THE UNMITIGATED GALL OF ARTEURO LANGELLA

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Arteuro Langella will make a pretzel of your soul.
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Hold on, you want to know about Arteuro Langella? I’ll tell you about that asshole. Sit down, take a load off... tune your ears to the lord and all that crap. This may take awhile. The man is a perplexation to us all, a positive curdled cunt loogie on the scale of King freakin Kong. I’m talking bout bad voodoo here pure and simple. There is no reason, no way for any sane man to develop the way he has without some sort of supernatural or occult-like interference. I should know. I know a lot of things.
It all started back in the winter of ’72. The year that little cock knobbler was born. His mother and father were people, that much is true and like any normal red blooded human beings they made a mistake or two in the raising. But having said that, let me say this: that fucking fagot was clothed, fed, bathed, and all around taken care of. He wasn’t molested, abused, or inflicted with any tragic illness or debilitating condition known to man.
What I am trying to say here is there is absolutely no reason the man should have turned out the way he did, none whatsoever. There is not one single factor that we can point our fingers to which would cause us to say, “Hey! There! Look at that! That MUST be the reason for his complete and total fucked-uppedness!”
No my friends, there is no clear explanation for Arteuro Langella’s obvious, over all, and apparent fucked-uppedness.
((RING! RING!))
Jesus fucking…all the resources of the universe and I can’t get a decent ring tone… keep it classic, it’s what people expect…what fucking ever!
((RING! RING!))
Yes! What?
Yes!
Unhunh, well I don’t fucking know when?
I don’t care if they’re getting restless I’m in the middle of a story. Where the Hell are they going to go?
No, that wasn’t a joke.
Look, just tell them S.P. said…
Wait…
Ok, hold on, I have to deal with this; I will be back in a sec. Just catch up, joggle your jiggle or something… Check this out while I do everyone else’s fucking job for them.
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((In this paper I would argue in favor of a broad game theoretical perspective on language use. Polite linguistic behavior should and only should be pertinent within the domain of two rational conversational partners which each come with their own unique perspectives and belief systems. Within the domain of the animal kingdom polite behavior is a handicap which will inevitably bring about the ruination of the participants given the previous stipulation is not immediately apparent. The function of making a request in a polite way is to turn a situation in which preferences are not well aligned to one where they are by assuming…))
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Arteuro Langella’s father was a diplomat. The man left his work at work. He held no diplomatic intentions within the confines of his own walls. There was no question. There was no dispute. The man would be king.
This is the man Arteuro learned diplomacy from.
There were questions within Arteuro’s mother’s extended family as to whether or not his father beat the woman; His temper was such. Even to Arteuro the subject of spousal abuse was unclear. He had never seen physical evidence to support the theory.
The diplomat’s family led the diplomat’s life and moved as he was repositioned accordingly. There was never any question of a vote. Once or twice a year they all packed their things, left what little surroundings they had become used to, and ventured off to God knows where to do God knows what.
God knows.
Uncertain footing in an uncertain tide for Arteuro… ever adrift in a sea of suspicious faces and unkind glances.
There were friends, passing acquaintances. And once or twice the boy opened himself up… only to find himself the subject of mass public ridicule. He quickly learned that around the new faces at every school, and the new faces at every church, and the new faces at every grocery store… even around the faces in every new house, silence was the best course of action.
His opinion was for shit.
A person without, ‘history of presence’, obviously did not have anything important to say.
This is what Arteuro Langella learned as a child.
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Everything’s unexpected but in reality it’s all the same – Arteuro Langella.
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I dated Arteuro Langella for 3 years, 4 months, and 22 days. Excuse me, let me just… 1, 2, 27, yes, that’s right. I had to do the math because it felt like an eternity towards the end. I had to reassure myself that it was, in fact, a measurable amount of time.
He was... well Arteuro was special.
During the end, as we were… you know, breaking up… he would call me on the phone and stay on the other end of the line an ungodly length of time. If I stopped talking he would listen silently. A couple of times I put the phone down and walked away only to return five or ten minutes later to find him still there, waiting like a puppy dog… not talking, not humming, not breathing… just listening.
As if the telephone magically connected us and conjoined our souls. It was enough to sustain something in him that he needed.
Oh, yes…
He needed.
He was a late bloomer.
I mean, he was 27 by the time he lost…
Look, he loved me more than any man has ever loved me. And that was just weird. It was too much to take, all that love day in and day out. There is no excuse for that. He was a great boyfriend but he needed to focus some of the energy he was directing at me on himself. He seemed to loose himself in love. And since he wasn’t there… well, there wasn’t much left for me to love back.
