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Ann R. and John D. (former Cats)

15 Apr

John: The photo was my idea. An homage if you will, to how me met–

Ann: We met in 1999…

John: Yes, right before Y2k–

Ann: Do you still have those stupid 2000 glasses you bought in Times Square?

John: My…what ever did happen to those?

YDKM: So you were saying you met—

Ann: Oh yes, 1999. We were doing Cats

John: Not on Broadway, it was a regional–

Ann: So what if it was regional? It was still fucking Cats

John: Honey, the baby. Breathe. No yelling. Remember what the doctor said about going into labor while angry–

Ann: I have anger issues. My mother was an asshole…anyway, so we were doing Cats, in Sandusky, Ohio–

John: Great little town by the way.  You think the chili is good in Cincinatti? You haven’t eaten perfection until you’ve had a bowl of Sandusky’s finest beans-n-meat–

Ann: What the fuck is beans-n-meat?

John: That’s what they call chili in Sandusky–

Ann: Says who?

John: Ahhh, the Sanduskians?

(Ed note: Ann gave John a very dirty look at this point of the conversation)

Ann: (sighs) So, anyway, he was playing Rum Tum Tugger–

John: (singing) The Rum Tum Tugger is a curious cat! If you offer me pheasant, I’d rather have grouse–

Ann: Do you ALWAYS have to be singing–

John: Well I am a musical theater ac-tor honey. That’s what we do. We sing–

Ann: I got my start playing Annie and you don’t see me belting out The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow every other fucking minute of the day do you?

John: Ummm…

Ann: (shouting) Do you?!?

John: (meekly) No.

Ann: So he was Rum Tug Tugger, and I was Grizabella, the former Glamour Cat who has lost her sparkle and now only wants to be accepted…

John: (sotto) Oh how life does imitate art–

Ann: What did you say?

John: (sheepishly) Ahem…I said that life does imitate art–

Ann: What the fuck does that mean?


Ann: Huh? Are you saying I’m old? That I’ve lost my fucking sparkle!?! Is that what you’re saying?

John: No, well, it’s just that you seem to have lost your joie de vivre these days–

Ann: Lost my joie de vivre! Are you fucking serious? Number one, who says that? Joie de vivre. You’re a walking affectation. And number two, I’ve got a ten pound ham sitting on my kidneys! I want to piss every five minutes. How would you like to be kicked in the gut 24 hours a day? Huh? Not to mention my ass has turned into cottage cheese…my tits feel like bowling balls. I used to be a size 2, now I have to wear a moo-moo. Why don’t you try walking around with a stomach the size of Sacramento and then talk to me about your joie de fucking vivre!

John: Honey…

Ann: Take your honey and shove it up your ass, John. Where the sun don’t shine!

YDKM: We can always reschedule the interview for another day if that would be better–

Ann: No, let’s finish this here and now. John, I’ve been wanting to say this to you for years. You’re a pussy. Not a cat. A pussy.

John: Why, I never–

YDKM: Seriously, why don’t we do this another day. I can totally come back another day–

John: That might be a good idea. I think the hormones are talking–

Ann: No, John, it’s all me. All me! You’re driving me crazy!! Everyone said don’t do it. Don’t marry John, he’s gay, he’s annoying, he sings to himself…but I said fuck it. I was single, and turning 35 and all my other friends were married, and all the guys on were short and hairy so I said fuck it. I settled John. There I said it. I settled. I don’t really like you, John. Let’s face it–

YDKM:  Umm, I think your water just broke.

(Ed: note. Ann’s water did break. It was all over the floor at this point. And let me tell you, water breaking in real life is WAY more nasty then they make it look on ER. Like really nasty. And stinky. If this blog had smell-o-vision you all would be gagging. Big time.)

John: OMG! Honey! The baby!

Ann: Oh shit. Great. John, get the car–

YDKM: Well thanks for taking the time to talk to us today. Great meeting you both. Really. Best of luck.

John: No. Thank YOU, You Don’t Know Me. And don’t forget to come back next month…I’ll be playing Hen-ry Higgins at the local thea-ter—

Ann: John. The car. Now.

John: Yes, Honey. Here I go…

(Ed: note. John and Ann left at this point, but not before John shoved a flier for the Schaumberg playhouse’s Spring rendition of My Fair Lady in my pocket.)

-As told to You Don’t Know Me by Ann & John D. ages 44 and 35, Schaumberg, Illinois.


Roger Stevens and Tunafish Jones

12 Apr

I moved to Los Angeles in 1995. Came all the way from Ogallala, Nebraska on a Greyhound bus that smelled like sweat socks and sauerkraut. My mom always said I had a super sense of smell. Like Spidey sense. Good nose or bad nose, never did understand why they don’t have no rules ’bout what you can and can’t eat on a bus. ‘Specially if you’re goin’ to be sitting on it for 4o hours straight! Not to mention I sat next to an old man that farted his way right across America. No joke!

