I Want To Be Mitt Or Newt’s Speechwriter

These Republican Presidential hopefuls are missing the point. They need to talk plainly to the American people if they want to win the Presidency.

 

If  Mitt or Newt  really want the American people to get behind them and push them further along the plank towards the American presidency, ( I can’t imagine anyone really wanting to be President, it seems like such a thankless job that just really ages you quickly. Look, at Obama. He had good looks going in and now he is starting to look a little like Gollum from  Lord of The Rings), they need to speak their truth.

If I were either Mitt’s or Newt’s  speechwriter, instead of fighting about how they are the common guy and the other one isn’t, this is what I would have either one of them say:

“I will run this country as if this country were a Company and I was it’s CEO. I want this Company to make money, so that I can make money. I want points  every time I lower the deficit. I will invest where there’s money to be made. It’s that simple people. I don’t want the bullshit hundred Grand there is to  made by being President, I want to make real money, in the way I have been making it most of my life. I don’t really want to be your President, I want to be richer… If you will make me richer, there’s a job there for you.”

And to show you how serious I am, If I am not successful in lowering the deficit and getting everybody working I will give up my entire fortune and live poverty level for the rest of my life after my term in office.”

“We here in America may feel shitty about ourselves and each other, but the rest of the world loves us for our fashion trendsetting in all media and… fashion…  and we need to exploit that. If there are Rappers in Russia and Japan, we must demand compensation. If there are people in Turkey watching Hollywood explosives and dynamite actor (fill in the blank) , they must pay an additional tax for anything they see, watch or do that came out of the American imagination. We can call it a popcorn tax.”

“We as Americans must stand together and demand from the rest of the world money. Without America, the rest of the world would not have clowns and the world needs clowns! Our buffoonery is our best quality and the rest of the world just mimics what comes naturally to us. They need to throw money at us as if we were busking for a buck on the subway platform, and if they don’t give it to us voluntarily we must find a way to mug them. Yes, I said mug them…”

There is a ton of money to be made by exploiting the American imagination in foreign markets. That and Corporate raiding of foreign ideas that look promising but are missing that American imagination stamp of approval. We as Americans can go into foreign markets and make it ours. Ballywood for example. Is there a Ballywood without Hollywood? I don’t think so.

Vote for me and I will give you money. Everybody who votes for me gets fifty bucks. I know that is not a lot but that is just the beginning…Remember, my idea is to make the rest of the world slaves to the ideas of the American imagination. They are already under our spell, now we just have to squeeze them creatively

 

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Larry Da Junkman – Clean House New York – “Junkman Blues Episode” – Clean Cool

Rachel cracks up anytime I tell people that I studied acting.

I studied with Bill Hickey

http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0382676/

He taught me to “Whisper, then  yell… then try to do something in between for the squares.

Do the lines happy, then sad.

Then try it laughing, then cry… Mumble as much as you can… people respond to mumbling.” – I think that is what he said, he was mumbling at the time…

When I studied with him, he had just been in a car accident which left him in a coma for a couple of months. So, it was hard to say, if he was mumbling because his brain was still rattled, or he was trying to teach me technique. My brain has always been a little rattled, so it didn’t matter to me if I was learning technique, or just being like a man who just got out of a coma

“The editor will be happy with you doing a bunch of different things with the same line, and they are going to do whatever they want with your footage anyway. So, give them variety.”

So, I had no idea how the editors of  Clean House New York  were going to present me. We shot for a week… They had to have 30 hours of me yakking about   rare Do-Wop 45′s, B-Movies,  Eddie Lawrence, Ed Wood paperbacks, Josh Friedman, Drew Friedman, Bruce Jay Friedman, the sub prime mortgage fiasco, kitsch, film noir, Ralph Ellison’s, “The Invisible Man etc. etc.”

I tried mumbling, yelling, laughing, (I couldn’t get to crying which is too bad because I can usually cry on demand, (for the cameras too!)

