Munger P. I.

May 15, 2009

As requested by a few friends, I’ve decided to post the original Munger P.I. stories from a few years ago. I hope to write more some day.

Here’s part 1:

Chapter 1
Two-Drink Minimum…For Murder!

My name is Munger. I’m a detective. A gumshoe. A private eye.

I dress in rumpled suits and I never smile. I like my bourbon neat and my women messy. My trusty forty-five, like me, is always loaded.

The mean streets fit me like a fine pair of Gloria Vanderbilt Jeans.

The name is Munger. I’m a detective. I repeat myself.

A cool November wind was blowing in from the lakes, sending a chill up and down the spine of the windy city that is Chicago.

Luckily, I live in New York, so that didn’t affect me.

I was sitting in a little dive on 48th street, nursing a stiff drink as John Mayer worked his buttery smooth soft rock magic on the jukebox. I needed a new case as badly as I needed a shave. And a shower.

And a good meal, with my choice of soup or salad.

I think I’ll have the soup, with some of those oyster crackers.

The name is Munger. I’m a detective. I like to digress.

As I thought of what imaginary dessert I would like to order, the door opened…

…And she walked into my life.

I could tell just by looking at her that she was all woman: not like the other women in this neighborhood who are mostly men.

She looked classy too. Probably from one of those well-bred families that enjoyed the finer things in life, like linen napkins or the dry social commentary of The New Yorker .

Her body said “take me right now,” but her eyes said, “No not here, the floor is filthy.”

She made me want to go out and marry the first girl I saw, settle down and have a family and then leave them for her.

She casually sauntered over, and as she stood there before me, she gave me a look that told me one thing. She knew I was staring at her cans.

“Are you Munger, The detective?” she purred, her voice as silky smooth as Ella Fitzgerald on Lithium.

“Yeah,” I replied. “The name is Munger. I’m a detective. Nice cans.”

She handed me one of her cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon, which I happily drank while she told me about her problem.

“I need you to help me Mr. Munger. You were the only one I could turn to in this price range. My brother is missing. I want you to find him. I don’t have any money, but I can pay you off in sexual favors if you like. I used to be a gymnast.”

“That’s alright,” I said. I’m sure we can work out another form of payment.”

The name is Munger. I’m a detective. I say things without thinking.

Coming soon…
Chapter 2: Dude Where’s My Car…Of Murder!

I resolve…

December 29, 2008

Here are a few things I will work on in 2009.

I resolve to stop reading Heroes fanfiction on the web and actually watch Heroes.

I resolve to finally learn what the term “post modern” means.

I resolve to try to understand that a restraining order means that despite your best intentions, maybe she’s not that into you..

I resolve to stop sitting on my ass in a bar drinking. From now on, I’ll bring a book.

I resolve to accept the sad fact that Scarlett Johannson will continue to work in movies despite having no discernable talent whatsoever. A blank stare is not acting!

I resolve to stop giving a fake zip code to the cashier at Radio Shack.

I resolve to learn my zip code.

I resolve to clean out the barn so we kids can put on the best darn show this town has ever seen!

I resolve to stop referring to churches as “God’s crash pad.”

And finally, I resolve to be closer to my Mother and Father, Mr. and Mrs. Levier.

Happy New Year.

A J. Crew Christmas

December 23, 2008

Without a doubt my favorite time of year, and I’m sure you will all agree, is Christmas.

Oh how I look forward to buttoning up my Sutherland Camel-hair Topcoat and hopping into my Saab 9000 with my brother Chad and my sister Chandler for our annual pilgrimage to Connecticut to spend the holiday with our beloved father and his new wife Sandi (with a i).

Oh how I look forward to sitting in front of a roaring fire, my feet warm as toast in my Lace-up Shearling Mocs, with Father and Sandy (San, for short) discussing what College she’ll be attending in the Fall after she graduates High School.

And those chilly mornings in my Union Sleep Suit, helping Chandler prepare her famous Eggs Benedict with chocolate chip croissants. “Don’t use too many chocolate chips,” she chides, padding across the floor in her Striped Ballet Slippers. Oh, that Chandler, I sigh to myself, marveling at how well she’s doing now that she’s back on Lithium.

Then it’s off into the forest with dear brother Chad to find the perfect Christmas tree. Our Goosedown Puffer Jackets and Straight-Fit 5 Pocket Vintage Cords keep the chilly winds at bay as we trudge back to the house with our evergreen prize, discussing with Chad how those years in prison have strengthened his character.

As we gather in the living room in our French-Terry Fleece Henleys to decorate the tree, sipping mold wine while Father’s housekeeper Juanita prepares our Christmas eve dinner, we can’t help but think this is the way Christmas should always be.

The fire crackles away as we take turns talking to mother on the phone, who loved the Cashmere-silk Shimmer Cardigan we sent, and making plans for the new year when she returns from her “rest” in Palm Springs.

God Bless us, everyone.