He was too sensitive.
Excuse me. I get a little bit …
Just give me a second.
O.K., Arteuro was…
No.
I said I wouldn’t…
Fuck it.
Fuck Arteuro Langella.
Fuck Arteuro Langella right in the ass…
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((“The United Nations voted today to extend its trade embargo on Sudan. Officials within the Sudanese Government are quoted as being ‘extremely disappointed’ claiming that the embargo is an act of terrorism and that its people are starving as a direct result of these actions… Sudan… Sudan is hot. Dan, how’s our weather this weekend going to compare to theirs?”
“Well Peter it is definitely not going to feel like a desert out there. Saturday holds an 85 percent chance of rain and torrential downpours. So if you have any outdoor yard sales planned you may need to reschedule.”
“Dan I believe all yard sales are outdoor events.”
“Ha! Yes indeed Peter, you got me. The weather clears up Sunday just in time for football with scattered sunshine and a pleasant high of 75… low humidity.”
“Thank God for small favors Dan.”
“Indeed Peter.”))
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He stares at his drink. No, not the drink… the square wet ‘rings’ on the desk from where he has lifted it up and set it back down. For some reason his placement has taken a consistent list to the left. The rings form symmetrical mirror images one right after the other like two dimensional motion indicators in an action comic directly behind the glass. He smiles. Little things make him happy.
Arteuro raises his glass to his lips and drinks the cold crisp liquid from within. It is a ritual, a motion for show performed even when he is alone. In his mind’s eye a camera is always on him. Someone is watching. Someone is always tuned in. He fills his mouth and tightens his lips as he gulps down the glub.
He winces, something he picked up from the movies he watched growing up. Only in the movies it was whiskey and not carbonated water.
It is the same with his glass. He holds a short square glass, the sort usually reserved for cocktails. It feels good in his hand and when he carries it around he feels like a grown up. He feels he looks as a grown up should.
For some reason this is important to him.
Too many things seem to be important to Arteuro these days… too many silly things.
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((The last known sighting of Tubulidentata Orycteropus, more commonly known as the North American Aardvark, was in the Ozark Mountains in 1927. It is described as being vaguely pig like in appearance sporting limbs of moderate length, a back sparsely covered with coarse hairs, and a greatly elongated head set on a short thick neck. Its primary source of food (termites and ants) it procured by a long, thin, snakelike protruding tongue.
The North American Aardvark has earned the nickname ‘The Polite Beast’ by the reported observation of its refusal to step on the very creatures it is endeavoring to ingest.
Tubulidentata Orycteropus is, at present, considered extinct.))
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Arteuro Langella is weird and you can quote me on that, one really weird weirdo. I met him right before he and Candice broke up. He was quiet at the restaurant but when he did speak he seemed charming enough. There was no way I could have foreseen the weirdness that was to come. He was like a weird wolf all covered in sheep… uh… stuff… anyway, (I never was any good with metaphors according to my creative writing professor,) Arteuro was one weird cat.
So like, Candice left his sorry ass and he tried to talk to me about it…which was cool, I can be sympathetic if you know, a person is deserving of such sympathy. But let me assure you lest there be any disputation that Arteuro Langella was most definitely not such a person. Not by a long shot.
Did I mention he was weird?
He kept telling me and telling me that he wanted to get back together with her and I was all like, ‘I know dude! Get over it already.’ All the chestnuts… maybe she was right for you but you might not have been right for her and if you love something let it go, if it comes back then it was truly meant to be… yada, yada, and yada.
I was trying to be nice but there he was, every time I turned around telling me how much he loved her… pathetic much?
So anyway, I had a party, kind of a housewarming thing, and I invited Candice and her new boo… but like no way in Hell was I going to invite Arteuro frickin Langella, who needs that kind of awkward? I mean, I would talk to him through email but that was it. So he sends me a message asking me why he wasn’t invited, like I needed to explain it to the likes of him. Weeeiiirrrd!
Paging weirdy Mcweirdenstein.
So I chilled for a while, gave it some space, I figure the guy just needed some time to cool. And for a moment he did. Then he started commenting on like, everything I said and I was like, whoa. I sent him a message calmly explaining to him that I had just started seeing a dude I liked and could he please stop liking anything I like, said. He sent a message back stating he didn’t understand… that he and I were just ‘platonic’ friends and all that.
