Review”Michael Ian Black has proven that even the most simple-minded amid us may occasionally give rise to works of genius.” — Stephen Colbert
“Like all habit vans, Michael Ian Black’s book is customized to fit all your needs and wants for the traveling of your life. It’s luxurious, entertaining, spooky, disturbing, and hilarious. Devil’s in the details! It’s stocked with tacos, vampires, squirrels, a cleaning lady, scented candles, salami, tundra, and a foreword by Abe Lincoln himself — now that’s Class with a capital C. Enjoy the ride of your lifetime.” — Amy Sedaris
“This is a great book for shut-ins, for humans who like to laugh at sentences, and people who like to move their belongings from place to place. In fact, anybody who likes to pack or ship anything will find a lot to like in these pages.” — Dave Eggers
“Fun to read while you’re pooping.” — Sarah Silverman
“I always walk away jealous and a little fearful of Michael Ian Black’s sharp comedic wit. If you like your comedy dry, absurd, and unforced, you will love this book.” — Jim Gaffigan
“Michael Ian Black speaks to the laughless in all of us and asks, ‘Why aren’t you laughing?’ Then he takes the laughless in all of us roughly by the shoulders and INSISTS THAT WE LAUGH, normally by writing exceedingly funny and compellingessays such as those included in this volume.” — John Hodgman
“Michael Ian Black is so wrong that he’s right.” — Lewis Black
About the AuthorMichael Ian Black has starred in a heap of television series and films including Michael and Michael Have Issues, Stella, The State, Wet Hot American Summer, Viva Variety, Vh1′s I Love the… series, and NBC’s Ed. He wrote the screenplay for Run, Fat Boy Run, and wrote and directed the film Wedding Daze. Michael is likewise a general stand-up comedian and world champion poker player (not true). He lives in Connecticut with his wife and two kids.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
What I Would Be Thinking If I Were Billy Joel Driving to a Holiday Party Where I Knew There Was Going to Be a Piano
I’m not doing it. I’m just not. I know I say the same thing each year, but this time I mean it — I am not playing it this year. Seriously, how a heap of times may I perhaps be expected to play that stupid song? I bet if you counted the number of times I’ve played it over the years, it in all likelihood adds up to, like, a jillion. I’m not even exaggerating. One jillion times. Well, not this year.
This year, I’m just going to say, “Sorry, folks, I’m only playing holiday songs tonight.” Yeah, that’s a good plan. That’s unquestionably what I’m going to do, and if they don’t like it, tough cookies. It’ll just be tough cookies for them.
But I recognise precisely what’ll happen. I’ll sit down, play a few holiday songs, and then a great deal of drunk jerk will yell out “‘Piano Man,’” and every one will start out clapping, and I’ll look like a real asshole if I don’t play it.
I wonder if they’ll have shrimp cocktail.
Now that I think of it, it’s always Bob Schimke who yells out “‘Piano Man.’” He does it each year. He gets a couple of Scotches in that fat gut of his, and then it’s “Hey, Billy, play ‘Piano Man’!” That guy is such a dick. He thinks he’s such a huge shot because he manages that stupid hedge fund. Big deal. He thinks because he employed to play quarterback for Amherst that everyone must give a shit. I don’t. Who cares with regards to you and your stupid hedge fund, Bob? That’s what I will have to say to him this year. I actually should. I ought to just march right up to him and say, “Who cares regarding your stupid hedge fund?” Let’s just see what Mr. Quarterback has to say in regards to that. And I know he made a pass at Christie that time. She in all likelihood liked it too.
I’m such a loser.
Why do I even go to these parties? I mean, honestly, how some times do I need to see Trish and Steve and Lily and that creepy doctor husband of hers and all their rich Long Island friends? Although that Greenstein girl is nice. Maybe she’ll be there. What’s her name — Alison?
What if Alison asks me to play “Piano Man”? Then what? I’ve got to stick to my guns, that’s what. I’ll merely say, “Some other time.” Yeah, that’s good. Kind of like we’re making a date or something. And then at the end of the night when we’re all getting our coats, I’ll turn to her and say something like, “So when do you want to get together and listen ‘Piano Man’?” Oh man, that’s actually good. That’s so smooth. After all, how is she going to say no? She’s the one who asked to listen it in the initial place! Oh man, Billy, that is just perfect.
Maybe she’ll say something like, “How when it comes to right now?” Yeah. And possibly we’ll leave together. I may drive her back to my place and I may play her the stupid song and then possibly we’ll do it. I’d in truth like to do it with that Greenstein girl.
How awful would that be? Me leaving with Alison on my arm and Bob’s big fat stupid face observing us go. That would be too rich. I’d be real nonchalant in regards to it, too — “See you later, Bob.”
Who am I kidding? She’d never go out with me. She was dating that actor for a while. What’s his name? Benicio? What kind of name is Benicio? A stupid name, that’s what kind. Hi, I’m Benicio. I’m so cool. I’m sooooo cool. I must get started going by Billicio. I’m Billicio Del Joelio. I play pianolo.
Sing us a song, you’re the piano man…
Oh great. Now it’s in my head. Perfect. Now I have to walk around that stupid party with that stupid song stuck in my head all night.
Amherst sucks at football.
You know what I must do? I will have to just turn this car around and go home. Just pick up the phone and call them and tell them I ate a heap of bad fish or something. Yeah, that’s what I ought to do.
What am I going to do? Go through my entire life avoiding situations where somebody might ask me to play a song? I can’t do that. No, Billy, you’ve just got to grow yourself a sack and take care of business. And if that loudmouth Bob Schimke requests “Piano Man,” I just need to look him in the eye and tell him I’d be happy to play it for him just as soon as he goes in front and fucks himself.
Who am I kidding? Of course I’m going to play it. I always play it. Probably the only reason half the humans at that party even show up is to listen me play “Piano Man.” They probably don’t even like me. Not really. They just want to tell all their friends that Billy came and played “Piano Man.” Again. Like I’m the loser who’s dying to play it. Whatever.
Fine. I’ll do it, but not because they want me to, but because I want me to. I’m not even going to wait for them to ask. I’m going to march right in there and play the song and that’ll be that. I’m not even going to take off my coat first. Yeah. Let’s see what Bob has to say when it comes to that. I might even play it twice.
Copyright © 2008 by Hot Schwartz Productions
Maybe I’m not classy sufficient for the vine…
Radical Feminist Poet subsections out to comedy/satire