I am the unseen. I am the invisible. I am the untouchable. What is my name? Jerry Jiggy. I was born near the end of the Middle Ages. Back then my name was Alphonso. I got into a lot of trouble with this dude that always ordered me around named Lord Muckleberry. I wouldn't have if I knew what power he had, but, unfortuneately, I didn't. He was some kind of a psycho sorceror and he decided to keep me alive just the way I am right now (invisible) until I find something that’s stupider than getting into trouble with him. I've looked for 500 years, yet I haven't found anything until just now. Right now my problem is how to find Lord Muckleberry, but first I'll relate the stupid thing.
My name's Momo. That's right, Momo. Momo Joneso. I hate kids. They're very stupid. I hate those scumspawns more than I hate cigarettes. I hate cigarettes because they're cigar wannabes, and it's blasphemous to wanna be a cigar. Anyway, I had a great idea. When I say a great idea I mean an idea about as good as a good Cuban cigar, and that's a very good idea. This idea was to make a show for kids. You're probably thinking about what a darn hypocrite I am. I'm not a hypocrite. I just love money. Why do I love money? Because with money I can buy cigars. Anyway, this kids show was going to be great. Kids are stupid, right? So why not fill a show with the stupidest content you can get? The kids'll love it. That's just what I intended to do. I needed one actor, and only one actor. I wasn't going to share the profits with anyone if I didn't need to. I wish I could act, because then I wouldn't have to call up my friend, Sliktor, and share the dough. So I called up Sliktor and told him to get over here and that I'd be able to get him an acting job.
I'm Sliktor. I went to my friend Momo's house. He said he had a great idea. "Oh no! God save us!" I yelled. I knew just how great his ideas could be. This one didn't sound too bad at the time, but I now realize that it was the worst one of his great ideas yet. He said that he could get me an acting job. I was overjoyed. I'm good at playing stupid guys, and for a long period of time I was in heaven because people were in to stupid guy movies, but then the people turned on the stupid guys and I found myself without a job for a long time. "What kind of part is this? I'm good at stupid guys." I said.
"I know you're good at stupid guys. Why do you think I called you?" Momo yelled at me. I don't know why he was yelling. He turns on everybody so suddenly that it's enough to give one severe paranoia for a couple of years.
"How much is it paying?" I asked.
"That depends how well it does, Sliktor. Anyway, here's my idea. You see, kids are stupid, right?" He asked.
"Uh, they aren't too stupid. I was once a kid, you know?" I said. I don't know why he hated kids so much. I think of them as pretty cute, come to think of it.
"Of course you were a kid! I was a kid, for goodness sakes! Those were the worst years of my life, but I can't deny the fact that I was once pure scum! They call those years the golden years of life! Then I think that gold is a terrible thing! Give me green paper over gold anyday… Well, anyway, if you're stupid enough to think kids ain't stupid, then I guess you'll be doing this for the money. But who gives? Kids can't appreciate good acting that comes from the heart instead of the paycheck!"
"What? I'm offended! I have only been in movies for kids! What do you mean they can't appreciate good acting?" I asked.
"Whoever said they appreciated you? You're out of a job, for goodness sakes! And that's why you're gonna do this. Also, it'll be the easiest job in the world. I'll just hold up cue cards that say some stupid stuff and you read 'em in a stupid voice! It's as easy as stealing candy from a baby! And when you get paid it'll be just as fun, too!"
"Wait a minute. Why will the cue cards say stupid stuff?" I asked.
"Because this is a show for kids, already! You wanna attract kids, ya gotta make it stupid!"
"Okay. It's a job. I'll do it." I said, and then, "I hate to say it, but you'll have to hire a third person: A cameraman." I suggested.
"You know what? You're right! I'll get some weird guy I find off the street to operate the camera."

Momo
So I had to get a cameraman. "There goes 17% of the profits," I was thinking. That was all that I was willing to share. I decided to go to a bar. There were a lot of guys that needed money for beer in there. Perhaps one of them would be able to use a camera. Maybe one of them would even have one! That would save a few hundred more dollars. So I went to the bar.
"Hey, Momo! Long time no see, mon!" Said the bartender. He's Jamaican, and whenever he was on the job he'd always play this Bob Marley reggae junk, which really ticked me off, especially when I was drunk. That guy always singing about one love and all that trash… he’s the kind of jerk who… likes kids.
"Hi, Bobby. I'm not looking for any drinks this time." I said.
"Momo, call me Bobby B, mon! You know the deal!" He said. Then he poured the guy next to me a glass full of Fosters’. In a few minutes Bobby B whooped with joy.
"Ooh! This is a very good song! They take us away from Africa with the intention to steal our culture…" Bobby B started singing.
"Shut up and turn this off before I rip those dreadlocks off!" I yelled at him.
"You hate reggae too, mate?" The man next to me said.
"You don't know how much. I hate it almost as much as I hate kids.”
“Right on. Give me some bitchin’ heavy metal anyday.”
“You know where it’s at. Say, do you know any low budget cameramen? I need one to start this show I wanna start." I said.
"Well, I'd call myself low budget. I'm not giving you any guarantee on my performance, though. I guess it could be better if I gave up the bottle, but that'd defeat my purpose for livin'." He said.
"If you’re low-budget, you’re fine by me. Anyway, this show is, at the moment, a two-person work of art. Have you ever heard of an actor named Sliktor Stockingson?" I asked.
"Yes, I have actually. His work was pretty popular out in the outback. He was the only entertainment we had while we would chuck the ‘rang. That was because one of the people we were livin' with had a kid and they had a TV that picked up only this one kid’s channel. They would play his movies endlessly." He said.
"Well, Sliktor's a friend of mine, and he's the actor in this show. I'm the creator, writer, and cue card holder upper, and you could be the video man." I proposed.
"Why, that'd be cool. I'm out of work right now, you know."
"Well, here's my address. You can come by tomorrow."
"All right. What's this show about?"
"Well, kids are stupid, so Sliktor just says whatever stupid stuff I write on the cue cards and the kids love it.
