You’d think…I mean, really, you’d think that the literary executor for Norman Mailer wouldn’t be A) a moron, or B) a total asshat. But when you make a statement like, “Vonnegut was the American Mark Twain,” there are very few ways to adequately describe what a complete and total retard you are.

Of course, he might have really said that “Vonnegut was the modern Mark Twain,” and he was merely misquoted. But then that means that the Washington Post is employing reporters who are so lacking in mental faculties that they will type out a statement like that above and not think that, possibly, it was a misquote…

Mostly the article is a discussion of reasons for Vonnegut’s greater sales record, particularly in the near past, than Mailer or William Styron. And the reasoning is fairly valid; Vonnegut was always seen as a little more “counter” than the other two (he never did win a Pulitzer), his books were by and large much smaller in length, and the general tone of his writing was more conversational.

Let me say that, on some level, I agree with those claims.

But by making them in the way he did, the writer is also saying that Vonnegut’s greater sales couldn’t be that he was, you know, the best writer of the bunch. God forbid a science fiction writer actually be better at the craft than a “literary” type.

God damnit! I’m getting more upset the more I type…fuck you Washington Post!

But even worse than the Washington Post and their backhanded dig at Vonnegut is Dana Gioia’s (head of the National Endowment for the Arts, a group that is simultaneously very important and also full of its own shit( comment…

“First of all, Vonnegut’s funny, and humor has a broad appeal,” Gioia says. “Secondly, he worked in genres like science fiction and political satire that have an enormous appeal to boys, and boys are the ones usually reading Mailer and Vonnegut and those authors. … Vonnegut was a very open and inviting author, less conspicuously literary than Mailer or Styron, although clearly a fine writer in his own way.”

Clearly a fine writer in his own way…

What the hell is that? Obviously, if a writer uses humor, science fiction, satire, and actually tries to connect with his readers (as opposed to, say, condescend to them) then he can’t be taken as seriously as someone like Norman Mailer.

Yesterday, the wife and I had a phone conversation that went something like this:

Wife: When does that Bender movie come out?

She was referring, of course, to Bender’s Big Score, which is what I covet, at this moment, above anything else in the world.

Me: It came out today.

W: I didn’t see it at Costco when I was there.

M: Maybe they’re not carrying it, but I’m pretty sure it came out today.

W: Oh, yeah I’m looking at Amazon. It is out today.

M: That’s the only thing I want for Christmas. I don’t want you to spend a bunch of money on me and I don’t want anything else.

W: Should I just order it right now? It’s pretty cheap.

M: Unless you buy something else, you’ll have to pay for shipping. It’s probably going to cost the same at Target.

W: Alright, I’ll check there then.

M: OK, since I already know you’re getting that for me, can I just have it when you buy it?

W: What?! No.

M: Then I have to wait a month to watch it, and I already know that it’s my present.

W: Too bad.

As far as I’m concerned, that’s damn cold! I mean, seriously, what does she want? Is some feigned expression of surprise as I unwrap the DVD shaped present on December 25th really worth making me wait an entire month to watch the freakin’ thing.

In a related note, it has come to my attention that Bender’s Big Score is the first in a series of four, feature length, direct to DVD releases to feature the fearless crew of Planet Express, and each one is part of a greater story-arc. Apparently, once the four DVD’s are out, they will get chopped up into 16 half-hour episodes and shown on Comedy Central.

And I say this because the children of this country have voted that both Paris Hilton and Brittney Spears should top Santa’s naughty list. Now, sure it would have been much sweeter if, say, they had voted the president to the top, but this is a nice choice on the part of our nation’s kids.

Brittney, as you might know, seems to not care about actually raising her kids, or even showing up to court.

And Paris Hilton is just…well…you know…

For your consideration, the following visual delight is on display at Comics Should Be Good…

And the entire post is basically this question, “Why does Captain American have the Puerto Rican flag on his chest?”

And I direct you, dear readers, to comment numero five-o, wherein someone named Kevin Riddle answers the question with this truly inspired reply…

Probably because the costume reeks of suck.

I think that a fairly lengthy paper could be written on the nature of “reeking” and “sucking” and how those two states of existence pertain to comic book costumes…P.H.d here I come!

