The Major Sins - by H. Bosch

Name of sin: The sin of low-fat milk

Description: The result of a petition by a rogue group of dairy farmers in the 14^th century who were of the belief that low-fat milk was the work of Satan. Was one of the few petitions granted by Pope Gomez the Magnificent before he abdicated and organized a traveling circus and mausoleum installation business.

How the sin is committed:

Originally this sin involved the use  of any low-fat milk in any way shape or form, but over the centuries, a variety of papal codicils have curtailed the parameters of this sin drastically. Currently, commission of this sin requires the building of a stone altar not less than fourteen feet high to the worship of low-fat milk. Furthermore, the altar must be built on a consecrated grave site, by someone named Steve, otherwise no sin is committed.

In spite of these restrictions, there are reports of this sin being committed at least a dozen times a year.

Punishment: Those who commit the sin of low-fat milk will be denied high definition television during select sporting events… for all eternity!

Penance: Drink four large glasses of buttermilk, while speaking kindly to a cow in Latvian.

Name of sin: The sin of raking

Description: One of the more controversial of the lesser-known sins, this transgression is the centerpiece of the equally poorly remembered “Parable of the Shoddy Landscaper”. As you may or may not recall, this featured a landscaper who forsook his master’s metal rake and who cast aside his bamboo rake, in preference for one made of decaying grasses and weeds.

Over the centuries, scholars have argued whether this was really just an illustration of the sin of pride or perhaps of “foolishness” or maybe even some combination called “proolishness” or “fride”. These arguments frequently devolved into silliness and were often concluded at local drinking establishments.

How the sin is committed:

Commission of sin is directly tied to the specifics as described in the above-mentioned parable, as spoken by our lord Jesus Christ. Anyone who denies himself a metal rake and casts aside a bamboo rake and instead attempts to gather leaves with a rake made from decaying grasses and weeds shall have committed this sin, may God have mercy on his soul.

Punishment: While this sin will not keep you out of paradise, you will be downgraded to one of the less fabulous sections of the afterlife, where the carpet padding is not as thick as it is elsewhere, and where occasionally at night the air conditioning makes a funny noise that will wake you up wondering “what was that?”

Penance: Sprinkle drops of liquefied holy fertilizer on any metal or bamboo rake (liquefied holy fertilizer available at most major shrines, as well as Home Depot, Lowe’s and the garden department of your local Wal-mart).

Name of sin: The sin of ennui

Description: Was originally the eighth deadly sin until a late rally by “sloth” supporters pushed it out of “the big seven”. The small but vocal ennui contingent never got over their exclusion, and for a long time considered leaving the church altogether. In the end, however, they decided that a combination of derision, sarcasm and affected boredom would have the greatest impact. And be more ironic.

How the sin is committed:

One of the most difficult to properly identify, the sin of ennui is generally characterized by extreme irony, listlessness, carelessness, boorishness, and bootlessness. On the other hand, you might just be fluish. To be certain, consult a professional. They can be found in the yellow pages under “e” – for “Experts on Ennui”.

Punishment: You will spend all of your mortal days surrounded by ridiculously cheerful people who will constantly ask you what is wrong, even though nothing is. Additionally, there will never be a sharp object or blunt instrument handy.

Penance: Watch three self-help infomercials consecutively, while a team of high school cheerleaders lead your family in an impromptu pep rally in your living room.

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Dear Mr. Creative Director;

Recently I became suspicious that my wife was cheating on me. My God! I still can’t believe it! I thought we were so happy! But then, she started coming home late, and then there were whole weekends when I never saw her. Then months. Actually, I haven’t seen her since late 2007. Occasionally I get these phone calls – as soon as I pick up the phone, the person on the other end hangs up. I can’t tell if it’s her, or one of her male friends. Oh! It is torture!

Also I think we may have bats in my attic. What should I do?

– Miserable

Dear “Miserable”;

I’m sorry, I was updating my status on Facebook. What?

Sincerely,

Mr. CD

*

Dear Mr. Creative Director;

Thanks for helping me out here. Like a lot of other very wealthy people, I am finding that this economy is really quite confusing! I can no longer decide where I should put my money. Some advisors tell me to get out of the stock market, that we’ve not yet hit bottom. But others say that this is exactly the right time to get IN. And then I’ve heard about gold, that I should just park it in a safe haven until the economy comes back. But I don’t know. What do you think I should do?

- Economic Uncertainty

Dear “Economic Uncertainty”;

Whoa. Wait a minute. Money? You have money? Hmmm.

I think you need to call me right away. This needs my personal attention. Don’t delay.

Really really sincerely yours,

Mr. CD

*

Dear Mr. Creative Director;

Window seat or aisle?