"Sounds brilliant, mate.”
My name's Ken Kemo. I wasn't actually born in Australia, but it's a great image to have for just about anything. It's quite easy to act like an Aussie. All you have to do is start saying "Mate" a lot, drink lots of Fosters, pick up the accent, refer to the outback, and learn to throw a boomerang. It's a lot easier than you'd think. I actually really hated Sliktor Stockingson's movies. I had seen previews for them just before I came to America when I was in England. They seemed very stupid and annoying, so I could see why Momo was hiring him. I wanted to be able to refer to one of his movies when I met him, so I went to the video store. Smelled like pot inside. I went up to the guy behind the counter and said, "Hi, do you have any copies of a movie with Sliktor Stockingson in it?"
"Yeah. We do," he said in a detached monotone.
"Cool."
"Yes, very. So, can I help you?" he asked, his eyes glazed over.
"Uh, I just happen to want to take one of them out."
"Oh." He said. He was just standing there.
"Smells like you’re stoned, but it seems like you’ve recently gotten a frontal lobotomy. Anyway, CAN YOU GET ME A MOVIE WITH SLIKTOR STOCKINGSON IN IT OR IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK?!!!!" I shouted.
"Uh, I guess so." He said, and started to giggle.
"Look, you go get it for me or I'll chuck a boomerang at you, which'll knock you out. Then I'll take you to the outback, and feed you to a pack o' wild dingoes."
"Uh, okay, if you say so." He turned around very slowly, tripping over his stool in the process, and he looked cluelessly at the wall of videos. He was about as stupid as the actor I was requesting. So many stupid people in this world. Finally, he found Sliktor's most famous movie, A Puddle of Poodles. It was probably his stupidest. I had a feeling Momo was right about kids lovin' the stupid stuff. "That’s… uh… four dollars. Bring it back Saturday." The man said.
"You expect me to pay after that kind of service?" I asked in mock disbelief.
"Uh, yeah." He said.
"Then let me see your manager, please." I said. Whenever I get bad service, I call the manager and get the evil doer busted. It's a ton of fun.
"Uh, okay," He said, and then, "DAD!" He yelled.
"The manager's your dad? So that's how you got the job!" I said.
"Yes, son?" The manager asked as he came storming in. He was humongous. I had to look up so far to see his face that it hurt my neck, and I'm no midget. He sniffed as he entered, and boomed, “have you been smoking on the job again?”
“Uh… yeah.”
“You weren’t using my bong, were you?”
“Uh… no.”
“Good. I didn’t think you’d be that stupid. Anyway, what’s the problem here?”
"Uh, he has a complaint about the service." The man behind the counter said. The manager walked me into a corner, and lifted me up by my shirt.
"You have a problem with the way my son has served you?" he demanded. I was about to give in and say no when a man no taller than six feet walked in.
"Yo, put him down!" He yelled. I was about to burst out laughing and blurt out "Are you kidding me", but then the hulk laid me down. I was surprised that this man that just walked in would be able to scare the hulk into dropping me.
"So it's you, Joe Mamma. Long time, no see." He said.
" You're right. Long time no see. Last time I saw you, you tried to pull this bad service routine on me, and I kicked your ass. I’m surprised you’re still abusing your customers. Let me tell you, it dismays me to see local businesses acting so hostile. If a man wants to go out and get a video, he should be able to do so in peace! In the name of justice, I am warning you, I’ll expose your mafia ties to my friends in the NYPD if you do this one more time.”
“I’m operating a business here! I’m allowed to show some authority!”
"Well right now I’m showing you my authority,” Joe Mamma said, flipping open his ID. “I’m Joe Mamma. The Agent Joe Mamma. I’ll bust your ass. I don’t like what chain stores are doing to the city, but mom and pop stores with your attitude don’t please me none either.”
The big man put up no comeback to that. Joe Mamma pointed at me and instructed, “you can leave. Sorry bout fatass over here."
"But he didn't pay yet!" The hulk complained.
"May I make a reccomendation? Don't make him pay for it." Joe Mamma said.
Momo
Everybody, meaning the cameraman and Sliktor, met at my house. We got down to business.
"All right. This is how we're going to do business. Every night I'll write the cue cards. We'll meet the next day at my house. I'll come with the cue cards, Ken'll come with the camera, and Sliktor'll come empty handed but ready to act. I'll say '1, 2, 3, go' or something. Then Ken'll press the record button. Then Sliktor'll start reading my cue cards. Then we make millions of dollars."
"Don't we have to get a deal with a TV channel?" Sliktor asked.
"Of course we do! What do you think I am? Stupid? I was about to get into that before you had to open your big fat mouth!"
"Sorry."
"Well, anyway, first we've gotta shoot some footage to show them, but before we do that, I've prepared some contracts. Sliktor, here reads yours: ‘If Sliktor signs this then he's gotta show up every weekday I command him to for at least four hours unless he's in the hospital, and in return will receive 33% of the dough.’ Sound good? Sign it.”
“Okay… but first, what does yours look like?”
“What does it look like? It’s having a bad hair day today, I don’t really wanna discuss it in front of it. What the fuck kind of a question is that?”
“No, I mean what does it say.”
"How nosy can you be? Here, I'll read it to you if it'll make you happy. It says 'If I sign this then I must write a significant amount of cue cards every night from Sunday to Thursday. I will judge the significancy. I must also hold them up in a place where Sliktor can see them while recording. In return I'll receive 50% of the loot.'"
"Well, hate to spoil the party, mates, but I only get 17%. I was hoping for a little more." Ken said, that darn kangaroo.
"What's your problem? All you have to do is push a little red button twice and you're hitting me up for money already? Look, you don't have to do anything! I'm being kind to you! Take it or leave it! If this show gets on the air, that’s beer money for life! Be thankful!"
"All right mate, sorry." Ken said. I was surprised that he had backed down like that. I thought an Aussie might not be such a pussy. Of course, I wasn't about to complain, because I'm not stupid. I have no problem with depriving a man if it’s in my favor.
