Towards a More Honest Facebook

by Jon Mullich on October 17, 2014

Honesty in social networking

My college chum James Cleveland, who casually posted as his Facebook status “A quick trip to Amsterdam, Paris, Geneva, Berlin and London! Any suggestions?” For those of you who are new to the social network, the last thing Mr. Cleveland is interested in is advice on how to enjoy Europe. A Facebook post like that is decoded as “My life is better than yours; fuck you.” This is a common gambit in social networking. Whenever one of your so-called “friends” (a misnomer if there ever was one) posts about his or her perfect family, committed relationship or (in Mr. Cleveland’s case) dream vacation, this is what he or she is telling you. I therefore suggest that the programmers at Facebook introduce an AutoHotkey that allows us to make “My life is better than yours; fuck you” our status with a single keyboard stroke, since that’s what everybody on Facebook seems to want their status to say. Of course Mr. Cleveland’s status got an avalanche of “likes” and comments; but only because those are the only options currently available to us. I further challenge the programmers at Facebook to expand the selections of “Like,” “Comment” and “Share” by adding one which allows responder to tell the poster to go fuck himself. Granted, anyone could write that as a comment now rather than merely think it (which, trust me, everybody is doing). But the social network is populated by sheep and no one wants to make a bold stance by being the first to do something that everyone else wants to do but secretly fears that they’re the only one who feels that way. By adding that link, Facebook would be letting their users know that it’s okay to tell Mr. Cleveland to go fuck himself when he announces that his life is better than yours. In fact, doing so would even be considered a social nicety. Because only by accumulating enough responses of “Go fuck yourself” with Mr. Cleveland be absolutely certain that his life is better than ours. And isn’t that really what social networking is all about?
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Slice of Life

by Jon Mullich on October 10, 2014

Jeebus Burbano and Tom Shelton making nice for the camera

Jeebus Burbano, who was interviewed in the website San Diego Playwrights about a theatre piece she wrote with her life partner Tom Shelton called Silueta about a character named Ana and her life partner Carl. Ms Burbano disclosed in the interview that in their writing process, “I write Ana usually and Tom writes Carl.” I have not yet seen the play so I am assuming it is some kind of dark Chekhovian drama set in pre-revolutionary Russia because the idea amuses me. And since I have been in a domestic partnership myself, I further surmise that the dialogue – written by Ms. Burbano and Mr. Shelton each for the characters of their respective genders – breaks off into exchanges like:

CARL: The winters are so cold here. If only we could return to Moscow…
Ana enters, extremely pissed off .
ANA: Is that why you didn’t go to the grocery store?
CARL: Do you mind? I’m lamenting my lost way of life as a Russian nobleman.
ANA: That’s not going to be of much help when I need the tampons and Ben & Jerry’s AmeriCone Dream that you promised to pick up.
CARL: Fine. Just let me finish writing…I mean saying…this speech, and I’ll go to the goddamned store.
ANA: And get a bottle of Jack Daniels. Your mother is coming over and you know how she loves to drink.
CARL: ALL RIGHT!
(Ana exits, but not before shooting Carl a withering look that tells him that this isn’t over and if he expects any sex within the next six months, he’d better shape up.)
CARL: The winters are so cold here. If only we could return to Moscow…

I’m sure that Ms. Burbano and Mr. Shelton will do some editing before the play’s premiere but I would advise them to leave these honest interactions intact. The best writing is always the most personal, and I think audience would like to see an honest representation of contemporary domestic life (even if it is set against the backdrop of pre-revolutionary Russia). Not many people know this, but the first draft of The Importance of Being Earnest had a scene in which Jack and Algernon bicker about where they should put the new paisley foot stool they just got from Renaissance Hardware, but Oscar Wilde cut it after lawyers convinced him it might hurt his court case against the Marquess of Queensberry. It’s a shame; it would only have made a great play even greater. [click to continue…]

