Points in Case https://www.pointsincase.com Enlightening & Irreverent Comedy Sat, 04 Jul 2020 17:00:00 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=4.9.15 Announcing Phantom Fireworks’ Patriotic “We Kick Ass” Display https://www.pointsincase.com/articles/announcing-phantom-fireworks-patriotic-we-kick-ass-display Sat, 04 Jul 2020 17:00:00 +0000 https://www.pointsincase.com/?p=73616 Make this Fourth of July a time of reflection and contemplation, with Phantom Fireworks’ “We Kick Ass.” The only firework display to depict American patriotism thoughtfully, accurately, and heroically. The display comes with nine unique fireworks that will remind audiences of our triumphant past through our vast and mighty military exploits.

Fierce American Tiger Revolution Extreme Rockets (12 pieces)

Our revolution fireworks are glorious—and simple. The revolution is the main reason for celebration on the 4th of July, and we at Phantom Fireworks understand the simplicity of America’s dominion. We are (and always have been) the most powerful country in the world, and in the 18th century, we obliterated the British with just horses and bayonets. No explosives necessary. This year, our patented “Mega Explosion” technology will detonate into the shape of the Union Jack, then a middle finger, followed by the word “America.” Cue Bruce Springsteen’s “Born in the USA.”

Jumbo Manifest Destiny Whistling Wolf Pack Rockets (2,500 pieces)

America wouldn’t be America without all of America. Our Manifest Destiny themed fireworks celebrate the vast array of battles, skirmishes, wars, and patriotic domination that led to the annexation of our abundant bicoastal territory. Without this conquest, we wouldn’t be able to say “From sea to shining sea,” which is the most heroic part of our scintillating anthem. Watch as Columbia, the beautiful personification of America, soars westward in an impressive array of light, combustion, and crackling fireworks. Notice how she holds up a sassy peace sign while destroying all culture, wildlife, and difference in her path.

Clustering Civil War Bee Rockets (12 pieces)

With our Civil War themed firework display, you can relive the Confederacy being crushed into oblivion. Watch as a depiction of Robert E. Lee is shot into the air, only to be obliterated by, you guessed it, an American Flag. This firework display is perfect for young Americans with a passion for history.

The Triple Whistler WWI with Report Bottle Rockets (144 rockets)

Here at Phantom Fireworks, the term “World War” really gets our heart racing and blood pumping. The mouthwatering concept of a world at war isn’t lost on us, and we eagerly celebrate America’s involvement with our immense WWI firework. The firework explodes into the image of Uncle Sam standing over Europe, flexing his chiseled bicep on the enemy. We were late to the party, so this firework also celebrates the end of American neutrality. How boring was that? Witness a complacent America exploding into aggressive military greatness.

Four Horseman Destruction of the Nazis Rocket (1 magnificent piece)

World War II was a global introduction of American heroism—in truly bombastic style. Witness the immensity of the USA’s strength, as the infamous German moustache is launched into the air and then obliterated by American values. The words “Peace,” “Stewardship,” and “Family” will soar through the air, and remind us of why we love America—our unrivaled peacekeeping foreign diplomacy. A truly tear-jerking display, the “Four Horseman Destruction of the Nazis Rocket” is a moving spectacle for any American family.

Large Korean War Travelers Defeat of the Soviets Rocket (12 pieces)

Watch as a dark red hammer and sickle are annihilated by Elvis Presley. Did you know he fought in the Korean War? The Soviets never had a chance, and we have the King of Rock to thank for that. Cue “Blue Suede Shoes.”

Phantom Pyro Vietnam War Rocket Pack (100 rockets)

America’s domination of communist Vietnam was explosive, but perhaps the most notable achievement during this war was the creation of the movie, The Deer Hunter. This rocket recognizes that amazing movie, as it launches a fury of thunder and fire into the sky. Out of the smoke, Robert De Niro emerges wielding an M60 machine gun shooting our adversaries. This war truly represents American unity, abroad and at home, and the firework ends with a group of American youths happily holding their draft cards.

