* Welcome to The Big Jewel, your most trusted legal adviser when you're making those final arrangements. Then again, if your name is Abraham J. Finklestone, you probably have some ideas of your own.

The Last Will And Testament Of Abraham J. Finklestone

By: Andy Millman

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I, Abraham J. Finklestone of Niles, Illinois, do hereby declare this to be the last of my fifty-two wills, unless Dr. Gottlebaum finally believes that I am sick and decides to do something about it and I live long enough to write another. If he does not, and I perish, please inform him that I took some satisfaction upon my demise knowing that I was right and he was wrong. And let him know that I’m of “sound mind,” despite what he may say to the contrary.

Article I
Now then. I wish to be referred to only by my full and proper name: Abraham J. Finklestone. Do not let anyone sneak any of the following into my obituary or onto my tombstone: “AJ,” “Abe,” “Lincoln,” “Stinkin’ Lincoln,” “A-Bag,” “A-Hole,” “Fink,” “Finkletoes,” “Finklebone,” “Finklebonehead,” “Fred Finklestone,” or “Flunklestone.”

Article II
My memorial service will be held at the Niles Community Center, where I attend group therapy and weekly bingo games. I have been very hot lately, so please investigate the possibility that I was poisoned by one of the other players. Last Thursday’s brownies, made by the very competitive Beatrice R. Watkins, were particularly suspicious. (I barely made it home without having a “brown-out.”)

Article III
Volunteer bingo caller Stammerin’ Stan Babber will lead the service and run a simultaneous bingo game. Please be patient, because if he’s having a bad day a single game can run over two hours. Upon reaching a legal bingo, which shall be defined as a straight line in either a horizontal, vertical or diagonal direction, the service shall conclude. The winner will collect the prize (bobblehead Spiro Agnew), place the winning card in my casket and close the lid. Stammerin’ Stan will declare, as best he can, “That’s a winning bingo,” and then we’ll have some lunch.

Article IV
Schmecky Chen, the Jewish-Chinese entertainer and owner of Schmeckens, the Jewish-Chinese restaurant, will provide the catering. The menu will include: Mao-Tzo Ball Soup, Potato Chancakes, General Sol’s Chicken, Kung Pao Kugel, and Bubby Buddha’s Babka. My mouth is watering just thinking about it. After lunch Schmecky will perform his routine about Confucius having trouble renting a car because he has no identification. (“But I’m Confucius,” he says, and the guy behind the counter says, “I don’t know what’s so confusing, pal. You need a driver’s license.” I love it!)

Schmecky is not just a jokester. He sings like Jerry Lewis, if Jerry Lewis grew up in Shanghai. I’ve asked him to sing “Sunrise, Sunset,” “Mamma’s Little Baby Loves Shortnin’ Bread,” “Ride Like the Wind” and “Roll Out the Barrel.” During the last verse of “Roll Out the Barrel,” the pallbearers will roll out a barrel containing Kid Dynamite, two-time Midwest championship midget wrestler (1969 and 1970, 80-85 pound weight class). Mr. Dynamite was severely injured by an “Atomic Drop” applied by Junior Mint in 1971 and will need some assistance getting in and out of the barrel. (To make it easier, the pallbearers may just want to tip the barrel upside down.)

Article V
After being dumped out of the barrel, Mr. Dynamite will referee a wrestling match between my two ex-wives. The match shall last three rounds, or until one ex-wife is pinned, surrenders or is about to be Atomic Dropped. (Kid Dynamite suffers from nuclear flashbacks and will immediately suspend the match at the first threat of a “mushroom cloud.”) If there is no winner after three rounds, Schmecky will lead the ladies in a game of “Eeny Meeny Miny Mao.” The winner shall receive my vice president bobblehead collection (complete from 1960, minus Spiro Agnew) while the loser gets my Kid Dynamite bobblehead collection (pre-“Atomic Drop,” each figure life-size).

Article VI
After the service, lunch and wrestling, chauffeur me in a black hearse to Green Pastures Memorial Cemetery, located in the heart of Des Plaines, Illinois, right off the 294 tollway. I’ve reserved a corner lot overlooking the Burger Belly rest stop. Their manager, Fernando, assured me that my plot is within their delivery area. The chauffeur should transport me to my new home in the manner in which I drive myself: twenty miles per hour and hazard lights flashing. Please drive through the McDonald’s and order me a “coffee to go.” Make sure it’s decaf, as I want no difficulty sleeping.

Article VII
I wish to be buried in a new (make sure it is unused!) maroon coffin with gray interior, just like my Buick LeSabre. Do not spend additional money on undercoating or rustproofing. Please place the latest copy of Time magazine inside the coffin, along with a flashlight, a bag of Twizzlers and a roll of toilet paper.

Article VIII
Each attendant shall throw three scoops of dirt on my grave. Be careful not to get any in the air pipe. Somebody should periodically shout down the pipe (possibly Stammerin’ Stan) to let me know how it’s going up there.

