This Is a Book (5 page)

A few days later, Socrates was brought to trial and charged with corrupting the youth.

Socrates wanted to apologize to the Senate. He knew his constant public appearances had angered a lot of people. So he prepared a speech for the trial and called it “The Apology.” But moments before he was scheduled to appear before the Senate, he received a message backstage. It was from Jackie. She wanted to talk with him. A minute later she appeared.

“You can’t do this,” she pleaded.

“Do what?”

“Apologize. That’s what everyone expects you to do. If you do that, then there will be no surprise, no twist, and without that there will be no story. And with no story, there’s no career, Socrates.”

“But what if they find me guilty?”

“That’s exactly what you want! Go out there and surprise them. Throw the charges back in their faces. Let them find you guilty. It will get people talking. And if they offer you ex, don’t take it. Go for death! What you need to do is the most extreme, unexpected thing you can think of.”

“Really?” the confused philosopher asked.

“Yes! This is your chance to make
real
headlines, Socrates. Trust me. And, don’t worry about the sentence they give you. I’ll take care of it. I know so many people in the Senate, I can easily spin it so that you won’t have to die or whatever else they threaten you with.”

Socrates thought for a long moment. “Are you sure?”

“Yeees! Trust me. It’ll be amaaazing!”

A few minutes later, Socrates found himself standing before the Senate delivering his, now infamous, final speech. Following his Publicist’s advice, the overexposed philosopher defied the Senate and declared to them and to his fellow Athenians that he would
opt for death by drinking hemlock. And, sure enough, everyone who heard him was stunned.

Socrates finished his speech and returned to his cell. Awaiting his official sentence, he was eager to see Jackie and bask in the glow of a job well done.

But his Publicist was nowhere to be found.

It seems that, unbeknownst to Jackie, Socrates was out of money. With all of the commissions he was paying to his representation, including his agent, manager, tour manager, stylist, and various support staff, and now with attorney’s fees on top of that, he was broke. Jackie had only now just discovered this fact when her billing department informed her that her philosopher client was way behind in paying commission.

As his execution date approached, Socrates sent messenger after messenger to Jackie. None of his messages were returned. Jackie had officially dropped him as a client.

Finally, confused, frustrated, and exhausted, Socrates prepared himself for the end. Surrounded by prison guards, he took the poison-filled chalice and raised it to his lips. Just then one of the guards looked at Socrates and said, “So, what happened to your Publicist?”

Socrates looked at the guard and replied, “Publicist? Don’t get me started.” The room fell silent for a moment. Then Socrates, with great profundity, whispered, “And where the hell is my Agent?”

And with that, Socrates Pappandreopoulos, philosopher, handyman, and overexposed media icon, drank the hemlock and took his last breath.

E
PILOGUE:

After his death, Socrates did indeed become quite famous. Of course, he was dead at that point, so it didn’t really do much for him. On the other hand, it did wonders for his Publicist. Jackie went on to work with Aristotle, Pericles, and an array of other local celebrities before marrying a marble tycoon and settling down in the posh neighborhood just beyond the Acropolis.

Hammocks are responsible for oer 90% of the cases in which someone who is overweight is forgotten at a picnic.

The unicycle is the most effective form of birth control in the world.

Nearly ½ of all people in the United States are torsos.

4 out of 5 dentists who chew gum also have a small ponytail and an earring.

America is the leading exporter of the phrase “Oh no he didn’t!”

100% of the people who give 110% do not understand math.

Suicide is the #1 killer of a person who is in a boat and happens to be passing under a bridge at the wrong time.

The average person will eat more than 25 pounds of meat if offered enough money to do it.

99.99% of all castles in America are located in fish tanks.

The boomerang is Australia’s chief export (and then import).

Football is the leading cause of someone annoying other people at a party who are just trying to have a conversation without listening to some asshole yell at a TV.

Men are 35 times more likely than women to be turned on by looking at a wedgie.

If you stretched the average person’s intestines out from end to end, it would make him scream a lot.

Brooches account for nearly 80% of all conversations between women over the age of 75.

Statistics indicate that the average American is a guy named Brian who lives in Ohio.

Per capita, just about everyone has no idea what a “capita” is.

This year, Americans officially became fatter than snowmen.

You are 10 times more likely to get hit by a car when the driver is aiming for you.

M
AUREEN

I was in the park, having a picnic with some friends. All of a sudden, a bee started to circle around my head. Then the bee attacked me. I calmly attempted to shoo it away, but it would not leave me alone. Then it became even more aggressive. I then tried to move away, but the agitated bee followed me. Hoping to stop its assault, I attempted to gently swat it away with a magazine. I missed, and, sure enough, the bee stung me. I’d never been stung by a bee before. It hurt, but I did my best to grin and bear it. I put some ointment on the bee sting, and after that I felt fine.

B
RENDA
(M
AUREEN’S
F
RIEND
)

I was on my phone when Maureen got stung by the bee. felt bad for her. But I think she overreacted a little bit if you ask me, especially when she started to scream and wildly swing her arms around. It was really pretty embarrassing.