When the show aired, I had no idea if they were going to represent me as a comic genius or a jerk.

They did a pretty good job of doing both. I’m happy with the episode called “Junkman Blues”,  and I was ultimately happy with the work they did on the apartment.http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0mhRO_-U1Xo

I Could complain:

1. Yes, the screen for the projector fell down while gingerly pulling it down to show off the projector

2. I sat on a chair and it collapsed underneath me, as if it were a breakaway chair for a Western movie.

3. Somebody misplaced my tools. I had a lot. Maybe they’ll turn up soon. I need them to fix some things that look good, but still need a few turns of a Phillips screw driver.

4. I still miss the greatest bookcase I ever had, and a wood file cabinet that was perfect for all my dusty manuscripts of the last thirty years. Unfortunately, now I have to re-read my drivel and get rid of the really, really, bad stuff.

I could also not complain:

1. They understood me enough. I wanted a place that John Waters would like to walk around in. They turned my basement apartment into a penthouse.

2. I needed a place that Rachel would like to live in. She is still here

3. I needed a place that my kids would not kill themselves in when a box of rare do-wops hit them in the head and they love the projection tv (they did not get that for us)

4. I needed to sacrifice a great bookcase, and a file cabinet and a bunch of other cool shit. so what

I know a lot of you are jealous

You need someone to clean up your cool shit… I know you do. I’ve seen how you live. I get it. Write Clean House New York and tell them you want a Clean Cool,” like Larry Da Junkman got… just hide the tools from the movers and be prepared to either be edited as a comic genius or a jerk or both.

They Shoot Reality, Don’t They – (Notes For a Documentary) Chapter – The Henchmen y

I have always needed a left hand man to assist me in this business. Sure they have humped boxes for me and saved my back somewhat… but all the explanations that go into telling someone what to do is a headache in and of itself.

The bottom line is, had I done everything by myself, without any help from anyone, or as minimal as possible, I would have money right now. I would not be broke.

 

I have always needed a henchman around to keep it interesting. The smart young ones who would go on to have “real” careers after graduating college were fun kids who I could kid around with, and somewhat learn about what young people were about.

 

But my true Henchmen, the guys I hung onto for years and years always had a level of fucked-upness to them. Guys like Joey who was on Heroin, who I got into a program, only to rip me off and end up robbing a bank and taking everybody he knew to a Mets baseball game (except for me).

 

Or how about Tony who was the master of the snowball effect. He had a ton of talent but would always find ways to complicate his life. He was my  Lucy Ball employee. He continously would do things like:

1. Lock himself out in his backyard in his underwear, and then try to climb over a neighbors fence, only to get shot at and end up having to take a bus to the hospital

 

2. Lose a quarter in a public phone, go back home and get a butter knife, and was so involved with trying to get his quarter back that he did not notice that he was surrounded by cops who were screaming,”Drop the weapon.”

 

He was arrested.

 

3. Once the lady upstairs from the store said that her dog died from the heat and she was distraught. I told Tony to go check on the dog. The lady was crying so I called the city to find out what to do with the animal. I told Tony to wrap the dog in plastic and put it in a box.

Well, Tony wrapped the dog in plastic and then a box, and then gift wrapped it and put it on the curb.

 

When I questioned Tony about the dog , I discovered that rigor mortis had not set in and the dog was still warm when he wrapped it in plastic. There was a chance he wrapped a dog who was still alive. I ran out to the curb, but someone had stolen the box thinking that it was a gift. Oh Christmas woes.

 

I felt really weird looking at the lady after that.

 

More about Henchmen later

They Shoot Reality, Don’t They? – (Notes for documentary) But Ma, It’s Not My Blood!

But Ma, It’s Not My Blood (Background on my Conception)

“But Ma, It’s Not My Blood,” is the exclamation I heard my Dad give my Grandmother after he came home with blood all over him.