The Dedication From the Book I Haven’t Written Yet

December 21, 2008

When I first entertained the idea of writing a book, two things immediately ran through my mind.
     First thing: Write?
     Could I possibly sit down at my trusty laptop and create an emotionally stirring and spiritually stimulating literary masterpiece to entertain and dare I say influence the mind of a fellow human being?
     Second Thing: Book?
     I must admit I was unfamiliar with the word. I was told they had something to do with paper, and I do remember owning one when I was a kid, but I couldn’t tell you what one looks like. Perhaps that explains the funny looks I get from the staff at Barnes And Noble when I walk in an ask them where the cake aisle is located.
     I am happy to say I have put that little problem behind me, and now the fruit of my intense labor is now in you hands, dear reader. Yet after all the time I have spent on writing my bike – oops, sorry, book. I still keep getting that mixed up. After all the time I have spent on writing my book, I still find it hard to believe I have achieved the distinguished title of author. I am an author! Yet another hat I have worn in my topsy turvy life. I think it will go really well with the others I have stored in the hall closet of my mind, like Raconteur, Lover, Victim, Defendant, Patient, Client, Gypsy, Tramp, Thief, Joker, Smoker, Midnight Toker, and, from a hazy period back in 1987, Meredith.
What should you, dear reader, have to look forward to?
     A journey.
     I will be your personal guide through the incredible potpourri that is my life. It’s funny, recently a friend asked me to sum up my life in a sentence. Mentally, I thumbed through some of the experiences that shaped and molded my life. Growing up on my Grandad’s kitty ranch in Montana, the years of Kindergarten, the birth of my two sons, Prince and Prince Michael, my introduction to rhythmic gymnastics, Crystal Pepsi, and my brief but turbulent marriage to that chick on “Boy Meets World”, these and hundreds other swirled through my head faster and faster, round and round hither and yon, until I finally said proudly to my colleague…
     “I like peas.”
     Yeah, I don’t know what it means either. Maybe this is why they make me eat with special utensils whenever I go out somewhere.
     Anyhoo, here’s a book (whew!) that I wrote. Hope you like it. I’d like to say I typed it myself, but hey, I’m lucky if I know how to work a chair.

Turnips Ignored Again On Thanksgiving

November 26, 2008

Millions of Americans ignored Turnips again this year, turning their attention to much more popular and better tasting food at the Thanksgiving table.

“I really don’t know why I make turnips year after year,” Rhode Island Mother Jennifer Milton commented as her family ate their Thanksgiving dinner. “I always made them because my Aunt loved them, but she’s been dead for about ten years now. I guess I still make it out of habit. Now it’s some sort of tradition I guess.”

In a nationwide poll conducted Thursday evening revealed a staggering 93% of Thanksgiving dinner guests passed the turnips on to the person seated next to them while filling up on mashed potatoes, Grandma’s kickass stuffing, and the cranberry sauce that comes out of the can.

Local Man Secretly Awaiting The Return Of Ugly Betty

September 12, 2008

(New York) While the fall means the start of football season for most New York men, Upper West Side resident Brian Dubrowski is happy for another reason; the return of his favorite TV Show Ugly Betty.

“Don’t tell anyone, but I can’t wait for the season premiere on September 25th,” Dubrowski whispered as his friends watched Monday Night Football in his living room. “I’m dying to know if Betty chooses Gio or Henry. Personally I hope she picks Gio. They seem right, you know? ”

Brian then told his friends he was checking his fantasy football team’s stats on his laptop when in realty he was logged onto an Ugly Betty chatroom discussing Daniel’s son and the new man in Hilda’s life.

In Defense Of The Child Catcher

August 31, 2008

In the 1968 fantasy “Chitty Chitty Bang Bang,” Dick Van Dyke is Carraticus Potts, a singing inventor who builds a magical car, which aside from making whimsical engine noises, can zip across water and sprout wings and fly. For reasons pertaining to the plot, Dick and company fly in the magic car to the land of Vulgaria, where men wear lederhosen and they’re fine with that.
“Call out the Child Catcher!” Baroness Bomburst, wife of Vulgaria’s rotund ruler Baron Bomburst cries when she learns that the magic car is carrying Pott’s precocious offspring, Jeremy and Jemima. You see, children are forbidden by law in the land of Vulgaria, and it’s up to the Child Catcher to enforce this regulation.
When I was a child and watched this film, the Child Catcher character, a rather sinister looking fellow with his black undertakers coat and top hat, frightened me to no end. I remember being quite distressed when he captures Jeremy and Jemima, (Who do nothing in the entire movie but jump up and down and shriek things repeatedly in horrifying cockney accents) roaring away with them in his evil wagon, which is essentially a giant cage with wheels being pulled by two jet black steeds.

Now that I am an adult, I whole-heartedly applaud the Child Catcher’s efforts, and wish his services were available today.

Please don’t get me wrong, I love children. I’m the proud Uncle of a nephew and two nieces, who are a joy to be around.