B
EE

I was in the middle of another busy workday, flying my usual route. I was on my way back to the hive, minding my own business, when an enormous, fleshy monster began to scream, and then
it spastically lunged at me. At first I thought I might have flown into the middle of a medical emergency or some sort of tribal dance that the monster was performing. But then it quickly became clear that the monster was trying to kill me. I turned around and started to fly away. But the monster became even more enraged and began to chase me. I could not escape it. I flew faster, but the wailing beast pursued me and kept swinging its rolled-up paper weapon at me. As much as I didn’t want to, I had no choice but to sting the monster. It was the only thing I could do to stop it from following me home and threatening the well-being of the hive or worse, the safety of my family. I hoped that if I stung the monster I could thwart its assault enough to save my kids. I knew that I would die soon after administering the sting, but I really had no other option. What a tragedy it is to be forced by a senseless, hysterical beast to take one’s own life.

M
AGAZINE

I’m not sure what happened. I was being held and slowly read by some woman when all of a sudden she rolled me up and started to choke me and violently whip me around. After having my face smashed into the arm of a lawn chair a couple of times and then into the surface of a picnic table, I was tossed to the ground. It was a terrible and demeaning experience that I’ll never forget.

L
AWN
C
HAIR

I don’t know what his problem was, but the magazine I was hanging out with abruptly got up and smacked me twice for no reason.

B
RENDA’S
P
HONE

Brenda was talking into me when the incident happened. I didn’t get to see or hear anything because Brenda is such a loud and obnoxious phone talker. Whenever she uses me it’s like I’m cut off from the world. If I had enough power in my lithium battery to electrocute her face, I would. Seriously, I would do it. She is that annoying.

L
ITHIUM
B
ATTERY

I second that.

O
INTMENT

I am effective at temporarily relieving pain and itching associated with insect bites, minor burns, sunburn, minor skin irritations, scrapes, and rashes due to poison ivy, poison oak, and poison sumac.

S
QUIRREL IN
N
EARBY
T
REE

I am still too upset to talk about what happened. I was good friends with Chris. I can’t believe what that woman did to him. He was a hardworking, God-fearing bee, who had a family and a good job. What that woman had against him, I’ll never know. To tell you the truth I don’t think she even knew him. What a bitch. I’m going to find out where she lives, go to her yard, and act crazy on her fence.

T
REE

No comment.

G
OD

Forcing a bee to commit suicide is one of my biggest pet peeves. This is not good for this Maureen person.

Who am I? That is a simple question, yet it is one without a simple answer. I am many things—and I am one thing. But I am not
a
thing that is just lying around somewhere, like a marker, or a toaster, or a housewife. That is for sure. I am much more than that. I am a living, breathing thing, a thing that can mark with a marker and toast with a toaster and house with a housewife. And still, I am much more.

I am a man.

I am also a former baby and a future skeleton, and I am a distant-future pile of dust. And I am also a Gemini, who is on the cusp (Taurus cusp).

I am “brother” and I am “son” and I am “father” (but just according to one person, who does not have any proof but still won’t seem to let it go). Either way, I am moving very soon and not letting her know about it. I am asking you to keep that between us.

I am trustworthy and I am loyal, but at the same time I am no Boy Scout. No, I am certainly not. I am quite the opposite, in fact. And by opposite I do not mean Girl Scout. No. I mean Man Scout. And by that, I do not mean Scout Leader. In fact, I am not affiliated with the Scouts at all. You know what—let’s just forget about the Scouts and scouting altogether. Okay?

I am concepts and thoughts and feelings and outfits. And I am each of these all at once, unless I am in the shower. Then I am not outfits, because that would be uncomfortable.

To some I am known as “Chief.” And these are usually people who work at Radio Shack or who try to sell me shoes in the mall. To others I am known as “Buddy.” These are people who dwell in bars and wonder if I’ve “got a problem” or what it is that I am “looking at.” And still to others, who are in that same bar, standing just off to the side, I am “Get him!”

I am
he
and I am
him
. I am
this
and I am
that
. And I am, from time to time,
“Roberta.”
But I am not going to get into that right now.

People have known me by many titles. In high school, I was “Student” and “Key Club Vice President” and “Queer Bait.” In college I was “Pledge” and then “Disappointed” and then “Transfer Student” after that. And now I am still amazed at how picky certain so-called “brotherly” organizations can be. And I am actually glad that they didn’t pick me for their stupid fraternity. I amnow what>

To some I am Myth and to others I am Milt, mostly because I have told them that this is my name—even though it is not even close to my name. I am a mystery wrapped in an enigma wrapped in a pita. Why the pita? That counts as another mystery.

I am everything and I am nothing. I am just kidding, I am not everything
and
nothing. That would be ridiculous. I am just everything.

I am what I eat. And I am this especially when I bite my nails.

I have been called many things, like “Hey You” and “Get out of the Way!” and “Look Out!” And then, some time later, “Plaintiff.”

I am my own worst critic. I am going to give you an example now: “I am not being
me
enough” is the kind of thing I am prone to say. See what I mean? I am sure you do.

I am the silent majority.

I am a loud minority.

I am not talking about Puerto Ricans when I say that, because I am not a racist. I am just clearing that up. And, by the way, I am someone
who has Puerto Rican friends. In fact, I am pretty sure I have at least one friend from each of the races (Hi, Dao-ming).

I am friend. I am foe. I am fo’ sho’. What up y’all?

I am sorry about that. I was just talking to one of my race friends, a black one. I am white and I am black. And I am both of these when I am dressed as a mime. And then I am—shhhhh.