Silver Salute War on Terror Red Snap Firecrackers (100 pieces)

Every country deserves democracy, every country deserves to feel America’s throbbing strength, and every country will, at some point, experience American foreign diplomacy—because they need it. We will destroy all terror, we will do it with sexy drones, bombs, guns, and chaos. This firework breaches the sky with our most intellectual and brave president. Watch as George Bush stands naked, seductively behind a large swaying shrub, dubiously starting wars with foreign countries. This sensual display is good for teaching American children about baring it all, being honest, upfront, and clear.

Miscellaneous American Military Conquests (12 pieces)

This rocket celebrates American intervention in Yemen, Libya, Syria, Somalia, Sudan, Kosovo, Haiti, Bosnia, Panama, Cuba, Dominican Republic, Guatemala, Venezuela, Grenada, Cambodia, and essentially everywhere. American awesomeness is felt across the globe, to infinity, and beyond. This one just looks like a normal firework; it’s all-encompassing that way.

Nothing Says Fourth of July like Hellmann’s New Strawberry-Flavored Mayonnaise https://www.pointsincase.com/articles/nothing-says-fourth-of-july-like-hellmanns-new-strawberry-flavored-mayonnaise Sat, 04 Jul 2020 13:00:00 +0000 https://www.pointsincase.com/?p=73614 A Fourth of July party wouldn’t be complete without some festive dishes to show off your patriotism. We’ve gathered the top recipes that Uncle Sam would approve of, along with some fun ideas for how to use all that new Hellmann’s Strawberry-Flavored Mayonnaise™ you picked up at the grocery store. If you haven’t bought yours yet, make sure to get it fast. It’s flying off the shelves!

Stars and Stripes Fruit Dip

Start your party off right with this flag-inspired appetizer topped with blueberries and strawberries. Most recipes call for regular old cream cheese as the base, but to keep things interesting, why not choose Hellmann’s Strawberry-Flavored Mayonnaise™ for an extra fruity twist?

Mini New England Lobster Rolls

Guests will love indulging in these buttery lobster rolls served on miniature, toasted buns that make for perfect finger food. You can toss your lobster chunks in any light mayonnaise, but we think Hellmann’s Strawberry-Flavored Mayonnaise™ works best. It might sound weird at first, but it’s one of those savory and sweet combinations that’s surprisingly delicious.

Firecracker Hot Dogs Smothered in Mayonnaise

Hot dogs are a staple at any summer barbeque, but the Fourth is a special occasion that calls for specialty toppings. This recipe includes dough wraps and cheddar cheese, plus a healthy dollop of strawberry-flavored mayonnaise to really round out the palette. We’re so glad we got this special flavor out to market and made so many units in advance of the holiday. This is what American traditions are all about!

Frozen Red, White and Blue Mayonnaise Pops

A summer classic! Use food dye to create the red and blue stripes surrounding that rich, creamy mayonnaise center. Kids will love Hellmann’s strawberry flavor in these frozen treats, and if not, so what? They’re kids! They’ll eat anything, right? That’s what our VP of Product said when he initially pitched this idea. I told him it didn’t make any sense, that it would actually offend most customers, but nobody listens to me.

No-Bake Strawberry Mayonnaise Pie

Forget the mess of baking and opt for this pie that you can whip up easily with strawberry flavored mayonnaise, Hellmann’s of course, tossed into a pre-made crust. You’ll need three jars to fill up a standard pie dish, but it doesn’t hurt to have anywhere between five and ten handy, just to be safe. This has nothing to do with the fact that I explicitly promised my boss I could exceed my sales goal and move 50,000 units in the next seven days. I can sell anything! That’s why they hired me. I’m not worried about it at all.

Strawberry Mayonnaise Daiquiris

Sounds terrible, right? The first few are, but I’m on my third one now and I can’t even taste them anymore. I used to have dreams by the way. When I first stepped into the mayonnaise arena, I had stars in my eyes and all the promise in the world. A young twenty-something: handsome, ambitious. They were calling me the next Richard Hellmann, I swear to God. But this condiment business is cutthroat, man. Those thugs at Kraft will make your life a living hell.

