* Happy Halloween from The Big Jewel! The most frightening thing we could come up with this year was something related to the election, from our good friend Jen Spyra. In fact, it scared us into publishing it as a special extra piece, something we never do unless we are good and terrified. Boo!

Paul Ryan Scrolls Through His Netflix Family-Friendly Halloween Suggestions With His 7-Year-Old Son

By:
jenspyra@gmail.com

Frankenstein

This is what you get when you let Emperor Obama have his way with health care, sweetie. One day you walk into an outpatient clinic for a routine tonsillectomy; seven hours and one lightning storm later, you’re sewn up with corpse limbs. Sure, it might be fun to dress up like an undead neuter for a costume party — but just imagine how it would feel to look like Hillary Clinton every single day of the year. Up high, Sam! And pace yourself on the Mellowcreme Harvest Mix. It’s like eating candles.

 

It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown

What’s the name of this movie? “It’s the Great Handout, Middle America?” If I recall, in this “lovable” “family-friendly” “classic,” Linus spends the night waiting for the Great Pumpkin to appear. I’ll crack open the fun-size Milk Duds right now if you know of a clearer analogy for Democrats waiting for some magical economic cure-all while they spend, spend, spend?? Here’s a little tip-or-treat, Sammy: You don’t wait for miracles to happen. You cut arts programming and health care for veterans and make that deficit go bye-bye.

 

The Addams Family

Sure, they’re creepy and they’re kooky — but what’s more is that they’re unemployed. And I can tell you something else, pal: Uncle Fester, the guy practically raising those kids by himself, ain’t fooling anyone with the bachelor act. You know what a bachelor is, honey. Remember how Mommy’s brother Ricky left Aunt Karen to live with that antiques dealer with the rattail? And Mommy hasn’t let Ricky see you in four years? That’s because he has the same lifestyle as Uncle Fester.

 

Scream

If liberals get their way and sex-ed replaces math and science, kids all over this country will turn kissing-crazy just like the high school hellcats in this movie! Goodbye promise rings, hello adult wrestling in the backseat of foreign hybrids. What’s adult wrestling? Fair question, honey. Adult wrestling is something married men and women do when they’re in love, or when they need a stress valve that also diminishes the likelihood of coronary disease. I don’t know why Mommy makes wrestling noises when she’s alone in the bathtub, no. More Mellowcreme Harvest Mix?

 

Father of the Bride II

What’s this doing here? No idea. But I do know this: if we didn’t outsource our jobs to robots, maybe Netflix queues would be more intuitive and service would start to mean something in this country. That being said, how hilarious is it when Martin Short leads that mommies-to-be aerobics class? I can’t get enough of Diane Keaton. That’s it, I’m watching this again tonight.

 

Casper

Here we go, the original welfare queen. I’m sorry, honey, but here’s a guy who’s perfected the art of getting free handouts by rattling a chain. And don’t give me that crap about how he’s so friendly — you’d better be friendly if you’re going to live in my house rent-free. Remember how we let Uncle Ricky live in the game room back when Aunt Christie threw him out? Uncle Ricky hung out all day in his robe, just like Casper.

 

Rosemary’s Baby

Aren’t women great? Finally, a movie that shows how a single mom can triumph, without the help of Big Government, in the face of adversity. A woman with understandable concerns about motherhood decides to keep her baby, raising it with the help of family and friends — not food stamps. It’s a heartwarming tale of self-reliance for young and old alike. Break out the Sno-Caps, kiddo!

 

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* Welcome to The Big Jewel, where we are seldom topical but always relevant. Well, today, actually we are topical because we had this terrific piece about the first moon landing by Jen Spyra, and then Neil Armstrong died and suddenly a bit of history became news again. We publish this in honor of one of the greatest quests ever undertaken by humanity, and the three brave men who put a face on it. What was the name of that third guy again?

Neil Armstrong And Buzz Aldrin Discuss Who’s Going To Get Out First

By:
jenspyra@gmail.com

Apollo 11’s control panel beeps: Distance to moon: 10,000 feet.

BUZZ ALDRIN: Wow.

NEIL ARMSTRONG: My God.

BUZZ: I can’t believe this is really happening!

NEIL: Buzz, we are seriously going to be the first two people to walk on the moon. Do you know what that means? We’ll probably meet the president. On color TV! How amazing is that?

BUZZ: Unbelievable. It’s like looking out a window!

