Sunday, December 31, 2006


Well here we go. Another year under our belts. Christmas came and went and I still didn’t get the Rock’Em Sock’Em Robots I’ve wanted since 1967. But that’s a whole other sob story altogether. Since then I have managed to amass a toy and game collection consisting of Operation, Monopoly, Trouble, a hundred different Star Trek and Star Wars figures and no less than 3 Lost in Space robots, two of which say ”Danger Will Robinson Danger!”, but no Rock’Em Sock’Em’s. All the stuff I wanted as a kid and never got. So you ask, “Tony D, why do you have 3 Lost in Space robots? Well, funny you should ask. The story goes back to the 1960’s…

I grew up in a two bedroom apartment in Brooklyn New York with 4 brothers and my mother and father. We didn’t have two nickels to rub together. Two brothers on a bunk bed and me and the youngest on a cot in one room. My parents in the other bedroom on the other end of the apartment. The view out my window was into an alley and a brick wall six feet away. To the left was the bedroom window of Paul Fasone, the building rich kid. He had everything. I can still remember his mother standing in the doorway of their apartment telling my mother about his genius IQ. They were those kind of neighbors. What ever was hot at the time he had. Bat Man figurines, a Star Trek phaser that shot little plastic discs, an I Spy brief case, and a Man from U.N.C.L.E. camera that morphed into a gun. And a two foot high Lost In Space robot that lit up. That bastard! I asked to see it once and he pulls it away and says, “No!” Spoiled freakin’ brat that he was. Meanwhile my best toy is a broom handle that I point at the city bus when it goes up our street and I make believe that I’m Vic Morrow on “Combat!” shooting at a German tank.

Of course none of the stuff did him any good as he couldn’t hit a ball in a straight line with his brand new Louisville Slugger, catch a pop fly with his genuine leather Mickey Mantle baseball glove, or throw a spiral with his official Joe Nameth football. He might have had all the toys but he was nothing but a nerd, a dufus, a spazz. Everybody knows a guy like this.

One of my favorite memories of Paul is of him showing up at our street hockey world series in the middle of 10th street. We’re using sticks that we took out of the hockey rink garbage cans and are holding them together with tape. We have the foam from sofa cushions that we found on the curb strapped to our legs, and key skates clamped to our Keds with a roll of black electrical tape for a puck and gloves that we stole off a Con Ed truck. He is dressed up in the complete goalie outfit of a New York Ranger. Helmet, hard chaps, shoe skates, everything. What an asshole!

We weren’t gonna let this get by us. He didn’t last ten minutes. He got a few well deserved body checks and then he ran home crying to his mommy. That was the end of his Bobby Orr fantasy and we never saw the suit again.

So now when people ask me why I have 3 Lost In Space robots in my living room, I tell them the story and the lesson, “WHO HAS THE ROBOT NOW PAUL FASONE. ME THAT’S WHO. YOU SON OF A BITCH!”

Friday, December 22, 2006

The Gospel According to Tony D

Oh yes, I’m the great De Falco. Hear me roar. Women adore me and men fear me. There’s two kinds of people in this world; there’s me and people who wish they were me. Dogs and small children revere me as a god. Cats pay cash money to sit in my lap. I am omnipotent and omnipresent. I am everywhere and everyone at all times. My followers refer to me as the Bagwan Shree Rajneesh Maha Tony D. I am the Duke of the eastern hemisphere and the presiding governor of the milky way. I once did the hundred yard dash in ten seconds but was disqualified for using a car. The stupid seldom recognize brilliance.

I’ve spent most of my money on booze and broads, the rest I just wasted. Nobody knows I’m Elvis. I was wrong once. Later I found out I was right, so I was still wrong. If I want your opinion, I’ll give it to you. Remember that I’ll be sober tomorrow but you’ll be ugly the rest of your life. The best thing about being me is, I’m not you.

De Falco’s rule of probability states that bread will land butter side down, always. Your boss is an asshole and yes I slept with your wife/girlfriend. I will never return those books and CD’s you loaned me. How stupid can you be? All I ask is that you treat me no different than any other Supreme Being. I’d walk a mile in your shoes, but I won’t because they stink and won’t fit right.

