Dodo Eggs

Miss Nomar:  Hello and welcome to another interview with celebrities that couldn’t break into Hollywood’s unemployment line much less show business.  I’m Miss Nomar special correspondent to DodoEggs.com.  I’m here with a man who wears tank tops regardless of the situation…Bobby Mustang.  Thanks for being here Bobby.

Mustang:  You forgot to mention I’m the developer of the all-silk tank top for when the occasion demands a little extra class.  It’s called the Silk Top for swank gyms, you know.

Miss Nomar:  Don’t worry Bobby you’ve got the market on silk workout wear.

Mustang:  Gee, I don’t know, I was walking by this store called Vindictive Secret the other day and I think they’re already making a girl’s version.  I went in to try one on and they didn’t have my size.

Miss Nomar: That’s a lingerie shop.

Mustang:  I know.  I just went in there to see if the girls working there actually wore that stuff.  Apparently they don’t.  Big disappointment.

Miss Nomar:  All right, let’s rewind.  You’re famous for wearing tank tops everywhere you go:  fancy restaurants, bar mitzvahs, and funerals.  Why?

Mustang:  Well, my original goal was to be a first chair bagpipe player for the New York Philharmonic but they weren’t interested.  It kind of tore my life up a bit.  You know, growing up with posters of famous bagpipe players on my closet door. 

Miss Nomar:  You grew up in Kentucky.  Where did you get your hands on a set of bagpipes?

Mustang:  I had to make them myself.  I stole four or five recorders from the music teacher at school and punched them into my dad’s bowling bag then strapped them down with duct tape.  I unzipped the bag a bit and put the hose to an air compressor in it.  Wow, that’s a lot of music!
 
Miss Nomar:  You’ve got to be kidding me.  So back to the original question, why do you wear nothing but tank tops?

Mustang:  When my career in music fell through, I got a job selling what I thought were testosterone shots to body builders.  I would wander the gym in my tank top selling the stuff.

Miss Nomar:  But you can’t weigh over a hundred and thirty pounds!  Who would buy bodybuilding supplies from you?

Mustang:  Oh, I just told them I was injured and that I used to bench four hundred fifty pounds or whatever.  Look, everyone exaggerates in a gym.  If a guy says he lifts three hundred, you can bet he can only do two hundred sixty-five.  Everyone does it and if you try to watch him then he’s having a bad day.

Miss Nomar:  You mentioned you thought it was testosterone.

Mustang:  Yea, I screwed up reading the label.  As it turns out, I was selling tetanus shots.  My bad. 

Miss Nomar:  Do people often confront you about wearing a tank top to church or weddings?

Mustang:  Yea, but I tell them I’m the bouncer and it’s usually ok.

Miss Nomar:  A bouncer at a wedding!  That’s ridiculous!  And by the way, I could probably take you.  You’re a complete weakling.

Mustang:  (With an air of confidence) Some press on tattoos and I present more of a problem.  But I suppose you’re right.  It would take a mighty man indeed to handle a woman of your girth.

Miss Nomar: What!?!?!?!

(The tape captures a stifled scream as Miss Nomer wraps her python-like fingers around Bobby’s Mustang’s slender throat.)

Miss Nomer:  Good day and welcome to another grass razor, sharp roots examination with me, the famed Miss Nomer.  I’m DodoEggs.com’s special assignment reporter.  My guest is none other than the inventor of the rubber hammer…Tim Smit!

Tim:  Hello Miss Nomer.  Really though, we need to move this interview along I have an entire shipment of red rubber hammers sitting in my black Pinto outside.  It’s almost a hundred out there and that hatchback acts like a super powered lens, you know what I mean?

Miss Nomar:  Mr. Smits you realize this is to be published in the world famous DodoEggs.com right? 

Tim:  Doo doo eggs?  Why are we talking about poop?  I don’t get this.

Miss Nomar:  No sir, Dodo!  As in the extinct bird? 

(Gets out of his seat)  Tim:  Birds?  Look, I’ll be right back.

(Ten minutes later)  Tim:  Ok, I’m in the shade now.  What is it you wanted to ask me?

 Miss Nomer:  My readers wanted to know your inspiration for everyone’s favorite classic toy…the rubber hammer. 

Tim:  All right, years ago I was working with a friend of mine at a construction site.  I was on the scaffolding and he was below handing me two by fours.  I ended up dropping my hammer and it hit him in the head.  He called me all sorts of vile names that weren’t warranted.  I mean, the guy only need five stitches.  Six and a fractured skull then I would understand.  Yea, cuss me out but not for just five.  Big baby.

Anyway, this guy goes on to develop the hard hat and I solved the problem by creating rubber tools.

Miss Nomer:  Sounds like your friend had the better idea.

Tim:  Not really.  (He makes a dismissive gesture with his hand.)  He just knew a guy.  It’s all political.  You understand.

Miss Nomer:  So how did the rubber hammer grow to such popularity?

Tim:  Ok, well, when we added the squeak that was the real option that got people’s attention.  That, and my cousin, his name is Vinnie, sold it as a toy.  Who knew?