Article IX
Once the dirt and I are down, Schmecky will sing “(I Did It) Mai Wei.” This is a real show-stopper, especially the part where he croons, “Complaints, I’ve had a slew/If you have time, let me just mention,” and then the music dies down and he “kvetches” about various aches and pains and people who have “screwed him over,” including his brother-in-law and the Red Army. As the mourners leave, they should remember to toss some change in Schmecky’s chef hat as a gratuity, and a few quarters down the air pipe in case I need to make a telephone call.

Article X
That’s about it. If you want to pay tribute to my memory, there are several things you can do. You can wrestle Kid Dynamite on my behalf, but no “Atomic Drops,” please. You can build a bobblehead Abraham J. Finklestone. Don’t make the head too wobbly, though, because I don’t want to get a crick in my neck. And you can always stop by and bring me some lunch. I’ll probably grow tired of Burger Belly after a while.

* Welcome to The Big Jewel, where you are practically guaranteed to find a rewarding position -- assuming that you're qualified for a position in the heart of Sophie Kipner.

Interview For The Position In My Heart

By: Sophie Kipner

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If you were interviewing for a position within My Heart, I’d say, “Tell me your credentials and give me examples of your work ethic.” You’d list all the things you did in the past that prove you’re good at working in the heart but you’d admit, shyly, that although you liked those places, those hearts, you just didn’t feel they were environments within which your true potential could flourish, and that’s what brought you to My Heart. You’d believe you were the right candidate for the position and say, “I want the full-time management position of your heart.” I’d say, “Wow, I’m happy to hear that, but can you elaborate?” and you’d tell me that you are so confident in your ability to manage My Heart that you’d bet that no one else out there could perform better, that you just need the opportunity and you’d bring everything you have. Then you’d smile and add, “I’ll even throw in some data analysis,” and so I’d say, “Great, we need a data analyst.”

“What could you offer me, if I were to come work in your heart?” you’d ask because you know your worth and want me to know it has to be the right decision for you as well, so I’d reply, “There are great benefits. First class. It’s like Google in here.” You’d cock your head and say, “Even free lunches?” And I’d say, “Yeah, we have fresh tuna tartar on Mondays and a specialty chef who can toss the salads of your dreams every day of the week.”

You’d go on to explain that in preparing for this interview, you did some research and saw the piece in Wired about us being one of the best places to work, and that you were glad to hear me confirm it. You’d want to know when you might start and I’d say, “The position is effective immediately.”

Then I’d add, “Wait, do you need to give your two weeks to any other hearts?” and you’d say, “No, I’ve been unemployed for quite some time. I know I’ve taken a risk to find the right heart but I didn’t want to just take any job out of desperation. I’ve been holding out for one like this. The one that fits.”

I’d think about it and say, “But hey, the economy, it’s been terrible. I mean, you must have –” and you’d quiet me with your finger, and confide something you’ve never told a potential employer of a heart before: “I’ve never filed for bankruptcy, even during the recession. You see, I’ve been saving up for a rainy day in case I never found the right heart, but then my uncle — who was dying — said, ‘You better not wait for that rainy day because it may never come.'”

“Yeah,” I’d say. “That’s depressing advice, but he was right…Go on.”

“So I realized I wanted to be proactive and try to find the right position now, rather than wait until the time was better because heck, is the timing ever better?” I’d shake my head “no” in agreement.

Hearing that would make me really happy because I’d know you were ready and that you really wanted to work in My Heart, not just because you needed to. I’d ask you again, just to make sure, if you saw this as a temporary position and you’d say, “I’m in it for the long run. I want to see this heart grow! I want to be the reason why it explodes! I want to make it better than you ever thought it could be. I’ll be on the cover of Time magazine for being the most philanthropic CEO of the decade!” I wonder if he’s into saving the children, I’d ask myself, and, as if you’d read my mind, you’d tilt your head and smile. “I’m like the next Warren Buffet.”

I would be beaming now, so hard my cheeks would hurt because this would be the best interviewee I’d ever interviewed. But then you’d keep talking because you think you’re on a roll and you don’t know when to stop. “I want to have shares of your heart so if it ever sells, I could make a ton of money from it,” you’d tell me. But that’s when the high would drop; you would have said too much. I would ask you, “You would want me to sell shares of My Heart?” as tears welled in my eyes. I was looking to employ someone who wants to dedicate himself to my whole heart, not just a piece of it, someone who would take the head seat and plan to never get up from it, ever. Someone who didn’t care about the benefits of being on the board of My Face, or My Ass, our subsidiaries, because he’d be so busy running My Heart. “You see,” I would say, “I am looking for someone to commit to the role and not look at it as a good investment so he can buy a better heart in the future.” You’d panic and shout, “No, no!” retracing, retracting. “You got me wrong. Forget market value. Forget the appeal of an IPO. Forget the –” but I’d have already started dwelling on it, determining whether your quick-switching disposition would be a potential crisis management problem, say, when you were being interviewed in the press about working in My Heart. But because I’d been in human resources for so many years, I would know risk was inevitable and that good character and strong leadership were what made this enterprise. “I never want to take your heart public,” you’d reiterate, just to be sure I understand you. “I want to work hard, put in the time and hope that one day I’ll get to own the whole damn thing.”

