Free-Range Chickens Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Author’s note

  I

  GROWING UP

  Terrifying childhood experiences

  When I lost my first tooth

  A conversation between the people who hid in my closet every night when I was seven

  If adults were subjected to the same indignities as children

  My top secret seventh-grade diary

  Frogs

  Middle-school telephone conversation

  Bar mitzvah

  Inside the cartridge: Duck Hunt

  Deal with God

  What I imagined the people around me were saying when I was…

  How my mother imagined the police

  Ninth-grade experiments

  II

  GOING TO WORK

  Choose your own adventure

  Actor’s nightmare

  Demands

  Gotham City Hall

  World’s oldest profession

  Worst nightmare

  The only e-mails I could receive that would justify the frequency with which I check my e-mail

  An interview with Stephen Hawking

  The final moments of the Titanic

  Acupuncture school

  III

  DAILY LIFE

  The official rules of boxing

  Secret Service

  Logic problems

  Time machine

  Amusement

  Opium wars

  Marathon

  All-you-can-eat buffet fantasy

  The eleventh hour

  Next move

  IV

  RELATIONSHIPS

  Match.com profile

  Donors needed

  Summers abroad

  Being of sound mind

  Moses

  I think my teenaged daughter knows I read her diary

  Last Supper

  What I want my tombstone to say when I die of encephalitis next week

  Thor’s Day

  V

  ANIMALS

  Free-range chickens

  Dalmatians

  Lab study

  Herbert Hoover

  Prehistoric life

  VI

  GOD

  Everything happens for a reason

  Intelligent design

  Why do bad things happen to good people?

  A miracle

  Saint Agnes the martyr

  God has a plan for all of us

  Made for each other

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Simon Rich

  Copyright

  FOR DAD AND ALEX

  author’s note

  This is a joke book that I wrote. Nothing in it is real.

  It’s just some things that I made up.

  Terrifying childhood experiences

  —Got your nose!

  —Please just kill me. Better to die than to live the rest of my life as a monster.

  —What’s that in your ear? Hey—it’s a quarter!

  —Why is everybody laughing? I have a horrifying brain disease.

  —Peek-a-boo!

  —Jesus Christ. You came out of nowhere.

  When I lost my first tooth

  ME: You’re never going to believe this. I was hanging out with my friends and all of a sudden, a tooth fell out of my mouth. I think there’s something seriously wrong with me.

  MOM: Looks like the tooth fairy’s coming to town!

  ME: Who?

  MOM: The tooth fairy. She visits children in the middle of the night and takes their teeth.

  ME: Is she…a cannibal?

  MOM: No, she’s a fairy.

  ME: What else does she take? Does she take eyes?

  MOM: No, just teeth. And when she’s done, she leaves a surprise under your pillow.

  ME: Oh my God.

  MOM: I wonder what it’ll be this time?

  ME: Okay…let’s not panic here. There’s got to be a way to trap her or kill her. We just need to think.

  MOM: You don’t want to kill the tooth fairy.

  ME: Why not? Wait a minute…I see what’s going on. You’re in cahoots with her! God, it all makes sense now…how else would she know that I had lost a tooth in the first place?

  MOM: I think someone’s getting a little sleepy.

  ME: Wait until Dad finds out about this!

  MOM: He knows about the tooth fairy, sweetie.

  ME: Jesus Christ. How high up does this thing go?

  MOM: Let’s get you tucked in.

  ME: Listen…as long as we’re laying it all on the line, you might as well be straight with me. What other fairies are you working with? Is there a face fairy?

  MOM: There’s just a tooth fairy, sweetie. She comes every time you lose a tooth.

  ME: What do you mean “every time”? I’m going to lose more teeth?

  MOM: You’re going to lose all of them.

  A conversation between the people who hid in my closet every night when I was seven

  FREDDY KRUEGER: When do you guys want to kill him?

  MURDERER FROM THE SIX O’CLOCK NEWS: How about right now?

