Disease: Self-Deprecation Is Funny Syndrome [S-DIFS]
Symptoms: Inability to speak a phrase without remarking that you’re “less than [BLANK]” and expecting big laughs. Everyone is better than you at sports, better looking than you, stronger, cooler, smoother with women, healthier, more accomplished, less neurotic, luckier, and much more likeable in general.
Risk factors: Well stocked Woody Allen section at local Blockbuster Video. Years of watching older brother get dumped by hot blonde chicks and trying not to seem pathetic. Late nights spent repeatedly reading Portnoy’s Complaint. Seeing other men’s genitalia in YMCA locker rooms.

Disease: Atheistia
Symptoms: Laughing at Catholic mother-in-law when she cries “Dios mio” because someone hit her car. Checking Blackberry at the Vatican. Enjoying the tunes at temple on the High Holy Days but not singing along for fear of feeling something “deeper.” Refusal to wear a yarmulke at newly religious 60-year-old father’s Shabbat dinners.
Risk factors: Attending reform Hebrew school in upper-class suburban neighborhoods. Watching more than three members of family die in three-year span. Seeing rabbis move to the Hamptons after selling synagogue-purchased homes for 40% more than their initial appraisal. Getting a little case of the cancer.

Disease: Arabappealiosa
Symptoms: Feeling that Shiksappeal went out with parents’ generation. Onset of sexual arousal upon coming into contact with a Middle Eastern woman that speaks with an Arab accent and/or wears a burqa. Sudden urge to open a shawarma take-out joint. New clothes by Ed Hardy.
Risk factors: Birthright trips to Israel. Matriculation at certain colleges (Brown, Johns Hopkins, Yale, U.C. Berkeley) in the 1990s. History of violence against neo-conservatives. Tinted car windows.

Disease: Seinfeld Quotemia
Self-explanatory; also referred to as Whatsthedealwiththat-oma.

Disease: Stupidwithmoneysia
Symptoms: Needing to take Marquis jet to private island in French Polynesia, rather than “just” flying first class to “boring” Italy for vacation. Trading in 2010 Lexus hybrid for a 1981 Mercedes 300D with 180,000 miles, then converting it to biodiesel. Shopping for all groceries, including salt, in Whole Foods. Pursuing a career in the arts. Letting parents worry about lack of health insurance long enough that they put you on the payroll at their company.
Risk factors: First-generation American parents who grew up poor, built profitable cash businesses, and then bought 40-foot boats. Summers at sleepaway camps advertised in the back of the New York Times Magazine. No parental pressure to attend law, business, or medical school. “Family” friends with surnames like Gambino and Bonanno.

Disease: Ghettofabhaterosis
Symptoms: Only having friends “of color.” Owning vintage ‘80s Nike high-tops, not those $200 “limited edition” re-releases hand-painted by “top” graffiti “artists.” Desire to start vintage denim line.
Risk factors: Excessive exposure to Rob Base & DJ E-Z Rock’s “It Takes Two” at bar mitzvahs. Repeated rejection from Jewish girls invited on dates. Inability to make high school basketball team. Parental restrictions from spending weekend evenings at “coffeehouses” in “the city.” Strict orders to attend state schools.

Disease: Hollywoodfailuremia
Symptoms: Drunken nights whining that if you’d been allowed to apply to Harvard you’d now be writing for The Simpsons. Repeated attempts to make friends with bit players in Judd Apatow films. Contentions that if only your dad had made friends with Spielberg when they both contributed to that Montauk fishing charity, you’d have a development deal with DreamWorks.
Risk factors: Being told “you’re just as funny as him” after family viewings of Billy Crystal movies. Discussions about “what we worked for all these years” with Garment District mogul grandfather now tired of making your father feel inadequate. Identifying with Larry David on Curb Your Enthusiasm despite being younger than 35. Moving to L.A. because the East Coast’s “just keeping you down.”

The full version of this piece appears in issue #4.5 of Whim. Click here to order a copy.

MARK & DEBBIE

Flowers. Candlelight. A lack of sovereign debt. What could go wrong? Everything, it turns out, resulting in three successive weeks of market losses for Mark and Debbie, along with at least one glass of wine thrown violently into Mark’s face. The excitement of last quarter’s major acquisition (a puppy) has given way to squabbling over who walks Fluffy—leading to sluggish market performance for investors.
Recommendation: SELL

JIM & SALLY

Another solid, if uninspiring quarter for Jim and Sally. No major blowups, but no big successes, leading to wild speculation among investors—in particular, Sally’s mother—as to whether the couple would soon take the “next step” in order to shake things up. Of note: analysts say Sally remains dissatisfied with Jim’s earnings.
Recommendation: HOLD

GEORGE & MARCUS

Sentimental favorite George and Marcus rode a wave of technical innovation and high earnings to a third straight record-breaking quarter. Still, their performance continues to have a finite peak, at least without new regulations from government authorities.
Recommendation: STRONG BUY

Appears in issue #4.5 of Whim. To order a copy, click here.