Okay, good, I’d think. You had goofed, sure, but I would want to give you the benefit of the doubt because I believe in trusting my instincts. Just as the interview was coming to a close I would say, “Thank you for coming in. I’d hire you on the spot, but I just have to consult with the head of My Brain first. You know, corporate hoops!”

You’d start to sway a bit, moving from right to left. Uneasy.

“Do you have any other questions for me?” I’d throw in because the interview was, after all, two ways.

“I’m not sure,” you’d say hesitantly as the reality of re-entering the workforce sinks in. “Can I think about it?”

“Of course,” I’d say, extending my hand. We’d nod, and then just as you were about to leave you’d turn to me and say, “Actually, there is one thing.”

“Sure, what is it?” I’d say, obliging, hopeful.

“Can I hire a secretary?”

* Welcome to The Big Jewel, the place where it is safe to admit your demons and then carefully, methodically attempt to exterminate them. There is no medicine like internet medicine, as Dr. Erik Cofer will be the first to tell you. Let us also take this opportunity to draw your attention to a new anthology of mom-related humor that includes contributions from several Big Jewel writers. The book is called Moms Are Nuts and you can get either the Kindle version or the paperback at Amazon by clicking on the ad to the right of this announcement.

WebMD’s Demonic Possession Health Center

By: Erik Cofer

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What is Demonic Possession?
Demonic possession is a serious illness characterized by the presence of a demon within your body. The affliction typically causes radical changes in demeanor and those suffering from demonic possession very often exhibit little regard for themselves or those around them. While demonic possession in itself is rarely life-threatening for the possessed individual, it may lead to more severe complications if left untreated.

Signs & Symptoms
Though the exact symptoms of demonic possession vary from person to person, some common signs and symptoms include:

Nausea

Headaches

Indigestion

Projectile Vomiting

Severed friendships

Newly-formed friendships with people who listen to obscure metal bands like Mayhem and Gorgoroth

Stigmata

Bodily movements and gestures that defy the laws of science

An impeccable basso profondo voice that really holds one’s attention

A tendency to decapitate anyone within a five-meter radius on a whim

Lethargy

Risk Factors & Causes
Experts are largely baffled as to exactly what causes demonic possession, though recent studies conducted at Johns Hopkins and Emory University suggest that naughty little boys and girls are particularly at risk.

Diagnosis & Tests
While there are occasions in which the presence of a demon within an individual is obvious, such instances are extremely rare. Most cases require the assistance of a professional exorcist. Demons thrive upon discord, and it is therefore crucial to select an exorcist whose cultural and religious beliefs conform to your own. For atheists who suspect demonic possession, see Dissociative Identity Disorder.

Your exorcist will likely begin by administering Reverend Bob Larson’s Demon Test®, which can be purchased at www.demontest.com for the reasonable price of $9.95. If the test proves inconclusive, which it often does, your exorcist will perform a physical examination.

A typical physical exam begins with the exorcist alternatingly beating and kissing the stomach region with the intention of antagonizing the putative demon within. Should the demon refuse to reveal itself, it may be necessary for the exorcist to forcefully and repeatedly submerge your head in water until the demon responds.

If the physical exam fails to yield evidence of demonic possession, your exorcist may elect to perform a psychological exam. This examination is essentially a stress-inducing interview designed to unwittingly arouse the demon from its hiding. Common interviewing techniques include:

— Inundation of Puerile Insults (e.g., “Hey buddy, I had a romp under the covers with your mom last night. Oh wait — you don’t even have a mom, because you’re a demon. Punk.”)

— Appeal to Reason (e.g., “You know, actually, now that I say that, I’m sort of questioning myself. Do you guys have mothers, or, uh, what’s the deal exactly?”)

— Threats of Torture (e.g., “While I’m waiting for you to respond, let me see what I have here on my iTunes. Hmm, looks like nothing but Nickelback…”)

— Actual Torture (e.g., “It’s not like you to say sorry/ I was waiting on a different story/ This time I’m mistaken / For handing you a heart worth breaking.”)

By this point, it will be patently obvious whether there is a demon in you or not (see False Demonic Possession Syndrome).

Prognostication & Treatment
It is important that you and your exorcist work together to establish a plan of action in treating your demonic possession. Not all demonic possessions necessitate immediate exorcisms. Some demons are benign and can safely dwell within you for several years before action is required, possibly even evolving into a temporary source of comfort. It is important, however, not to get too attached to your demon, because there will inevitably come a day when it needs to be expelled from your body/soul.

Unlike benign demons, malignant demons do require immediate action. Neglecting such a demon may result in metastasis, and, potentially, the demonization of your entire body. Untreated malignant demons also leave you at risk for Demonic Possession Possession, a condition by which the demon possessing you becomes possessed by another demon, and you’re left to wrestle with multiple demons.