  DEAD UNCLE WHOSE BODY I SAW AT AN OPEN CASKET FUNERAL: I say we do it when he gets up to pee. You know, when he’s walking down the hallway, in the dark.

  FREDDY KRUEGER: What if he doesn’t get up?

  MURDERER: He’ll get up. Look at how he’s squirming. It’s only a matter of time.

  DEAD UNCLE: Man, I cannot wait to kill this kid.

  MURDERER: Same here.

  FREDDY KRUEGER: I’ve wanted to kill him ever since he saw my movie.

  DEAD UNCLE: Hey, do you guys remember that night-light Simon used to have?

  MURDERER: Man, that thing scared the heck out of me.

  FREDDY KRUEGER: It’s a good thing his mom got rid of it. Now there’s nothing to stop us from killing him.

  (Everyone nods in agreement.)

  DR. MURPHY: Hey, guys, sorry I’m late. I was busy scheduling an appointment with Simon, to give him shots.

  FREDDY KRUEGER: No problem.

  (Freddy Krueger and Dr. Murphy do their secret handshake.)

  MURDERER: It’s getting kind of crowded in here. Chucky, can you move over?

  CHUCKY: I’m over as far as I can get.

  MURDERER: I need more space than you’re giving me. I’m a lot bigger than you.

  CHUCKY: Are you calling me short?

  DR. MURPHY: Hey, guys, relax, all right? We’re all here for the same reason: to kill and possibly eat Simon.

  MURDERER: (Sighs.) You’re right. I’m sorry.

  CHUCKY: Yeah…me too. I kind of lost perspective.

  DR. MURPHY: It’s okay. Just remember: we’re all in this together.

  DEAD UNCLE: Hey, it looks like he’s getting up! Wait a minute…where’s he going?

  CHUCKY: I think he’s running into his mom’s room!

  DEAD UNCLE: Maybe we should follow him?

  CHUCKY: Are you insane? I’m not facing that kid’s mother. That woman is terrifying!

  MURDERER: Seriously, there is no way I’m going in there.

  FREDDY KRUEGER: (Sighs.) I guess tonight’s a bust. Let’s try tomorrow, okay? Same time, same place.

  If adults were subjected to the same indignities as children

  PARTY

  ZOE: Dad, I’m throwing a party tonight, so you’ll have to stay in your room. Don’t worry, though: one of my friends brought over his father for you to play with. His name is Comptroller Brooks and he’s about your age, so I’m sure you’ll have lots in common. I’ll come check on you in a couple of hours. (Leaves.)

  COMPTROLLER BROOKS: Hello.

  MR. HIGGINS: Hello.

>   COMPTROLLER BROOKS: So…um…do you follow city politics?

  MR. HIGGINS: Not really.

  COMPTROLLER BROOKS: Oh.

  (long pause)

  (Zoe returns.)

  ZOE: I forgot to tell you: I told my friends you’d perform for them after dinner. I’ll come get you when it’s time. (Leaves.)

  COMPTROLLER BROOKS: Oh God, what are we going to do?

  MR. HIGGINS: I know a dance…but it’s pretty humiliating.

  COMPTROLLER BROOKS: Just teach it to me.

  CAPITOL HILL

  LOBBYIST: If you fail to pass this proposition, it will lead to the deaths of thousands. Any questions?

  SENATOR: Why are you wearing a sailor suit?

  LOBBYIST: My children decided to dress me this way, on a whim. I told them it was an important day for me…but they wouldn’t listen.

  SENATOR: It’s adorable.

  LOBBYIST: Okay…but…do you agree with the proposition? About the war?

  SENATOR: Put on the cap.

  GARAGE

  ALBERT ROSENBLATT: Can I drive your car? I’ll give it back when I’m done.

  MRS. HERSON: I’m sorry…do I know you?

  ALBERT ROSENBLATT: No, but we’re the same age and we go to the same garage.

  MRS. HERSON: No offense, sir, but I really don’t feel comfortable lending you my car. I mean, it’s by far my most important possession.

