“Jenkins!”
“Yes, sir?”
“I had a ball-related notion.”
“I’m not falling for that again, sir.”
“Non-testicular! I’m talking about New Year’s.”
“Ah, yes. The famous New Year’s ball-drop in Times Square, of which we are in charge for some reason.”
“You present a premise like no other, Jenkins.”
“Thank you, sir. What about the ball?”
“Let’s get rid of it.”
“People are expecting it, sir.”
“People expect happiness, too. People are dumb. Let’s ditch the ball and go for pizzazz.”
“Like what, sir?”
“What if, at the stroke of midnight, we gave the crowd herpes?”
“How would that even work?”
“Drones.”
“We shouldn’t give anyone herpes, sir.”
“How about we chuck frisbees at people’s heads?”
“No, sir.”
“The heavy ones hippies use to play frolf with. We could break some tourists’ noses, Jenkins.”
“Why would we want to do that, sir?”
“Everybody hates a tourist.”
“Sir, I don’t think that will work.”
“I’ve got it! We burn Steve Harvey in a wicker man.”
“Oh, God, no. Like, 25 teevee shows would need a new host.”
“The man is all over the dial, Jenkins!”
“And, besides, I think his suits are at least flame-retardant, if not outright fireproof.”
“Forget Steve Harvey. Let me ask you a question about Dick Clark.”
“Is the question about digging him up?”
“No.”
“No?”
“No, the question assumes that we’ve already dug him up.”
“We’re not exhuming Dick Clark for any reason, sir.”
“Well, who can we exhume?”
“No one!”
“Goddamned Democrats.”
“Sir, let’s just stick with dropping the ball. It’s been going on since 1907, which qualifies as ancient in America. It’s a static comfort in a time of change and confusion. The music evolves, and the hosts retire or die off, but the ball drops. Everybody counts down and just for the length of the drop you might be someone different next year. Someone better. The ball is hope, sir. We need the ball.”
“You said ‘ball.'”
“Weren’t listening to any of that, were you?”
“Not a scootch! I have a new plan, but it depends on what the plural of mongoose is.”
“Whatever it is, you cannot release them into the crowd.”
“No, no. Not ‘release.’ I shall shower the crowd with mongeese.”
“Mongooses?”
“Neither sounds right. What about monsgoose? Like attorneys general.”
“It’s all beside the point, sir. We cannot rain foreign weasels onto Times Square.”
“Democrats!”
“I think that may be a bipartisan law, sir. The ball is all we need.”
“Hmmph. I don’t suppose we could take it off the pole and fling it down onto Broadway?”
“No, sir.”
“Mourn for me, Jenkins. I am a showman with no theater in which to display my spectacle.”
“Okay.”
slim pickens major kong gif inserted thusly
Happy New Year!
The cadaver of Dick Clark at Times Square on New Years.
Could be the start of a great American tradition.
The possibilities…
At midnight I put on Hey 19 by Steely Dan. We had 15 teenagers in the house and a 6 so called adults. My two kids were the only one’s who noticed (yeah, my wife didn’t notice).