My Grandmother was yelling at her son,”I just bought you that shirt and it is already ruined. My father’s side had an interstate trucking business which had some Jewish Mob connections, also known as “The Kosher Nostra.” I think they should have been called “The Kosher Noshtra- not a bad name for a Deli… Anyway, once my Grandmother heard that the blood on him was not his and that it was about business, she said, “Let me have that shirt and see if I can get those stains out.

I bring this up because perhaps you understand my whirlwind life better if you see where I am coming from. My mother the Holocaust Survivor, who survived in hiding as a little girl in a hole in the ground for 18 months and my father the low level Jewish Mobster…

And who introduced these people to each other?

The Butcher in Monticello.

I can just imagine the butcher chopping up a cow and continuously wiping blood on his apron talking to my mom’s mom and my Dad’s mom and telling them how their kids should get together and go out on a date.

And the rest is disaster. They get married after a couple of dates, I am born and I haven’t seen my Dad in over 40 years.

To keep you interested in the Documentary, I thought I try to find my Dad and have a meeting with him. That should be fun… for you.

Alright, let’s go find the man. He’s got some explaining to do.

They Shoot Reality, Don’t They (Notes To The Documentary – Beginnings)

I’ve been calling Funeral Parlors to find out what kind of deal they could give me for my mock Funeral at the end of this film… Oh, I guess that should come at the end of the film. Anyway, I’ll just say that I pissed off a bunch of Funeral Parlors and one or two of the Undertakers wanted to bring me to the back and inject formaldehyde into me on the spot.

 I came from a family of Holocaust Survivors. My Grandfather saved his wife and kids by hiding them in the woods of Lithuania during World War II. So, by the time I was born in 1960, the war was only over for 15 years, and my Grandfather was all about showing his Grandchildren how to survive in the woods. He would make us hunt little animals and eat them. He would make us climb trees and then scream up to us, “Go higher. Go up more!”

 

When I graduated College with a Writing degree and some awards, my grandfather said,”Now, will you become a plumber.” And I should have said.”Yes.”

 

Whenever, I say I come from Blue Collar roots, it’s like me  saying I have one foot in the grave. I mean it.

I came from a family of Holocaust Survivors. My Grandfather saved his wife and kids by hiding them in a hole, eseentially a cemetery plot in a barn in  Lithuania during World War II. They lived in that hole for 18 months, although now family says 20 months… When you are living in a hole, eating and shitting in the same spot, there is a difference between 18 months and 20.

So, by the time I was born in 1960, the war was only over for 15 years, and my Grandfather was all about showing his Grandchildren how to survive in the woods. He would make us hunt little animals and eat them. He would make us climb trees and then scream up to us, “Go higher. Go up more!”

 

How could I grow up to just be an intellectual? How could I just be a Doctor or lawyer? I had to grow up and show my Grandfather that I could survive the Atomic War, with Nazi Zombies and Vampires, so I became a Junkman

They Shoot Reality, Don’t They? (For Documentary first draft)

This documentary would be so much better if I were dead. People respond better to when hero’s of a self proclaimed documentary are dead. Right now, you are wondering why am I watching a documentary about a guy who hasn’t really done anything with his life, you probably just think I have a big ego.  Sure, that’s true. Forget about this movie, unless I died since writing this… Let’s pretend I’m dead.

 

Now, that I’m dead, I actually feel much better about making this documentary about myself and I hope you do too. Now, that I’m dead,can’t you see yourself  saying something like,

“Shame about that Larry Da Junkman, he had so much promise and a great sense of humor. Let’s go watch all his stupid videos and make them go viral like he wanted too. We can put virtual flowers down on his web-site. Hon, go get the popcorn and then jerk me off with your buttery fingertips  as we watch this tribute to that weirdo.”