  PARKING ATTENDANT: Mrs. Herson! I’m surprised at you. What did we learn about sharing?

  MRS. HERSON: You’re right…I’m sorry. Take my Mercedes.

  ALBERT ROSENBLATT: Thank you. Can I come over to your house later? I’m lonely and I don’t have any friends.

  MRS. HERSON: Well…actually…I kind of had plans tonight.

  PARKING ATTENDANT: Are you excluding him?

  MRS. HERSON: No, of course not! (Sighs.) Here’s my address, sir. The party starts at eight.

  ALBERT ROSENBLATT: I’ll show up a little early.

  MRS. HERSON: What’s that on your face?

  ALBERT ROSENBLATT: Mucus. I haven’t learned how to blow my nose yet, so I just go around like this all the time.

  MRS. HERSON: Oh.

  ALBERT ROSENBLATT: I’ll see you soon, inside of your house.

  My top secret seventh-grade diary

  TUESDAY

  Beware! If ye hath stumbled upon this secret tome, ye must put it downeth immediately! Thine eyes are not meant to readeth these words! Indeed, if thy continue to readeth, a most horrible curse shall fall upon your very soul!

  Today I went to school. Afterwards I watched Charles in Charge and Murphy Brown.

  WEDNESDAY

  Beware! He who readeth this scripture will surely come to a horrible end, for these precious words exist for mine eyes—and mine eyes alone!

  Went to school, came home, watched Charles in Charge, Murphy Brown and The Hogan Family.

  THURSDAY

  O heavenly beasts, with horns of iron and wings of steel, I summon you to earth to unleash your wicked torments upon they who dare to readeth these words! Curse them! Curse them a thousand times over! For to read this consecrated tome is to rip open mine heart and feast upon its sacred truths!

  Charles in Charge, Murphy Brown, The Hogan Family, Three’s Company, Murphy Brown rerun, The Hogan Family.

  FRIDAY

  Oh my God, I just found out they’re canceling The Hogan Family. I don’t know what to do. My fingers are shaking so much it’s hard to hold the pencil. I’ve been crying for three straight hours and I can’t make myself stop. There’s a chance they might show reruns in the summer but I’m not even sure if they’ll do that. I’ve never felt so lonely and scared in my entire life. My Mom’s going to get home from work soon and I’m going to have to go out there and smile and somehow pretend like everything’s all right. But on the inside I’ll be screaming at the top of my lungs, screaming with anger and fear. It’s times like this that I wonder if you even exist, God. Where were you today? Just hanging out? Well, guess what? The Hogan Family was canceled. The third best show of the year, gone forever. Like so much dust in the wind.

  SATURDAY

  Who’s the Boss marathon.

  Frogs

  —Hey, can I ask you something? Why do human children dissect us?

  —It’s part of their education. They cut open our bodies in school and write reports about their findings.

  —Huh. Well, I guess it could be worse, right? I mean, at least we’re not dying in vain.

  —How do you figure?

  —Well…our deaths are furthering the spread of knowledge. It’s a huge sacrifice we’re making, but at least some good comes out of it.

  —Let me show you something.

  —What’s this?

  —It’s a frog dissection report.

  —Who wrote it?

  —A fourteen-year-old human from New York City. Some kid named Simon.

  —(flipping through it) This is it? This is the whole thing?

  —Uh-huh.

  —Geez…it doesn’t look like he put a whole lot of time into this.

  —Look at the diagram on the last page.

  —Oh my God…it’s so crude. It’s almost as if he wasn’t even looking down at the paper while he was drawing it. Like he was watching TV or something.

  —Read the conclusion.

  —In conclusion, frogs are a scientific wonder of biology. What does that even mean?

  —It doesn’t mean anything.

  —Why are the margins so big?

  —He was trying to make it look as if he had written five pages, even though he had only written four.

  —He couldn’t come up with one more page of observations about our dead bodies?

  —I guess not.

