My Monolog Page


The Truth About Santa - from Brain of Brian


No known species of reindeer can fly. BUT there are 300,000 species of living organisms yet to be classified, and while most of these are insects and germs, this does not COMPLETELY rule out flying reindeer, which only Santa has ever seen.

There are 2 billion children (persons under 18) in the world. BUT since Santa doesn't (appear) to handle the Muslim, Hindu, Jewish & Buddhist children, that reduces the workload to 15% of the total -378 million according to Population Reference Bureau. At an average (census) rate of 3.5 children per household, that's 91.8 million homes. One presumes that there's at least one good child in each.

Santa has 31 hours of Christmas to work with. This is due to the different time zones and the rotation of the earth, assuming he travels east to west (which seems logical). This works out to 822.6 visits/second. That is to say that for each Christian household with good children, Santa has .001 second to park, hop out of the sleigh, jump down the chimney, fill the stockings, distribute the remaining presents under the tree, eat whatever snacks have been left, get back up the chimney, get back into the sleigh and move on to the next house.

Assuming that each of these 91.8 million stops are evenly distributed around the earth (which, of course, we know to be false but for the purposes of our calculations we will accept), we are now talking about .78 miles/household, a total trip of 75.5 million miles; not counting stops to do what most of us do at lease once every 31 hours, plus eating etc. So Santa's sleigh must be moving at 650 miles/second, 3,000 times the speed of sound. For purposes of comparison, the fastest man-made vehicle on earth, the Ulysses space probe, moves at a pokey 27.4 miles/second. A conventional reindeer can run, tops, 15 miles/hour.

If every one of the 91.8 million homes with good children were to put out a single chocolate chip cookie and an 8 ounce glass of 2% milk, the total calories (needless to say other vitamins and minerals) would be approximately 225 calories (100 for the cookie, give or take, and 125 for the milk, give or take). Multiplying the number of calories per house by the number of homes (225 x 91.8 x 1000000), we get the total number of calories Santa consumes that night, which is 20,655,000,000 calories. To break it down further, 1 pound is equal to 3500 calories. Dividing our total number of calories by the number of calories in a pound (20655000000 / 3500) and we get the number of pounds Santa gains, 5901428.6, which is 2950.7 tons.

The payload on the sleigh adds another interesting element. Assuming that each child gets nothing more than a medium-sized Lego set (2 lb.), the sleigh is carrying 321,300 tons, not counting Santa, who is invariably described as overweight. On land, conventional reindeer can pull no more than 300lb. Even granting that "flying reindeer" (see #1) can pull 10 TIMES the normal amount, we cannot do the job with 8, or even 9, reindeer. We need 214,200. This increases the payload - not counting the weight of the sleigh - to 353,430 tons. This is four times the weight of the ocean-liner Queen Elizabeth.

353,000 tons traveling at 650 miles/second creates enormous air resistance. This will heat the reindeer up in the same fashion as a spacecraft reentering the earth's atmosphere. The lead pair of reindeer will absorb 14.3 QUINTILLION joules of energy. Per second. Each. In short, they will burst into flame almost instantaneously, exposing the reindeer behind them and create deafening sonic booms in their wake. The entire reindeer team will be vaporized within .00426 of a second. Meanwhile, Santa, will be subjected to centrifugal forces 17,500.06 times greater than gravity. A 250 lb. Santa, being very conservative in terms of guessing Santa's weight, would be pinned to the back of his sleigh by 4,315,015 lb. of force. If Santa ever DID deliver presents on Christmas Eve, he's dead now.


Free write - Written by Jon Lafrenaye


(A desk is UL with one student half paying attention to the audience). As he begins so write he begins to talk. Great! Free writing! I hate this stuff! How am I supposed to write for ten minutes straight, this is the most ridiculous assignment an English teacher has ever given me, and believe me they have given me some pretty bad ones. (The student leaves his desk and continues to talk to the audience). Every time my teacher makes me do this all I end up with is a bunch of stream of consciousness crap. Oh shit, I just wrote crap! Damn, now I just wrote shit! Oh well, this is supposed to be my thoughts and you know what, I swear in my thoughts, so everyone will just have to deal with it. It isnít like anyone can tell. Unless they have telepathy, with would be like those people in that Scanners movie. Wait, actually they didnít have telepathy, they just killed people. I guess it would be more like that chic in x-men. What an awesome cartoon, too bad most cartoons are boring and dumb. Like the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. I used to like that show, then I watched it for the first time in a long time recently and just for curiosityís sake once I timed how long they fought in an episode. The grand total was 16 seconds. How the hell do they get off being called ninjas when they donít fight? Another thing, if Leonardo has kitanas, then why doesnít he ever cut someone. Especially in the movie, I mean it is just plain idiocy to believe that a guy fights with two swords and doesnít even use them. Hell, it is more of a handicap then anything else just to fight carrying the extra weight. Student looks right sharply. Yes! Less than one minute left now, come to think about it this assignment hasnít really been all that bad, I can swear and I can just rant on whatever the hell I want in my own way. (Student starts walking back to desk, when student gets there he begins to write on paper again). You know, maybe I should start taking these English assignments more seriously. Nah, but this was still fun. (Student dots the last period enthusiastically, stops writing, drops pen on desk, and relaxes in chair.)