Miss Nomer:  So do you have any other plans for the rubber hammer?

(scowls a bit) Tim:  Not really, I mean we’ve done all the colors.  Chartreuse didn’t go over real big with the purists.  What are ya going to do?  We tried giving them names and tags like those stupid beanbag babies but it didn’t work out.

Miss Nomer:  Regarding that… I was on-line last night and my purple Kiss-and-Nail hasn’t gone up in value in nearly a month!

Tim:  Sorry kid no refunds.   (Under his breath)  Sucker.

Miss Nomer:  Why don’t you try something like a rubber screwdriver or a rubber tire iron?

(sits up, eyes go wide)  Tim:  Lady, I’ve got to go!  Vinnie needs to hear about this!  Give my regards to DumbDumbEggs.com.  (waddles to the door and leaves)

Miss Nomer: “Good day and welcome to another old-edge, sharp-school investigative interrogation.  I’m Miss Nomer an exclusive correspondent to DodoEggs.com.  No one else brings the life of F list celebrities, pan flashes, and wanna bes with such precision.

Today, my guests are three of the headliners for the kid friendly freak show known as WAYS, which stands for Wow, Are You Stupid.  My guest names are Joe Yidden, Daniel Murphy, and Hybib Azerbij.     

Hi guys.  Why don’t you begin by telling us what unique talent you have that allows you to perform with such a popular group?”

(All three laugh nervously) Joe:  “Ok, I guess I’ll get started.  I still can’t tell my left from my right.  It’s true.  People give me directions all the time and I just have to nod like a broke in bobblehead.”

Daniel:  “Yea, I’m forty-three and a standard analogue clock still doesn’t make any sense.  I don’t know why we have to cut the day into twenty-four hours then put only twelve on a clock!  And what’s this deal with measuring a day with seconds, minutes, and hours at the same time?!  Give me a break, right?!”

Hybib:  “Ok, my turn?  Ok, and mine is the freakiest of them all.  I still don’t know my multiplication tables.”  (Nods then drops his head.)  “Yes, it’s very true.” 

Miss Nomer:  “Great, well then what types of groups do you perform for?”

Daniel:  “We mostly perform for schools and places like that.  Schools with a lot of low achievers enjoy us a lot.  You know, seeing freaks like the three of us really boosts their self-esteem which is a school’s most important job.”

Hybib:  “Yes, and sometimes we really touch a kid who is struggling with the same ridiculous handicaps we do.  We recently told an ugly seventh grade kid to start his own performance group because right now each of us is pulling in almost twenty thousand a year.”  (Grunts of approval from Daniel and Joe.  Awkward high fives.)

Miss Nomer:  “Hybib, you seem very comfortable with the fact that you’re an imbecile.  Why?”

Hybib: “It’s a matter of principle.  Ok, I learned to add and loved it.  It was dependable and steady.  So when my teacher tells me about something that’s fast and easy it just felt dirty to me.  Yes, I decided not to cheat on my first love.”

Joe: “Liar, when you were called to the front to recite them you cracked like a wet noodle.  I’ll prove it.  What’s 2 *2?”

Hybib:  “4!”

Daniel:  “Joe, you moron!  That’s one’s the same as addition!  He knows that one!”

Miss Nomar:  “That’s ok guys, I believe you.  Let’s move on to you Joe.  Left and right?  What’s the big deal?”

Joe:  “It’s no simple matter.  I mean you look at both hands and what’s different?  Let’s see, four fingers, a thumb, and even matching warts!”

Miss Nomar:  “So why don’t you just tie a ribbon to your right hand or wear a ring?”

Daniel:  “He keeps forgetting what the ring represents!  You should see him staring at it and mumbling to himself!”  (Changes tone to mock Joe)  “Uh, I just can’t seem to remember, uh.”

Joe:  (Obviously upset)  “Well, either one makes a pretty good fist!”

Miss Nomar:  “Easy guys!  It’s ok!  Joe is there anything you wanted to add?”

Joe:  “I just wanted to say it ain’t easy.  I’ve taken girls to swank places for a night of dancing and once the Hokey Pokey comes on, well, I’m screwed.  Date over!”

Miss Nomar:  “That’s ok Joe.  You really shouldn’t be procreating anyway.”  (Hybib and Daniel nod in agreement.)  “So Daniel, analogue clocks huh?”

Daniel:  “Have you seen a digital clock?  The time is right there for everyone to easily read!  If it’s twelve twenty-two, then that’s what it says! 

I really believe knowing the correct time is a civil right protected by the Constitution.  Having to read some silly dial is like having a toll to cross a road or a valid ID to vote.  These are fetters that create an excessive burden on stupid folks like me!  I’m sick of loosing face and having my hands tied!”

(Joe, Hybib, and Miss Nomar snicker)

Daniel:  “Oh, you think that’s funny how about if I go Roman Numeral on you?”

(Daniel strikes Hybib.  Joe throws the wrong fist and knocks Miss Nomar’s tape recorder off the table ending the interview.)