- Flight Attendent Margie

Dear What-ever-your-name-is:

I’m gonna stop you right there. Really. You gotta take this up with account service. They’re the ones who fucked it up and they’re the ones who are gonna have to make it right. I can’t go into the details right now, and anyway, I’m not sure you even have the clearance. All I can say is it involved a dog, whipped cream and a blender.

Very truly yours

Mr. CD

*

Dear Mr. Creative Director;

So I’m talking to my pal Rocco and he tells me that no one ever hit a home run out of the old Yankee Stadium. And when he says “old” he don’t mean the one they just replaced. He means the one before that. And I say, what’re you crazy? Mickey Mantle played in that ballpark. Babe Ruth did too. But, you know Rocco, he’s adamant. So waddayou think?

Sincerely, Rocco’s Friend.

Listen you;

You tell that douchebag that if he asks me that again I’m gonna rip out his heart and feed it to my dogs.

Fuckers.

Mr. CD

*

Dear Mr. Creative Director;

Two trains leave two different stations at the same time. The first train is traveling seventy miles an hour and departs Chicago at noon. The second train departs Philadelphia at six in the morning, and is traveling sixty-eight miles an hour. The first train has to make seven stops, and the second train only has to stop for fuel. Which train will arrive in New Orleans first?

Sincerely, Math Guy.

Dear Math Guy;

Yeah, I see. What’s the budget?

*

Dear Mr. Creative Director;

I seem to have lost my keys. They were right here a minute ago, but now – nothing! Let’s see, I was standing in the kitchen and I know I had them then, but then the phone rang and it was one of those damn telemarketers. Don’t you hate those people? I thought we outlawed them or something. Now I can’t recall if I had the keys when I got off the phone, but checked over by the phone and my keys aren’t there. Do you have any advice as I really need to go to the store.

Sincerely, Desperate in Detroit.

Dear Desperate;

What you’re failing to understand is that people are dying for something new. Something fresh. You have to get outside of your own little world and think about it from the point of view of a miserable consumer, bludgeoned day in and day out with the, um, I’m sorry, I’ve really got to take this call…

Mr. CD

It is with a mixture of pride and overwhelming surprise that I stand before you tonight. When the call came from the Nobel Committee, I have to admit, a small part of me thought it was a joke. And I’d be lying if I didn’t add that a much larger part of my wife, my parents, and all my friends thought it was a joke too. And yeah, I’m talking to you, Mom.

But when the camera crews started showing up at my house, and when the hits on my blogs started crashing the computers at WordPress and Blogger, and when the few small websites that had deigned to publish my work – for free, I might add (you can kiss that shit goodbye right now) – started emailing me with tracking data that was crazy insane, well, the surprise gave way to pride. Actually, “pride” isn’t quite the right word. “Hubris” may be a better word for it. I got a little carried away and I started doing stupid stuff – stuff I’d always wanted to do but never did before. Little stuff. Like running with scissors. Like staying up all night playing Halo 3. Like embezzeling money from my employer. Okay, maybe not so little things.

But you know, it’s a weird thing about this prize. I mean, it’s cool and all, and I’m really grateful to the committee for giving it to me, but other than the cash, there’s not a lot that goes with it, you know? It doesn’t get you out of a traffic ticket (I know, I tried) and it won’t get your parking validate (ditto there) and it won’t get you an extra beer or two at a bar (ditto ditto) or a discount on a flat screen TV at Best Buy (big ditto on that one. Bastards.) I mean, if I won an Oscar, say, for best supporting director or something, I’d have all of Hollywood kissing my ass right now, right? Or if I won the NFL’s Most Valuable Player Award, Drew Rosenhaus and Scott Boras would be so far up my butt right now, I couldn’t sit down. But with this, what? Some nerds at the library are impressed? I instantly know one of the answers on “Jeopardy!” (“He was the winner of the Nobel Prize for Literature in 2009” “Um, who is ‘me’, Alex?”). I can score with the staff of any Barnes and Noble on the planet? (Not that I would do that, I’m a married man. That’s my wife right over there. Doesn’t she look great? Hi, honey!). Honestly, it’s not much. So you guys should work on that.

And not to beat a dead horse, but I’ll bet the afterparty tonight is nothing compared to the freakshow that goes on at the Oscars. I mean, look around the room people. Are you seeing any Charlize Therons? Any Angelina Jolies? Hell, even a Tara Reid or two? Nope. I think I may be the only person under 60 in the room. Which means it’s probably not even as good as the Emmys. Or even the Tonys, if you swing that way. Which I don’t, by the way. Just want to make that clear.

Anyway…

I would like to thank the generous people of Sweden, no, wait, Norway. We’re in Norway right now, right? No? Oh, then Sweden. But I thought Helsinki was in Norway. Well, no, now I realize that, it’s in Sweden. Duh. What? Finland? Really? But you said… Oh. Right. My bad. I should have remembered that. There was an Olympics or something here, wasn’t there?