Jed - Written by Jon Lafrenaye


Despite whatever Jed may have told you, he didnít kill no bison. See this here is what really happened. Meín Jed had decided to go out chickin huntin. We grabbed our shotguns, now I know that no shotgun aint the right gun for chickin huntin, but it was the only one we done got ammo for. Meín Jed drove out to the field and had walked out a good distance before we saw it. Ahead of us up on a rise a good distance away was the biggest, meanest lookin Bison thing I ever saw. Now I didnít know quite what it took to kill one of those things, but I took a shot at it anyway. I hit it, but instead of bein scared the damn thing just charged right at us. Looked like it ainít ever had no purpose cept to gorge us. Bein the smart folks that meín Jed are, we ran. Now we aint no match for the speed of that bison and our truck was a good distance away. Pretty soon that thing was on top a us. I whistled to Jed and we both spun around and unloaded both our barrels right in that things face at a distance of twenty feet. Either we missed, or we just pissed it off some more cause it kept commin. Luckily itís aim was a little off cause we jumped aside and it just ran right by. But it made a big arc and headed right back towards us. By now that beast musta been real tired from carryín all its weight, because it just slowed down and fell right over. Looked to us like it had some kind a heart attack. So we put our guns down and grabbed my camera and posed with the thing. That bison must notta been very dead, cause right when that camera flashed it came roarin back ta life. I grabbed my camera and made a B-line for my truck. As I said before, I aint no match for the speed of that bison, but I sure am faster then Jed. The bison instinctely went for him, and well, Jed got gored quite well in the rear end. I made it to the car quite fine and waited a while for the bison to stop playin wit Jed. Soon as it left I drove over to him and brought him right off to the hospital. I also told him that since we still had that picture and he was the one that got gored, he should be able to tell everyone that he killed that bison. So whenever Jed gets out of the hospital and starts tellin ya his version of the story, just sit back, smile, and laugh inside about what really happened.


Uncle Tomís Cabin - Adapted by Jon Lafrenaye


"See here now, Mister Wilson, look at me, now. Donít I sit before you, every way, just as much a man as you are? Look at my face, look at my hands, look at my body. Why am I not a man, as much as anybody? Well Mr. Wilson. I had a father Ė one of you Kentucky gentlemen Ė who didnít think enough of me to keep me from getting sold with his dogs and horses, to satisfy his estate, when he died. I saw my mother put up at a sheriff's sale, with her seven children. She came and kneeled down before old Mas'r, and begged him to buy her with me and he kicked her away with his heavy boot. The last that I heard was her moans and screams, when I was tied to his horses neck, to be carried off to his place. My master traded with one of those men and bought my sister. She was a pious, good girl, and as handsome as my poor mother had been. At first, I was glad she was bought. I was soon sorry for it. Sir, I have stood at the door and heard her whipped, when it seemed as if every blow cut into my naked heart, and at last I saw her chained with a trader's gang, to be sent to market in Orleans. Well, I grew up, no father, no mother, no sister, nothing but whipping, scolding, starving. I never knew what peace of comfort was. I never had a kind word spoken to me till I came to work in your factory. Mr. Wilson, you encouraged me to do well, and to learn to read and write, and to try to make something of myself. Then, sir, I found my wife. When I found she loved me, when I married her, I scarcely could believe I was alive. But now what? Why, now comes my master, takes me right away from my work, and my friends, and all I like, and grinds me down into the very dirt! And why? Because, he says, I forgot who I was, to teach me that I am only a nigger! Last of all, he comes between me and my wife, and says I shall give her up, and live with another woman. And all this your laws give him power to do. Mr. Wilson, look at it! There isn't one of all these things, that have broken the hearts of my mother and my sister, and my wife and myself, but yours laws allow, and give every man power to do, and none can say to him, nay! Do you call these the laws of my country? Sir, I haven't any country any more then I have any father. But I am going to have one. I donít want anything of your country, except to be let alone, - to go peaceable out of it; and when I get to Canada, where the laws will own me and protect me, that shall be my country, and its laws I will obey. But if any man tries to stop me, let him take care, for I am desperate. I will fight for my liberty to the last breath I breathe. You say your fathers did it; if it was right for them, it is right for me!"


'I have a dream' - Martin Luther King Junior


I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal." I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slaveowners will be able to sit down together at a table of brotherhood. I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a desert state, sweltering with the heat of injustice and oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice. I have a dream that my four children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character. I have a dream today.

