A Load of Hooey by Bob Odenkirk Read Free Book Online

revived—brought back from the dead—everysingle time Phil Spector has killed me. Uh-oh, did I rain on your parade? Boo-hoo. I’m so sorry.
    I’ll tell you some more secrets that may ruin your simplistic assumptions. Phil only shoots near you or at you if you’re already a friend. That’s right. You’re not a true pal until you’ve been “tapped.” It’s an honor. See, he lives by a code. He never shoots in anger, only in fun: when he’s partying, or working, or when you’re in the same room with him.
    WAS IT ALL WORTH IT?
    Phil’s talent and contributions to American music far outweigh his murderous and threatening behavior. One thing that’s often been overlooked is how important the “wall of sound” is to American music. The wall of sound has generated some of the greatest records of the last forty years. These are songs that play on the radio constantly, and especially in nostalgia-themed diners. It’s an inspired sound, and listening to those records often makes you nod your head in brief recognition before you go back to eating your burger and worrying if your car is being ticketed. What a gift he’s given us!
    The point is, my Hollywood friend is no longer free to roam and party and shoot at me, so you’ll have to excuse me if I seem kind of down. I’m not. I just don’t feel as jumpy as I did when my pal was around. Miss ya, Phil, thanks for (mostly) missin’ me.
    Kisses.
    Gunshots.

Famous Quotations—Unabridged

    When asked by an associate “How long should a man’s legs be?” Abraham Lincoln thoughtfully responded, “ Long enough to reach the ground! ” Then, after another think, he added, “They have to make it up high enough to reach his torso, as well. Basically, they must go from the base of the stomach to the shoes…and the feet should fill the shoes completely. Did I mention the knees? One for each leg should do the trick. Yes, that’s good enough for me—frankly, I’m more interested in his ass—” And at this the great lawyer was cut off.

MEANINGFUL POEM
    IF I HAD MY LIFE TO LIVE OVER AGAIN
    If I had my life to live over, I’d dare to make more mistakes.
    I’d risk more, go out on a limb. I’d take longer walks, feed the ducks in the park.
    I’d wear thicker socks, and eat more ice cream.
    More ice cream—and a better brand of ice cream.
    With a higher fat count .
    Gourmet ice cream.
    In fact, I would stick mostly to gelatos.
    I would notice every bird and give it a name,
    and write that name in a tiny notebook.
    But let me return to the issue of ice cream.
    I wouldn’t confine myself
    to national brands.
    I would travel the countryside eating the regional equivalent of premium ice creams.
    And if I were eating ice cream with you, I would steal yours when you looked away.
    If you never looked away, I would badger you through the entire feast—
    â€œAre you going to finish that? Are you done? I’ll finish it if you don’t.”
    Until you gave in.
    For, you see, I have been one of those people who eats an entire box of “lite” ice cream
    with fewer calories!
    Who orders three scoops of ice cream and says, “Make one of them sorbet!”
    Who offers to share the “death by chocolate” dessert.
    I have even eaten an entire box of “dietetic” ice cream sandwiches
    in one sitting.
    What was I thinking? I should have just eaten the regular kind of ice cream sandwiches. I have even eaten popsicles when there was a Häagen-Dazs retail outlet nearby.
    I did that twice.
    Believe me, I remember.
    But if I had to do it all over again,
    I would eat even more.
    And I can’t restate this enough:
    A higher fat count.
    In fact, forget that stuff I said at the top about walking in the park
    and the bird-naming dealy.
    If I had my life to live over again, I would focus on the getting and eating of ice