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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!


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.


May 25, 2008

I thought I would share a few things with you readers. Hopefully this will complete the bonding process.

 – I can read an entire issue of Entertainment Weekly in ten minutes. Five minutes of the issue has a lot of stuff about Grey’s Anatomy.


 – I love that movie The Cutting Edge. Hockey player and Ice Princess skate and find love.

It’s pure gold dammit, and I’m not ashamed to admit it.


 – I don’t know what the word zeitgeist means. I see the word once in a while in print, usually in The New York Times. And if you know what zeitgeist means, you’re lying.


 – I want to punch Gwen Stefani. Hard.


Whenever I don’t want to deal with someone (a person begging for change or handing out flyers on the street) I pretend I am talking on my cellphone.

I tried that at the table last Thanksgiving, with very poor results.


 – Remember that big stock market crash back in 1987?  That was my fault. Sorry.


There. I feel better now.





My Workout Log

May 20, 2008

6:00 AM – Awaken from a good night’s sleep. I quickly put on my Nike Dri-fit pullover and my tights – the ones I run in, not the ones I wear when I patrol the city at night searching for evildoers.

6:10 AM – Begin stretching exercises. Lose balance while trying to touch right heel to back of my head and fall, ramming the radiator with my forehead before crashing to the floor.

9:27 AM – After regaining consciousness and applying Bactine to skull, I head out the door.

10:14 AM – Finish pre-workout breakfast; steak, cheese omelet, bacon, hash browns, blueberry pancakes, one box of “Trix” cereal, coffee, 1 pkg. Drakes “Yankee Doodles,” and two diet Yoo-Hoos.

10:32 AM – Arrive at Park via cab. Commence power-walking session by firing a ceremonial shot from my starter’s pistol. Frightened bystanders hit the ground and toss me their purses and wallets.

10:34 AM – Begin striding at a brisk pace. Realize I forgot to wear my heart rate monitor watch, so I begin to emit a loud beeping noise with each step.

10:39 AM – Rest break on nearest park bench.

11:52 AM – Awaken from my rest break. Have post rest break brunch at Tavern On The Green. The waffles are heavenly.

12:56 PM – Resume walking. Child on bicycle rides up next to me, asks why I am making beeping noises. Explain to her that I’m a sophisticated robot sent to look for bountiful food supply for a race of child eating aliens. I laugh joyfully at her shrieking.

1:04 PM – Body temperature rising. Begin shedding layers of clothing. Sunlight hits my pale pasty body; reflected glare from my alabaster skin blinds a group of German tourists, and causes a Yorkshire terrier to burst into flames.

1:07 PM- Right arm goes numb, heartbeat becomes irregular, running tights creeping up into some forbidden territory.

1:16 PM – Begin experiencing a “runners high,” I am lying on a gorgeous Hawaiian beach enjoying a frosty Margarita, when a beautiful bikini clad woman emerges from the surf. She lies down next to me and we begin making out big time…

1:18 PM- I am on the ground in the middle of the park in the throes of what can be described as a mild Grand Mal seizure. Luckily, a beautiful E.M.T. worker emerges from an ambulance and begins to give me mouth-to-mouth resuscitation…

1:19 PM – I begin screaming when I realize beautiful E.M.T. giving me mouth-to mouth is actually a 300-pound park worker named Enrique. Awkward silence immediatly follows.

1:31 PM – A real ambulance arrives to take me away as people cheer wildly and divide my possessions.

8:10 PM – Removed from the intensive care ward. Begin planning next week’s workout session while writing thank you note to Enrique for the lovely flowers he sent.

More Fake News

March 17, 2008

Drunken Assholes Prepare For St. Patrick’s Day 

(New York) As New York City makes final preparations for the St. Patrick’s Day Parade on Monday, thousands of assholes from the tri-state area are also gearing up to invade Manhattan to turn the annual celebration of Irish heritage into a drunken orgy of fistfights and public urination.

Dana Janakowski of New Jersey also has a busy day of public inebriation planned with her girlfriends. “St. Patrick’s Day in New York is a blast” Janakowski beamed as she tried on her giant green sombrero. “I wish I could remember how many places we hit last year. All I remember is that I woke up in a puddle of my own vomit in the basement of some bar on 43rd street. That was soooo much fun!”

“Woooooooo! St. Patty’s Day!” Long Island resident Tony Matteo screamed as he laid out his St. Patrick’s Day wardrobe – A t-shirt with the words “Do Me, I’m Irish” printed on it. “I can’t fucking wait for Monday, bro. I’m gonna drink a whole bottle of Absolut on the train so I’ll be ripped by the time we hit the city. Then after that, who the fuck knows? Last year I punched three bartenders who refused to serve me and my bros. It’s gonna be pretty fucking hard to beat that record bro.”

Matteo also hopes to break a few car windows and molest as many half conscious woman as he can before passing out in a subway station early Tuesday morning.

Hello world!

March 14, 2008

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