When the time comes for your exorcism, follow the instructions of your exorcist. You will very likely need to be tied down for the duration of the procedure. In severe cases, an ETA (Exorcist’s Tickling Assistant) may be necessary. Tickling functions as a sedative measure on summoned demons, allowing the exorcist to perform the ritual unimpeded. It is unclear exactly why this measure works or how it was originally discovered.

Exorcisms typically take between 30 seconds and six days. Most patients who undergo exorcisms experience full recoveries. In very rare cases, the procedure does not successfully remove the demon, resulting in the patient’s eternal damnation.

Home Remedies
There are no reliable home remedies for demonic possession currently documented, though many people attempt to simply outrun their demons.

* Welcome to The Big Jewel, a hearty advocate of staying in touch with one's high school English teacher, regardless of what hideous life-threatening disease he or she may or may not be suffering from. We think. Anyway, that's Tallulah Marzipan's take on it, and who are we to argue with her? She's a mean one!

A Letter To My High School English Teacher

By: Tallulah Marzipan

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Dear Mrs. Riley,

I’m not sure if you are still teaching, and if not, what is occupying your time. I know you had cancer, which is quite time consuming and really sucks. As much as I hope you don’t spend a lot of time thinking about it, and I regret to bring it up at the risk of reminding you about what was (or still is) the worst thing that has ever happened to you, I can’t not ask about it since it’s a super major important thing, and so the really ridiculous result is that this e-mail now reads, “Hey person I haven’t spoken to in a year or two, I’m excited about achieving the first signs of success and wanted to share it with you, by the way how’s your cancer?” and that is way worse. I wish I could come up with something less lame to say than “it sucks,” as no doubt you have heard more profound descriptions of it, like “worst experience that could ever happen to a person” and “worse than getting fisted by someone holding a sea urchin covered in hydrochloric acid for the rest of your life,” which are all probably totally accurate and saying it “sucks” might downgrade it to phrasing you would use to describe a new Jennifer Aniston movie, but it really does suck a lot and I wouldn’t wish it on Hitler or that person on the subway sitting next to me who has a cold but won’t blow his nose and just keeps sniffing every five seconds for the entire train ride. Basically I hope the cancer business isn’t still happening. I know that with cancer it’s always still happening in the sense of “is it going to come back?” and it’s a fear that probably penetrates your day-to-day life and always will, but I hope that at least maybe it’s not ACTIVELY still happening. That is, I hope that you are only plagued with a crippling lifelong fear and not actual pain and awfulness. Isn’t it nice when you get an e-mail from someone you haven’t seen in a long time and they tell you they hope you are plagued with a crippling lifelong fear? I always look forward to those e-mails, too. You are very brave and I’m sorry that such a shitty thing happened to you, and is hopefully not still happening to you. I mean, I hope you are not dying anymore, or at least, that you are no longer dying at a really scary and painful accelerated pace, but rather are dying more slowly and at a relatively similar pace to everyone else.

Best,

Christina Bebeau

* Welcome to The Big Jewel, where we support the aspirations of today's young people to follow their bliss, even if it leads them to a trail of elephant droppings underneath a big tent. Dan Abromowitz has the story.

Mom, Dad, I’ve Run Away To Intern For The Circus

By: Dan Abromowitz

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Dear Mom and Dad,

I know this is the first you’ve heard from me in a long while. I just had to get away. I knew if I didn’t get out of Flint I’d end up, well, just like you, Mom and Dad. Please don’t worry about me, though, because I’ve found where I’m supposed to be. Mom, Dad, I’ve run away to intern for the circus.

When Colonel Comanche’s Big Top Bonanza rolled through town, with their banners and pennants all gay and bright, I knew I’d found my ticket out. I stowed away under a pile of canvas ’til the Hanoi Hercules found me, at which point I went through a rigorous series of interviews and submitted a writing sample. Colonel Comanche himself sat me down to explain that they didn’t have anything for me at the moment by way of job opportunities, but that interning could be a great way to lay a circus-centric groundwork for myself, and who knows where they’ll be at in a few months. It was all like some mad, wild dream.

Before you ask: no, it’s not paid, and no, I’m not getting course credit. They only offer that for clown colleges, and so few of those are accredited. There’s a whole reform movement around it that I’m actually getting pretty into. I’ll forward you a petition.

I know all this sounds reckless, dangerous even, but it’s really not. Nearly three-quarters of circus interns get offers from traveling troupes, medicine shows, or gypsy caravans within one year. And it’s not totally unpaid. Not really — I get free board on a straw pallet in a boxcar, unlimited hay bale privileges, and a daily allowance of two bowls of circus stew (I want the recipe, but no one will tell me). Plus, I get to keep most of what I can grift, after the barkers get their cut. And would you believe I’ve already gotten LinkedIn endorsements for “hustling” and “flimflam”?!

