The Elton Says Things: Almost Advertising Road Show Pt. 2

      I'll admit, trying to break a record I had no way of breaking was pretty stupid. Still. It was an idea, which was more than I had when I started. Paying for my burger, I thanked Gordon and Earl for their..."inspiration". They, in turn, wished me luck, well, Gordon wished me luck. Earl gave me the finger.

Boom.

      The air whipped across my face, like an unwarranted penis slap when I exited the diner. The crisp chill snapped me back to reality and it's infernal logic. Was I really going to do this? What the hell was I doing? Break Wilt Chamberlain's record? How the fuck am I going to break Wilt Chamberlain's 100 point record? Isn't that an NBA record? Don't I have to be in the NBA to break that? Isn't that like...a union or something? Shit. Shouldn't I know how to play basketball first?

Not Pictured: basketball skills.

      Questions ripped through my brain as I crossed the street. Making my way to a bus depot that looked like it had seen better days...in the sleaziest part of the 1970's. Resembling a proper back drop for drug dealers and hookers...if they were slumming it, the grime thickened the closer I got. I entered and edged toward the ticket counter skirting a floor dwelling bum, snoring thickly amid drunken slumber...and his puddle of urine.

      "Can I help you?" the ticket seller half yelled in a bored, annoyed tone as I approached his plexi-glassed station. "Yeah, I need a ticket to Hershey.", I responded, in the kindest sound my irritation could muster.
Clacking away on his out of date keyboard, I could sense his resentment. This guy hated the ever lovin' shit out of his job. Squinting at the screen, muttering and jabbing at the monitor, he practically seethed with angst. I almost felt sorry for him...but, I really didn't care. I just wanted a damned ticket so I could hurry up and fail at basketball.

"It'll be thirty-one bucks.", he chirped, most of his bitterness now, hidden behind a facade of disconnection.

"What the fuck?! It's only, like...an hour away, right?", I pouted.

"Are you asking? I could look it up.", he replied., his answer slathered in sarcasm.

"What the shit! I don't have thirty bucks to--"

"Thirty-one.", he interjected snidely.

I glared at him coldly. "--thirty-ONE fuckin' dollars to piss away on a trip to Hershey."

"Soooo.", he replied with his finger hovering over the delete button.

"Is there anything cheaper?", I asked.

Turning to the monitor he squinted again, "Let me check.". His fingers punched at the keys in a broken staccato of assholery. "Nope."

"Well, that's fucking great. What the fuck am I going to do now?", I angrily asked...rhetorically.

"Don't know. What were you going to do anyway?", he answered...and asked.

"I was going there to try and beat Wilt Chamberlain's 100 points in a single game record."

Discreetly rolling his eyes, he idly tapped at his keyboard. "Who's Wilt Chamberlain?"

Now imagine the smell of stale farts. You're welcome.

      "He was a basketball player in the NBA.", I replied as an afterthought. My mind was desperately trying to figure a way to get the ticket money. The bum behind me grumbled slightly and readjusted himself on the floor...and farting in the process.

"Didn't he fuck a lot?", the clerk inquired, derailing my hopeless train of thought. "What?", I responded.

"Wilt--what's his name. He banged a lot of chicks, didn't he?"

"Yeah, that's the rumor."

"Well, fuck, dude, that's the record you should be breaking.", he said in revelation. "I think it's like 20 million chicks or something, right?".

      "That's insane. That would literally be like fucking the population of Australia. There's no way Wilt Chamberlain fucked Australia.", I retorted, "He would have pulled his own dick off in the process or have worn to a nub from all the friction.".

"Yeah, maybe you're right. Though, it's still a better record to beat than some bullshit game.".

"If it weren't for all the A.I.D.S, rejection and possibility of one or more of those women being a man, I might have entertained that thought. Either way, the game seems like it's more doable.", I elaborated.

[to be continued]

The Elton Says Things Almost Advertising Road Show--ish.

      Walking to the podium, my throat was dry and I was starting to sweat. The lights beat down on me with a heat, almost too intense to bear. I was probably exaggerating. I was anxious, nervous and wearing a pair of clown pants...going commando. That didn't help much. Plus, wearing grease paint didn't facilitate the kind of confidence I was assured it would. Why I was wearing a shirt that read, "Stop Being A Prick, Dicks Are For Chicks!", What the hell does that even mean?

      The crowd, silhouetted amid the spot light glare was deathly silent. I placed my pre-written speech cards on the podium, adjusted the mic and took a breath.
"How did I get here?", I wondered as I opened my mouth to speak. Oh yeah, I remember...

