I Think I Just Shitted On Myself

Maggie's not kidding when she says that Trapped In The Closet is crazy. It's totally bonkers. Imagine the Buffy musical episode, but subtract out any self-awareness and sort of the contextual propriety of the music, and then replace that gay tap-dancing demon with R. Kelly with a real serious look on his big dumb face, and you're getting close. Oh yeah, and make the writing real stupid. A quick run-down for those of you unfamiliar with the material: Trapped In The Closet is a 24+ part R&B opera that's being released in little 4 minute chapters; it's a story of infidelity and betrayal, beginning with R. Kelly's character Sylvester waking up in a woman's bedroom after cheating on his girlfriend with her in a club. The woman, hearing her husband enter the house, hustles Sylvester into a closet to hide. In the story that unfolds, all the characters are cheating on each other in clandestine and surprising ways. The following is an edited (because people on the Internet are fucking illiterate) transcript of my favorite chapter that, I hope, will highlight some of the important themes. To set the stage: Sylvester's girl Gwen has been cheating on him with police officer whom he's discovered earlier in the story and who accidentally shot Sylvester's "cousin," Twan. The police officer has a wife himself, whom he's just found out to be cheating on him -- with a midget, no less.

Now the midget jumps out of the cabinet and stomps the policeman on his toe
The policeman's hoppin' around on one leg, screamin' out "son of a bitch!" while he runs under the table
He yells "freeze," dives over the table, and lands on the midget, while the midget kickin'
Real fast screamin' out "Bridget, Bridget!"
She yells, "Darlin, don't hurt him!"
He says, "Bridget, get yo' ass back,"
Then he continues to rough up the midget as if the midget was under attack
Then Bridget runs up to her room, goes into her purse and pulls a number out
The policeman puts him on the table and yells, "Man, what the hell you doin' in my house?"
He wipes cherry pie crust off his mouth and says, "Man, I was payed not to tell you."
Then the policeman pulls his gun out and yells, "Trespassin', man -- I got the right to shoot you!"
The midget says, "Mister, the man that payed me to do this would kill me if I tell."
He points the gun in his face, the midget says, "God, I think I just shitted on myself!"

There's more, but I want you to wait for it. Props to Maggie and Katie for totally getting me to not be a lonely creep yesterday and the day before -- we went to a Mediterranean restaurant on Tuesday and I totally ate the fuck out of some rosemary-flavored chicken thing and a canoli from Rocco's. Then, yesterday, Maggie and I met Katie at her office in the New York Times building (I'd never been there before -- it's strange and dark and depressing) and went to the Museum of Natural History to see the Darwin show, but, wouldn't you know it, it was a sort of limited admission dealie that was sold out for the hours we were gonna be there. So instead we just kind of wandered around the museum, which I always love. Best of all, the fucking whale was open again -- the last time I'd been there they were "cleaning" it. That's gotta be my favorite thing in the whole collection. I took some pictures, but I'd have to turn on the big computer to upload them, and I don't know... not in the mood. You all know what that looks like, anyway. As Maggie mentioned, I did indeed work up the courage to touch the elephant, but it wasn't no fucking toe I touched. I copped a feel off that motherfucker's flank. We also saw a real live pigeon in the gift shop; racial, so...

After that, we parted ways and I went up to my friend Asta's house for her holiday party. That was fun, kind of, but I've noticed that all my Harvard friends from high school have chosen to be these sort of blissed-out intellectual dilettantes, none of whom has (ever had) a real job, and it makes me kind of uncomfortable about what I've chosen to do, which is to be a cranky working stiff. Asta has this neat little hollowed-out wooden bear that you put incense in, and then you can watch the smoke waft out of its nostrils. I had weird dreams and stomach problems all night, and now it's raining.

Now at Sylvester's house, Twan's got a patch on his shoulder, playin' cards, getting along
They're laughin' and talking when Sylvester says, "Gwen, baby, get the phone,"
Then she walks away from the table picks it up and says hello
Theres a lady on the other line panickin' and cryin' and talkin' all off the wall,
Gwen says, "Wait, slow, slow down -- who am I talkin' to?"
"My name's Bridget and I found your number in my husband's pocket -- I had to call you."
Two minutes later Gwen's shakin' her head sayin', "girl, I understand."
Sylvester says, "Who is it, baby?"
She hangs up and gives him the address

I spent Christmas at my parents' house, and it was really nice and relaxing. Got along great with my sister, which is sort of a rarity. They got me several nice sweaters, but the best present was, well, you guys already know. My dad is really into downloading movies off the Internet these days; like I've been telling people, it's almost as if he'll watch any awful movie out there as long as he can steal it. It kind of runs contrary to the way he normally operates. We watched Minority Report together awkwardly, sitting in chairs in front of his new wide-screen G5 because he "couldn't remember what the movie was about."

I finally met up with Billy to give him his birthday present, Castlevania: Dawn of Sorrow for the Nintendo DS. That little machine is pretty neat -- the game that comes with it, WarioWare, is a total blast. It's an endless supply of these tiny little mini-games that practically never repeat and that you have about 5 seconds to figure out and win each round. I bet the multiplayer version on the Gamecube is utterly delightful. We sat around and ate oranges and chocolates and then I went back to Brooklyn.

Now, meanwhile, back at the policeman's house, the midget's cryin' his ass off
While he's lyin' through his teeth about to get his li'l ass told off,
Then Bridget busts into the kitchen with a double barrel, sayin', "James, I can't let you do this"
Then he looks at her and says, "What? You'd shoot me for this fuckin' midget?"
She says, "I love him!"
The midget says, "No, Bridget!"
And then James points his gun and says, "We all gon' die up in this kitchen"
Now Bridget and James starin' each other down, slowly backin' apart
Then the midget takes his inhaler out and says, "This is not good for my heart"
Then James says, "Bridget, don't make me do this, baby put the gun down"
That's when Sylvester and Twan busted up in the house and say, "You put the gun down!"
Twan and Sylvester are sniffin' around trying to figure out what's that smell
As they turn and look at each other like, "What the hell?"

The smell is the shit in the midget's pants.