Everyone here’s so kind to me, even though I’m just an intern. Whenever the Reptile Queen of Kai-Mai or the Living Head send me into town for coffee, they always tell me to get something for myself, or let me touch their horrible textured skin. And I’m making tons of contacts in the clown world. Key players, Mom and Dad: movers, shakers, honkers, beepers, weepers, the ones that get sawed in half, and clown doctors. Yes, Dad, just like Patch Adams.

So far they mostly have me running sound for the Flying Merengui’s podcast (“Trapeze In A Pod” — rate and review!) and writing blog posts like “The Tattooed Man’s 213 Most WTF? Tattoos Of All Time,” but soon I’ll finally have logged enough hours to be allowed to see a performance! There’s one other intern, a girl my age named Emily. Emily gets to work with the elephants because she’s a “senior intern” but I think that’s just because her father does circus law and knows Colonel Comanche from Villanova. Everyone loves Emily. Ugh.

I’m sending a PO box where you can reach me, Mom and Dad. Please send me those old hair dye bottles on my dresser, and some cover-up, too. Occasionally they’ll have interns sub in if a clown’s laid up, and the bruises can be enormous. Here, I’ll send you a picture of me as a clown doctor, sawing another clown in half. Don’t worry, he was fine eventually!

I love you, Mom and Dad, but please don’t come looking for me. I signed a ton of nondisclosure agreements and I honestly think they’d take any chance at all to sue me.

I’ve got to run; it’s Emily’s birthday, so they’re firing her out of the cannon. I’ll see you in two months, and we can talk grad school.

Yours,

Anna

P.S. I sabotaged the cannon. Oops! 😉

* Welcome to The Big Jewel, where the mental health of the nation's beloved cartoon characters (other than the ones in Congress, we mean) is high on our list of priorities. In his first piece for us, Dan Smolinsky highlights some of the most tormenting afflictions suffered by our animated Americans.

Psychiatric Diagnoses From A Cartoon Universe

By: Dan Smolinsky

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Wolfe’s Hypersexuality: Otherwise normal behavior is punctuated by periods of acute hypersexuality in the presence of certain sexual stimuli. Psychosomatic symptoms can occur, including intense, visible increases in body temperature, facial flushing, ocular bulging and vocalizations including howling, whistling or an “ah-oo-ga” noise. Occurs almost exclusively in males. If untreated the patient may begin to exhibit predatory behavior.

Acme Syndrome: The patient experiences a form of monomania in which he pursues a single goal through the use of increasingly complex mechanical devices. Treatment should be administered as soon as possible, as the patient is a danger to himself both physically and financially. Although the patient is frequently highly intelligent in technical matters, he may be incapable of seeing easier ways of attaining his goal. In one case study, the patient went deep into debt buying rockets, slingshots, etc., for the purpose of catching a bird when he easily could have purchased dinner instead.

Hundred Acre Schizophrenia: This is a subset of dissociative personality disorder. The patient attributes intentionality and various personalities to inanimate objects, such as plush toys. The sub-personalities may themselves suffer from other disorders. One patient, well known in the literature, had sub-personalities including a stuffed donkey with depression, a bear with a binge eating disorder, a piglet with generalized anxiety disorder, and a tiger-like creature with attention deficit hyperactivity disorder. The sub-personalities can cause the patient distress by becoming ensnared in problems such as upsetting a bee’s nest, becoming stuck in undersized doorways (due to chronic overeating), and starting intra-group struggles.

Audience Awareness Delusion: The patient suffers from a misperception that he is constantly being watched. Unlike in the case of paranoid schizophrenia, here the patient enjoys the sensation and attempts to interact jovially with his “observers.” Patient may exhibit a physical tick of turning over one’s shoulder to address the unseen observer. Comments may be conspiratorial in nature, reflecting the patient’s future plans, or may consist simply of snide remarks about the environment, situation or other persons — particularly the failures of those other persons.

Tasmanian Mania: Patient experiences an uncomfortable excess of energy, distracted attention, and frequently destructive tendencies towards property. This condition frequently coincides with binge eating disorder or pica as well as difficulties with anger management. The patient may also exhibit garbled speech. Dizziness can follow periods of especially high hyperactivity.

Paranormal Delusional Disorder: Patient claims to experience supernatural or paranormal occurrences. These are often accompanied by feelings of dread and anxiety. They may also be accompanied by other delusions, such as verbal communication from animals. Patient may comfort himself through attachment to a favorite pet. Psychosomatic symptoms can include running in place or feeling lost and confused in hallways with many doors. The relief offered by remission of these symptoms can be marked by periods of binge eating. The patient’s behavior can be harmful to the community at large by casting suspicions on upstanding business establishments, e.g. claiming that a popular amusement park is haunted, or that a popular museum exhibit is inhabited by a resuscitated mummy.

Professional Delusional Disorder: The patient frequently imagines himself engaging in activities completely unrelated to external stimuli. He frequently pictures himself in “heroic” professions such as lawyer, tennis player, hockey player, flying ace, or hack novelist. Acting out of the delusions may go so far as to include the use of props, or enlisting the help of small animals such as birds.