"Now, Sliktor, go find one of your old producers and get a recommendation on how we should go about getting this on the air."

Sliktor
I decided to ask Harry "The Hippo" Hippocrate, who had made two of my four famous movies. He was called Harry because his parents named him Harold, and he thought it sounded too formal. His nickname is "The Hippo" because of his immense weight, and his last name's Hippocrate because his old last name was Johnson and he decided to legally change it. He chose Hippocrate because it's his favorite word and because he likes alliteration. I called him up, and he answered, "Harry "The Hippo" Hippocrate at your service," in his usual jovial voice.
"Hi, Harry, this is Sliktor." I said.
"Are you some kind of a hippocrate or something?" He asked.
"Why do you ask that?"
"You were the one that suggested I make everybody call me Hippo, and now you're calling me Harry! What's your problem?" He asked.
"Sorry, Hippo. Look, do you remember Momo?" I asked.
"Sure. I remember Momo. Isn't he the one that tried to feed my son to my pet shark?" He asked.
"Yeah. That'd be Momo. How's your son doing, anyway?" I asked.
"Heeza's gone insane. He's at some looney bin or another." He said.
"Really? I guess you messed up with his name. Heeza Hippocrate? Sure it was funny, but I guess now you regret it."
“Oh well, at least it was funny.”
"Anyway, Momo has an idea for a show. Maybe you could make a recommendation as to which channel would carry it."
"Well, in case you didn't hear, I'm no longer making movies. I'm the head honcho on Channel 3 Kids. I guess I can't be any help to you then, because I’m sure Momo's isn’t doing a kids show, and I'm not about to help competition."
"Actually, Momo is doing a kids show." I informed him.
"What a hippocrate! Well, tell me about it. Has he reformed? Has he sold out? Has he sold out and reformed? Has he sold out to buy some more cigars? I must know all." He said.
"Well, I don't know if I'd call it selling out, but it was probably to get more cigars. What he figures is that kids are stupid, so why not fill a show with the stupidest things possible?" I said.
"Well, you know, bring me some footage, okay?" He asked.
"All right. We're starting tomorrow."
"How many actors does it have?"
"Uh, one."
"One?" He asked incredulously.
"Yeah. So far it's a three-person project. Momo, a low budget Australian camera man, and me." I said.
"Look, you've gotta get some more people. Some kids, too, you can't make a kids show without kids!"
"Ooh, that's a problem. Momo isn't going to want to split the dough." I said.
"Well, I'll tell you what. If it's any good, then I'll pay for the actors. You've gotta recruit 'em, though."
"All right, Hippo. I hope Momo won't try to kill 'em all during production though..."

Momo When Sliktor told me that the only way that we could get on tv was to give kids a contract, I practically fainted. "Look, Sliktor, I can't do that. Even if I didn't make the cue cards out of the hardest metal I could, I would still not be able to resist smacking 'em with it, and then I'd either hurt the kid, get hit with a law suit, or ruin the cue cards, and make us look bad on live television!" I could've explained another hundred anti-kid reasons why I couldn't do it, but then Sliktor showed me why I could. He stuck a Cuban cigar in my face. "Oh, all right. Go get a few of those imbeciles. They're all gonna be bad actors, so look for the one with the thickest skull." I said.
"Well, actually, I can find some very talented juvenile actors." Sliktor said.
"Don't you try to tell me that they're good actors! The only way they ever get a gig is that either their mother brags so much about them being cute that people actually start to believe it, or their parents have deep enough pockets to use some of it to bribe their kid a job, or they go to an audition and their name gets picked out of a hat! There is no such thing as a kid who can really act!" I said. I was losing it. Sliktor and his goddamn pro-kid thinking.
Sliktor I called up an orginization that I know called KCAT (Kids Can Act Too). The phone was answered in a disruptingly loud, high-pitched voice. "Hi, who is this? This'd better not be a prank call or I will shove a broom so far—“
"That's very nice thought but this is not a prank call." I said, cutting him off.
"How can I be sure you ain't just sayin' that? Huh? You were probably thinkin' how smart you were gonna be pickin' up the phone and prank callin' me! Well, I'm gonna put a curse on you, and everybody in your family from yo mamma to yo second cousin!" He started yelling.
"But-"
"No buts about it mista'! I learned this in a book called The Boy Who Lost His Face! I use this one cuz you definitely gonna have lost yo face afta' I take it, shred it, and defenestrate the ugly-ass thing! The curse goes: May yo doppleganger' regurgitate on yo soul! Take that! May I translate? Yes I may! That means that yo ghostly counterparts are gonna puke on yo soul! How do you like that thought? Well, I hope you like it, cuz it's gonna be happenin' for a long time to ya!" He finally stopped rambling to take a breath.
"This isn't a prank call. My name is Sliktor Stockingson and I'm calling for you to tell all kids five and under to come to 13 W. 113th street for an audition. We're coming out with a new show." I said. I was about to hang up so that I didn't have to hear another outburst, but he responded too quickly.
"Yo yo yo, Slikta! Whassup? You rememba' me?" He asked.
"No."
"Yo, How can you forget me? I went to KCAT widya! My name was and still is Twinka Delight!" He said. I remembered him. He really was impossible to forget. Once a year at KCAT they had a loudmouth night, which was a contest to find the biggest loudmouth in camp. He won it every year he went to school there and by such a large margin that they named it The Twinka Delight Award. Too bad he had never hit it big… he had a louder mouth than Chris Rock or Tucker or any of them…
"I remember you. I've gotta go now. Bye." I said.
"Whoa, whoa, wait Slikta! You gotta hook me up! Sure you’s not actin' anymore, but you gotta hook me up! It ain't fair how you got rich and famous and I got this minimum wage li'l operator job here! You gotta hook me up!" I didn't hook him up. I hung up.
Momo "Okay you little sleazeballs. I don't like you anymore than you like me. Just make this easy on me. I wanna hit you every second you're within a mile of me, but I don't want a lawsuit. Just stay away from me. Just because you're a numbskull doesn't mean I've gotta make your skull numb. Now my good friend Sliktor will tell you what you've gotta do."