NEIL: No, I mean landing on the moon.

BUZZ: Oh. Right.

NEIL: Have you thought of anything to say? You know, post-landing?

BUZZ: Are you kidding? I’m gonna say, “I’m on the moon, baby!”

NEIL: That’s…that’s good.

BUZZ: Why, what were you gonna say?

NEIL: Well, I’ve been toying with something along the lines of, “One small step for a man, one giant leap for mankind.”

BUZZ: Someone’s fancy.

Control panel: Distance to moon: 8,000 feet.

NEIL: Just think about all the time we’ve spent preparing for this. Practicing landing module repairs in simulated weightlessness, the grueling physical training — all in preparation for this moment. It’s almost overwhelming…

BUZZ: But there’s no stopping us now. We’re gonna be in the history books! “Buzz Aldrin and Neil Armstrong!”

NEIL: Right. Or, “Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin!”

BUZZ: I just figured it would be alphabetical.

NEIL: Yeah…it’ll probably be whoever steps on the moon first.

Control Panel: Distance to moon: 7,000 feet.

BUZZ: You know, that thing you said about feeling overwhelmed…If you want to just lie down for a little, I can poke around by myself when we get to the moon while you relax.

NEIL: Thanks, buddy, but I’m not that tired. No need to lie down.

BUZZ: No shame in taking a breather.

NEIL: I’m fine, honestly. You’re looking a little pale yourself.

BUZZ: Really? I’ve never felt more vigorous and able.

NEIL: You don’t want to take a few minutes while I’m out there to do some circulation exercises? Never hurts to promote healthy blood flow.

BUZZ: Nah.

Control Panel: Distance to moon: 6,000 feet.

BUZZ: You know, we never really talked about logistics.

NEIL: True. Before we do, though, I just want to take a moment now to let you know that working with you has been the rarest privilege. You’re hard-working, disciplined, and an exemplary copilot and friend. I’ll remember these days as the highlight of my life. And you know, now that I think about it, I feel really strongly that you should go first.

BUZZ: Thanks, Neil. That means a lot. But you should go first.

NEIL: Okay.

BUZZ: Uh — well — why don’t we do, first one who gets their gear on goes first?

Buzz starts to suit up. Neil pats around, looking for something.

NEIL: Buzz, where’s my retroflector?

BUZZ: You’re retro-wha?

NEIL: My retroflector. The thing that lets me walk on the moon.

BUZZ: Oh yeah. I think I saw it in the TV room.

Neil floats away to check.

Control Panel: Distance to moon: 5,000 feet.

NEIL: It’s not in there! I always put it back in the cubbyhole when I get in from space. Were you using it?

BUZZ: No.

MICHAEL COLLINS: I just had this weird premonition that no one will remember me.

BUZZ: That’s crazy. You’re our Command Module Pilot. Everyone will know that Neil and I went to the moon with a third guy who was responsible for orbiting the moon while we walked on it.

Neil floats back in.

NEIL: Hey. I just found my retroflector. It was taped to the outside of the module. Buzz — are you trying to sabotage me?

BUZZ (mimicking in a high-pitched voice): Are you trying to sabotage me? Not any more than you’ve been trying to sabotage me from jump street!

NEIL: Excuse me?

BUZZ: You told NASA I had a heart murmur. You told NASA that I was bad at climbing steps and that, specifically, I would trip on the stepladder bridging the landing module and the moon.

NEIL: Whatever. You’re a moron, Buzz! You wanted say, “I’m on the moon, baby!”

Control Panel: Distance to moon: 1,000 feet.

Neil starts to push Buzz into a closet.

NEIL: Just…get…in…

BUZZ: Hey! Come on —

NEIL: You’ve always been there, between me and the moon…buzzing between us…

BUZZ: Neil, you’re eyes are like, crazy.

NEIL: It’s in your name…Buzzzz…but it’s over now…I’m making history…I’ll be a national icon…

BUZZ: Get off me!

NEIL: No lines…free appetizers…consequence-free sex…

BUZZ: Are you just naming things you’ll get if you’re the first person on the moon?

NEIL: Free upgrades…color TV…my face on a quarter…

MICHAEL: Do you think we’ll still hang out on Earth? I really hope so, guys.