Strawberry Mayonnaise Patriot Buckets

You’re going to need a hell of a lot of mayo for this one. Take some Hellmann’s, strawberry-flavored for the love of God, and dump them into plastic buckets for you disgusting lards to eat from with a ladle. You people make me sick with your twisted desires to bastardize something as simple and flawless as mayonnaise. You should be ashamed of yourselves. Strawberry-flavored? It’s against God’s plan! Why am I the only person around here who cares about that anymore?! I’m so sorry, Richard. I have failed you.

Grilled Corn on the Cob

Just heat up some corn like a normal person. I don’t care anymore! I’m always bailing people out and it’s time I focus on myself for once. All those long nights spent at Hellmann’s, only to come home and get screamed at by my wife for smelling like old eggs and vinegar? Even if I do keep my job, she’s still probably going to leave me for that young guy at the deli. She only ever loved me for my cushy gig at a premiere sauce company, and I was a fool to think otherwise.

Strawberry Mayonnaise Cupcakes

Get a hold of yourself, Steve! You’ll figure a way out of this, damn it. Remember what you’re always telling yourself. These people will buy anything if you put it in the right package! Strawberry mayonnaise cupcakes. That’s good! Yes, strawberry mayonnaise cupcakes are an excellent Fourth of July recipe. They encapsulate everything the American dream is all about: how a man can add fruit to a condiment and really make something of himself.

I’m a Feral Pigeon, and I’m Running to Replace the Bald Eagle as the Avian Symbol of American Freedom in 2020 https://www.pointsincase.com/articles/im-a-feral-pigeon-and-im-running-to-replace-the-bald-eagle-as-the-avian-symbol-of-american-freedom-in-2020 Fri, 03 Jul 2020 17:30:14 +0000 https://www.pointsincase.com/?p=73868 Greetings fellow lovers of American Freedom. I would say mind the poop I just dropped right in front of you, but the ability to empty my cloaca wherever, whenever I want is the cornerstone of my campaign. So pull up a chair near my white plop of freedom while I, the common feral pigeon, explain why I’m campaigning to replace that elitist bald eagle as the bird that represents this great nation.

I’ve watched for years as the liberal establishment eagles have pretended to be patriotic while doing nothing but nesting in tall trees away from people, rebuilding their dwindling population. It made me sick. It wasn’t until I saw the great bravery of the anti-maskers that I realized it was my time to step up to the plate and offer myself as an alternative avian symbol, ready for adoption by the fiercest freedom fighters in this great country.

Let me tell you a little more about me. Some of my favorite activities include congregating in public spaces with an enormous flock of my bird bros, indiscriminately shitting on anything in reach, and spreading infectious diseases. I also like to blatantly disregard personal boundaries and coo at the top of my nine air sacs no matter what time of day it is. In other words, I’m a red-blooded American, just like you.

I think you’ll find we have even more in common than you’d expect. I’m wholly unremarkable, white, and freakishly attached to certain statues. Unlike the bald eagle, you won’t find me eating fresh salmon out of a river like some kind of snobby Harvard lib. No, as a real American bird, I’m going to get down on the ground and fight a sewer rat for half of a discarded Chalupa. Imagine how good I’d look on a sleeveless tank top from Walmart, dukes up, clawing a rat in the face with my freedom talons while the red, white, and blue wave behind me majestically. Certainly way better than a stupid eagle, who again, used to be endangered like some kind of pussy.

Me? I’ve never been endangered. In fact, some may call me invasive. I take that as a compliment. As a pigeon, I take advantage of every opportunity I can, and if my droppings pollute the environment, well, that’s just capitalism, baby.

When was the last time a bald eagle joined you for an old-fashioned Independence Day BBQ, anyway? This Fourth of July, my feathered brethren and I will be right by your side, pecking at the remnants of discarded hot dog buns, then flitting from picnic table to picnic table, leaving a trail of salmonella-tainted excrement behind us, as the beautiful colors of the fireworks explode over our heads.

The bald eagle? Oh he’ll be up in his high and mighty oak tree with his mask on. You thought that he just had white feathers on his head? Wake up, sheeple.

I won’t rest until we feral pigeons are the new symbol of American hope and freedom. Some day, I believe my grandchildren’s wings can be tattooed on an American man’s buttocks next to a quote from Robert E. Lee. But today, I’m asking you, do I have your support in becoming the new American freedom bird in 2020?