The faux Black Guardian

by Jon Mullich on October 3, 2014

The ever-youthful Jesse Merlin

Jonny Award winner Jesse Merlin, who asked me to create a delightful Photoshop illustration of him in his “Black Guardian” costume from the British TV institution Doctor Who standing in front of a typical Doctor Who backdrop. The image was intended to help gain him admittance to an oversold Doctor Who event whose target audience is pale, undatable teenage boys. The strategy happily worked but I thought little of it until a couple of days later when Mr. Merlin posted on his Facebook Wall that it was “a banner day for the postman” since an old friend of his had found a huge stack of Doctor Who paperbacks and sent them to his buddy. I was immediately concerned and thought I should stage an intervention for Mr. Merlin to stop him from following a life path that will inevitably turn him into an irredeemable geek. Then I realized that I first met the faux Black Guardian when he played the Captain Kirk surrogate in my Gilbert & Sullivan version of Star Trek. That’s when it dawned on me just how brilliant his plan is. I have no idea what Mr. Merlin’s actual age is but he has the smooth and supple skin of a teenager even though he talks and dresses like a Victorian prime minister. It’s obvious that he and his fellow “lost boys” at sci fi conventions and comic book shows have aped Oscar Wilde’s Dorian Gray by immersing themselves in geekery to keep from aging. And if you pity Mr. Merlin because all the Doctor Who and Star Trek crap makes him undatable, I suggest you look at the Big Picture. No one who talks and dresses like a Victorian prime minister is going to get any action under any circumstances. At least this way he holds onto his high cheekbones and taut, muscular ass. If that means spending his weekends in a refrigerator crate that’s been tricked out as a tardis, it’s a small price to pay.
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The Sexual Inferiority Issue

by Jon Mullich on September 26, 2014

Lacie Harmon and me
discussing theology.

Lacie Harmon, who posted the Facebook status “Eyes burning. Exhaustion. Possibly the start of a runny nose. Gotta be a terminal blood disease.” Wise-ass that I am, I suggested that it probably was a terminal blood disease and that she had two weeks to live, tops. Our interaction then strangely devolved into a conversation about how she would “suck on God” when she met Her in the afterlife. I’m not sure which one of us introduced a bizarre sexual component into a discussion about meeting one’s maker in the afterlife (although everybody reading this knows it was me). Fortunately, more rational voices entered the conversation and it went into a less blasphemous direction. But it did leave me wondering what sex with the deity is like. I prefer to think of God as a nurturing mother rather than an overbearing father, so I don’t think of it as hot dude-on-dude action when it does ultimately happen between us. But God is all-powerful, so while the sex with Her would probably be mind-blowing, I think I might be too intimidated and self-conscious to have anything get inflated below the belt buckle leaving me feeling inadequate and self-loathing as a result. When I think of it that way, I finally have a response for women who delay having sex with me for as long as possible because “it would change our relationship,” because my current relationship with God leaves me feeling inadequate and self-loathing now. A furtive night with me that left Her frustrated and sexually unsatisfied wouldn’t make a bit of difference.
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The Natural Order

by Jon Mullich on September 19, 2014

 

Enemies List favorite Mara Marini yet again. I went on another of my excessive binges making faux pulp fiction novel covers. When I created one entitled The Party Killer which included Ms. Marini slithering seductively across the floor, she responded “If I’m totally honest… I thought that the title was ‘Panty Killer’ upon first read. Had to do a double take” (although she also said that she thought that the image of her crawling on the floor was reminiscent of Gollum in Lord of the Rings, which is like saying that Botticelli’s The Birth of Venus is evocative of a sand crab crawling out of a dirty sea shell). Always the gentleman, I concocted a new cover from Ms. Marini’s title; which prompted my nemesis Misty LaRue to yenta from the sidelines “Mara is beautiful and talented, but more than anything as your unrequited muse – SHE’S A REALLY GOOD SPORT….You should be incredibly thankful, Jon Mullich.” Anyone who doesn’t think that I’m grateful for Ms. Marini’s presence in my life hasn’t been keeping up with my daily blog of sexual fantasies, but that’s not the point. Much like Venus herself, Ms. Marini is a goddess who has a responsibility to put up with pathetic, attention-grabbing tributes from mortal smegma like myself. It is part of the natural order for a toad like me to make a fool out of myself in a vain attempt to get her fluttering eyes focused in my direction for even a blissful second. Regrettably, it is also the natural order for a yenta like Ms. LaRue to be annoyed at the ritual and to loudly call me out on it in as humiliating a fashion as possible, thereby making me even more wretched to my divine idol. In the end, I come off in Ms. Marini’s eyes as reminiscent of Gollum in Lord of the Rings or perhaps a sand crab crawling out of a dirty sea shell. But at least that makes her aware of my existence, which is all I really wanted in the first place. Now if I could only get off of Ms. LaRue’s radar, my life would be perfect.

