please go out with me, Sinéad

Jack Handey was a character on Saturday Night Live which is a show that had testicles once but Sinéad O’Connor cut them off. She’s got bigger testicles than Lorne Michaels so she did it deftly even though she was so scared she sang a little off key. She still did it. Irish girls are tough like that. If you are also tough I can recommend falling in love with one. But not Sinéad, okay? I would like a shot at it first. And leave Maud Gonne alone too. A friend of mine likes her too much.

Jack Handey offered advice and observations in a piece called: “Deep Thoughts.” The show was so bad at the time that this mediocre and absurd trinket gained popularity by its favorable comparison. That’s why they put it on toward the end of the show.

People watching would say, “God, the show sucks again. I don’t know why we keep trying. Change the channel.”

“Wait, give Jack Handey a chance. That thing about a chocolate gun was funny.”

The chocolate gun was funny. I don’t remember that the others were.

The popularity of this piece led the producers to create an animatronic Jack Handey at CCA Land which is a corporate theme park that is a few miles down the road from Dolly Parton’s theme park. They ignored the three cardinal rules of animatronics (and kissing and real estate): location, location, location. Anywhere within a thousand miles of Dollywood was the wrong place for animatronics that offered deadpan existential absurdities.

Jack Handey was not funny. Not only that, I always assumed it was a character but it turns out to be a person which makes me a bit too sad. Not suicidal but certainly like I just want to lie down for the rest of the day and not answer the phone or eat or anything.

All of my friends write better than that and most of my friends are architects and longshoremen. CM is better. Orion Cervio is so much better that I oughta hunt those lousy rats down and plug ’em full of .40 S&W jacketed hollow points for insulting the intelligence of my good friend, Mr. Cervio. Neil is so much better at that style of comedy that Neil could have taken care of this whole business with two sentences (or one long sentence with a colon in the middle) instead of the Nteen paragraphs it’s taking me. Everyone in the world is better than Jack Handey. Especially Steven Wright and Neil. Except for that chocolate gun thing.

My nemesis Mr. Burroughs has a talking asshole. His asshole writes better than Jack Handey. But the conversations are distasteful and it’s embarrassing when you don’t know where to look when someone is talking to you. His asshole is funnier than Jack Handey nevertheless.

Here’s my proof (you know how much I like to prove things). I will write a Jack Handey piece. Read this in his voice in your head so it works the best it can:

I think it would be funny if you put a big piece of Hershey’s chocolate in your mouth and let it melt. Then go up to someone, open your mouth and say, “Look a turd!” It would be funny unless maybe they liked to eat turds and you only made them uncomfortable and jealous.

Sometimes the kid gloves have got to come off. That’s why I did that. Somebody’s gotta tell the truth besides Sinéad O’Connor. She must’ve been terribly lonely that week she told the truth and not one lousy Italian stood up for her. I guess they’re still guilty about putting Jesus on the T-ride.

Perhaps you are saying to yourself that I am just bitter. That’s part of it, I admit. I have always wanted to be made animatronic. I would like it best if it were like a gypsy fortune teller booth and I was dispensing scathing 250 word personal critiques with a packet of hard narcotics. And when people bent forward to receive their destiny the booth would crack them on the head with a canoe paddle like an animatronic Punch and Judy show.

Someone who is too scared to rebroadcast a pretty Irish girl tearing up a picture of the Pope doesn’t deserve a talking statue. That’s what I think. That until they have people on the show who are willing to chew each other’s steak, drink a fish, and dance beautifully with Gilda Radner they ought to just be graceful and take it off the air.

PS: Sinéad, I love you very much (and I don’t like the Catholic church even though I think the Pope is a nice guy and he speaks perfect Italian for a Pole) but our politics are quite different. If you still want to go out with me, please call. I’m free all this week.

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