Thank you. (Also, FYI, I left about twelve freedom plops on your truck.)

List: Exercises to Prepare Your Atrophied Body for a Return to Normalcy https://www.pointsincase.com/lists/exercises-to-prepare-your-atrophied-body-for-a-return-to-normalcy Fri, 03 Jul 2020 16:00:39 +0000 https://www.pointsincase.com/?p=73904 Besides contracting the incurable coronavirus, returning to life presents a challenge many have yet to consider: our bodies have forgotten how to function outside quarantine. Those routines that once carried us from our beds to the subway, from the back of the Starbucks line to the front of the Starbucks line, from the bar to a stranger’s bed, have become foreign operations to our muscle system. If we fail to act now, our bodies will collapse the moment “normalcy” is returned to us.

The following exercises are designed to re-introduce the movements of everyday life.

Let’s start with some warm-up routines…

Exercise: Stand in place.
Real life scenario: You’re in the bathroom stall waiting for your coworker to exit so as to avoid the “hey it’s a party in here” gag.

Exercise: Don’t blink.
Real life scenario: Your crush has yet to compliment your blue (gray in the right light) eyes.

Exercise: Raise your eyebrows as high as you can. For added burn, throw in a lively nod.
Real life scenario: Communicating that you are definitely engaged in your friend’s story and in no way troubled by his gesticulations with a bag of his dog’s feces.

Now that you’re loose, let’s tackle some more challenging routines…

Exercise: Lift your chin 30 degrees, holding for ten seconds, before returning to a resting position.
Real life scenario: Before making the same coffee order you have for the past 10 years, you glance at the menu to support the illusion you are a complex creature with evolving taste.

Exercise: Leading with your pointer finger, fully extend your arm.
Real life scenario: Instead of verbally ordering the “Tenuta Dell’ornellia Masseto” in the presence of people named “Amancio” and “Guilia,” you decide to point to your selection on the wine menu.

Exercise: Speak “Let’s do this again” with conviction.
Real life scenario: You’re saying goodnight to a date you expect to never see again.

And finally, advanced routines…

Exercise: Throw various sediment in your eyes and mouth.
Real life scenario: You’re passing a street sweeper.

Exercise: Putting 20 feet between you and an exercise buddy, take turns launching clay bricks at each other. The majority of bricks will likely miss, but don’t be discouraged. This routine is about maintaining the fear of your face being shattered.
Real life scenario: It’s showtime on the subway.

Exercise: In a standing position, set yourself on fire.
Real life scenario: You’re about to pass a group of teens and you’re wearing the shirt your roommate described as “interesting.”

Audio from the 2019 Fourth of July Fireworks Show https://www.pointsincase.com/articles/audio-from-the-2019-fourth-of-july-fireworks-show Fri, 03 Jul 2020 12:00:20 +0000 https://www.pointsincase.com/?p=73665 The global pandemic has forced our community to cancel the 4th of July Fireworks Extravaganza this year. However, at WBKP radio we are proud to bring you audio from last year’s event.

Please enjoy the sounds of the fireworks and the delight of the crowd as we celebrate our country’s independence, from the safety of our homes!






“Ooooh WHOA ha ha ha!”




“Is that the—”


“Oh good it’s—”




“I love this one!”



“Oh my god, that gave me a heart attack!”



“Heh heh.”


“Here we go!”


“U-S-A! U-S-A!”


“Do you ever wonder what would happen if everyone got sick all at once, though?




“I mean, a hundred thousand people sick and dead… all in a couple of months??”


“And then what if thousands—MILLIONS—of people started losing their jobs?!”


“Why are you even talking like this?”


“I know. But—what if that happened?!”


“And what if all those people were so scared of losing their jobs that they kept showing up for work, even though that meant they could also get sick and die? Because otherwise, they couldn’t pay their rent or mortgage, or their health insurance?”



“We’re just trying to enjoy the show.”


“Yeah. That would be so messed up, right? I mean, that’s some nightmarish, hellscape stuff.”


“But what if it did happen?”




“And then if they told us, ‘Just wear a mask and nobody will get sick.' But then people start arguing about whether or not they should even be told to wear a mask, and fights would break out about it?”