I was like… Hello! Penis… vagina… penis… vagina!!! There’s nothing platonic about that. If he were able to sustain a real relationship he would understand. I had to delete him… I just couldn’t take all his weirdness anymore.
And every so often, I get a friend request or an email from him wondering how I am. I sincerely wish he would just stop and keep all his weird weirdness to himself. I don’t need to hear that he hopes I am doing well. Who needs that shit? The thought of him just makes me go all… Ick! You know? Just ICK! Ewe, I gave myself a full body shiver thinking about all that weird…
Enough talk about Arteuro Langella. Let’s talk about something else. Let’s talk about my new book. It is a quaint little mystery thriller about a forensic pathologist who investigates…
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((Coming this Thanksgiving to a theater near you!!!
The world of Shakespeare as you’ve never seen it before!!!
Starring Sarah Silverman and Kathy Griffin as Goneril and Regan…
“C’mon daddy! I wanted a purple Porschie!”
“Like your fat ass could fit in a car that small!”
“Bitch!”
Also starring Jessica Alba as Cordelia.
“Really it’s fine father, I like riding my bike.”
And Wesley Snipes.
“Ah ‘ave your daughter and her bike mon. Whacha gwanna do naw!”
“No papa! Don’t give in to his deman…”
(SLAP!)
“Shut ap ya filthy wench!”
This Thanksgiving!
Vin Diesel!
Gets!
Medieval!
“Buddy… You just messed with the wrong king.”
KING LEAR!!!
(EXPLOSION), (EXPLOSION), (EXPL…))
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He tilts his head back and gazes at the hazy shaft shooting out from the projector’s booth. Light seems to move and curdle through the ray, like smoke. It is infinitely more interesting than the moving pictures on the screen.
Why is he here?
Here… in the darkened matinee of yet another holiday schlock fest.
Arteuro wandered into the nearest theater on this Tuesday afternoon. It felt like home. He left lunch at work and never went back, coming here instead. He purchased a ticket for the first thing showing and let the dark anonymity of the theater embrace him in its black cocoon. He is pretty sure he is alone. He finds it hard to believe that anyone would purposefully walk into this particular room while this, whatever this is, is on the screen.
Before him, Mr. Diesel is rapidly running through an exploding castle. He throws his shiny crown like a shrunken impaling someone, an expendable character, to the wall.
“Stick around.”
Why is his ass still in this seat? This is shit piled on shit. There is no reason for him to be here, other than the fact that he has already bought the ticket. The money is spent with no hope of a happy return. This is indignant?
Arteuro closes his eyes to the horror before him.
What is he hiding from?
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What’s it all about?
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The boy stands behind the curtains. The house is packed. He peeks out into the crowd, unable to make out his mother and father. He is nervous but he knows his lines. A cast-mate touches him on the shoulder from behind and whispers “Break a leg Langella.”
He nods and takes a deep breath. This is his grand entrance, a show stopping musical number where Arteuro gets a chance to play a nerd and maybe, in the process, not feel like such a…
What?
... Such a nothing.
He loses himself in the role.
He becomes Wilbur.
It feels good not being Arteuro.
It feels good being anybody but Arteuro.
Wilbur trips out onto the stage and pushes up his scotch taped glasses.
The crowd bursts into applause even before he starts. He is funny. That is what he is here for… the funny.
Wilbur sings in a nasally voice.
“I searched the skyyyyy
And crieeeeeed
Where is my looooove
Oooo eeee ooooooooo
Wop Wop!”
The crowd goes ape-shit as he sings his nerd love song to his nerd girlfriend…
There’s someone for everyone and all that.
Pip pip.
At the end, when all the seniors take their bow and accept their applause, sophomore Arteuro Langella gets the biggest round of the night. It is love.
Not love for him… love for Wilbur.
Still…
He accepts it in Wilbur’s stead and feels something on his cheeks he is not used to… an upward straining of the lips which is almost more than he can bear. It is an alien sensation, this feeling… this smile.
It scares the boy somewhat as he tries it… not all bad.
‘This is what normal feels like? How do they stand it?’
After accolades he waits with the others on stage. Parents, friends, and family members step up to shake hands, pat backs, and dole out huge heaping hugs.
“I’m so proud of you son!”
“Honey, you were excellent!”
“Wow, I never knew the next Laurence Olivier was living under my roof.”
“Awesome job!”
He smiles the whole time, feeling the burn. Arteuro’s jaw begins to hurt. His face isn’t used to the position. He smiles as he waits.
The crowd thins out.