Anyway, wherever I am, I would like to thank the people of this wonderful place. Everyone has been so kind – from the guy I changed my money with at the airport, to the cabbie, to the person at the front desk, to the folks who put that little chocolate on my bed. Great folks. Really. Let’s give them all a round of applause.

I would also like to single out a few people for thanks. No, that’s not quite right. Without getting all Michael Jordan on you guys or anything, I would like to just single out a few people.

To anyone who ever fired me – Fuck You. To anyone who ever failed me (like 8^th grade English, thank you very much; that’s one summer I won’t get back) – Fuck You. To anyone who ever rejected any of my work for any reason whatsoever – Fuck You. To anyone who ever cut me off in traffic – Fuck You. To any bank who said I ever bounced a check – Fuck You. To any computer that ever crashed while I was writing on it – Fuck You. To anyone who ever got in front of me on line at the supermarket – Fuck You. And if you got in front of me at the “Ten Items or Less” aisle and had more than 10 items – Double Fuck You.

Okay, I see that my fifteen minutes is almost up, so let me just say in conclusion, thanks for the prize, I really appreciate it, um, I hope this helps me get a book deal and on Oprah, and “Live from New York, It’s Saturday Night!”

Oh yeah and one more thing – I had to rent this tux – is someone gonna reimburse me for that? Cause it cost me an arm and a leg and honestly, if it was up to me, I would’ve gone with just a jacket and maybe a tie. I mean, if that works for Olive Garden, I don’t know why it wouldn’t work here.

Okay, I’m out.

Step One:     Find a big pile of money.

Lots of people say to me “Hey! Aren’t you supposed to start with a little money and turn it into a big pile of money?” To which I say “You become rich your way, I’ll become rich my way. And we’ll see who’s living in Antibes first.”

Other people say to me “How do I get a big pile of money?” to which I often reply “Stop wasting my time; I could be talking to another rich person right now.” But because I’m being paid a big pile of money to write this column, I will give you some advice about how to find a big a pile of money.

You can start by looking in the cushions of your couch. Or, if you don’t have a couch, look in the cushions of a rich person’s couch. You’d be surprised how many hundreds of thousands of dollars slip out of their pockets every day.

Or you can just cut to the chase by looking under a rich person. They will be easy to identify because they will be the people standing on enormous piles of cash. Similarly, corporations have a lot of money lying around. Ask them if you could have whatever they’re not using. And if you find yourself being escorted out of the building by security, that doesn’t mean they don’t have it; it just means you’re not asking for it in the right way.

Step Two:     Don’t buy the wrong stocks and bonds

Why do people buy stocks and bonds that go down in value when they could just as easily buy stocks and bonds that go up in value? I mean, look at the market – every day, literally thousands of stocks and bonds go up while thousands go down. Why do people pick the ones that go down? Don’t they understand that they are losing what little money they have when that happens? What are they thinking?

This question perplexed me for a long time until I finally realized that there are some people in this world that God just doesn’t love. Those people choose the wrong stocks. My advice to you is to stay as far away from those people as you can, because you can never tell when God will finally get fed up with them and send a thunderbolt or plague of locusts or an under-amortized security down on their heads.

People who pick the right stocks, however, are clearly most favored in the eyes of the Lord. Stay near these people. Watch
what they watch. Do what they do. Vote how they vote. Insult the people they insult. Otherwise God won’t love you. And neither will I.

Step Three: Live on less than you have

This is all about planning and as the old saying goes, if you fail to plan, you can plan to be royally fucked when you’re old. Let me give you one example. Say that the pipes in your basement burst when you’re 72. Well, if you’d planned for that, you’d be ready. Maybe you’d even be standing in the basement with a bucket when it happened. But no, you didn’t plan, so now you’re living in some hideous SRO because your life savings were wiped out. DON’T LET THIS HAPPEN TO YOU! PLAN NOW! Get yourself an envelope, call a couple of plumbers, ask them how much it will cost to replace the pipes, then call a couple of those recovery places who’ll clean up your basement and replace your carpet or drywall or whatever, and then, when they’ve given you their estimates, run some cost-of-living projections to figure out how much more it will cost when you’re 72, and then put that money in your envelope, seal it up tight and put it away! Then you can rest easy knowing that when those pipes burst, you’re ready, and don’t have to dip into the money you’d be using for food or medicine or servicing your Bentley to pay for it.

Something like this happened to my Uncle Bill. The day after his 83^rd birthday he got hit by lightening. Ended up in the hospital. Ate up all the money he’d saved. Had to sell his house, his car, everything. It was terrible. But the lesson to be learned is that it didn’t have to be this way. I remember standing over his bed in the hospital saying “Why didn’t you plan for this, you silly, barbecued withered husk of a an old man? What are you going to do now? Where are you going to live? And don’t be thinking you’re coming to my house. I just had the carpets cleaned and the servants are on half-staff for summer vacation. So just get that right out of your little fricasseed brain.”