“Haha, you’re crazy, man.”


“Yeah that's kind of crazy, right?!”


“You know what? If I thought I was gonna die, I would set off fireworks every day.”


“Me too.”


“Oh—the finale!”



“That was amazing!”

“I can’t wait to come back next year!”

List: Netflix Categories for Dads https://www.pointsincase.com/lists/netflix-categories-for-dads Thu, 02 Jul 2020 18:31:39 +0000 https://www.pointsincase.com/?p=72996 Movies Based on Books Based on History

Jim Gaffigan Stand-Up Comedy Specials with Jokes You’ve Plagiarized to Your Kids

Dramas with Enough Seasons to Keep Your Marriage Alive

Vietnam War Movies That Explain Why Your Father Was Like That

Biopics About Musicians You Brag About Having Seen Live

Dramas Starring Your Favorite Actress Michelle Pfeiffer, Whom You Assure Your Wife She Looks Just Like

Just the Martin Scorsese Movies That Feature The Rolling Stones’ “Gimme Shelter”

'70s Movies to Make Your Kids Understand Why You Had a Crush on Barbra Streisand

Bingeworthy British Crime Dramas You’ll Wake Up From Your Nap in Time for the Finale

True Crime Documentaries That Will Make You Feel Like the Best Husband

Foreign Dramas You’ll Sit Through Because They’re About French Lesbians

Sci-Fi Movies You’ll Lament Are Just Worse Versions of Star Wars

Comedy Blockbusters with Bikini-Clad Women on the Poster

Sitcoms That Reinforce Your Family Dynamic of “Fun Dad, Strict Mom”

Movies From Your Youth You Can’t Believe Your Kids Consider Cult Classics

Sports Movies About the Golden Age Before Hockey Players Had to Wear Helmets

Slowly-Paced Independent Comedies with Large Subtitles for the Nearsighted Hard-of-Hearing

Prestige Dramas with Male Anti-Heroes You Won’t Admit You Relate To

Romantic Comedies You’ll Claim Your Daughter Made You Watch

Westerns That Glamorize the Genocide of Native Americans, But Hey, At Least They Acknowledge That Native Americans Exist


5 Signs Your Spin Instructor Has Been Exploiting Your Class to Power His Lake House https://www.pointsincase.com/articles/5-signs-your-spin-instructor-has-been-exploiting-your-class-to-power-his-lake-house Thu, 02 Jul 2020 17:00:10 +0000 https://www.pointsincase.com/?p=73152 1. All of the stationary bikes have connecting wires leading to a generator. If you spot several cords running from each bike to a loud, industrial-sized motor box, there may be an explanation: your spin instructor has been storing your energy inside a large generator without your knowledge. If the generator has a dial component labeled, “Lake House” and your instructor has kept you there pedaling for several hours until the meter reads “full,” well, there’s a strong chance you could be supplying power to his getaway cabin.

2. He motivates everyone in class with imagery of a well-powered cabin.

Having a positive voice cheering you up that next incline with words of encouragement can really go a long way. With that being said, if you hear phrases like, “pedal like my kitchen appliances depended on it,” or even, “my preference is to keep all my cabin lights on and you’re going to make it happen,” this could be a huge red flag.

3. The slowest pedaler in class has been reassigned to the human-sized hamster wheel.

We’ve all had days when the pedals aren’t moving as quickly as we’d like, but if your instructor has reassigned you to the neon orange standing wheel, it’s nothing to look past. It may be hard to come to terms with, but your spinning isolation chamber is producing enough kinetic energy to power both your spin instructor’s Magic Bullet Blender and retro Ghostbusters pinball machine.

4. He asks for opinions on wood samples in between intervals.

You’ve just completed a grueling uphill climb and find yourself being asked to pass around small pallets of wood amongst your peers. Seems nice that he wants the collective opinion of his spinning pupils right? Wrong. This false establishment of trust is just allowing him to validate his decision to go forward with cherry oak for his lake house kitchen cabinets on your spin time.