Antagonistic Personality Disorder: Patient picks a perceived enemy and harasses them, attempting to “thwart” the target at every turn. Behavior can become more obsessive and more complex over time. This condition may coincide with Fourth Wall Disorder or Acme Syndrome. Although the cause for such a link is unknown, this condition is frequently accompanied by speech impediments.

Comical Binge Eating Disorder: Patient feels compelled to eat absurd amounts of food — seemingly of greater volume than could fit within the patient’s body — at a rapid pace, sometimes literally shoveling food down his open throat. Sometimes certain foods are preferred, such as ludicrously large submarine sandwiches, entire platters of hamburgers, jars of honey, trays of lasagna, or the scenery.

* Welcome to The Big Jewel, where, if your idea of fun is taking an Elvis Costello song lyric to its absurd conclusion, boy, do we have the piece for you! Say hello to the very literal minded and clever Jordan Moffatt.

Every Day Elvis Costello Writes The Book

By: Jordan Moffatt

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Elvis Costello is tired. He yawns, and then looks down at his watch to see if it’s a good time to go to bed. It’s 11:51 pm, which seems like a good time to shut his eyes for the day. And then it dawns on him: he hasn’t written the book yet.

“Oh God no!” he yells, jolting out of the sofa.

“What is it?” his wife, famous Canadian singer Diana Krall, asks. She pauses the television.

“I haven’t written the book yet today!”

“It’s fine, my dreamboat. Your book is long enough.”

She’s had this conversation before. She’s tried to fight him on this, but to no avail. She doesn’t want to fight him again; she wants him to know the difference between a lover and a fighter.

“No! No! It’s never long enough!” Elvis says.

Elvis runs over to his electric typewriter and puts in a fresh sheet of paper. He doesn’t use the computer — he started out the book with an electric typewriter and he’ll finish the book with it.

“Honey, please…” Diana says.

“Give me a minute, Di! I’m writing!”

He looks back at the watch. It’s 11:54. He takes a deep, regretful breath and places his fingers on worn-down keys.

Chapter 14,834 he writes.

“Elvis, you have to stop,” Diana says. “You’re old enough to know better.”

“No. I have to write…I have to write this book…every day…every day…every day I write this book.”

Elvis doesn’t remember how it began, and he doesn’t know how it ends either; all he knows is that he has to write it every day. In 1983, he wrote a song about writing the book, hoping it would provide the necessary catharsis to break the habit. Instead, he used the Billboard Top 40 hit to justify the writing. People want me to write the book, he thought, so he kept on writing every day.

The book is very long. Elvis looks around his house and sees stacks and stacks of paper. While most couples furnish their houses with nice furniture, the Costellos’ home is filled with papers. They sit, in an order only comprehensible to Elvis, and gather dust. The papers just sit there. The book is impossibly long, and not one page has ever been read. When Diana reminds Elvis of this, he always says that the book will only be read when it is finished. Diana knows the truth: the book will only truly be finished when Elvis is dead. He’ll never write the sequel, and the film rights will mean nothing.

Poor Diana. She knew nothing about this obsession when she and Elvis started dating. When Elvis proposed, she accepted under one condition: that he would stop writing the book. He agreed, but couldn’t stop — he returned to his old tricks and would write the book in secret. Even when she found this out, she said she’d stand by him. She loved him too much. It hurts her, though. Each day she sees the wrinkles grow on his face. He sees his fingers twitch when he’s away from the electric typewriter for too long.

“Please stop,” Diana says. She is giving him a longing look. “Elvis, please. You can’t keep this going forever. Elvis, I love you.”

Elvis begins to cry. He hasn’t cried since beginning to write the book; he has saved up his tears. Since they are only coming out now, the tears are heavier than usual, and they are flying everywhere. The tears are landing on the keyboard, and since they are so heavy they are actually typing. Elvis hears the clanking, so he looks up at the page to see what his tears wrote.

It says THE END.

* Welcome to The Big Jewel, also known as the writer's only friend. Actually, if you're a writer and your mom is still alive, she's probably your friend too. But not because of your writing. She probably hates your writing. Our guess is that she likes Molly Schoemann's writing, though.

Inspiring Stories Of Famous Writers

By: Molly Schoemann

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It’s not easy being a writer. Toiling in obscurity, hoping for that big break, struggling not to give up as you face rejection after rejection. But take heart, aspiring authors! Many rich and famous writers were once in your shoes — but they kept trying (and trying and trying) and eventually, against enormous odds, they kept trying some more. And you can, too! We hope these stories of well-known authors who achieved success by overcoming great adversity and ambivalence will inspire you to keep reaching toward your own probably impossible goal.

Author #1

Our first author has received some harsh rejection letters in his day, but they never broke his spirit or dissuaded him from trying again.

“One editor’s letter informed me that he’d read the first paragraph of one of my stories to his pet goldfish, and it died,” he said. “Another editor enclosed a knife in my SASE and asked me to stab myself in the face for being such a terrible writer. That one hurt,” he admitted. “And not just from the stabbing.”

