, let’s also give credit to Maleah, who not only gives the green light on these adventures, but also has to deal with the aftermath. She is the one usually stuck transporting a passed-out Krusty, or cleaning up a puke-stained Krusty, or tracking down a misplaced Krusty when all is said and done. She is truly an unsung hero.

The point I am trying to make here is this: It would be a grave mistake to impugn Brother Krusty for missing the festivities. As evidenced above, he’s proven himself a true Zillionaire in every regard. I know that he would call in hourly bomb threats just to delay his flights home if that is what it took. I know he would shoot himself out of a cannon if that was the only means of travel available to get to Spokane. And I’m sure that he has looked at pawning some of Maleah’s jewelry to pay for the airfare.

The bottom line is, I know that there is nowhere he would rather be than at the christening of the Zillionaire’s Lounge, and almost no sacrifice he wouldn’t bear to make it happen. Those are the characteristics of a true friend and a quintessential Zillionaire. Krusty, you will be sorely missed, but not forgotten…

MR

Last year for Christmas my brother-in-law gave me a tool belt. It’s actually gotten a ton of use. I’ve spent the last 754 consecutive weekends dressed up like Schneider from “One Day at a Time.”

You see, I’ve been spending a lot of time in my basement. I’ve been inhaling radon gas and avoiding natural light. I’m constantly covered by a fine layer of fiberglass and sawdust. My skin is pale and my eyes have become beady. I’m seriously about three weekends away from looking like the crypt keeper. But, all of this was for a good cause: I’m building a lounge suitable for a Zillionaire…

It hasn’t been without danger. At one point, we had a table saw, a jigsaw, a circular saw, a miter saw and a rotozip operating within three feet of each other. Miraculously, I didn’t lose a finger. Truthfully, I owe it all to thousands of hours of video games. Dodging spinning blades, fireballs, or spikes shooting up from the floor is all in a day’s work. Thankfully, I didn’t have to slay a dragon or fight a Dark Jedi in my basement, as sometimes that takes a couple of lives, let alone a few fingers.

The blade guard on the miter saw actually broke off a couple of weeks ago. This meant that a ten-inch blade of death could spin freely, in the open, without any sort of protection or cover. Did we just use a different saw? Of course not. Did we try and fix it? No, too time consuming. Did we in any way try to compensate for the utter lack of safety involved? No. The solution: We all just agreed to “watch out” for the ten inch blade spinning in our work space and to max out our “Accidental Death and Dismemberment” insurance.

Seriously, before I even got started in the basement, I made a list, and tried to accomplish everything I always wanted to do with ten fingers. I gave quite a few piano recitals, did some hand modelling, and gave a lot of high-fives. I didn’t hesitate to give other drivers the finger, as I figured it might soon be a luxury I’d have to live without.

There is still lots of work to be done, and I may yet wind up with prosthetic hooks for arms, but so far things are going well… Soon, there will be a grand unveiling, and Zillionaires from across the country will descend on this lounge, and those events will be chronicled on this site…

More to come…

Woke up this morning and realized for the first time why people say you shouldn’t eat in bed. On a related note, cracker crumbs make for alright pillows.