5. A substitute instructor has been filling in for weeks.

If your instructor has been absent for an extended period of time, there’s a chance he’s reaping the benefits of electricity in a secluded lakefront property at the expense of your hard work. Although, if the temporary instructor has seldom used the class taser when pedaling slows down, enjoy the well-deserved break!

Other Nicknames You Can Call Me Besides Vinny “Chickenshit” DiLorenzo https://www.pointsincase.com/articles/other-nicknames-you-can-call-me-besides-vinny-chickenshit-dilorenzo Thu, 02 Jul 2020 12:00:16 +0000 https://www.pointsincase.com/?p=73154 Vinny “Machine Gun” DiLorenzo Remember when I whacked half the Belluci family back in '88? Boy those were the days. I used a machine gun to do it. See, Machine Gun? Kind of has a nice ring to it. Definitely could see that as a nickname for a bonafide wise guy.

But despite everything I do for this family, the only thing anyone can remember is a rumor that I mistook a tiny bit of chicken poop for Runts candy during last Christmas’ “Capinelli Family Nativity Scene.” And even if that did happen, which it DIDN’T, I repeat DID NOT is that the worst thing a guy can do? Is putting a tiny bit of chicken kaka in your mouth (and I’m talkin’ tiny) worse than being an FBI rat? (You might want to give Joey “the Crab” Portellino a pat down, by the way.)

Vinny “Mayonnaise” DiLorenzo

I understand that nicknames should have an air of levity—sometimes a humorous juxtaposition is the whole point! Who could forget Sammy “Slimbones” Verducci (fat guy) or Phil “Sweet Baby Rays” Razzio (hates barbecue sauce). Mayonnaise? Fuggedaboutit! I can’t stand the stuff.

So go ahead Don, call me Vinny “Mayonnaise,” I don’t mind. I’d rather put mayonnaise in my mouth than chicken poop, which I’ve NEVER put in my mouth… despite what Al “The Incredible Hulk” Barducci says. (It seems like he was able to pick his own nickname, no?)

Vinny “After the Goldrush” DiLorenzo

The late 1960’s were a turning point for Neil Young. Although he was a member of Buffalo Springfield and Crosby Stills and Nash, he had yet to release a major record that fused his folk roots to a cohesive electric sound. “After the Goldrush” (1970) was his coronation as a folk-rock god. Much like my nickname “Chickenshit” has nothing to do with my roots as a mobster who has killed people, maybe “After the Goldrush” could mark my departure from someone with the word “shit” in their nickname to someone with a nice nickname. Also, Neil loves the environment. Marone! He probably would thank a guy for putting a little poop in his mouth. Not that it matters. At all.

Vinny “Doesn’t Have Nickname” DiLorenzo

You could just not give me a nickname. This is a valid option. At this point not having a nickname is better than being called “Chickenshit.”

Vinny “Al ‘The Incredible Hulk’ Barducci has to do push-ups with his knees on the ground” DiLorenzo.

I’ll admit this is a weird one, not exactly sure how I came up with it. Maybe a dream? But it does remind me—Al Barducci has to do push-ups with his knees on the ground like my five-year-old niece. Kinda crazy a guy like Al doesn’t have enough upper body strength to lift himself off the ground? Definitely worse than someone putting a little dookie in his mouth while celebrating the birth of our lord and savior.

Also, isn’t making everyone call you “The Incredible Hulk” when you can’t do regular pushups seem a little, and pardon my language her Don, boombots? Again, just an observation.

Vinny “Shirt” DiLorenzo

I understand this nickname lacks creativity, humor, or any kind of “oomph,” but now I’m just begging you to change my nickname. I don’t care. If this gets people to stop calling me “Chickenshit,” I’ll take it. You can even call me Vinny “Toyota” DiLorenzo or Vinny “Carpet” DiLorenzo, anything.

Does it make you goombahs happy to call me “Chickenshit?” Is there any empathy left in this crime family? Sometimes it feels like you care more about “crime” and less about “family.”

Hey Don—here’s an idea! Maybe next year you should try playing “Farmer #4” during the nativity scene? Instead of Baby Jesus, which you’ve insisted on playing ever since Billy “Baby” Bortellini had his growth spurt. I was hunched over for so long everything started to look like candy. You might not be aware of this, but chicken shit comes in all different shapes and colors. Sometimes it looks like the little bananas from Runts candy—not that I would know something like that.