"Hello, kids," Sliktor said. He paused, waiting for them to answer. The tiny little numbskulls did, much to my surprise.
"Hello Sliktor." They all said in their high-pitched pre-pubescent voices.
"Now, if you sign up for this you should be aware that this is an act of improvisation. Do any of you know what improvisation means?" He asked them. Nobody raised his or her hands.
"That's because you're stupid! Where did you get your brains? Some second hand thrift store? I hate you all!" I yelled. A kid rose his hand. He was probably thinking that it was to make me not hate them. I was about to spazz again and tell him how stupid he was, but I decided against it.
"Yes, you, in the front row, what's your name?" Sliktor asked.
"My name's Billy Bob," The kid said in a southern accent. He sounded drunk, and he would hiccup during every sentence he spoke. "That's right, my name's Billy Bob, and improvisation means a jolly ol' jug o' jam." He said.
"Where do you get these kids, these fiends? And why does that kid sound drunk? How would he get beer at such a young age? And what kind of an answer is that? A jolly ol' jug o' jam? Somebody hold me back because the annihilation resistance section of my brain is about to let loose!"
"Well, um, Momo, um, um, well, let's not talk about Momo, let's talk about Billy Bob's answer. That isn't correct, Billy Bob, improvisation is when you make it up while you go along. I will have lines, but you can say whatever you want to." That part was my idea, because I give the lines, and I can't possibly be as stupid as they are. Sliktor continued, "you are going to audition for one part of your choice. These parts are the parts of Stuck-up Stephen, Melancholy Mitchell, Fat Phil, and Coo-coo Carl. If you want to try out for Stuck-up Stephen come to me. If you want to try out for Melancholy Mitchell go to Ken, the guy drinking Fosters’ over there. If you want to try out for Fat Phil go to Hippo, the guy over there that's probably called every single one of you a hippocrate, and if you want to try out for Coo-coo Carl go to Momo, the guy with the cigar. I'm sure you all know Momo."
Sliktor
It was my job to explain to them who Stuck-up Stephen was, and more specifically what they'd be doing. "Does anyone here know what Stuck-up means?" Two of them raised their hands. "Yes?" I asked, pointing at one of them.
"Stuck-up means that you're stuck onto someplace high."
"Well, stuck up can mean that, I guess, but we're looking for a different definition. Do you know?" I asked the other kid with his hand raised.
"I know what stuck-up means. It means that you think too highly of yourself, but I don't think that you can think too highly of yourself, so we should call this character Smart Stuart. And, just so you know, you should always call on me because I know everything. I would have told you what improvisation means, but I was giving everybody else a chance." The kid said. I knew he had the job.
"That's very good. What's your name?" I asked.
"My name is Carlton Williamburg McDougald III."
"Okay, Carlton. Now, Stuck-up Stephen is very stuck-up. He will never admit that he's wrong. Now I'll tape all of you saying something that you think Stephen might say." Many of the kids were pretty good stuck-up actors, but Carlton blew me away. After all, he was unofficially hired the first time I heard him say "I".

Ken
I had to tell the kids about Melancholy Mitchell. Before I said a word a kid jumped in my face and said, "Hello, My name is Kezha. I have just one question for you: Where do you come from and how did you get to speak so cool? And what's that thing you're always drinking, and why do you always drink it?" He said. I immediately marked him stupid for trying out for a melancholy part.
"Well, My name is Ken. I come from Australia and we all speak like this there." I said.
"Oh. Well, what about the drink?" I decided on a way to shut him up.
"Oh, the drink? Well, it is called Fosters’. I drink it because it's good. Want to try?"
"Yeah!" He said. He took one sip and before he could scream bloody murder I put my hand over his throat.
"Like it, eh?" I chuckled. He was too stunned to answer. "Okay, tykes. Melancholy means sad. Mitchell is never happy, and always sad. Get it?"
"Yeah…” They all answered.
"Good. Now I'm going to video tape you acting sad. This does not mean crying!" I said.
"But how can you be sad without crying?" A fat kid that looked amazingly like Chris Farley asked.
"I can explain that… but, first of all, why didn't you try out for Fat Phil?" I asked the kid.
"Because I'm not fat. I have big bones. My mommy says so." He said.
"If you aren't fat then Fosters isn't good, and Fosters is fuckin’ awesome, okay? And, anyway, forget that I said sad. You misheard me. I said gloomy. Do you know what gloomy means?" I asked.
"No." They all answered.
"Well go find a dictionary. I got a bitchin’ hangover and I can’t think straight… I've got to film you looking gloomy, so think what gloomy might be."
After sitting through all of their performances, there was no one kid that looked the gloomiest, so I guessed that we'd have to pick it out of a hat.
Hippo
I wasn't surprised when I was stuck to pick a Fat Phil. I was actually happy. I had been prepared for the occasion, and brought a lot of candy. That would make them listen to me. "Okay, first off, who would like some candy?" I asked. What I thought was 100% of the crowd said yes, all very passionately, "Well, come over here. I stopped at Ohnuts before I came" All but one kid rushed to me. This one kid was very skinny.
"Mr. Hippopotomous, My name is Wizzer Jenniffer Craig. You may have heard of my mother, Jenny Craig. I'm sure that she would be appalled if she knew that you were poisoning these little childrens' bodies. I'm sure that these children want to lead a healthy life, and must hate you for tempting them to do otherwise. I'm sure that-" He said.
"Whoa! Wait just a minute. Your mother is Jenny Craig?" I asked. How I hated Jenny Craig. Weight is something to be cherished, not lost!
"Yes."
"Well, first of all, you are such a hippocrate! You're trying out for Fat Phil and you're a fitness freak, and second of all, your mother should be thanking me for doing this. In time it will increase her paycheck. Okay?" I scribbled out the note, "Now, give this to her." I said.
"I can't read yet. I'm too busy making my body a healthy one." He said.