To see the full collection of Jonny faux pulp fiction novel covers, click here.
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My Kingdom for a Horse

by Jon Mullich on September 12, 2014

Jessicah Neufeld as Joan of Arc (R) opposite her costar

My emerging nemesis Jessicah Neufeld, who opens tonight in a stage production entitled O, For A Horse with Wings! Ms. Neufeld recently supported me in the Eclect-a-Fest series of short plays in which she appeared in something called Tartine (I can’t tell you much about it because I was in my dressing room drinking Ouzo and getting a rubdown from my masseuse Günter as it was going on) while I starred in the headline piece Three Really Offensive Scenes About the Founding Fathers. Ms. Neufeld was so intimidated by working with me that for her next stage role, she has eschewed human actors and is instead doing a show in which she is performing Shakespearean scenes opposite horses (you read that correctly: her fellow performers are horses). My operatives (some of whom pay attention to this crap) tell me that her Big Scene is as Joan of Arc from the rarely-performed Henry VI. I have no idea what roles the equines are playing but I assume they’re being fed peanut butter first so that they can move their mouths while someone recites the lines offstage like in the old TV show about a talking horse, Mr. Ed. I’m especially looking forward to the scene where Joan is burned at the stake because this is the first presentation of it where she actually has a chance to survive. I’m hoping that the Grand Inquisitor will eat the hay before anyone has a chance to set fire to it.

Tickets are available by clicking here.
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Film Favorites

by Jon Mullich on September 5, 2014

My favorite movie

City Lights. There’s an exercise going around the social network in which participants are commanded to “List 15 movies you’ve seen that will always stick with you.” An intriguing proposition since the reasons that a movie “sticks with you” are intensely personal. This means that there is nothing to debate and films that I don’t hold in particularly high regard like Philadelphia (which I have publicly derided in print many times), Nobody’s Fool, and It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World were safely posted without fear of being cruelly mocked by yours truly. My own list was topped this week, as it always will be, by the Charlie Chaplin masterpiece City Lights. I first saw it when I was about 12 and my mother took me to a strange theatre in Hollywood that had two separate entrances; a left-turn at the old-style standalone ticket booth (where the young lady within wore a revealing leotard) brought you to a screen showing hardcore porn. A right-turn brought you to a rather shabby little theatre showing classic movies by Buster Keaton, the Marx Bros., Laurel & Hardy, and Chaplin. I spent many a happy hour in that theatre, never more so than when the work of the Little Tramp was on display. I loved all his films that I saw there: Modern Times, The Great Dictator, The Gold Rush, The Kid and Limelight; but no film before or since has had the profound emotional effect on me that my first viewing of City Light did. It’s undeniably a masterpiece (it has for my money the best ending in the history of motion pictures) but as I get older it seems more dated and contrived (the Tramp falls in love with a blind flower girl and sacrifices everything so that she can regain her sight via an operation provided by a European doctor which cures blindness, as though there was only one cause for blindness and one operation could cure it). At the same time, every time I watch it (and I’ve watched it many, many times), it takes me back to that now-demolished theatre in Hollywood and I view it through the eyes of that hopeful 12 year-old boy. I guess that there are better movies than City Lights in the pantheon of filmmaking: Citizen Kane, The Godfather, The Searchers, The Passion of Joan of Arc, Casablanca, and The Seven Samurai come immediately to mind. But none of them are so magical that they can transform me into an enraptured child discovering movies for the first time. So I don’t care how many movies I see between now and the time that I become so blind that I’ll need an operation from a European doctor to get my sight back. Whenever I make a list of my favorite movies, City Lights will always be at the top.
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Pain in the Ass Magazine