I’m sorry for my tone Don Capinelli, I’m just very passionate about this. Please. Think it over.

Your loyal servant,
Vinny “Garbage Man” DiLorenzo

Vinny “Garbage Man” DiLorenzo

I just wrote this last one down as a placeholder but I actually really like it. It’s definitely better than “Shirt” DiLorenzo which was just the first thing I saw while writing this letter. I take out the trash, get it? I’m reliable, you don’t always see me but you know I’m there, that kind of thing. Like “Batman,” but more working class. Garbage men make a good amount of dough, not to mention the benefits. Their paisanos probably don’t call them things like “Chickenshit” either.

But again, these are all just suggestions.

Doth a Man Live by His Neck Tattoo, and Not the Beauty That Stirs His Heart? https://www.pointsincase.com/articles/doth-a-man-live-by-his-neck-tattoo-and-not-the-beauty-that-stirs-his-heart Wed, 01 Jul 2020 17:00:52 +0000 https://www.pointsincase.com/?p=73148 I knew my life would change the day I got a portrait of Alice Cooper carved on my throat. I was ready for the looks, for the haters, for Alice Cooper to retract my restraining order.

What I didn’t expect, though, was how my neck tattoo would affect finding true love. A love flowing pure and pristine. A love where forever doesn’t seem like long enough. The love of my life. Other than Alice Cooper, of course.

Ladies, I’m sure you think my neck tattoo is an affront to romantic conventionality. It must mean I don’t give a damn, or I have a rap sheet, or I’ve only had sex twice with the same person. You probably think I got kicked out of Spain once, and I have a pony fetish—that I don’t have a job or a 1997 Camaro.

Well, I do have a 1997 Camaro. You can’t judge a man by his neck tattoo.

Behind my neck tattoo is a sad, simple creature who believes in the ideal. I believe in love—the sacred source of man’s vulnerability, the “wild” in the wilderness of the human condition. A millennium of mystics lives in my heart. But when you look at me, all you see is “Prince of Darkness” in Comic Sans stretched just under my chin.

Is it so quixotic to search for one’s soulmate? Am I chasing windmills looking for my other half—a woman who will forgive my indiscriminately licking her in public? Does my Queen exist, prepared to sign a death pact at our Alice Cooper–themed wedding?

Curse Cupid’s impotent arrow! Just like Alice Cooper did with a chicken at the 1969 Toronto Rock and Roll Revival concert, love hath bit off my head and tossed me into a sea of savages.

I look to the cosmos for compassion. I surrender my aching heart to the universe—to the great Alice Cooper in the sky. Is fate not a game of chance? We’re all stardust colliding into one another at random, or because I snuck in your house.

I’ve gained the wisdom to accept the things I cannot control. I cannot control how you dismiss my character based solely on how Alice Cooper’s bleeding mascara disappears under my shirt, or because “Trale of Tears” is tattooed across my collarbone. No more than I can control the choir of angels perched on my longing for true love’s kiss. Their heavenly voices, at times soft as milk, singing, “School’s out for summer. School’s out forever.”

Do not judge me by my neck tattoo. If you must judge me, weigh my faith in love everlasting. Caress my scars of unrequited love, mostly left by Alice Cooper never returning my emails. Find poetry in what you can’t understand, or what you can’t stand to look at.

A great philosopher once said, “We are all one giant neck tattoo, one turtleneck away from trading our dreams for a “real” job.” That philosopher was me, just now.

Rest assured, my Queen is out there. She will look past my neck tattoo and otherwise pasty skin. My Queen does not seek perfection and won’t mind one of Alice Cooper’s eyes being lower than the other. Two souls joining as one, my Queen will think it’s totally fine I live in my 1997 Camaro, because chicks dig Camaros.

I’m Spartacus and I’m Sick and Tired of All These Wannabes https://www.pointsincase.com/articles/im-spartacus-and-im-sick-and-tired-of-all-these-wannabes Wed, 01 Jul 2020 12:00:42 +0000 https://www.pointsincase.com/?p=73146 Did you assemble an army of slaves? Did you make the Romans tremble in their togas? No you didn’t and no, you didn’t. I did. I am Spartacus and you’re not.