Anyways, came here to be a star. Everyone at home said I looked like that guy from The Greatest American Hero, so I shined my boots and hit the streets of Hollywood lookin’ for my big break.

Seemed that break I was lookin’ for was a sneaky SOB, so after my savings from workin’ at the Burger King back home dried up, I had to get myself a J-O-B!  PS. Don’t tell nobody, I know I worked at the Burger King and all, but I think that the Grimace is one cool mofo.  I know if there was an arm wrestlin’ match between The King and my man Grimace, I think we all know who would win. Right?!

So I get myself a job at a place called  Feel Da Vibrationz on Melrose Boulevard. Sold all kinda cool crystal necklaces and glass pipes for smokin’ the wacky tobacky. Anyways, one day I was workin’ at FDV (that’s what us guys who worked there called it) and this guy comes in and he says, ‘hey you look like that Will Ferrell guy.’  I guess I kinda did. And he says ‘you should be his body double.’  Anyways, long story short,  that guy was a casting director.  And next thing you know, I become Will Ferrell’s body double. I know, crazy, right?!

For all you non-believers, here’s some proof. It’s my back, in the underrated, yet high-larious (that’s how we used to say funny at FDV) film Semi-Pro, from 2008. Will didn’t feel like comin’ outta the trailer that day. So I got to be him.

That’s what I do. I get to be Will Ferrell when he doesn’t feel like bein’ himself. Some people might think that’s sorta sad, bein’ somebody else, but I say, show me the money! I say better to get paid to be Will Ferrell’s back, than not get paid at all. You know?

When you’re workin’ in show business it’s hard to stay in a relationship, I mean, ladies love me, but who has the time!? Especially when Will’s career is so white hott. With two TTs. So that’s why I got my best cat friend ever, Tunafish Jones (pictured above). We took this picture in 1999. He’s a long haired American feline. His fur is as soft as a baby calves’ butt and I love him like a brother.  We’re best friends. Even though I think his breath smells like Tuna all the time. But I guess that’s what happens when you got a nose that has super smellin’ powers. You’re always smellin’ the world ’round you.

-As told to You Don’t Know Me by Roger Stevens, age 45, Los Angeles, CA

John S. aka The Pooh in Blue

23 Jun

Oh, you think this was my idea? You want to know what I do for a living? I’m a freakin’ Fireman. Yeah, like 9/11 shit. You cry every time my truck goes barreling past with our freedom flags and placards dedicated to the ones we lost at the Twin Towers. That’s right. And look at me now–just another dude in a blue Pooh suit.

I watch MMA. I have my freaking purple belt assholes. That means I could arm bar your ass just for looking at me the wrong way. So don’t get any ideas. In other words, get your itchy little bitch fingers off of the Twitter, you non-book reading piece of shit. I see you. And I could know where you live, ’cause I’ve got a buddy who works downtown. We’re only a phone call away from a face to face meeting one dark and stormy night when you least expect it if you even THINK about sending this picture to one of your stupid friends. For real.

So now that we’ve got that settled, you probably want to know how I ended up here. A few weeks ago the wife and I were shopping at the Point Pleasant Mall, just trying to update our wardrobes a bit, you know, wife had to get herself a pair of those butt toning sneakers. After Owen popped out, her ass took a one way trip to massive, so we thought she could start walking her way to fitness, or some shit like that. Anyway, so we’re cruising the Mall and we pass Sears, and they’ve got this special, and next thing you know the wife says, “John, look, we could get a family picture…something for the holiday card.”  There was no running from this one people, trust me.

See Memorial Day I got real wasted after a big time Bros Icing Bros session–hysterical! And after one too many Smirnoff Ice, I ran into an ex of mine, Susan Finnigan. She was always a looker, and so she starts cozying up to me at the bar, even though I’m wearing my freakin’ wedding ring. But I was like frozen by the Ice, like nothing I could do to resist! Anyways, Eileen, my wife, happens to stop by with her girlfriends at just the exact moment that Susan starts to get all Snooki on me. And she loses it. She walks over and clocks Susan without even waiting for an explanation. You think I’m tough? You should see my wife. Don’t let that smile fool you people, her bark is nothing compared to her bite. So she gets in my face all like, “who do you think you are…I had your son you piece of shit…how dare you.” And I just sit there, I mean guys, when we fuck up, we know it and what can you do but take it like a man, right? So long story short, I get mega bitch slapped in public, and now the wife has the golden ticket. Like she owns my short and curlies. So when she says let’s get a Winnie the freakin’ Pooh family photo, I have nothing to say but, “yes, dear.” And here we are.


-As told to You Don’t Know Me by John S. 32, Somerville, New Jersey

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