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* Welcome to The Big Jewel, where we are big fans of reality -- reality this, reality that, reality everything except reality television. So naturally we were delighted to receive this piece from Jen Spyra, realistically based on a real comment by a real person in the real world (as opposed to MTV's Real World).

I Am One Of You People

By:

“They are a totally different type of people. (On a standard-class train) there’s lots of children, there’s noise, there’s activity. I like to have peace and quiet when I’m traveling.” — Sir Nicholas Winterton, conservative member of Parliament, on why legislators should be allowed to travel first class to avoid exposure to the common man.

Sir Winterton takes the podium at a press conference. He is wearing oversized Burberry pants and a Looney Toons T-shirt. He places an Orangina on the podium.

SIR WINTERTON: My fellow Englishmen, good afternoon. I’d like to clarify a comment that I made a few days ago. It seems as though I suggested some faint distinction between the common man and myself.

REPORTER: You said, “They are a totally different type of people.”

SIR WINTERTON: Impertinent man! Were you raised in a barroom? I did not solicit your crayon-scrawl of an opinion.

REPORTERS roll their eyes.

REPORTER: You know, we’re recording this.

SIR WINTERTON: Indeed. And here is another thing I know: the conservative party has been maligned as an out-of-touch cadre of elitists for far too long. I’m here today to correct this misconception. (Adjusting monacle and patting his sides, absentmindedly talking to himself.) Now where did I leave my 18th century pocket watch given to my family by the Duke of Modena? Ah — yes. I loaned it to the King on a whim.

SIR WINTERTON remembers press conference.

Er — does anyone like my shirt?

No one responds.

SIR WINTERTON: I rather like it. It’s — comfortable, and allows for easy movement of the limbs while communicating a sense of humor and a lack of impolitic self-aggrandizement. (Pointing to the shirt’s cartoon decal.) Silly Daffy Quail.

REPORTER: You mean duck?

SIR WINTERTON: Uh — yes. Right. I do not profess to be an expert on fowl. Perhaps my father had time for such pleasantries, but a legislator in this day and age cannot bother himself with the titillating pastime of cataloguing bird species. He does not have time to sketch such astonishing specimens as the yellow-throated scrubwren. He certainly does not have time to keep pheasants and name each one after a distinguished member of his genealogical tree, and he most undoubtedly does not have time to take Vicomte Radbury to the best avian veterinarian when his wing coverts seem less shiny than usual.

SIR WINTERTON takes a sip of Orangina, winces.

SIR WINTERTON: What a refreshing beverage. (Under his breath to his aide, not realizing that he’s still speaking into the mic) What is this, sweetened ass piss?

REPORTERS titter.

SIR WINTERTON: Why are you laughing? That was a private remark that I made to my assistant. Ah, I see why you chuckle. By “ass” you thought I referred to the posterior of a human, rather than an Equus africanus asinus, or donkey, which is what I meant. Well, I don’t fault you your merriment. I enjoy a ribald turn as much as the rest! In fact, a love of the salacious is one of the many things that we have in common. Here is one naughty bon mot that never fails to tickle me:

What did the under gardener say to the on-site limousine repairman as he remarked on the grace of her ladyship?

REPORTERS groan.

Oh, wait — never mind. I did not come here to tell jokes, but to vindicate my fellow conservative legislators and myself. We are a normal, relatable bunch of every-day fellows, I tell you. I follow Beckham gossip, as you do. Their marriage is a sham but Victoria’s clothing line, especially the denim offerings, is excellent. I neglect my dental hygiene despite the vast strides made in this field. I like keeping abreast of sales events, and eating Haribo candies. Am I not one of you?

REPORTERS are silent.

SIR WINTERTON: I have a Dell and used a coupon towards its purchase.

SILENCE

SIR WINTERTON: (Breaking out in a sweat.) I don’t buy groceries at Harrod’s, indeed I think that would be a waste of my hard-earned guineas.

SILENCE

SIR WINTERTON: (Barely able to utter this last attempt.) I…liked Diana, and believe she was a victim…not a flashy little trollop who got what she deserv–

REPORTER: You’re a pretentious blowhard!

SIR WINTERTON: And you, sir, have the brains of an Anseranas semipalmata, or Magpie Goose — the sole surviving member of a Mesozoic lineage and truly one of the most unintelligent waterfowl to roam this planet! Did I not just verbally cane your proverbial schoolboy bottom?

REPORTERS laugh.

SIR WINTERTON: Oh, how I wish I had not come.

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