"You’re too busy not eating? Didn’t know how time-consuming that could be… oh, the note congratulates her on the job she's done," I lied.
“Wait a second… I know this word… f-u-c-k y-o-u… that’s what my mommy says to me whenever I put on a pound!”
“Yeah, yeah, just give it to her… anyway, kids, this is what you must do for Fat Phil-"
"Wait a minute, Hippo bro, I gotta ask a question. Is this the F-A-T or the P-H-A-T spellin' of the word 'fat?'" Asked a thugged-out six year old.
"Well I don't know what you're talking about. Fat is spelled F-A-T. Now, what is your name?" I asked.
"My name is Avery Fat Mamma. My Pappa is Joe Fat Mamma and my mamma is Ima Fat Mamma. Together we make the Fat Mamma clan. My godfatha is My Ugly Mamma and my godmotha is Rua Ugly Mamma. They are the Sleazy Mamma clan. My uncle is-" He said.
"That's very nice," I said, trying to cut him off.
"Now, I'd like to make a reccomendation, Hippo. If ya gonna bring candy, pick yo shit carefully. You gots ta bring stuff wit mo suga, bro! And a good candy hookup ta check out is da Candy House of da Sweet-teethed Mamma clan. Thas my uncle! Check it out next time ya be passin' by W. 127th street and broadway. It's got some mad sweets, yo."
"That's even nicer. Now, Fat Phil's requirements are to be fat and talk about food all the time. Now I'll video tape you acting like Fat Phil." All of the kids were terrible actors except for Avery and Wizzer. Avery was a natural, and Jenny Craig had spent so much time preparing Wizzer to be in one of her commercials that he had to be good. He was scheduled to be the first to sing "1-800-99-Jenny” during the second commercial break of the Superbowl of '99. My choice was obvious, because you couldn't hire a fitness freak to be Fat Phil, and Whizzer didn't know what food was besides the "I can't believe it's not yogurt" stuff that his mom probably fed him.
"Okay, little shits. You know the drill. I'm gonna tape you. Don't make me hit you! In the contracts you're gonna sign it's gonna say that if you annoy Momo, he can smack ya! So don't annoy Momo, kiddies! Now, get your coo-coo stuff on! Itshika Alcamore, you're up first! Get a move on it!" I said. I taped all the kids acting crazy. I was right when I said Ken only deserved 17%. It's really easy pressing a red button twice. I wasn't about to pay attention to the kids, so how would I know who was the best. If you ask me, all of them are just as "coo-coo" as the guy who made up the name “Coo-coo Carl”. Oh yeah. That was Sliktor.

Sliktor
After we videotaped all the kids we had to watch them. Momo seemed determined to make a bad comment about all of them. First off, we did the Stuck-up Stephen part. I showed them Carlton Williamburg McDougald. "That little kid's gotta be the most annoying scum I've ever seen! He's so stuck up! Why do you want him on our show?" Momo asked.
"Well, KCAT taught him acting well, and the part he's trying out for happens to be a stuck up character." I answered.
"Oh, well. At least we're not paying for 'em." Then Ken showed what he taped.
"Well, mates. I think you'll agree with me when I say that none of 'em was better 'n the others. Looks like we're gonna have to get out the hat." Said Ken.
"Hm. You're right. Okay, I'm going to write down all the names, and then Ken can pick them." I said.
"Okay. Looks like: whoops. I got two names. My bad. One of them is Albert Farley. Hey, that's probably the kid that looks like Chris Farley! Maybe they're related!" Ken said.
"That would be the show's big draw." Hippo said.
"Wait, what's the name of the other one?" I asked.
"Kezha Kiksist."
"Where do these kids get their names?" asked Momo.
"Well, yours isn't too everyday either." Said Hippo.
“Momo is a perfectly dignified name! Shut your trap!”
"Is Kezha good?" I asked.
"If he was playing a character named Hyper Herb, sure, but he isn't melancholy."
"Okay… does anybody know somebody who can find out if Albert is Chris Farley's son? We should get some media coverage for our show as soon as possible." I asked.
"Well, I've got a story for you. There's a guy called Snort. When I was in Jamaica-" Momo started saying.
"Wait a minute, mate. Your hairline is, um, receeding. There are exactly 247 laws in Jamaica on dreadlocks. Are you telling me that you broke the law, because I know you never had dreadlocks." Ken asked.
"No, I found a way to bypass the laws in section five of the 172nd dreadlock regulation code. I could buy a dreadlocked wig and wear it instead. Anyway, when I was in Jamaica I was watching the Barry Springer show, a make fun of the Jerry Springer show. A big guy named Snort and an Australian Buddhist who claimed that his pet dingo was the Bhudda were on. Snort stated that his religion was Killism. Don't get him wrong, he isn't a sociopath. It's just that he's violent and unreligious. The Australian and his Buddhist dingo, not partial to violent religion, charged him-"
"What hippocrates!" Hippo exclaimed.
"Yeah, well, anyway, Snort knocked some sense into the guy, and he became someone I'm sure you know."
"Hm. Let's see. The only famous Australian guy you guys’d know would be the guy who says 'Fosters, Australian for beer?'" Ken guessed.
"You got it.”
"Well, Momo, what's the point of that story? We want to find out if Albert is Chris' son," Hippo said.
"Ah, that's it. I saw Snort in a bar that Bobby B used to bartend at and greeted him, said I liked his appearance on the show. He was with a couple of friends. One had angry looking eyes and a huge Afro with coiled up dreadlocks sticking out. His name was Jamal Bunghole and he relentlessly called people bunghole. He said bunghole even more than Hippo says hippocrate. One was bald other than five spikes sticking out of his head; his eyes were extremely oval and surrounded with black paint. His name was Fracola. The other was wearing nerdy glasses, spoke in the nerdiest voice you ever heard, didn't say a word you could understand, and had short, slacked back hair. His name was Jiggly Goo. Apparently Jiggly Goo could find out just about anything in the world from his massive computer room."
