Phone call with Mom

RING RING
Jak: Hello
Mom: Well, you've finally done it.
Jak: Hi mom.
Mom: After all I've done for you over the years, this is the thanks I get?
Jak: What are you talking about?
Mom: I've given up hope for you
Jak: Maybe you should "give up" drinking so early in the morning
Mom: Don't get smart with me. Do you have any idea what you are doing to my social life?
Jak: I had no idea I had any impact on your social life.
Mom: Well, you do. All these years, all I've ever asked of you is one little thing....ONE LITTLE THING. But, do you help me out? NO!
Jak: Oh Jesus mom. Let's not start with this again.
Mom: I wouldn't have to bring it up if you had just cooperated.
Jak: Mom, I can't be something I am not.
Mom: Would it be so difficult for you just to pretend? I mean, your sexual orientation is not helping me out one bit.
Jak: Mom! Do you understand how crazy you sound?
Mom: Don't you call me crazy! You have no idea the pressure I am under to maintain my status among my friends. You should see how pompous these women are about their kids. I can't even mention you without people rolling their eyes.
Jak: Jesus Christ mom, I am the most normal of any of your friends kids. Bobby still lives at home. Jimbo is a drug addict. And Frankie dresses up in his moms clothes.
Mom: That is exactly what I am talking about! Each one of those kids is completely screwed up and drive their mothers crazy.
Jak: So, now I am really confused.
Mom: You are so naive about society. Don't you get it? All I have ever asked of you is that you be gay. Can you imagine how that would raise my cache in my social group? Especially if I was cool about it? I would be seen as so "with it" and tolerant. I would be queen of the world!! But, alas, you sit there all smug and heterosexual with your wife and your kids. What the hell good does that do me? Huh??
Jak: So, let me get this straight...you get no points for raising a normal, well-mannered kid with a good job, a beautiful wife and two wonderful kids? But, you get major points if I was gay and you were "cool" about it?
Mom: Duh!
Jak: Do I even have to tell you how sick that is?
Mom: Listen buddy boy, you have no idea. But, regardless of what I think about it, it is what it is. I mean, would it kill you to show up at a party with another guy? Or wearing lipstick and a woman's wig? Help your mother out boy!
Jak: Why can't you just come out of the closet as a lesbian? Wouldn't that be much easier?
Mom: Don't be stupid. That would just make everyone uncomfortable. And, besides, it is not the being gay that helps me. It is the being Ok with your gayness that gets me the keys to the kingdom. Do you realize how much I've had to put up with since I referred to that waiter as "colored?" Everyone thinks I am some insensitive antiquated old coot. Being "OK" about having a gay son would completely change everything.
Jak: Well, you are going to have to...
Mom: Wait! That's it. Problem solved.
Jak: What are you talking about?
Mom: Ha! I should have thought about this a long time ago. It is so simple!
Jak: OK mom. Should we add bipolar to your list of ailments when we check you into the home?
Mom: Nope. I am perfectly fine. I just figured out a solution to my problem that does not require your cooperation.
Jak: Now you are scaring me
Mom: Nothing to be scared of baby boy. I'm just going to mention one of your trips to the hospital and let them draw their own conclusions.
Jak: Excuse me.
Mom: Oh, don't worry about it.
Jak: No, I am worried about it. What are you planning exactly?
Mom: Well, I really shouldn't tell you, but I guess you have a right to know.
Jak: I should think so!
Mom: Yes, yes. I was just thinking that if I could work in a mention of that trip you took to the doctor the summer after your freshman year, I could omit some data and let them draw their own conclusions.
Jak: I'm not sure I follow...
Mom: You don't remember? You had to go to see Dr. Thomas because your ass was bleeding through your pants at work.
Jak: My god mom! That was from spending 10 hours on a wave runner the day before!!!
Mom: Well, of course it was dear. You know that, I know that...well, I assume you wouldn't lie to me...
Jak: MOM! It was a wave runner incident!!!
Mom: Yes, yes. I just recall that Dr. Thomas examined you and her first question was whether or not you had engaged in any homosexual activity in the past 24 hours. I'm just sayin'.
Jak: And I told her NO. It was a wave runner goddamnit!
Mom: And didn't you go to a Depeche Mode concert that night? That would be a good bit of information to drive them toward the "right" conclusion.
Jak: You do realize that if you go through with this, I will have no choice but to go ahead and check you into a home? Ever since you gave Kirsten your power of attorney, she has just been awaiting the word from me to move forward.
Mom: Oh you funny little boy.
Jak: I'm serious mom. I'll take you down to chinatown.
Mom: Listen, I would love to talk all day, but I'm meeting the girls down at La Madeline. Can't wait to pass along the story. Thanks for your help with this!
Jak: Wait!
CLICK