I have a dream that one day the state of Alabama, whose governor's lips are presently dripping with the words of interposition and nullification, will be transformed into a situation where little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls and walk together as sisters and brothers. I have a dream today. I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together. This is our hope. This is the faith with which I return to the South. With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.

This will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with a new meaning, "My country, 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrim's pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring." And if America is to be a great nation, this must become true. So let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire. Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York. Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania! Let freedom ring from the snowcapped Rockies of Colorado! Let freedom ring from the curvaceous peaks of California! But not only that; let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia! Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee! Let freedom ring from every hill and every molehill of Mississippi. From every mountainside, let freedom ring.

When we let freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, "Free at last! free at last! thank God Almighty, we are free at last!"


Fuck You - from 25th Hour - performed by Edward Norton as Montgomery Brogan


(***** walks into the bathroom. He looks in the mirror. In the bottom corner, someone's written Fuck You!)

*****: Yeah, fuck you, too.

*****'s Reflection: Fuck me? Fuck you! Fuck you and this whole city and everyone in it. Fuck the panhandlers, grubbing for money, and smiling at me behind my back. Fuck squeegee men dirtying up the clean windshield of my car. Get a fucking job! Fuck the Sikhs and the Pakistanis bombing down the avenues in decrepit cabs, curry steaming out their pores and stinking up my day. Terrorists in fucking training. Slow the fuck down!

Fuck the Chelsea boys with their waxed chests and pumped up biceps. Going down on each other in my parks and on my piers, jingling their dicks on my Channel 35. Fuck the Korean grocers with their pyramids of overpriced fruit and their tulips and roses wrapped in plastic. Ten years in the country, still no speaky English?

Fuck the Russians in Brighton Beach. Mobster thugs sitting in cafťs, sipping tea in little glasses, sugar cubes between their teeth. Wheelin' and dealin' and schemin'. Go back where you fucking came from! Fuck the black-hatted Chassidim, strolling up and down 47th street in their dirty gabardine with their dandruff. Selling South African apartheid diamonds! Fuck the Wall Street brokers. Self-styled masters of the universe. Michael Douglas, Gordon Gecko wannabe mother fuckers, figuring out new ways to rob hard working people blind. Send those Enron assholes to jail for fucking life! You think Bush and Cheney didn't know about that shit? Give me a fucking break! Tyco! Inclone! Adelphia! Worldcom!

Fuck the Puerto Ricans. 20 to a car, swelling up the welfare rolls, worst fuckin' parade in the city. And don't even get me started on the Dom-in-i-cans, because they make the Puerto Ricans look good. Fuck the Bensonhurst Italians with their palmaded hair, their nylon warm-up suits, and their St. Anthony medallions. Swinging their, Jason Giambi, Louisville slugger, baseball bats, trying to audition for the Sopranos.

Fuck the Upper East Side wives with their Armani scarves and their fifty-dollar Balducci artichokes. Overfed faces getting pulled and lifted and stretched, all taut and shiny. You're not fooling anybody, sweetheart! Fuck the uptown brothers. They never pass the ball, they don't want to play defense, they take fives steps on every lay-up to the hoop. And then they want to turn around and blame everything on the white man. Slavery ended one hundred and thirty seven years ago. Move the fuck on!

Fuck the corrupt cops with their anus violating plungers and their 41 shots, standing behind a blue wall of silence. You betray our trust! Fuck the priests who put their hands down some innocent child's pants. Fuck the church that protects them, delivering us into evil. And while you're at it, fuck JC! He got off easy! A day on the cross, a weekend in hell, and all the hallelujahs of the legioned angels for eternity! Try seven years in fuckin Otisville, Jay!

Fuck Osama Bin Laden, Alqueda, and backward-ass, cave-dwelling, fundamentalist assholes everywhere. On the names of innocent thousands murdered, I pray you spend the rest of eternity with your seventy-two whores roasting in a jet-fueled fire in hell. You towel headed camel jockeys can kiss my royal, Irish ass!

Fuck Jacob Elinski, whining malcontent. Fuck Francis Xavier Slaughtery, my best friend, judging me while he stares at my girlfriend's ass. Fuck Naturel Rivera. I gave her my trust and she stabbed me in the back. Sold me up the river. Fucking bitch. Fuck my father with his endless grief, standing behind that bar. Sipping on club soda, selling whiskey to firemen and cheering the Bronx Bombers.

Fuck this whole city and everyone in it. From the row houses of Astoria to the penthouses on Park Avenue. From the projects in the Bronx to the lofts in Soho. From the tenements in Alphabet City to the brownstones in Park slope to the split levels in Staten Island. Let an earthquake crumble it. Let the fires rage. Let it burn to fuckin ash then let the waters rise and submerge this whole, rat-infested place.

*****: No. No, fuck you, Montgomery Brogan. You had it all and then you threw it away, you dumb fuck.