Wilt Chamberlain.

That magnificent bastard.

      Having just spent the previous two weeks drunk and broke, I decided to take my newly reborn zeal for writing on the road. It was a new year and time for new lease on career building. If I was to make any money blogging, people had to know I had a blog. I decided the best way to get the word out was old school advertising. It seemed the cheapest and most cost effective. Before I could start,...I had to eat. 

      "You've got a what?", said Gordon, an old guy I had just met, sitting to my left at the diner's counter. I explained what a blog was...again...and continued eating my bacon, double cheese burger with a side order of arterial plaque. "...and you're taking a trip...to advertise it?". I nodded in affirmation. "Can't you just do that ON the internets?", he said with obvious lack of technological lingo.

So? Who farted?

      "I could, but, it would just get lost among all the other people advertising blogs and bullshit...and porn." 

"There's porno on the internets?!", my ancient diner acquaintance exclaimed in disbelief, "Where do I sign up?" he chuckled. I replied, mouth full of burger, with scoffing laugh, mocking him. He didn't get it.

      "Did you know about these porno-nets, Earl?", Gordon said to Earl, his equally old counterpart who, until now, had been engrossed in a news paper. Without looking away from his paper he said,  "No I didn't." flipping to the next page. Apparently, Earl is a man of few words and a complete disinterest in sweet, sweet porno.

      "How do you plan on advertising yer...bloggin-whatsit?" he asked. "I'm not sure really. I just know that I want to do it in the real world and not online. I want it to be memorable, then, it might go viral...on the internet.". 

Like herpes...or a Family Guy quote.

      Gordon, brow furrowed in confusion tipped back his trucker cap and scratched his head. "You want to advertise something that's on the internets--in the real world, so that people will see it, make it viral by putting it back up on the internets.", he recounted. "Yes.", I confirmed. "That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard of.", Earl chimed in. 

      I gave Earl a sideways glare, which he didn't see. Gordon ruminated for a moment and said, "So,...you need a gimmick." he concluded. "Basically. Yes." I established, "Something everyone will remember.". 

I took another bite of my burger, as we contemplated various gimmicks. "You could strap a dildo to your forehead and call yourself Captain Dickman, King of Cockland and dance around at intersections, flopping around your forehead penis...and maybe do some singing.", Earl interjected...to the bewilderment of Gordon, Me and the waitress who was bringing Gordon a slice of key lime pie. 

      He looked up at the waitress and asked, "You'd remember that wouldn't yuh?", to which she replied with awkward silence and quietly walking away and eyeing him over her shoulder. He went back to reading his newspaper and muttering, "I'd remember the shit out of that.".

      "Hey are you any good at sports? People love the hell out of sports and that kind of stuff", Gordon contributed breaking Earl's statement's awkward spell. "It depends, I guess on what--", I managed to get out before Earl added, "You could break Wilt Chamberlain's 100 points in a single game record.". 

      Again, Gordon and I were befuddled and looked at Earl in silence. He looked back at us and said, "What? There's a write up about it in the paper. Something about a guy who was at that game...or something. It doesn't matter. The thing is, no one has ever broken the record. It would be one hell of a memorable advertisement, event...viral...what have you. You'd be famous."

"Hey, he's right!", Gordon exclaimed, "You'd be in the history books.". 

"I'm not good at basketball." I admitted, "I'm a terrible shot and kinda clumsy and I'm white. Excessively white.".

"Ah, well, it's worth a shot, right? Just saying you're going to do it might be enough.", Earl amended.

"Sure it would--", Gordon said, "They'd remember it even more if you did it where Wilt got the record."

"Where is that?"

"Hershey, Pennsylvania, right up the road from here.", Earl informed.

"It seems a little outlandish and impossible.", I scoffed.

"You could always sport that dildo and do a dance.", Earl rebutted.

      Being that I didn't have a dildo. I decided to go for the record, despite not having the ability, talent or skill set necessary to achieve it. It might be fun to try, right? I'd never get that far, however. As I would find out...even the dildo get up would have been a hell of a lot easier.

[to be continued...]

{Oh, a quick side note: I've started contributing at another place. You can read it here. I've also started a "talk radio show"...that's on the internet. It can be found here. I do it every Saturday at midnight. You can call into it and talk to me! The number is (347) 326-9252. Feel free to call and harass me to no end. It would definitely "up" the entertainment value.