"So we're going to go to Jamaica to ask him to find out if Albert Farley is Chris Farley's son? Why don't we just call his mother?" I asked.
"Well, I'm not for going to Jamaica or anything, but I met his mom and she’s the kind of lady who doesn’t want us hiring him just because of his father's fame." Ken said.
"We don’t have to go to Jamaica. I'll just ask Jamal Bunghole to give Jiggly Goo a call. Jamal lives in the city," Momo explained.
"All right. Did we really need that whole long story if you’re just gonna call up some guy? Whatever… I’ll explain my choice?" Harry asked.
"Sure." I said.
"Well, he's a loudmouth and a candy addict, his name is Avery Fat Mamma, and here's his tape." He said. Avery was a great actor, but it wouldn't look good if Melancholy Mitchell was fatter than Fat Phil, so I thought up a suggestion.
"The problem here is that we've got Melancholy Mitchell making Fat Phil look thin, so we've gotta change it around a little. How about Avery as Loudmouth Larry and Albert as Big-boned Barry?"
"What does it matter? As long as the show's stupid,” Momo commented.
"I like the alliteration." Hippo said.
"Okay, let's do it. Momo, who do you like for Coo-coo Carl?" I asked.
"They're all the same. Get the hat. Get it over with." He said. I got the hat and the name that came out was Barney Biggs. I put his tape in. He was average, but the power of the hat could not be denied, so it stayed.
"Anyway, guys, I don’t know Jamal Bunghole’s number. But I have his address… I say we walk over there. He's only a few blocks away, anyhow." Momo said. We all agreed because we wanted to see Jamal's hair.
"Hey, Jamal, it's Momo. Do you remember me?" Momo said after buzzing.
"Vaguely. Listen, it’s kind of a bad time…”
“Jamal, I just walked over here with some friends… if you could just let us up…”
“Alright, Come on up, bunghole." We walked up, and found the door unlocked. We opened it, and walked into the main room.
"Yo, look at this! Jamal, why's these people up here?" A man said.
"Um, Momo and friends, this is Joe Mamma." Jamal said.
"Dat's right dis is Joe Mamma! Ya know what, you ain't as weird a bunch as I've seen, but you kinda weird and that'll do, cuz I done made fun of these mothafucka’s hairstyles enough already, and I need someone knew to crack at!”
He pointed at Hippo, and exclaimed, “You’re fat lookin like you done spent a lifetime at the candy house of da Sweet-teethed Mamma Clan, you with the cigar, you’re fuckin’ ugly, and you, you look like that stupid acta' wid' da weird name! I gots me a friend name Twinka Delight dat says he knows 'im!" He began.
"Well, I happen to be that stupid actor with the weird name." I said, quite embarrassed.
"Oh, yo! I know dat! I see postas of ya all over KCAT! My son, Avery, goes there. He's tryin' out fo' this show dat be comin' up on channel three! You, you the Australian boy whose white ass I saved the other day! Damn, it’s a small world…"
"I am Harry “the hippo” Hippocrate…”
“Sure as hell big as a hippo…”
“Yes, and proud of it. I also happen to be the head honcho over at channel three. I video taped your son today."
"That show was my idea!" Momo said.
"And the coincidences keep on comin’! Avery's in right?" He asked. Jamal started desperately mouthing "say he is!" to me.
"Of course he is, and that isn't because for some reason Jamal's mouthing 'yes he is!' to me." I informed him. It seemed to me as if Jamal was in some sort of trouble with this Joe Mamma character…
No sooner had I thought than did a high-pitched scream come from the back room. "Refrain from that high decebilic speech! I am working!" I knew the voice belonged to the nerdy guy Jiggly Goo whom Momo had spoken of even though I had never met him before.
"Jiggly Goo's here?" Momo asked.
"Yeah, bunghole. He came to America to-" Jamal started to say, but Joe Mamma butted in.
"May I continue? Yes I may. He came to America cuz the Jamaican police were chasing him for his lack of dreadlocks. They had been after him since he was 12. He had legally changed his name from Zaga Marli to Jiggly Goo and they had taken him for dead. However, when the new president came into office he decided to call a secret agent to make sure. The agent in question? Me. Yet I'm onto somethin' bigga. I don't have proof yet, so I'll just have ta wait. I'll be back, though, and Jamal, I hope you don't got nothin' to do with it, cuz you been busted enough by me. Now I'm gonna go call up the Jamaican government and tell them Zaga Marli ain’t dead, and then I’ll call and tell Avery the good news." Joe Mamma said.
"On the subject of Avery, he's not gonna be Fat Phil. He's going to be Loudmouth Larry." Harry said.
"That's cool. Don't want my son to be known far and wide as a fatass anyway." He said.
"So, bunghole, what brings you here?" Jamal asked.
"Well, the night I met you after Snort went on the Barry Springer show Jiggly Goo was there. I saw his computers and we need to use them." Momo said.
"Yeah? I'll get him" Jamal said, and then, "Ya wanna see something cool?" With the commotion over, our eyes could finally rest on his elaborate hair. His dreadlocks hung off of his head like a weeping willow tree, were deep purple with blood red stripes and neon green polka dots. He twisted one of his dreadlocks and the neon green polka dots turned blood red and the blood red stripes turned neon green.
"Electricity," he explained, and opened the door to Jiggly Goo's room. The walls were lined with computers.
"Why greetings, companions, what is dilly in your life?" he greeted us.
"Hey, Jiggly Goo," Jamal said, "These bungholes need to use the computer."
"Oh, goody. What do you covet from it?" He said. He didn't sound Jamaican. He sounded very British despite his Jamaican decent and his voice sounded like he’d just sucked a balloon full of helium..
"Well, we want to find out about Chris Farley's kids." Momo said.
"All right. That requires Computer8. What I'll do is check Chris Farley's file. This might not work because he is dead and his file is only accessible for a certain amount of time post-mortem." He typed "Chris Farley" and it brought up a file. It had many facts. It started with the obvious ones such as DOB, Name, and all of those, including a recent photo. It soon went down into his location in longitude latitude, country, city, and then we saw “offspring”. It said George, John, Jack and then Albert. All were hyperlinked to each kid’s own file.