The Zip Heard Round the World (by Hagen Knight)

I'm not sure if all Dads are like this, but my dad was always, and I mean ALWAYS, asking us if we had to use the bathroom before we left on any trip. Whether it was a trip across country or across town, it was always the same routine.

"Has everyone used the bathroom? I am not leaving here until I know that everyone has properly relieved themselves of all biological waste."

Who uses the term "biological waste"? And why did he have such a hang-up about this particular issue? Well, I first asked the latter question when I was 10. "Son," he said, "Just trust me, you will be better off in the long run if you just learn to relieve yourself prior to embarking on any sort of trip."

Not satisfied with this answer (as I suspected there was more to it), I continued to press him on the subject. Finally, when I was 16, I guess he thought the time had come to share with me the impetus for his preoccupation with pre-trip release. He told me to grab a couple beers out of the fridge and join him in the study. The story that unfolded in that knotty pine-lined room haunts me to this day. I will now share it with you...

"You see son," he started with a far away glaze in his eyes "it all started one stormy night in January of 2000....

"I was sitting at the tiny airport in Wilkes-Barre, PA waiting for my flight to Cleveland. I had been visiting one of my print suppliers and he sat with me in the bar having some beers, much like you and I are doing right now. Drinking, shooting the breeze, passing the time. I am guessing that we did this for about an hour before I realized they were announcing my flight was about to depart. Last call, as it were, for boarding. Never one to waste beer, I slammed my last drink, said my goodbyes and ran off for the gate. Once on the plane, I set down and started to read my novel de jour.

It was not too long after we took off that I felt that familiar pain in my loins that indicated it was time to take a trip to the little boy's room. I got up and looked to the back of the plane. This is when I realized that the term 'plane' could only loosely be used to describe the flying contraption I found myself on. I guess the combination of a drink (or three) too many and my rush to get on board the plane caused me to miss this minor detail. Anywho, it didn't take long to assess this 15 person 'plane' and realize that no bathroom existed on board. No problem, I thought to myself. I am strong. Mind over matter, right? I will just sit down and start reading and take my mind off my need to relieve myself.

Apparently, the girl across the aisle from me took notice of my predicament and asked what the matter was. I recognized her from the bar. Now, remember son, I was single at this time, so I took notice of attractive women at bars and such. I told her that there was no problem, but asked her if she was aware that there was no bathroom on board. She said that she did know that and she had made sure to take care of business prior to leaving the airport. I mentally congratulated her for her forethought and quickly went back to my reading.

I made it about one page before my bladder started to feel an ever greater pressure. I shifted in my seat and looked around only to find that the girl across the aisle was looking at me and noticeably laughing inside. Bitch.

I started to really worry at this point. We had about an hour before we landed and 20 minutes after that before a bathroom would be in site. I didn't feel like I could make it!! I decided that the best thing to do would be to fall asleep and just try to clear my mind of any thoughts. I leaned my seat back and closed my eyes.

Two minutes later, I woke up (well, opened my eyes...I don't think I ever really fell asleep). It was increasingly obvious that I was NOT going to make it. I decided that bold action needed to be taken.