Still he waits.
They might have gone to the restroom. He waits and he smiles.
He waits some more.
He waits until he is sitting alone on the edge of the stage.
He waits until the lights go out.
… He waits.
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OK, I’m back. These fucking assholes around here couldn’t screw in a light bulb without me unless they formed a committee to decide to allow a non-me light bulb screwing process to exist and then elected the proper officials to act as me-proxy in said screwing of said light bulb.
Where was I?
Oh yes… I was telling you about that fart plug Arteuro Langella. What a colossal cum stain on your mother’s apron that guy is. Don’t be fooled or deceived into feeling sorry for that piece of shit. We are all an amalgamation of our collective decisions, and some decisions simply cannot be forgiven.
Case in point… there he sat, watching KING LEAR, (great fucking movie by the way. Vin Diesel is one of the most underrated actors of this or any other generation,) and he suddenly decides he doesn’t want to be there. Great! You don’t want to be there! So fucking what? You bought the ticket, you take the ride. You don’t change horses in the middle of the race.
And then, this cocksucker gets up and leaves! Right in the middle of a big chase! What the fuck? So he hops theaters one to the next until he finally finds something he likes in the fourth. Whoa! You didn’t pay to see those films… You can’t just flip the script mid story. You’ll be lost. You have to let that shit play out. I don’t care if it’s not working for you.
Millions of people every day don’t like what they see. It doesn’t mean they can change it. It’s just not the way it’s done.
But noooooo, this turd sucking, booger licking half ass of a fuck tard Langella decides he is just gonna up and change, and not only movies. That would have been too fucking simple. As he walks down the long brightly lit mylar-laden hallway of the theater he whips out his phone.
First he calls his girlfriend.
“Sorry baby but I’m not happy anymore… best of luck.”
Then he calls his job.
“This is official notice that I won’t be back. I quit.”
Then he calls his family.
“Don’t think I’ll be home for thanksgiving this year; More turkey for you.”
And finally on the way out the door he drops his phone in one of those little trash receptacles… you know the one, the kind with those silver tops and the flap that flips in when you push it only you’ve got to push it with a little force because it doesn’t swing easy and if your hands are full you run the risk of dropping everything on the floor…
One of those things.
I hate those things.
Sooooo…..
Oh yeah, this fucknutz Langella is walking out the theater with his head held high, a new lease on life… what fucking ever bitch. You can’t just laugh at the hand fate dealt you. You have to play it out. You never… and I mean never ever… spit in the wind. And you don’t pull the mask of that ol’ Lone Ranger… hee hee.
All I’m saying is that if he hadn’t of done what he did, then he wouldn’t of had did what he had done.
So he walks out, huge ass smile on his face. Arteuro Langella is finally free… yeah right. Free to fucking die.
((SPLAT))
This 747 falls dead out of the sky straight down on his fucked up ass. Just like the hand of GOD.
((SMACK!!!))
Exactly like the hand of GOD.
Well… it pretty much was the hand of GOD. HE can’t be having that shit. What if everyone decided they wanted a different life and just up and changed? It would be pandemonium… sheer and total chaos is what the fuck it’d be. Fuck that shit. That little shit slurper needed to be shown the way. He needed guidance. He needed to be mother fucking told!!!
That’s where I came into the picture.
That’s where I made the acquaintance of one Arteuro Fucking Langella…the stupid fuck.
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((WOWZERS! YOU ARE TUNED IN TO WDAV RADIO! THE STATION THAT ROCKS YOU NEVER STOPS YOU AND MOTHER FOCKS YOU!!! THIS IS BILBO AND THE GREMLIN AT THE TOP OF THE HOUR BRINGING YOU THE EASY LISTENING CLASSICS YOU KNOW YOU WANT!!! YEAH BABY!!! GETTING CRAZY UP IN HERE!!! BUCK WILD!!! WOOO HOOO!!!! HERE’S A CLASSIC DUET FROM MICHAEL BOLTON AND COURTNEY LOVE!!! CRUSHED VELVET!!! ROCK N FOCKING ROLL!!!))
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‘Wait… this isn’t the parking lot outside of the theater.’
Arteuro is standing on… well; there is no other word for it… a cloud. He looks down at his body. He feels fine, better than fine. But for some reason he is wearing a robe. It fits nice enough but he doesn’t remember buying it…
‘Are robes ‘in’ this season?’
‘Must have been one hell of a party.’
‘Wait… this isn’t the parking lot outside the theater.’