"Click on Albert." I directed. He did, and we looked at the picture. Sure enough, it was our kid.
"Great. Now Harry can call up the news." Ken said hurriedly.
"Wait a minute, Ken. This is cool. Why don't we check on ourselves? Or the other kids in the show? What if they have a few skeletons in their closet?" Harry suggested. Ken seemed skeptical, but we did it anyway.
Momo
Ken was being a pussy, but I took over the mouse, and was about to start typing but then I heard a knock on the door. "Hey, yo! I got the jolt, Jamal. Guess we got visitors! Hope they smoke!" The man said. He had a countless amount of dreadlocks that spiraled up about a foot and then turned out in their various directions. I hadn't met him before, but he was probably another member of their Jamaican posse.
"Hey, bunghole. Bungholes, this is Excelstan. If you want jolt you aren’t gonna get none. We don’t share.”
“But I’ll get out the hookah, cuz we got all the herb in the world to share!”
“I smoke cigars,” I told him, “Ken’s a drunk, and Sliktor’s a pussy. You can keep the pot to yourself.”
He did just that, taking a long drag from an enormous bong, while I typed Sliktor’s name into the computer..
"Momo, just what did you inscribe into my computer?" Jiggly Goo asked me.
"Sliktor Stockingson," I said, "His name," I explained, pointing at Sliktor.
"Oh my! You're Mr. Dilly! I absolutely love your works of film! Especially that marvelous Puddle of Poodles!"
We looked at Sliktor’s file, and then I said, "all right, now let's check out Ken." I suggested. I typed "Ken Kemo." This is the stuff that came up.

Name: Ken Kemo (formerly Nathaniel Emanuel Manchester)
DOB: 11-29-79
Where: Bristol, England
Last Occupation: McDonalds Cashier

"Wait just a minute! First of all, you're underage! You can't be dinking Fosters! Second of all, you weren't even born in Australia! You've been deceiving us!" Hippo accused.
"Yeah. You're underage. Hell, you’re almost a kid! Well I’ll be damned if I let a kid work with me! You’re fired!” I yelled. That little fucker!
"Whatever man. I'm going to go somewhere else. I think that I'm gonna take a few Spanish classes, and go to Mexico under the name Taco Terminaco. I'll be a photographer of few words and bad accent. I like it! Bye." He said. He had spoken in a very weird accent. It sounded like somebody raised in England, living in Harlem, and on vacation in Australia. Now we needed a cameraman. I asked Snort if he was a good cameraman.
"Me? No way! I smash cameras, not use them. Jamal's good, though." Snort said.
"Yeah. A year or two ago I gave this reggae band called Dreadloco a good idea for dreadlocks and the bungholes gave me some money for it. I bought a camera, and gave bungholes free haircuts to let me take a picture or two of them. I put together my own fashion magazine, BUNGHOLE, and started selling it out of the trunk of my car. I can probably use a video camera too, bunghole."
"Okay. Here's my address. Come by at 1:00 tomorrow and you'll get a job. I'll give you a copy of Ken's contract." I said.
"Okay. Fracola, since I'll be at Momo's you should go hunting for bungholes to work for our salon. Look, bunghole, I'm only working part time because I've gotta get our hair salon, Bunghole Cola, up and going." Jamal said.
"Hey guys,” Excelstan said to Jamal and Fracola, “you starting this hair salon and all, now, I can’t cut people’s hair or anything, but I can manage your business and whatnot. In fact, I've got a good idea. If you’re working for TV, and the big guy from Channel 3 is here, you could ask for a few free commercials." Ecelstan suggested.
"Bunghole, don’t write out your contract, cuz I’m gonna make a few amendments to it. Fat guy, we’ll make some commercials and you’re gonna air them. And I want my payment straight up. We need to buy a storefront for the salon," Jamal said.
“Anyway, y’all bungholes can go home now. If you give me the names of the kid bungholes you want to check up on Jiggly Goo's computer I'll bring you the information tomorrow when I come for the job." Jamal said.
We agreed, and went back home.
When Jamal arrived the next day, I said, "Okay, guys. We're gonna have to tell Jamal a little bit about the show. Jamal, as much as I hate kids, as you know, I love cigars enough to entertain the scum as long as it gets me enough cigars. I have the key to a successful show here. What we do is fill it with the stupidest stuff we can find, and it becomes a hit instantly. Harry is the one that gets it on the air and pays for the kids. Sliktor is the only adult actor, the only actor that I must pay for, and the only actor that reads cue cards. You are the cameraman. You will be receiving 17% of the dough that you'll be sharing with Sliktor and I-" I started saying.
"Wait, bunghole, I don’t want percent. I want money upfront." Jamal asked.
"All you gotta do is press a red button twice and move the camera around a little and you’re arguing already? Alright, what do you want?”
“I want $10,000 upfront. That’s all I need. And then a yearly salary of $50,000. In return I will give you free coupons to my salon.”
“Whatever. Fine. Keep your fucking coupons, too. Anyway, Jamal, this is what's happening. A day or two ago we invited kids over to audition. Harry's paying for them. The parts we were going to have were Stuck-up Stephen, Melancholy Mitchell, Fat Phil, and Coo-coo Carl. The kids we selected would be better at a different part, however, so now it's Stuck-up Stephen, Loudmouth Larry, Big-boned Barry, and Demented Dan. Now we're calling them up and telling them they've been chosen. First I'll call up Carlton Williamburg Mcdougald the 3rd's parents." I dialed the number they had given, and a women picked up.
"Hello? Mrs. McDougald speaking. State what you're calling for, you're name, and you're meaning in life and if I like it I might let you speak." She said.
"My name is Momo Joneson, my point in life is to smoke cigars and I'm calling to say that your brat - I mean son has been chosen to star on the show."
“But of course. Thank you for calling. Goodbye.” She hung up.