Throughout the years as he continued doggedly writing and submitting his stories, his life and the lives of his family members were threatened on a regular basis, and he endured thousands of dollars in property damage at the hands of irate editors in the form of the egging and toilet-papering of his home and car. Rejection letters were frequently tied to bricks and thrown through his picture window.

“I don’t really understand why, but some people just really hated my stuff,” he said. “Like, with a blind, terrible rage that is difficult to comprehend. Several people hated it so much that they said they didn’t even want to live in a world in which a person like me existed who was so awful at doing something. One intern apparently jumped off a building after rejecting one of my submissions. He blamed me in his suicide note, which was enclosed with his rejection slip.”

But this writer didn’t let these obstacles get him down. He kept on trying, even as the threats escalated and he was forced to hide his identity and relocate across the country several times. Eventually he managed to secure a contract for a lucrative thriller series with a venerable publishing house. You may have heard of the first book in the series: it was called The Da Vinci Code.

Author #2

Our second author’s story is especially inspiring. She struggled for over a decade to complete her first novel, pouring her heart and soul into it, forsaking family and friends to spend years in a locked room, writing furiously, months behind on her rent and subsisting only on ink fumes and eraser dust. Yet when her opus was finally ready to publish, she was unable to find an agent who would agree to represent her. She submitted her manuscript to hundreds of agents, but after another decade of rejections, during which she subsisted only on the glue from licking stamps and envelopes, she gave up. Deep in despair, she decided to destroy her life’s work.

The author was in the act of flushing her manuscript down the toilet during a drugged out and drunken haze in a nightclub bathroom, when an agent who happened to be tripping her face off in the next stall saw several sheets of it flutter to the ground near her feet. Upon reading them, she told the author to stop what she was doing, and immediately signed her. The agent sold the book two hours later, and within a week the previously broke and obscure author was a millionaire with a private jet. The author’s name was Louisa May Alcott, and the book was Little Women.

Author #3
This author wrote his first novel when he was only fifteen years old. He submitted it to every single publisher he could find — and received only rejections.

“I know I must have piled up thousands of rejection slips over the years,” he once said in an interview. “At first I papered a wall in my back bedroom with rejection slips, but the papering became so thick that soon it filled the entire room, so I had to move on to other rooms as well as the floor. Eventually there was no room to walk around in my house because of the encroaching mountains of rejection slips. It was great insulation during the winter, but ultimately it became too much, and I had to move.”

But he never gave up. Instead, he continued to amass tens of thousands of rejection letters from publishers all over the world. “I started collecting rare and foreign stamps at the same time,” he said. “It was a fun hobby that kept me going through the hard times. The years and years of hard, hard times. So hard. So many years.”

When he finally found a publisher for his book, it sold a million copies across the globe on the day it was released. Some fans buy a new copy every single day. This author’s book has remained on the New York Times Best Sellers List for over five thousand weeks. The name of his book is The Holy Bible.

Author #4

Our final author grew up in a world of wealth and literary privilege. His father was F. Scott Fitzgerald and his mother was Toni Morrison. As a second grader, he penned an essay that was published in The Atlantic. Instead of attending scout camp, he spent his childhood summers as an associate editor at Penguin Books. After graduating from Harvard with a minor in Yale, he worked his way up the ranks to become the editor-in-chief of both The New York Times and The Paris Review, at the same time.

Despite the fact that he owned the majority of publishing houses on the East Coast, he was unable to find a home for a collection of vignettes he’d written about his time working as an aide in the White House, where he’d been a close personal friend of President Nixon’s, and was standing right behind President Reagan during his famous speech about the Berlin Wall.

This author has actually not yet found success and is still struggling to find a publisher for his collection, so you will likely not recognize his name, but we’ve included his story just to prove that it isn’t always only about who you know.

* Welcome to The Big Jewel, where we like to believe we're making a difference. We like to believe it even though it isn't true, which gives us more in common with our fellow citizens than we are inclined to admit. Our good friend David Martin knows exactly what we're talking about. When you're done checking out his latest and greatest, click on the link below or on our blogroll to purchase his most recent humor collection "Screams & Whispers" on Amazon.

Making A Difference

By: David Martin

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I don’t know about you, but I’m concerned about the health of our planet. Unlike you, however, I’m doing something about it.

Just yesterday, I traded in my giant SUV for a hybrid. Right there I’ve saved thirty miles per gallon. And when I eventually convert the rest of my personal fleet, I estimate that I’ll realize triple-digit gas mileage savings.

You might think that because you’re not rich or famous that you shouldn’t bother trying. That your feeble attempts at greening your lifestyle won’t make a difference.

That’s where you’re wrong. Sure, by downgrading my personal jet, I’ll be able to save almost 100 acres of rainforest. But if you and your neighbors carpool, I bet all of you together can save an Amazonian tree or two.