There is a man standing in front of him and a man standing behind him, both in similar robes. He taps the shoulder of the guy in front.
“Excuse me, where am I?”
The man looks confused. He turns around and taps the shoulder of the guy in front of him.
“Excuse me, where IS the guy standing behind me?”
The man in front thinks for awhile before coming to a decision.
“He is behind you.”
The man in front of Arteuro turns back around.
“You are behind me.”
“Oh… OK… thank you.”
Arteuro looks beyond the man in front of him and realizes he is in a line… a long line of men in similar robes leading up to a huge podium where a man in an even whiter robe with an even whiter beard looks into a huge whi… I mean, golden, book.
“This definitely isn’t the parking lot outside the theater.”
Arteuro finally makes it to the front of the line.
The white bearded man behind the podium does not look up.
“Name?”
“Arteuro Langella.” He sticks out his hand. “And who may I ask do I have the pleasure of meeting?”
The old man keeps his nose in the book.
“Langella… Langella… Langella… Ah yes, Langella! You’re the spazkatoid who wouldn’t sit still through KING LEAR, what the fuck is wrong with you? Now you’ll never know how it ends.”
Arteuro looks at his hand then back up at the man.
“Vin Diesel defeats the Jamaican Nazis and gets his daughter back?”
The man behind the podium looks over the podium and down on Arteuro for the first time.
“Yes smartass and it is glorious when he does. Did you know that movie will gross…”
He glances back at his book.
“147 million at the box office… and that’s just domestic.”
Arteuro looks around at his surroundings.
“Yeah… um…. What exactly am I doing here… and who are you?”
He leans in.
“Do you work for Fandango?”
The man stiffens.
“This…” with a grand sweeping gesture of his long be-robed arm, “…Is the Kingdom of Heaven! And I…” stepping out from behind the podium, “…Am Saint Peter!” He raises one long pointy finger to the sky to emphasize the point.
Lightening streaks across the sky.
The pair stand there looking at one another.
Finally Arteuro blinks.
“Pleased to meet you Mr. Peter.” He extends his hand again.
The keeper of the gate looses his shit.
“It’s Saint Peter you fucking retard! Are you completely insane? This is heaven! Those are the Pearly Gates!”
They look more of an off white to Arteuro.
“And I am Saint Fucking Peter you misguided cunt!”
Arteuro digests this new bit of information. He nods, looks down at his unshaken hand and retracts it.
“OK then… thank you for the information.”
They look at each other some more.
“Well…
… Be seeing you.”
Arteuro waves, turns to his right, and walks off.
Saint Peter is stunned and the boy takes several steps away before he regains his senses. He sternly crosses his arms.
“Hey! Fucknuts! What the fucky fuck do you think you’re doing?”
“Leaving.”
The reader of the book of life stomps his feet and pulls his hair.
“This is the kingdom of heaven! The majesty of the lord your GOD unfurled before you. Large breasted women with wings! Amazing! Streets of Gold! Where the crap are you going?”
Arteuro keeps walking.
“This way.”
“Why in the universe would you ever do that?”
Arteuro stops. He cocks his head and thinks for a moment. The entire line leans in to wait for his response.
‘Why am I walking this way?’
Arteuro looks back at Saint Peter.
He looks back at the line.
Diplomacy… love… protocol… family… politeness… obligation…
‘What is expected of me?’
‘What is expected?’
‘What to expect?’
‘Expectations.’
He smiles.
It is the first natural smile of his life.
“Because.”
Arteuro Langella turns around and walks away from the Kingdom of Heaven.
Saint Peter sits down on the ground by the podium.
He shakes his head.
“Well poke me in the pooper and call me Polly.”
He looks up at the next man in line.
The man smiles.
“What the fuck are you looking at you sonofabitchin late term abortion?”
The man quickly looks to the ground.
Saint Peter returns to his position behind the podium.
“Next!”
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((Coming this fall to ABC Family! Kathy Yang is an average all American girl. Until the day she discovers an ancient family secret that changes her life forever.
“Kathy there is something you must know.”
“Yes Mom.”
“We have been keeping a secret from you.”
Now Kathy has to balance going to high school and keeping the secret.
All the while fighting the powers of darkness…
“Four corners of the cross unite as one!”
(KAZOWIE!!!)
“We are the Jesus Ninjas!”
“Good work Kathy.”
“Thanks daddy, we kick butt for the Lord!”
“That’s right honey.”
(High five air jump.)
JINJAS!!! Thursdays This Fall on ABC Family.))
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THE END