We called up all the parents to tell them that their kid was in. We didn’t have a number for Kezha. We wondered why, but then Jamal spoke up. "Okay. You know how you told me to check up on all the kids and stuff?" He asked.
"Yeah." I said.
"Well, that kid Kezha Kiksist is one nutcase. What happened is he pickpocketed $75 a year ago to legally change his name from Arnold Berman to Kezha Kiksist and has been running from the law and his parents ever since. He once ran into a Child Daycare Center, knocked out the instructor with a baseball bat, and let all of the bewildered kids escape. He has a recent violent streak, especially against people over 6'3". A couple of days ago he purchased a gun from a shop in Nevada called Sally's Stationery Store. Don't ask me how he pulled that one off. Then he bought a truckload of cyanide from a shop called Ianide's Write Your Own How To Build A Stapler Manual Shop Manual Store in Minnesota. Nobody ever came out with a manual on how to write a how to make a stapler manual shop, but they have come out with cyanide. Don't ask me how Kezha got the money or how he got all the way here from Nevada so quickly. All I know is that we'd better find a replacement." Jamal said.
"No way! This kid is the nutcase. He is perfect for a demented role! Maybe we should change the name to Sociopath Samuel, though." Sliktor said.
"Whatever you want with the names… not my concern… you all can leave now. Meeting’s adjourned.”
This is Jerry Jiggy again. Since I'm invisible and untouchable I can stand in the middle of a crowded street. I like to watch the big Panasonic television in Times. Kids3 was on and I was in time to see the first episode of Sliktor and Kids. What happened first was Sliktor, in the stupidest voice you can imagine, said, "Hello and welcome to my show. These are the kiddies that accompany me. This is Stuck-up Stephen. Tell us a little bit about yourself."
"Well my real name is Carlton Williamburg Mcdougald the III, but I play somebody called Stuck-up Stephen.”
We heard a man with a smoky voice yell obscenities in the background, and Carlton continued to say, “oh, what, I'm not supposed to say that? What kind of a show is this? I am merely stating the truth? I tell the truth all the time and my teacher gives me an apple everyday for that." This show was live, and that's a big mistake when you’re airing little kids.
"What kind of an apple is that? Do you know?" Sliktor asked.
"It's a shiny red apple. It's shiny because I'm well behaved enough to handle the privilege of having a shiny apple." He answered.
"Are you sure? Because you can never be too sure with apples. Did you know that worms pop out of them, and worms are really baby chickens? That reminds of a joke. Why did the chicken cross the road?" Sliktor asked.
"Yo, yo, yo! I know that the answa' is to get to the otha' side an' all, but dat's messed up! Whoeva made that one up must be un-original! Yo, my name is Larry, The loudmouth Larry, and I gots a new answa' fo' dat joke. Instead of crossin' da road, he crossed da street cuz dis is da 90's and all. And why? To get to Da Candy House of Da Sweet-teethed Mamma Clan! Yo, dat's the phattest candy joint! It kicks so much ass dat it could be it's own proctologist,” Loudmouth Larry interjected.
"Uh, Larry, watch the language." Sliktor said.
"What language? I only speak English, so don't you be talkin' no Russian o' French o' any a dat shit!" He yelled.
"Forget it. Now this is Big-boned Barry." Sliktor introduced.
"Hi. I'm not fat. I have big bones. I like eating chocolate. And my father is Chris Farley," he said so that I could barely hear him.
"That's great. Now, Sociopath Samuel, what do you have to say about yourself?" Sliktor asked.
"You're all gonna die! Every single one of you, dead! I am giving you ten minutes to meet my demands! If you do not, then I will say a certain word, which will activate cyanide bombs all over the country! And why? Because I feel like it! Ha ha ha ha! And guess what I have. A gun! Ha! And if I hear a bullet I'll just say that word! And if anybody disrespects me I will shoot them! I can't lose! Ha ha ha ha ha! And why? Because I feel like it! Ha ha ha ha ha! Now, what I want you to bring me a shiny spatula! When you bring me the spatula I will be happy. Not forever, but I'll be happy momentarily. So inform the greatest hardware store in New York that I want a spatula! Now, this show is over. Put me on some national TV station. You have ten minutes to please me. And just to prove that I'm serious, I'm gonna shoot this little brat here!" He shot Carlton. I decided that if the world did come to an end, I would have to find John F. Muckleberry's incarnation and try to convince him to take the curse on me because if the bomb goes off and I'm in this form, I still live. I'd be pretty bored because the world would be complete nothingness. I waited around Times Square, and saw that they had put a timer timing the 10 minutes on the Panasonic. I thought about where John F. Muckleberry would be and then I looked up at the Panasonic. They were presenting him with a spatula and he was thanking them. I looked and I saw somebody yelling aloud, "There is such thing as reincarnation! I was once a lord in the Middle Ages known as John F. Muckleberry! I want you all to know--" this man whom all the passersby assumed was an average NYC psycho started preaching..
I ran to him and said, "I am Alphonso. Please, this show that could very well destroy the world is absolutely ridiculous! It is much stupider than my messing with you! Give me my life back!"
Meanwhile, Kezha was speaking. "Now, you must meet my second appeals. You must bring me a platypus! Ha ha ha ha ha ha! And, put a goose in a bottle! Ha ha ha ha ha ha!"
"You’re right," Muckleberry was saying in the meantime. I was surprised that he was able to see me. "I must recite a 10 line poem of magic words in order to free you: Umama Ujama Kama
Iata Lama Bama
Ha-"
That was all he got out, because in the meantime the police were admonishing Kezha.
"Excuse me? Are you insane? You are six years old! We will do no such thing! I am commanding you to cut this out PRONTO." Before Muckleberry could finish his magic words, the policeman said themagic word that activated the bombs.
"Ha ha ha ha ha ha!" Kezha shrieked, and then everything on the planet was destroyed except for me. Since Muckleberry can't do anything anymore, him being dead, I'm going to be around for a long time. It’s boring here. And it’s dark and spooky. Will you hold me? I’m afraid.