The entire tone of “They Shoot Reality, Don’t They” will be like this. I gotta go work a flea market:

May all your dreams be multicolored and filled with explicit sexual intercourse

They Shoot Reality, Don’t They? (Notes to a tease of a story)

     They weren’t going to be happy till I accidentally cut my dick off. That was supposed to happen for the season finale. I wasn’t having any of it. I told the Producer that I shouldn’t cut my dick off till the new season started. I wanted to keep my dick till I at least I had a contract and some cash for my  hit Reality Show, “Please Don’t Kill Me Yet.,”  a story about how life  just chews people up. Everybody knew it was going to be a hit, especially after I started losing body parts in the first episode.

 

“But you told us, you would give us your all!” Marlene said as if I were breaking her heart.

 

“Did I not singe my eyebrows off and blow up a finger within minutes of the first episode.”

 

“Yes, but that was an accident.”

 

“And did I not, dressed in a gorilla suit  get shot at when I went into a bank and robbed it on Halloween?”

 

“Yes… but?”

 

“But nothing… As I was bleeding in my gorilla suit, I had to take a bus to the hospital. The bus driver made all the stops on his route. I think you or some network honcho made that driver stop. “

 

“It wasn’t me. I would never do something like that. The people did love seeing the bus pick up passengers as you bled onto a newspaper you laid on the floor.”

 

“It was an express bus! All of a sudden, I get on an express bus and it starts making all the local stops. I got on the bus because I knew it would be faster than waiting for an ambulance.

 

“I have to admit that was curious, but I would never endanger your life. We have a hit on our hands and it would have been a shame if you bled to death.”

 

“Yeah, well somebody forgot to tell the Security Guard that I was coming in to rob the bank.”

 

“We couldn’t say anything to the Security Guard, we’re shooting a Reality Show, that would have been unethical.”

 
“There hasn’t been a single thing real, except for any of my injuries on this show.”

 

Marlene’s eyes twinkled,”We knew we could count on you, we just need to push something for the season’s climax.”

 

“Well. losing my dick is not an option.”

 

“It will be sewed right back on and the surgeon promises you’ll be able to use it within a month.”

 

“NO!”

 

“And it will be worth a million bucks.”

 

“No.”

 

“And the Doctor will be able to extend it by 3 to five inches.”

 

 

 

(to be continued… gotta go to school… happy Halloween)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Larry Da Junkman : Antiques – The Rich Man’s Junk

Antiques crumble in my hands. I have bought some  very rare items that disintegrate in the hands  of ” Larry Da Junkman… “Well, maybe it is time to become Lawrence The Antique Aficionado… Why not?    

What makes old junk so valuable that it gets to be called an antique?

 

An antique means that it is at least a hundred years old. That does not mean it is valuable. There are cheap antiques and expensive antiques?
An expensive antique is something a hundred years old that people forgot to throw out that still looks kind of neat. Most antiques are just  items  that everybody else got rid of years ago. The item becomes desirable because someone probably couldn’t afford to throw it out or they were too lazy to put it curbside or maybe it was kind of neat looking  and now that everybody else got rid of theirs, yours becomes an expensive antique.

 

 

Mother’s are the real reason that anything has value; they have been throwing out their kid’s stuff since the beginning of time. There would be no collectible market without mothers dumping.  When you go away to College, they roll up their sleeves and dump all your old baseball cards that you got from your Great Great Uncle’s kids. They dump the Superman comic with Superman lifting a truck. They have a yard sale with your Beatles 45 picture sleeves and they sell them for a quarter a piece.

 

And so my friends, that paper that you read today, well in a hundred years from now, will be an antique, it might only be worth wrapping a fish in it, but it will be an antique. Have you read the news today. Ecch!

Larry Da Junkman Discusses Cannibal Villages Filled With Baskets Of Hundred Thousand Dollars

You ever walk through a Cannibal Village and hope you don’t look too appetizing? I personally don’t even want to look sexy to sexy Cannibal girls. It just sounds too risky.

That’s what it is like for me now as a Junkman.  I really chose my career well. I’ve always liked what I was doing. I liked buying estates and selling them. Sure, there is this real dark side to my business: I walk into homes of relatives who are distraught with the burden of getting rid of the shit their loved ones accumulated, or they are moving themselves and want to get rid of what they don’t want to take with them.