I suggest you take a hard second look at your lifestyle. I bet there are little extras you can change or forego that will make a difference. Not as big a difference as I can make, of course, but a difference nonetheless.

For example, I think I’ll cut back on my fleet of luxury watercraft and only keep a few or maybe just lease when necessary. That should halt the melting of one or two icebergs. I know you can’t even dream of doing that much. But maybe you could save one or two ice cubes just by exhaling less carbon dioxide or bathing even less frequently than you obviously already do.

Just getting to work can harm the environment. I’m going to let my chauffeur go and start working from home a lot more. Although it pales in comparison to my gesture, maybe you could stop taking the bus or subway and start walking to work.

It won’t help that much, but it’s a start. And if enough of you make that change you might be able to match the carbon footprint reduction I’ll achieve simply by changing the 650 incandescent light bulbs in my three residences to CFL bulbs.

Don’t despair. Despite your lack of fame and wealth, you can make a difference. Try to adopt the 100 Mile Diet, for example.

By foraging for turnips, carrots and potatoes in mid-winter, you can do your part.

Granted, you won’t make nearly as much of a difference as I will by adopting the new 100 Mile Restaurant Diet. By restricting my dining out to three-star or more establishments within a hundred-mile radius of any of my three homes, I estimate the savings to the planet will be sufficient to light a small third world country for a year.

If nothing else, simply try to guide your life by the three Rs: reduce, reuse and recycle. You’d be surprised what a difference those three little words can make.

For instance, I have reduced the size of the home theaters in each of my residences to a surprisingly serviceable 90 inches from the admittedly slightly excessive 120-inch screens. That’s a huge reduction, but it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make to save the planet.

Reusing items, of course, helps immeasurably in lessening our dependence on non-renewable fossil fuels. That’s why I’ve taken to laundering my designer shirts and wearing them more than once, sometimes even three or four times. (Handy hint: used shirts can be turned into great dusting cloths for your cleaning staff.)

Recycling is undoubtedly the hardest of the three Rs. But don’t let that deter you. Maybe you’re only recycling cans, bottles and newspapers. Don’t feel bad that I’m able to recycle giant shipping containers, an entire fleet of automobiles and most of my telecommunications satellites.

We must all do our part, no matter how big or how small. If enough of you take whatever small steps you can to help, the sum of your efforts will never match all those that I make. But together maybe we can save the planet for your children and mine. Well, for mine, at least.

* Welcome to The Big Jewel, where we left Vatican II in the dust a long time ago. Let Dan Fiorella guide you into the mysteries of the Mass as it will be very soon now. Also check out our blogroll at the right-hand side of this page for a link to his comedy Christmas mystery e-book, Lost Claus.

Excerpts From The #Live Tweeting Mass Twitter Feed

By: Dan Fiorella

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The overture is starting and already the priest is getting a standing O! Crowd fave, obviously! #LiveTweetingMass

Hey, it’s in English! #LiveTweetingMass

No missalette in this row. How can I tell the players from one another without the missalette? #LiveTweetingMass

Altar boy picking his nose. I saw you. #LiveTweetingMass #nosePick

My bad. Turns out it’s not a TARDIS in back, just the confessional booth. #LiveTweetingMass

What’s the point of reading from the Old Testament if we got a New Testament? #LiveTweetingMass

Scripture reading was the story of Lazarus. First zombie story! #LiveTweetingMass
Homily. Time to check out the bulletin. #LiveTweetingMass

Bulletin says the next service is the Folk Mass. Wow, dodged that bullet! #LiveTweetingMass

Really, @Pope, did you think adding “consubstantial” to the Creed was going to clarify things? #LiveTweetingMass

All this standing, sitting, kneeling! What’s next, spin mass? #LiveTweetingMass

I see they have Stations of the Cross, but I was really in the mood for an Omelet Station. #LiveTweetingMass

Didn’t want to shake hands so I just waved a peace sign at everyone. #LiveTweetingMass

All these statues, but not one of @StephenColbert. Wonder if he’s aware… #LiveTweetingMass #ColbertNation

Oh, not Spin Mass, Cath-listenics! You know how many calories you burn genuflecting? #LiveTweetingMass #betterJoke

Organ is good and loud, drowning out these tone-deaf people next to me. #LiveTweetingMass

Going to eat body and blood. I guess it’s in keeping with the zombie theme. #LiveTweetingMass

I like that they have a snack time, but the cookie is really bland. #LiveTweetingMass

Why does this blood taste like cheap wine? #LiveTweetingMass

Apparently, they frown at going back for seconds on the sacramental wine. #LiveTweetingMass

Disappointed. Choir hasn’t done anything from Sister Act soundtrack. #LiveTweetingMass

Leaving right after communion is like leaving the ball game during the eighth inning to avoid the traffic. #LiveTweetingMass

How awkward, everyone is standing around waiting for the priest to leave. #LiveTweetingMass

During cold and flu season, it seems they should replace holy water w/Purell. #LiveTweetingMass #ProductPlacementOpp