If you want the best seat in the house, move your dog. I brew my own beer in my bathtub and I shower in the driveway. Men named Nunzio beg me for my pizza recipes. A slice of my lasagna will break a man’s foot if dropped. My instant coffee is considered gourmet fare in Tibet. I can get it for you wholesale and the deal ends tomorrow. Ok, I’ll let you have it for cost. Buy one get one free. Really, I’m not making a dime on this.

Scotch isn’t just for breakfast anymore. Just remember this hurts me more than it hurts you. Never let the bastards see you sweat. Years from now you’ll look back on all this and laugh. Two wrongs do make a right as long as you don’t get caught.

And don’t forget…never let anyone outside the family know what you are thinking.

Thursday, December 21, 2006

Xmas Shopping Part Deux

So here I go again and all I can say is, Oh brother! Today I made the fatal error of opening an email from a local but national craft store. It featured a doll house that you could build, design, decorate etc etc and it was on sale! How could I resist! $129 bucks marked down to $69. And it comes with a family that includes a cat and a dog. I’m in.

Forget the fact that we have like, a hundred doll houses piled up around here that I am pretty sure my daughter hasn’t touched since we got ‘em. Still, I have to have it. So I go to work and the first chance that I see a break in the action, I pull my disappearing act and I head down the busiest road on the planet to get my prize. Bumper to bumper, stop and go, 2 miles per hour, red light after red light. After what seems like forever, I pull into the plaza and as expected the joint is PACKED. I park in another zip code and begin my trek to the front door.

As I approach the front door I am cut off by somebody’s grandmother who steps one foot inside, spots some potpourri, yarn animal, floam display, artificial flowers, sparkle paint kit, WHATEVER and stops dead in her tracks. Me of course, I am heading in like a freight train and I come up short and slam right into her. After the appropriate sorry’s and excuse me’s, we part company. I run though the place, up one aisle and down the other to grab the house so I can blow this taco stand.

No house, no where. Now I am getting nervous. So I take another run thru the place when I see the thing at the top of the rack with a sale sign in front of it. And it’s the last one. Now, I am not 5 foot 3 nor Yao Ming size either, but this thing was high up. Now, I am standing there contemplating getting somebody from the store staff or jumping up and down like an idiot in a suit and tie and knocking it off the shelf. I opt for the jumping. Also there is the matter of the plexiglass sign. That is going to come down in my hand or it is going to bounce off my skull. No doubt about it. So after an appropriate amount of flailing about, I bring it down and I don’t dent my head in the process. Success! On to the cash register.

There are six check out aisles with of course, only two open and fifty people in line. This is the busiest retail season of the year. The last thing a store would want to do is to adequately staff it for the rush. As usual, I eyeball the cashiers, customers, size of the queue, items in hands or carts and after carefully analyzing all the factors and basing it on my many years of shopping experience, I immediately get in the wrong line.

There are three house frau’s in front of me with two shopping carts. All with bad hairdos, lousy cheap clothes and over bites. Definitely mother and two daughters. All ugly as sin. One cart has nothing in it. The second is full of smelly candles and stupid crap. I mean BIG smelly candles. And a small bald alien creature that some people refer to as a baby. Now, the only baby I ever gave a rat’s ass about was my own. The rest of ‘em are annoying, ugly, curtain climbers that I don’t like. Sure I will put up airs when it profits me, but in reality, I hate other people’s kids. I could bullshit you, but there it is. But l digress, so back to the smelly candle broads.

Now, while I stand there with this 30LB box in my hand, I watch while the cashier, a 60 plus old lady stands there and makes goo goo eyes at the rug rat in the cart and literally does the cartoon baby talk to the kid. And I mean on and on and on. Fifty people in line and Grandma Moses over here is going “Goo Goo Gaa Gaa” to this diaper filler while I stand there like an idiot with a box in my hands. Still nothing has been rung up or even placed on the check out counter. The mother of the alien finally decides to place a smelly candle on the counter and we are off!