It’s those other children I have a problem with.

You know those other children I’m talking about. The whiners, the screamers, the back of the seat kickers. The crumb leavers and germ spreaders. The wreckers of restaurants, the throwers of tantrums in the middle of a wedding. How could you not notice them? They shatter the quiet with their stubborn refusal to use their indoor voice. They fidget, bicker, dawdle, annoy, irritate, infuriate and exacerbate.

Again, let me make it clear that I love children.

Of course I am without a doubt considered a disgruntled minority in this family friendly country of ours. I’m sure there were a few citizens in the town of Vulgaria who loved Baron Bomburst’s no kiddies law; who sat beaming in the tavern enjoying their bratwurst without having to listen to some screaming child two stools over knock over yet another stein of whatever children drank in a fictional 1900’s Bavarianesque village. But were these folks heard from in the film? No. Just the mopey child lovers were seen shuffling long faced through the town square.
One of the perks of living in the fair city of New York is that if you really want to, you can completely avoid any and all contact with children. Sure, you will encounter a stray herd of them in your travels; tourist destinations like Times Square and Central Park are crawling with kids, and you’re really need to remove your head from your posterior if you expect a complete absence of the wee ones on your occasional visits to Toys R Us.
But the beauty of this city is that for the most part, adults who have trouble holding court with the toddlers have so many places to go to get away from the whirling din of confusion and annoyance that is a family of five trying to order a meal in front of you at McDonalds. I point to of course the hundreds of bars, lounges and watering holes in Gotham that gloriously uphold one of the most beloved laws of the dwindling childless masses – “No One Under 21 Admitted.” Like the rag tag group of Texas pioneers who barricaded themselves behind the walls of the Alamo, we hold our ground against the overwhelming masses urging us to join them in their family ways.

But for how long can we hold them off?

The powerful family friendly lobby in this country, which for a while now has been helping various communities across the U.S. to stage “families only” nights at restaurants and shopping centers, may some day decide that parents should be allowed to have a “Family Night” at your local bar.

My mind shudders at the very thought.

I can see it now; strollers parked out front, forcing the smokers even further into the street. The big screen televisions blasting “Spongebob Squarepants” instead of Sportcenter. Diaper bags stacked up in front of the Big Buck Hunter Pro game. The bar littered with sippy cups and soggy handfuls of cheerios. The “Elmo’s World Soundtrack” playing on the jukebox.

Never a Child Catcher around when you need one.

Guitar Player Sucks At Guitar Hero

July 21, 2008

(New York) Local musician Eric Krane has been playing guitar all his life, yet cannot make it through the easiest levels of the popular video game Guitar Hero.

“Shit, why can’t I do this,” Krane groused as he fumbled with the fret buttons, trying to strum along to Deep Purple’s Smoke On The Water. “I studied classical guitar technique in music school and I play in a freaking band. Christ, I taught myself to play this song when I was seven!”

Krane’s twelve-year-old nephew Steven who plays the game in expert mode, believes his Uncle can stop sucking if he totally practices more.

Imaginary Girlfriend Dumped

July 15, 2008

(New York) Vanessa, the imaginary girlfriend of midtown resident Tim Rogers was devastated to learn that she had been dumped over the weekend; replaced by Christine Moore, a real flesh and blood woman Rogers met through friends.

“I cannot believe this has happened,” said the figment of Tim’s imagination who has been with him since his last breakup. “I should have known he was pulling away from me when he started conversing with real girls at bars instead of sitting in a corner talking to me.”

Though reomorseful, Rogers was very straightforward about his decision to end things with Venessa, a sexy brunette who looks like a combination of Victoria’s Secret model Adriana Lima and that hot chick from the Transformers movie.

“Vanessa was a great fantasy girl,” Rogers said as he prepared for his date with Christine. “But I’m looking for a woman who has thoughts other than my own and wears something other than a schoolgirl outfit. Plus, it’s so much easier to have a conversation with Christine since I don’t have to do both voices.”

Vanessa sadly packed up her imaginary belongings and quietly moved to the back of Roger’s subconscious mind early Tuesday morning, where she will share a small space with Roger’s imaginary childhood friend Toby and that incident at Summer camp in 1982 that is just waiting to escape.

Air Conditioning Saves Relationship

June 9, 2008

(New York) West Side resident Glen Fisher decided to break up with his longtime girlfriend this weekend, but with the record heat wave that’s currently gripping the city, the thought of leaving her air-conditioned apartment is making him rethink his decision.
 
“Robin and I never had much in common,” Fisher commented while enjoying a pint with his friend. “She doesn’t like to drink, I hate her friends, and she keeps bugging me about getting a better job, but the one thing we always agreed on was that the central air conditioning in her condo is awesome! I swear to God, it’s like a freaking meat locker in there!”

Fisher later decided to give the relationship another chance for Robin’s sake, or until next week when a Canadian cold front moves in and temperatures drop down to the mid to upper seventies.