It was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, but I knew it was the right thing when I saw those tears of gratitude in his eyes.

Card 1:

Outside: To my husband on our anniversary.

Inside: You forgot again, didn’t you?

Card 2:

Outside: As you hold this card in your hands, I want you to remember…

Inside: How totally fucked you are if you didn’t get me anything. And I mean that figuratively, of course.

Card 3:

Outside: Of course I would marry you all over again…

Inside: Who wouldn’t want to relive the one day in their life when everyone they know paid them the kind of attention they so richly deserve, and yet, never seem to get?

Card 4:

Outside: Being married to you have been the happiest years of my life.

Inside: Which gives you some indication of just how miserable and desperate I was before I met you.

Card 5:

Outside: On our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary…

Inside: Thank god for cable.

Card 6:

Outside: To my loving husband on our anniversary

Inside: If you got me a vacuum cleaner again I’m going to poison your beer.

Card 7:

Outside: Dear husband-

Did you ever notice at the card store that there are literally hundreds of different cards for a wife to give her husband on their anniversary, but only about five for a husband to give his wife?

Inside: In the card store. The place where you buy cards. Cards that honor special occasions. Like anniversaries. No? What a shock.

Card 8:

Outside: On our anniversary, as I look around, surrounded by our family, all I can say is…

Inside: They’re not yours.

Card 9:

Outside: To my sister on my anniversary

Inside: Thanks for the heads up, bitch.

Sorry. I pretended that I didn’t see you, but really, I did. I mean, how could I not? You were standing right there and there were about a hundred of us and we were all moving at like 1 mile an hour.

Apology to the toll booth collector on the George Washington Bridge

To tell the truth, I really did have exact change, and I could have gone in the exact change lane and not wasted your time. But the seatbelt made it a little difficult to reach into my pocket and get it. I probably still could have done it. I guess I was just plain lazy. Sorry.

Apology to the New York Knicks

I understand that you’re my hometown team, and therefore, that I should support you. But I’ve sort of lost interest in basketball. It’s not your fault, and it has nothing to do with the fact that you’re a terrible team. And when I say terrible, I mean, really really horrible. But this isn’t about that. It’s about me. I just have a lot of other things going on in my life right now.

Apology to my new car

I know that the manual said that I should only put premium gas in you, but the other day I pretended that I forgot. I didn’t really forget though. I just didn’t want to spend the money. Plus, I’m still feeling weird about buying premium gas. But that’s no excuse. My bad.

Apology to Larry King

I just couldn’t bear to watch you ask random, unconnected questions of people I despise – or worse watch you listen to rambling phone calls from people I don’t care about as they ask questions of people I despise. I. Just. Couldn’t.

Apology to Jujubees

It’s not that I don’t like Jujubes, it’s just that I hadn’t had Nonpareils in such a long time and they rarely have them at the movie theatre. But I understand if you felt slighted – that certainly was not my intention.

Apology to the MacDonald’s in Terre Haute

It was probably pretty rude of me just to come in and use the bathroom and leave without purchasing anything. I’ll bet you thought I was going to order a Big Mac or maybe a Value Meal. That would have been the decent thing to do. But next time I’m in town, I promise, you’re the place I’m coming to for a burger. Or a salad. Or a whatever. Okay?

Dead-on:

Carry-on:
Apply directly to your luggage

Rock On-On:
Apply directly to Dan Kennedy

Onomatopoeia-on:    Apply directly to something that sounds exactly like what it is.

On*Star-on: Apply directly to most GM models

“On Top of Old Smokey”-on:
Apply directly to, um, what the hell is this song about again?

Topper Headon-On: Apply directly to the Clash

Steady on-on: Apply directly to Shawn Colvin

Hard-on: Apply directly to any obvious punchline

Onan-on: See above

“Fuck you”-on: Apply directly to New York City

“Fuck me? Fuck YOU”-on: Apply directly to New Jersey

“On the Origin of Species”-on: Apply directly to Mike Huckabee.

“Right on!”-on: Apply directly to anyone wearing a peace sign.

Radio On-on: Apply directly to Sarah Vowell

Off-on: Apply directly to a mosquito

“On top of spaghetti”-on: Apply directly to anyone who’s ever been to camp

Ennui-on: Apply directly to Neville

Oxymoron-on: Apply directly to jumbo shrimp

On and On on: Apply directly to Stephen Bishop

“I’m not touching you”-on: Apply directly to my brother when I was ten years old.

Ontological argument-on: Apply directly to God