As usual both the customer and checkout lady are moving in slooooooooo moooootion. Smelly candle after smelly candle and stupid crap goes up on the counter. A third of the crap goes to the register when ugly mom stops and tells old lady cashier that is the end of her order. Old lady cashier rings the total and ugly mom whips out the checkbook. Now not for nothing. She knew she was coming here, She stood in line. Get the goddamn check out before you get to the head of the line. Write in the name of the store, put in the date, sign it….what the hell! Besides the fact, what are you doing writing a check in a store in this day and age? What is this? The wild wild west! Get a debit card like the rest of the world. I bet if I go into a store in Kazakhstan, they take cards. And as you might have guessed this whole scene was repeated by the grandmother. In all fairness to the ugly sister of the alien’s mother she did pay with a card. At this point in the transaction, I was too pissed to care. They cleared out and I paid for my house and was gone in 30 seconds as per usual.

The lesson here is don’t fall for email come on’s and buy your doll house’s on line where there is no chance of getting stuck in line behind a bunch of house wives buying ginger bread and apple butter stinking candles. Anyway, that’s what I think.

Wednesday, December 20, 2006

Xmas Shopping

First thing, notice, I titled this Xmas shopping and not Christmas 'cause in no way, shape or form does the running around, dodging traffic and spending my hard earned dough ray me on crap have anything to do with the CHRIST part of the MAS. Anyhoo, I broke my cardinal rule of setting foot in a store after Thanksgiving, (It's a guy thing), and I went to ***-Mart and headed to the electronics department to buy my daughter a 2GB IPod Nano.

Know what I want and where to get it. Go in, grab it, pay and run. I knew I was in trouble right from the get go. The things are locked up in a case. I head back to the counter where there are 3 associates in blue vests behind the counter locked in conversation that has nothing to do with business and one young lady checking out people. You know, sort of like a highway job. One guy working and three watching. So I stand there for what seems like an eternity. And as usual when I go to a low price, high volume, zero service type establishment, I am wearing my invisible suit. So this goes on until I have a long white beard and cob webs are starting to form and I finally find my spine and I pipe up with, "Can somebody get me an IPod out of the case!" A young guy tells me he will get it and for me to stay right there. And now I'm thinking....Oh yeah, he is going to get me one, after he bounces it off the floor or uses it as a roller skate to get back to the counter. I mean that's what I would have done at his age when some guy came up to me and my buddies goldbricking and interrupted our very important, top level discussion.

So he brings it back and put's it behind the counter and tells me to get in line. Oh no! Now I am behind every idiot in town trying to write checks with no ID, debit cards that won't go through and the 19 or 20 something guy, one customer in front of me that is buying a $19.99 plus tax computer keyboard with change. That's right change. Nickels, dimes, quarters and pennies. So as I watch this and sweat begins to run down my back, I can only think of where I'd rather be. Root canal, tax audit, talking to my ex-wife. Pretty much anywhere but here. As you can probably imagine this was as much fun as throwing Red Devil #9 turpentine on a skinned knee. It was a sight. He diligently stacked the coins in stacks of one dollar each as me and 30 of my closest new friends watched helplessly. I was really waiting for him to come up short as that would have been the end all! Of course, I would have paid the shortfall just to get rid of him! He gets it all done and the girl behind the counter now has to count it as she puts it in the cash register. Instead of sliding the coins into her hand and counting, i.e, 10, 20, 30, she lifts each stack and drops them one by one onto the counter than slides them into her hand and into the till. I am about ready to kill myself and end the misery. She gets done and the coin idiot takes his receipt and now begins a snappy repartee with the sales chick oblivious of all the people in line. I don't think that he ever turned his head during the whole process and besides the leers and bad mojo that I was exuding, I really don't think he ever knew we were there.

He leaves and the next guy in front of me begins to remove items from his cart that turns out he does not want to buy, but wants price checks on. Are you kidding me? Have I stepped into the Twilight Zone. I am starting to look around for the hidden cameras and Alan Funt to appear. Am I being punked? Is this The Jamie Kennedy Experiment, what is going on here? ***-Mart has barcode readers all over the store on pillars for this purpose. So price check guy pulls everything out in slow motion just to aggravate me. He put's eveything back in the cart and begins to tell check out girl that he is "Just figuring out his Christmas shopping and will be back later." Now it's me. I get rung up, I slide the card, (which goes through, I may add, as I actually have money in my account), I get my receipt and I am gone. My transaction all in all take 30 seconds, as it should.

The lesson year, everybody gets a donation in their name to the Human Fund. Money for People. Festivus for the rest of us! And don't forget the aluminum pole.