I walked up to the open cockpit and got the pilot's attention:

'So, have you ever had a situation where someone on your plane had to go to the bathroom so badly that they thought they would explode?' I asked

The co-pilot swung his head around and looked past me to the mostly sleeping passengers.

'Who is it?' he asked.

'It is ME!' I half yelled, incredulously.

'You have to use the bathroom right now?' the pilot asked

'Yes, I do believe I do.'

'Hmmm,' he seemed to ponder this, 'Let us think about it and you go back to your seat. We will let you know what we decide.'

I returned to my seat with a newfound sense of hope. Did they have secret pilot toilet they were going to let me use? Or, more worrisome, were they going to just tell me I had to hold it? I would certainly pee my pants if it came to that.

Five minutes passed by before the summoned me back up to the cockpit. By this time, I had truly resigned to peeing my pants. The co-pilot did all the talking,

'The best thing for you to do is to use the air sickness bag. It is sturdy and sealable. You have two choices...if there is room in the rear of the plane, you can go sit back there and have your privacy, take care of business and you are good to go. Second choice, is you can stand up here and do it.'

A quick look at the back of the plane revealed that my hope for privacy was not to be this night. Every seat on the plane was full.

'Looks like the back is full fellas, ' I let them know. 'How do you suggest I do this?'

'Just stand there between us and pee into the bag. When you are done, let us know.'

By this time, the whole plane was asleep. It was deathly quiet except for the hum of the plane's engines and the occasional shifting passenger. I took one last look back and then turned forward, reached down and unzipped my pants. I cringed. No, I didn't pull a Ted from There's Something about Mary. It was just the LOUDEST zip I had ever heard. I was certain that it woke up everyone on the plane. To confirm this, I took a quick peak over my shoulder and, sure enough, the girl was staring right at me and three or four others on the plane had been awakened and were staring up at what was unfolding at the cockpit door.

As men know, once you release the beast, there is no turning back. Mentally, you have stopped trying to cork it and you have given the go-ahead to your nether regions to let go. So, knowing there was no turning back, I looked forward again, grabbed my barf bag and started to let loose. Now, if I thought the zip was loud, the sound of my rather strong stream hitting this bag was deafening! I peeked back again and now the whole plane was awake and looking in my direction.

I have heard people describe certain life experiences as 'transcendant'. Until this moment in time, I did not quite understand what they were talking about. The release I felt at this point in time could be described in no other way. I have often said it was 'better than sex', but that does not even do the feeling justice. It was simply transcendant.

Within 30 seconds, the feeling of transcendance quickly changed to fear. I had brought the barf bag back from my seat and it was quickly filling and I had no back-up!! I realized that this was a full load and there was no way a single bag would hold it...my mind started thinking about two things and two things only..how do I get another bag and, once I got it, how do I make the transition???? I actually started to sweat. I asked the co-pilot,

'Do you have another bag?'
'Why?'
'I think I am going to fill this one.'
'You better not, that one needs to be it!'

Can you believe it? This guy is practically threatening me with who knows what if I don't make all my waste fit into this one bag.

My stress quickly turns to relief as I realize that I have stopped. The bag is filled to the rim and I'm safe.

'whew..that was close,' I say to noone in particular. 'Um, what do you want me to do with this bag?'

'Well, cinch it up really good..it works just like a bag of cookies'

I cinched it up and just looked at the co-pilot like 'now what?'

'You can either take it back to your seat and dispose of it in Cleveland or you can throw it here.' He indicated a trash bag that sat between he and the pilot. For whatever reason, I opted to dispose of the steaming barf bag right then and there. I walked back to my seat, settled in and fell asleep for the last 30 minutes of the flight.

Obviously exhausted from the recounting of the story, my dad sat back, took a deep breath and slowly closed his eyes.

So, the next time you go on a trip, whether it be to the corner store, to your folks place across town or a road trip to Vegas, please do yourself a favor. Make one more trip to the porcelain god. And, barring that, make sure you have a few extra barf bags on you at all times.