So yesterday was my father-in-law’s birthday. Those familiar with the situation know that this means little to me. But since we had “grandpa Heap” over last month for his birthday, the wife felt compelled to invite “grandpa asshat” over. Sharing in the “festivities” were my sister-in-law (who I like) and her two sons, and my brother-in-law (who I get along with, but really despise) and his four sons (his daughter, I guess, was busy…). So the wife and I decided that we’d do what any rational, level-headed person would do in such a situation…we ordered pizza.

I’m still of the belief that the best pizza in the world can be found, not in New York, or even Italy, but San Francisco (which may relate to my irrational love of all things The City, I’ll admit). Blondie’s, for instance, gives you not only huge slices at a resonable price, but also affords one the experience of eating one’s food on the top of a garbage can, right in front of homeless people (they do have a dining room downstairs, but that’s mainly for tourists…)

My wife’s preference was always Deja Vu, in part because they delivered to our house, but it was really good pizza. The one time we actually went into the place, there was a 60 year old asian guy and a 60 year old white hippie working, which seemed totally appropriate. Once, they delivered a pizza to us with broccoli on it (I said, black olive) and didn’t charge us for it, and gave us our next one free, so that was cool.

My favorite was Mozzarella di Bufala. Not only was the pizza the absolute greasiest, tastiest ever, the place is run by a bunch of Brazilians, so they have a ton of Brazilian food on the menu which is, as the kids say, the bomb.

So, anyway, as with most food down in So. Cal. (particularly Indian food) we haven’t really found a pizza place that compares with any of the three above. Zito’s is decent, but we don’t even live in the OC anymore. The place that’s become the default pizza at our house, since moving back to Crown Town, is Marcello’s. Now it’s not great, but it’s decent, cheap and pretty close to our house.

So I roll in there yesterday to pick up our order and one of the guys says they messed up one of the pizza’s and it’ll be 10 more minutes. No big deal, less time I have to spend with people I don’t like too much. Then another guy comes out to ring up my order. I didn’t immediately recognize this guy but as soon as he takes my credit card he says, “Holy shit, it is you ‘kilian heap’ from miscellaneous private elementary school.”

And I stare at the guy…

And he stares back…

“Chris?” I say, because I really can’t place him.

“No,…” and then he says his name and I say, “Ooohhhh, right.”

What I remember about the guy is 1. we went to the same school for a number of years 2. he was a year behind me (I think, I’m pretty sure it was a year) 3. we played on the same AYSO team one year…that’s about it. I slightly remember that he was, I guess you’d say, odd.

That’s it.

If he hadn’t recognized me, I certainly wouldn’t have recognized him.

So I’m sitting there waiting for my pizza and he whips out his phone and shows me a picture of his kid, which is fine because I pull out mine and show him…

Now that’s all well and good until I (stupidly) ask if he has any more kids.

“Naw, but I have one on the way.”

“Congratulations.”

“Oh it’s not mine. I’ve been taking precautions, my girlfriend might have pulled a condom out of the trash, but that would be giving her too much credit in the intelligence department. I think she’s been f***ing some other guy.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah, and she keeps complaining that I haven’t fixed her car in 6 months, but she just sits at home and doesn’t do shit. So I’m like, why the hell should I fix your car when we have other bills.”

“Right.”

See that, that’s me wishing I had either A. had the pizza delivered, or B. not asked any questions. That’ll teach me.

He talks for a while about his son, which is fine, but I can’t help comparing in my mind how much better my kid is than his. His son is a few months older than my daughter and is only starting to talk, whereas my daughter is articulating complete sentences at the age of 16 months.

It probably has a lot to do with the fact that this guy has done some serious drugs at some point. He might be sober now, I’m willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. But I’ve know WAY too many speed freaks, and he was one at some point. I’m also skeptical of any woman that would have a kid with this guy. At some point he mentioned they were living in a motel for a while. He also goes on about how he works 60 hours a week and doesn’t have time to find another job.

I finally get my order and as I’m walking out, saying “See you around,” all I can think to myself is, damn, I’m going to have to find another pizza place.