by Jon Mullich on August 29, 2014

You people. I made one of my delightful Facebook cover images of my beloved pug Winston and me edited into a famous movie scene, this time the inevitable picture of us in the scene from Men in Black where Tommy Lee Jones and Will Smith are interrogating a pug at a magazine stand. To give the illustration some flavor in its detail, I included magazine covers of the flotsam and jetsam of humanity I associate with pictured on the cover of such wholesome periodicals as Glamour and People. It was only afterwards that I realized that there should be a magazine created to showcase these nimrods, so I’m proud to announce that Jonny Press® is introducing Pain in the Ass Magazine. This is a place where you can find out all the news about the irritants who ruin my life on a regular basis. I can’t imagine why anyone would be interested in this kind of crap but I’m hoping that it will be distracting to the jackals who swarm around me on the social network so that I can finally get some peace and quiet. They say that print is dead and this rag will be an excellent indication of why.

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The Friendly Skies

by Jon Mullich on August 22, 2014

Paul Messinger (R)
flying me to Camarillo

Paul Messinger, who supports me in the role of George Washington in Three Really Offensive Scenes About the Founding Fathers, the play I am currently starring in as Thomas Jefferson. Mr. Messinger is a licensed pilot and on Sunday he talked me into joining him for a flight to nearby Camarillo. I have always considered Mr. Messinger to be a terrifying individual, but never moreso than when I found him conveying me through the clouds at an altitude of 3,500 feet inside a sardine can with wings. To be sure, Mr. Messinger is a thoroughly experienced and responsible pilot and spent more time checking out the plane before we took off than we spent in the air. That didn’t mitigate my terror of the sight of a man I see on a regular basis depicting the father of our country getting high on hemp (an important plot device of our play, although Mr. Messinger already seemed awfully familiar with the physical effects of reefer use when we began rehearsing) blithely thumbing his nose at the law of gravity. It was a fairly uneventful flight (although Mr. Messinger might describe it differently after I acted out the classic Twilight Zone episode Nightmare at 20,000 Feet for his in-flight entertainment) and when the plane landed in Camarillo, I was so thrilled to still be unexpectedly alive that I got on my knees and made out with the asphalt of the runway like Burt Lancaster and Deborah Kerr in From Here to Eternity. Mr. Messinger allowed me to make a beeline for the airport bar and pound a few kamikazes before breaking the news that in order to get home, I would need to fly back with him on the return journey. In fairness, the flight back wasn’t as bad as all that. The plane’s baggage compartment turned out to be surprisingly comfortable.
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Massive, Turgid Man Meat

by Jon Mullich on August 15, 2014

An artist's conception of me writing today's Enemies List as the actresses of Eclect-a-Fest look on

The actresses of Eclect-a-Fest, the one-act play festival in which I star. The ladies of the respective casts have all inevitably fallen in love with me and I found myself holding court in the green room of the theatre (which in this case is the parking lot behind the stage door where some folding chairs have been set up) with each of them vying for my attention. The conversation ultimately came around to the ongoing staggering popularity of this blog and my ability to sustain its high quality week after week. I finally admitted (after much flirtatious prodding) that my secret is writing each entry stark naked, or as I explicitly phrased it, with my “massive, turgid man meat scraping against my desk.” This admission caused the women to squeal with delight like scandalized schoolgirls, and one of the more assertive of them immediately began to strategize a plan to insert the phrase “massive turgid man meat” into every presentation at some point during the evening. Sanity finally prevailed (a rare thing indeed among this collection of cackling yentas) and all of the plays were performed as written, with the only reference to my quivering genitalia showing up in the subtext of each actresses’ depiction of their various roles. At least that’s how I remember the evening taking place; when I woke up this morning with my usual hangover I found stuffed in my pocket a petition signed by all the actresses demanding my removal from the show along with a strongly-worded letter from the producers promising stern action against me if I continued to harass the ladies of the casts. That was clearly a practical joke played against me that I’m sure we’ll all have a good laugh about when I’m holding court in the green room at the next performance. As a treat to them, I’ll be hanging out stark naked with my man meat in full view. It may not be as massive as I originally promised but if the air pump I ordered online does what it claims to do, at least it will be turgid.
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