Prologue and Chapter 1 - Rated R for language

Prologue

Now really…does a bad memory really make someone a liar? I mean, if selective memory is diagnosed as some sort of disease or congenital defect tomorrow, there are going to be a lot of people feeling very badly for the derisive way in which they characterized my stories about everything from childhood memories to more recent events. I don’t intentionally “lie”. I don’t even intentionally “misrepresent the truth.” I just speak from the heart and from memory. If that makes me a liar, I don’t want to be a truther.

So, most of you are probably asking yourself at this point, “why the hell would I care about whether Jason A Knight is a liar or a truther? I’ve never even heard of the dude until someone bet me I couldn’t finish this book no matter how hard I tried. Not only that, but what the hell is a ‘truther’? Is that something from the Nancy Sinatra dictionary? Criminy! Get to the point already!”

Well, faithful reader, the point is this…I have some good stories to tell, but my friends and family are tired of hearing them and when I tell them to folks I don’t know, they roll their eyes and inquire as to whether I ate paint chips as a child. So, I decided that the best way to get my stories out is to write them down, find a desperate publisher and make money off those people who would have probably rolled their eyes at me, but now can’t because I am not there to be the roll-ee. Kapiche? No? Well, then just read the damn book. Cover to cover. Don’t skip around just because each chapter does not feed off the prior one. Ten independent stories of my life. Ranging from birth to some things that won’t happen for a couple years. Pretty wild, eh?

Enjoy!
Chapter One
Why I don't trust Doctors or Happy Birthday to Me??

I know that everyone has heard the jokes told by many a lame comedian about how rude their introduction into the world was as they left this warm, cozy place into a cold, cruel world and then they got their ass slapped by some doctor. Cue laugh track, hahaha, on to the next joke. Well, now that I am older and wiser, and can actually remember my birth, I can tell you that the whole story is horseshit. First off, after spending 10 months sucking all my food out of a tube and having pruned skin, there is no place I wanted to be less…I tried to get out sooner! I dropped as far as I could and when the light appeared I dove for it man. And the Doctor smacking me around was the least of my concerns. You would not believe the words that were coming out of my mom’s mouth as I got within earshot of the birth canal! If anyone has any question on why I cuss so much, you can trace it back to the foul language my mom was using in regards to the process and, more potently, in regards to my Dad’s role in her current situation. I won’t degrade the family nature of this book further by going into details about what she was saying, but apparently, my mom thought of my sweet grandma as some sort of female dog. Not pretty.

So, so far, good to get out of the cramped, wet, tube-fed space of the womb, bad to be exposed to my mom’s dark side (see chapter 3 for more on this). Another negative is, and I am not kidding here, I could have sworn that when I came out of the womb, I had about $20 bucks and some change on me. After all the commotion and tube cutting and bathing, I took inventory and I had like a dollar tops! The nurse actually stole money from me!! Can you believe that? Here I am, defenseless, crying my eyes out, getting used to a new environment, and she jobs me! I confronted her about it moments later when she returned, but she just looked at me with this stupid look like she didn’t speak my language. All the while, poking and prodding me like a piece of meat. The lack of respect was shocking. When I determined that I wasn’t getting anywhere with the nurse, I started crying for the doctor. I figured that, as her superior in the hospital hierarchy, he would be able to help me out with the matter. In a rather bizarre turn of events, the Nurse, apparently aware of my plans, picked me up and shoved my mouth over my mother’s breast in an obvious attempt to shut me up! I struggled at first for release, but a warm liquid was sprayed into my mouth, which worked as a relaxing agent, and I immediately seized up and began to take the substance in willingly. Incredible stuff. Looking back, it also made me lose my short-term memory because, as I finished, I no longer had thoughts of the stolen money, just of sleep. Looking back and knowing what I know now of the paltry wages Nurses are paid in relation to the work they do, I am glad that I didn’t pursue this matter further. In fact, if that nurse is reading this now, I would like to apologize for my behavior that day and will hope beyond hope that the money was well spent.