(By the way, as an aside. Nothing pissed me off more than going into a great home where the people were retiring to Florida and hear them say,”Well, you can take the microwave and refrigerator but we are taking the diamonds and gold to Florida with us.”

Now, what pissed me off about that was, that I knew these folks were giving me shit and taking their good stuff to Florida. This meant that some Junkman down there was going to get all their cream in a couple of months after they went down there and dropped dead, and that I was doing all the humping of their crap up North in the Winter! Jeez! )

 In other words,  these fuckers who are retiring to Florida have castrated my circumsized cock on a  number of occassions.

 

  Florida has got to be one of the best places to still be a Junkman. Family members don’t feel like schlepping down to Florida and dealing with Baubies baubles.

 

Alright, I just went into some different tangent than I intended on going. I wanted to talk about Cannibal Villages. I’m not sure why. Oh yeah, cause I was trying to make some sort of comment about all the Junkman television shows out there right now and how there is this fad of becoming Junkmen and how I got into this business twenty five years ago because I recognized the appeal of doing this business. I knew that Junk and this business was going to be my life’s work, but I also knew that I was going to write about it. Junk and this business was going to be my life and death theme, my metaphor of existence.  And I have written a bunch about it.

But now, all these shows which don’t really express the dark side of this business, have made it difficult in two ways. First, everybody things their garbage is worth something. Second, people are not buying crap like they used to.

Their are two reasons why people aren’t buying crap like they used too. One is they don’t have the money, and two is because unfortunately, people are not as neurotic about stuff as they used to. They may be neurotic, they may have a hundred thousand songs on their computer, but it doesn’t look like anything  like a hundred thousand records in an apartment,(and I have seen a hundred thousand records in an apartment and the only thing I kept saying over and over was,”This guy has flipped his wig.”

 

You don’t get to say,”this guy has flipped his wig,” when you are looking at an empty apartment and the guy says,”I have every song ever made my Captain and Tenille on my computer.”

 

Let’s talk about the dark side of this business for a moment. Let’s say I buy an estate for 1,500 bucks and I find a hundred thousand dollars cash in the bottom of a hamper. I am not giving that back to the people who sold that to me. Can you guess why? I’ll answer that in the next segment

 

 

Larry Da Junkman – 9/11 – It Felt Like The Beginning Of The End

I lived in the East Village on 9/11. I was headed to Brooklyn that morning to look at apartments in Greenpoint. The store and apartment rents were going through the roof in Manhattan  and I needed to start fresh in a new borough.

I already had dealings in Greenpoint and found that a lot of the artists, musicians, and writers had already moved from the Lower East Side to Brooklyn. I knew that I would be able to start a business in the Borough that  I was born in.

 

The planes hit The Towers that morning and I watched the buildings go down from my roof on Seventh street and First Avenue. I knew the country was at war. I told my girlfriend at the time, Dawn that we should go to the hospital and see if they needed blood.

 

The line was around the Avenue to give blood, and there were no ambulances coming to the hospital.
I said,”We are walking to Brooklyn.”

“Why?”

“It will be safer at my warehouse. We don’t know what else is going to happen today. We  could be in the middle of chemical warfare.”

“What about the cats?”

“We can’t take them.”

 

We walked over the Williamsburg Bridge with people who were covered in the dust. When the buildings collapsed, a grey dust storm was unleashed and covered people who were around the buildings that collapsed.

 

Once over the Bridge after walking for an hour and a half. With sirens blaring in every direction, I stopped and ate a bagel with cream cheese.

 

Dawn was angry with me,”Now, you are going to sit and eat a shmear?”

“We are going to have to get used to eating under these new circumstances. Those buildings are not coming back tomorrow, those people who died and are going to die from this attack are not coming back. Nothing is ever going to be the same.”

 

She did not eat.

Nothing has been the same since 9/11. Later I’ll eat some breakfast and hear sirens in my head.