  —This paragraph looks like it was copied straight out of an encyclopedia. I’d be shocked if he retained any of this information.

  —Did you see that he spelled “science” wrong in the heading?

  —Whoa…I missed that. That’s incredible.

  —He didn’t even bother to run it through spell check.

  —Who did he dissect?

  —Harold.

  —Betsy’s husband? Jesus. So this is why Harold was killed. To produce this…“report.”

  —(Nods.) This is why his life was taken from him. (long pause)

  —Well, at least it has a cover sheet.

  —Yeah. The plastic’s a nice touch.

  Middle-school telephone conversation

  —Jake, it’s Simon, I have to tell you something!

  —Wait, hold on

  —I have to tell you something.

  —Trust me. My news is bigger.

  —Oh yeah? I just won fifty-two million dollars in a Publishers Clearing House Sweepstakes that I don’t even remember entering. How’s that for big?

  —Dude…I got the same letter.

  —Are you sure? Did it have an official red ribbon on the front?

  —Yeah.

  —And a congratulatory autograph from Ed McMahon on the back?

  —Uh-huh.

  —Dude…do you realize what’s going on here?

  —No, what?

  —Between the two of us, we have over a hundred million dollars.

  —Oh my God…what are the odds?

  —I can’t even guess. Huge.

  —Do you think anyone else in the class won?

  —No way. Two is weird, but three would be crazy.

  —Have you told anyone else besides me?

  —I sent an e-mail to the class, telling them the news and cursing everybody out. I figure no one can touch me now.

  —Wow. Do you have any idea what you’re going to spend it on?

  —I’ve already offered Mr. Allen twenty thousand to shave his mustache.

  —What do you have against his mustache?

  —Nothing. It’s just a power thing.

  —Has he written back?

  —He will.

  —Hey…now that we have this money…do yo
u think Jessica will invite us to her Halloween party?

  —Maybe. If we pay her, like, forty thousand dollars.

  —Do you think it’s worth it?

  —Nah. What’s so great about a stupid party? For that amount of money, we could buy eighty thousand Laffy Taffys.

  —What would we do with all that candy?

  —Swim in it. Buy a pool and swim in it.

  —I’m glad you won, man. It would’ve been weird if it was just me.

  —Same here, buddy.

  Bar mitzvah

  After you have your bar mitzvah, you will be a man in the eyes of God.

  —my rabbi

  JUNE 7, 1997

  GOD: Any bar mitzvahs today?

  ANGEL: Yes…Simon Rich has prepared twelve lines of Torah for his congregation at Central Synagogue.

  GOD: Ah, then he must be very manly!

  ANGEL: (hesitating) Yes.

  GOD: Has this man started a family?

  ANGEL: Um…not yet.

  GOD: I assume, though, that he has prospects?

  ANGEL: I’m not sure I know how to answer that question.

  GOD: I’d like to have a look at this strapping fellow! Where is he?

  ANGEL: In his bedroom. (Points.)

  GOD: Oh. Well…I must admit he’s not as robust as I would have imagined, given his mastery of Torah. But appearances aren’t everything! He’s having a bar mitzvah, and in my eyes, that makes him a man. What’s that he’s doing?

  ANGEL: I believe he’s playing a video game, sir. Shufflepuck.

  GOD: Does it…have to do with Torah?

  ANGEL: Well, actually, it’s sort of like air hockey. Except…you play against space aliens, on a computer.

  GOD: Why is he dancing?

  ANGEL: I believe he just beat a challenging level.

  GOD: So this dance is a kind of…celebration.

  ANGEL: Yes.

  GOD: I take it from his enthusiasm that this is the first time he’s beaten this particular level.

  ANGEL: Well, actually, he does this dance whenever he beats any level of any video game. See…there. He’s doing it again.

  GOD: Yes, I see. It’s the same dance, all right.

  ANGEL: It’s usually not as…frenetic…as this. He’s probably nervous about his upcoming bar mitzvah.