Fine, the title of the chapter refers to Doctors and all I have talked about are Nurses. Well, I am getting to the Doctor part, but I just wanted to set the stage and give you the whole story. I must warn you, though, that the next part of this chapter is not for the feint of heart or young of age. There are some things that happen to you in life that cannot be described in gentle terms. And the things this doctor did to me need to be exposed!

So, I am over the trauma of my first couple hours and the sticky-fingered nurse. I’m starting to get into the flow that these people will cater to my every whim as long as I scream and cry. Truly revolutionary. I have yet to utter a word and I have been fed and bathed and had my poopy diapers changed. It is Nirvana and Valhalla wrapped into one. As day 2 of my soon-to-be remarkable life unfolds, though, a cold wind blows on the horizon...

First thing in the morning, I start to hear whispers about whether or not a certain procedure should be done…I get the feeling it has to do with me as both my parents and the doctor keep looking in my direction. I’m starting to get nervous, as things have been going swimmingly, but now I figure “party’s over” and I prep myself for the worst. Little did I know that my vision of worst and the evil extent of what was about to occur were not even close.

That night right after a great meal and a restful nap, the doctor comes in and asks my parents if now is a good time to “perform the procedure.” They must have said yes, because the next thing I know, a nurse has entered the room and is picking me up and taking me away with my dad a few steps behind. And then the most bizarre event of my young life (and, quite frankly, the entirety of my life since then) begins to unfold…

First, the nurse strips me naked. And it is cold. Why do hospitals have to be so cold? When you are not feeling well or are sick, do you often find yourself saying "gosh, I wish I was colder and in a non-descript room." I thought not. Anyhoo, I start screaming, trying to convey that it might be nice to have my clothes back. But instead of dressing me, she starts to strap me down to the table!! I was momentarily stunned, but instincts kicked in and I started to pull as hard as I could and scream my head off. Next thing you know, the Doc turns around with a freakin’ scalpel in his hand. I kid you not! This cat was about to take a blade to me while I am strapped down to a table? What kind of fair fight is that? And where the hell is my dad???

Relief washes over me as I see my dad stepping forward. Certainly he will put an end to this madness and beat the crazy doc and nurse down and take me back to mommy. You would think…but, instead he comes at me all crazy smiles and starts to put some awful tasting sugar water concoction down my throat. I was like "Pops! I love you man, but I am not sure pouring Gatorade down my throat is the answer...I can't imaging that many knife fights have been won by replenishing my essential vitamins and minerals. What I do need is for you to do something about the crazy man with the knife! But, there he is dripping this stuff down my throat while the doc goes to work slicing and dicing my most sensitive spots.

At this point, should I be relieved that he is not actually trying to kill me? Or should I be more pissed that he is cutting off my johnson?? I’m not quite sure what its function is at that point in my life, but I can tell that there are great things ahead for it. I quickly decide that no matter how bad it is, it is better than having my young, promising life end so early. So, with the sugar water taking effect and the realization that death is not imminent, I start to calm down a bit. The doctor finished up and put a big bandage on my wang and my dad dressed me up and took me back to my mommy. I was so exhausted that I fell into a deep sleep.

So, now that you know the rest of the story my dear wife, will you stop bugging me about going to see the doctor? Do you see why I might be reluctant to voluntarily go see one of these madmen? Please wait until the next commercial for your answer. I'm watching the game here.

Welcome to My New Blog

Hello all...I have created this new blog site to give me a place to do some creative writing and to get some feedback from LIP fans on what I am writing. The name of this first "novel" is going to be True Confessions of a Compulsive Liar. It is basically going to incorporate my scary ability to fabricate lies out of true situations, but in the more structured framework of a book. So, the story is basically going to be about an old man remembering back to his youth and the life he led and the stories he told. Or, it could be about something completely different. The point is, I am going to get it started and the direction it goes will be based on feedback I get from all of you.

So, enjoy and get those virtual red pens out...I want to hear it all!!

jak