1. “I love Billings. It’s one of the most underrated cities in the Midwest.”
Thanks for the kind words, neighbor, but I have to stop you right there. I am not in the Midwest. I don’t mind the Rocky Mountain region, the Old West, the Great Plains, maybe even the Northwest on a good day, if you drop the “Pacific”, but my preference is for Big Sky Country. Just so long as you know, Billings isn’t in the Midwest. That’s for flatlanders and corn farmers.

2. “You’re known as the Magic City, I assume this is because you are the hometown of a vibrant community of illusionists.”
While that is definitely the case for fellow Magic Cities like Bogalusa, Louisiana and Millinocket, Maine, I actually got the handle because of my 1,000-watt smile, fast break- running skills, game-winning junior-junior-skyhooks, and inner-city Starbucks franchises. Although contrary to what you’ve heard, I do not have HIV.

3. “I remember looking out of my Amtrak sleeper car at the Yellowstone River and up to the Rims as the sun came up and we pulled into the station. One of the most gorgeous sights I’ve ever seen. Beautiful city, you’ve got there.”
You’re making me blush… But more than that, you’re also making me red-faced with anger because the people train hasn’t come through my parts in over thirty years. Closest stop is Malta, more than 200 miles away, so I have no choice to assume you were freight-hopping. A boxcar is not a sleeper car, missy. Riding the rails is illegal, dangerous, and it brings a lot of unwanted transients and their rotgut wine to this peaceful burgh.

4. “I love that movie y’all had there with that fat guy and the car driving… I think the Jerk was in it… Candy, that’s it, John Candy. What ever happened to that guy, he sure is funny… Had rides with some hogs in a truck to get back to Chicago for Thanksgiving…Must be near you, right?”
The movie you’re thinking of is Planes, Trains and Automobiles, and I’m no film historian, but I believe it was filmed primarily in the Midwest. As I mentioned earlier, I am most definitely not in the Midwest. Chicago is 1,074 miles away, so I have nothing to do with that holiday classic. Don’t sleep on my oeuvre, though. If you like funny, check out the 1993 sleeper Josh and S.A.M. It’s got Joan Allen, Chris Penn, a young Jake Gyllenhall, and preteens getting into hijinks in a stolen Pontiac Grand Prix cruising through Big Sky Country. You’ll never think of Strategically Altered Mutants in the same way again!

5. “Ah, Billings, Montana, I recently enjoyed a pornography you starred in. I didn’t even know Billings had black people!”
Sorry, but I believe you’re thinking of Montana Fishburne, or as she’s known to her longtime fans, Chippy D. You know, Larry’s kid. And of course I have black people. We’re not Cody, Wyoming for furious’s sake.

6. “That town’s nothing but a buncha no-workin’ hoboes swilling Thunderbird by the railroad tracks.”
Bite your tongue. You best be casting your aspersions on some other town, maybe Great Falls. I bet you wouldn’t sling your verbal arrows if you knew that I’m the corporate headquarters of KOA. That’s right, the Kampgrounds of America. Considering your guttersnipe of a mouth, I’ll assume your Mom and Dad never even took you on an overnighter in a Kamping Kabin. Probably never tasted a S’more. Philistine.

7. “General George Armstrong Custer is a fag.”
Is that so? I think his wife Elizabeth Clift Bacon, and his other unofficial Cheyenne indian bride Monaseetah, would disagree. Rumor has it the man was sterile from gonorrhea he picked up at West Point. But spare me your lack of historical pedigree. Go spread your filth in Hardin, it’s their jurisdiction and that’s an hour’s drive from here, smart guy.

8. “Only thing ever come outta Billings is steers and queers.”
Have another, rummy. Only a sot such as yourself would miss all I have to offer. ZooMontana is raising three cubs after their mother mauled three campers last summer and had to be euthanized, Avenue Q is coming to the Alberta Bair Theater next March, the Outlaws are the reigning Indoor Football League United Bowl champions, I was featured in The Amazing Race, and Walkers Grill makes a hell of a Spinach-Grilled Artichoke Manicotti. And for your information, boozebag, this town has both a thriving cattle industry and a live-and-let-live attitude to our gay and lesbian community, just ask the patrons of the Outfield Sports Bar!

9. “you smell like ass.”
Wrong, sir. The aroma that’s aroused your olfactory system is the sweet refining of sugar beets at the Western Sugar Cooperative. It may not be a bouquet of roses, but to me it smells like good old-fashioned American commerce. You want the stench of failure? Why don’t you mosey on down Interstate 90 and get a whiff of Laurel? I believe you’re wearing the same scent.

10. “So, uh, when’s the best time to visit Billings? I always heard early fall is beautiful in the Midwest—“
That tears it! You can all just rope yourself into a big pigpile and hogpork yourselves until you squeal in pain for all I care. You don’t deserve me. You don’t deserve Billings, Montana, home of Stroopwafels, the greatest caramel cookie waffles on God’s green fucking earth. Magic City out.

What do you do?