Here’s where the problem began: The Romans rounded up my routed army and demanded they surrender their leader or they’d administer a remedy for living. As I prepared to give myself up, my peers rose, one by one, and performed their best Spartacus impersonation. I was deeply moved by their affirmation of solidarity. Although when big-boned, I-sure-have-let-my-gym-membership-lapse Obesitus chimed in, I secretly winced.

So now somebody has to concoct a collective noun for Spartacuses. A ditto of Spartacuses?

Good news was, it was an inspirational bonding moment and exemplary illustration of collective accountability. Bad news: we were all condemned to a lingering death nailed to a cross. But let’s dissect what actually happened. Basically, on that day in 71 BC, we invented identity theft.

So now I’m stuck in a dungeon with Team Crucifixion. We’re anticipating a future as a unique tourist feature along the Appian Way. It’s like a warped perversion of Where’s Waldo down here: Spot Spartacus™.

The Governor of the province offered an amnesty to a single slave. We put our names into a gourd and the dungeon-master pulled one out. “Spartacus” he announced, and my spirits soared. The gods had smiled upon us. Once free, I could organise an attack on the garrison and rescue my ill-fated partisans. But the dungeon master continued: “Oh, very droll. I get it: you’re all called Spartacus,” before screwing up the parchment and tossing it aside.

To be frank, my well-meaning comrades have ruined everything. In fact, you be Frank, I’ll be Spartacus. Then everybody’s happy.

Flirting shamelessly with a sassy slave girl, I awaited the right moment to drop my name so I could relish her realisation that she was dallying with the big S. But when I did introduce myself, a passing slave echoed: “I’m Spartacus.” Then his mates took up the call and suddenly we had a fresh Spartacus-fest. Then—get this—the girl insisted she was Spartacus. Where does that leave me? If I’d taken the flirting to the next level, I’d essentially be canoodling with myself, which, if I’m not mistaken, is common-or-garden masturbation.

When my wife discovered what I’d been up to, recriminations ensued. “Spartacus, how could you? I don’t know who you are anymore.” Under the circumstances, how could I reply?

All this is causing irreparable harm to my psychosocial health, resulting in serious identity crisis. I’m suffering imposter syndrome, beginning to doubt my achievements as a military strategist and emancipator. Even my loyal pet, Mr Ratty, has taken to biting me.

I search for signs of myself in the other “Spartacuses”: that ageing slave feigning strength and vitality; that youth cruelly fat-shaming Obesitus; that man slyly eyeing off Antoninus, who strikingly resembles a young, sultry Tony Curtis. Hubba hubba.

I corner them, demanding answers to questions that insinuate themselves in the gloomiest of nights. “You! Spartacus!” I demand. “Are you truly worthy of your wife’s loyalty and affection? You! Does your penis have suitable girth? You! In a future re-enactment of your life will you be played by Kirk Douglas or Danny DeVito?”

To top it off, there’s a rapper down here calling himself Spartacus-I-Am. A punk band formed called The Spartacuses. That’s right, Joey, Johnny, Dee-Dee and Marky Spartacus.

I passed a group of slaves playing Celebrity Heads. Guess which name everybody had plastered on their brows?

Even my Mom’s not immune. She came to visit, moving amongst us, crying: “Where is my beloved scion, Spartacus?” Of course, the usual chorus began, with my name reverberating from the mildewed walls. I sat resignedly, expecting her to locate me, but she picked a taller, more handsome guy to bestow her baklava on. When I objected, she said: “I bet this Spartacus would prefer to spend more time with his Mom, rather than galivanting around the provinces empowering his oppressed people.” Her “son” just simpered and chowed down on flaky pastry.

A complete debacle, or my name’s not Spartacus. Which it is, by the way.

Still, it’s not all bad. I’m up there in the three most popular baby names in Thrace this year. And I’ve come to realise the only way to preserve my sense of self is to abandon my moniker. Let every other Tom, Dick and Harry be Spartacus. I’m changing my appellation to the more enigmatic Freedom Symbol (A.K.A. The Slave Formerly Known As Spartacus).