B. You and your buddies are enjoying a few beers at the local pub. After a time, you decide to order some bar snacks. You ask for the bill and pay cash, telling the bartender you need change. But instead of returning you bills that would allow you to leave a reasonable tip, the bartender leaves you only a twenty, which, if you left it, would be a tip of nearly 35 percent.

How do you respond?

C. While visiting Phoenix on business, you stop in at your hotel bar. Monday Night Football is playing on the television, and your favorite team, the Houston Texans, is losing to the Arizona Cardinals. The bar’s clientele overwhelmingly favors the Cardinals, not surprisingly. A man seated beside you, assuming you too are a Cardinals fan, begins to speak to you. “It looks good for us,” he says. “With Al Simmons out with a hamstring injury, the Texans simply don’t have the backfield.”

What is the appropriate response?

D. Howie’s, your favorite bar, is always crowded on Thursday nights, and tonight is no exception. Entering, you notice there is only one available seat at the bar, and it happens to be beside a gorgeous brunette. As you make your way through the crowd, she looks up from her gin and tonic and flashes you a smile. But just as you are about to sit down, another man slides onto the stool. His greasy hair is slicked back and he wears a tight t-shirt bearing the logo of the band Styx; peeking out below the sleeve, you think you notice the bottom half of a swastika tattooed on his left bicep. He has an earring, coughs without covering his mouth, and is carrying a copy of Das Kapital, which he places on the bar, though he clearly has not read it and is just carrying it for show. The brunette is visibly disappointed by his arrival; she eyes you and shrugs, seductively, as if to say, “your move.”

What now?

E. It’s been a rough day. You lost your job, and then when you arrive home, seeking nothing more than consolation from your loving wife, she announces she is leaving you. It does not help that she is leaving you for Al Simmons, the Houston Texans’ star running back, who has fully recovered from that hamstring injury and is doing great. It also does not help that you have been describing him to your wife lately as “impressively lithe.” So now you’re at Howie’s, mad at the world, and you’re getting pretty drunk. Doug, the bartender, listens to the whole story. Not just nodding his head but really, truly listening. It’s nearing 2 a.m. and the place is beginning to empty out, and Doug goes down to the basement to change the kegs. There’s really nothing to lose, you think. there’s got to be at least two hundred dollars in the register, and probably more in the back. Howie’s always overcharged for drinks anyway. you sit tight. When Doug returns, he gives you that old Doug smile and asks, “Friend, what’ll it be?”

What do you do?

ANSWERS: A. Shoot him! B. Shoot him! C. Shoot him! D. Let him have the seat. In the grand scheme of things, it’s nothing. Another seat will open up, and you’ll avoid confrontation and feel good about yourself tomorrow. E. shoot him!

###

This piece appears in Issue #4.5 of Whim. Order your copy here!

You Never Hear About Bee-Related Deaths
I think that if people were being stung to death in their homes, it would be a pretty big story. I would have read about it in the Daily News and spent the rest of the day sealing up my windows with that oversized saran wrap you get at Home Depot. On the other hand, it might be that bee deaths are so common they’re not even worth reporting. Maybe this same swarm kills two or three people every week and the media is just so tired of the story that they don’t even pay attention anymore. The police keep trying to do something about it but it’s not like you can arrest bees, and in the end it’s easier to keep it quiet because hey, they’ve got a lot on their plate.

The Bees Have No Reason to Come Inside
I am not hoarding pollen. I’d like to stress that point, in case the bees are listening. They don’t have anything to gain by entering my living room by force, swarming around me in an enclosing, vaguely sexual mass and leaving me curled in anaphylactic shock over my coffee table. I will give them anything I have—my VCR! my collection of ThunderCats figurines!—if they only leave me in peace. But by the same token, the bees had no reason to come to the city in the first place. They were driven here by a force that modern science cannot explain. My ThunderCats will do nothing to appease them.

I Had a Dream About Bees Last Night
Total coincidence. I was meeting Sheila in the middle of a desert, and when I told her I loved her she started to shake and her tongue turned into a thousand bees just streaming out of her mouth. I tried to run but I couldn’t because of the sand and I woke up right before her tongue-bees put their venom inside me. I know it’s weird. I don’t think it means anything. Look, I don’t know why we’re even talking about it.

I’m at Peace with Myself as a Person
I’ve led a rich, full life. If it turns out that I’m killed by a swarm of bees, wearing my pajamas at four o’clock on a Sunday, I’m okay with that. There’s a dignity in accepting your fate—in my case, accepting that in a few minutes I’m going to be stung to death by bees.

Except I’m Not Going to Be Stung to Death by Bees
Sorry, that last one got away from me.

The full version of this piece appears in issue #4.5 of Whim. Pre-order your copy here.

Appears in issue #3 of Whim.

BELOW: Jean genie Legs Malone models five denim looks that are both haute and hot.

Appears in issue #3 of Whim. Photographs by Ashley Macknica and Joel Barhamand. Garments by Anna Macknica.

Appears in issue #2 of Whim.