The Idiot's Bible: With the Other Side: My Life in Tucson

By Joshua Cole

Book One: The Idiots Bible
Follow the humorous train of thought, repressed childhood memories, and embarrassing stories of a shy, quiet, weird, comic book-loving kid as he tries to get a date in high school, never attaining his goal. Book Two (The New Testament) The Other Side: My Life in Tucson
After studying two years at Northwestern University, a small, private school outside of Chicago, the same goofy kid, now obsessed with playing water polo, listening to classic rock music and watching hockey, goes on a three-month orgy at the state-school University of Arizona, in Tucson. His main objectives are to drink, smoke, trip and get laid. He never expects what would happen, as he retells his crazy, wild stories and learns about life, love and friendship. Excerpt: I gave up a possible threesome in the desert to go to my fraternity formal with a girl who had a boyfriend at the beginning of the night. The night before, I blacked out and beat up a ping pong table over a girl. The day after, I got stood up, again by the same friend as before.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Sep 11, 2002
• ISBN: 9781469717630

Book preview

The Idiot’s Bible

with The Other Side: My Life in Tucson

Joshua Cole

Writers Club Press

San Jose New York Lincoln Shanghai

The Idiot’s Bible with The Other Side: My Life in Tucson

All Rights Reserved © 2002 by Joshua Cole

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the permission in writing from the publisher.

Writers Club Press an imprint of iUniverse, Inc.

For information address: iUniverse, Inc. 5220 S. 16th St., Suite 200 Lincoln, NE 68512 www.iuniverse.com

ISBN: 0-595-24530-7

ISBN: 978-1-4697-1763-0 (ebook)

Printed in the United States of America

Contents

Part One:

INTRODUCTION

Preface

Disclaimer

Quotes in Stereotype

Who am I?

Acknowledgements

CHAPTER ONE:

CHAPTER TWO:

CHAPTER THREE:

CHAPTER FOUR:

CHAPTER FIVE:

EPILOGUES

Epilogue One:

Epilogue Two:

Epilogue Three:

Part Two (The New Testament):

INTRODUCTION

Prologue: The Pi Chapter

CHAPTER ONE:

CHAPTER TWO:

CHAPTER THREE:

CHAPTER FOUR:

CHAPTER FIVE:

CHAPTER SIX:

CHAPTER SEVEN:

CHAPTER EIGHT:

EPILOGUES

Epilogue One:

Epilogue Two:

Epilogue Three:

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

To my grandma, Whose only duties include: calling her daughter everyday cutting coupons and bragging about her grandsons.

Part One:

THE IDIOT’S BIBLE

INTRODUCTION

Preface

Like the Bible, the non-italicized one, this book is trying to sell something. Like any good Christian, I’m a sales rep (Danny Devito, Big Kahuna, 2000). Both the Idiot’s Bible (italicized) and the Bible (nonitalicized) are selling faith that the world is going to be better if you follow certain paths.

How does my Bible give instructions for a better world?

• You will see that there really is someone more pathetic than you in the world.

• You will see everything dumb you should not do.

• You will make me happy so I can screw up in my life even more times and write a sequel—all for your entertainment.

Unlike the Bible (the non-italicized one), my bible doesn’t have an inner meaning, etc. Telling the pathetic nature of the world and telling how to live life is boring, esoteric and hard to do. That’s why my bible is for entertainment purposes only, both mine and yours. You get to read stories at the expense of my humility, while I get to make money so I can buy comic books.

Disclaimer

All names have been falsified. That does not mean they are not real victims. I can’t legally use anybody’s real name, or, rather, I don’t want to go through the trouble of seeing if I have to get permission or anything like that.

In my attempts to avert confusion on my part about whose names I traded, I’ve tried to avoid using names in reference to people. In effect, this puts more of the blame for actions on myself, while simultaneously dehumanizing the events and other people.

Now that I think about it, I probably should have tried to avoid all reference to myself, which would then censure stupid, nameless…people.

Quotes in Stereotype

To the potential reader,

You are probably wondering what makes this book special enough to plop down a couple of bucks to buy it, then waste a couple of precious hours reading this little paperback. I could tell you how it is a unique, humorous contemporary anthology of life, love and the failed pursuit of happiness, written by a new prodigy in literature, but, boy, I’d be lying. The book has nothing to do with life, only high school.

I could list one-line reviews from the New San Jolla Gazette or the Mount Galilee Star that praises the author as the modern Shakespeare of our time, and the book as the next Romeo and Juliet, but what do those schmoes know anyway if they work for the New San Jolla Gazette? Every publisher can find a journalist with a favorable opinion of a book, especially since Gannett employs a large number of journalists.

Every book seems like it’s important and has esoteric undertones because it was reviewed by a somewhat-known and possibly respected news source. That kills me.

I’m not going to do that. I’ve got quotes from real stereotypical people. Here is what they would say, if they were real:

Kerry and Jennifer

This book was…different, which made it exciting and worth reading, Kerry says. Kerry is a brunette majoring in philosophy. You can really understand the character. It’s a good escape from college reading. To describe it, I think it would be like a PG Romance Novel.

Hah. ‘PG Romance Novel.’ That’s funny. I’ve never heard a triple oxymoron so perfectly said, Jennifer responds. Jennifer is an undeclared freshman in the College of Arts and Sciences. For a second, she remembers that she recently dyed her hair blonde. She notices, too, that her friend and the young man asking for quotes are staring at her, waiting for elaboration. Fearing that someone figured out her façade, she starts to chew an imaginary piece of gum, while simultaneously twirling her index finger around one of her bangs.Like,that’s cool,y’know,she says, smiling and laughing, waving her hands to get her companions to do the same. She stops. C’mon, she commands to Kerry as she grabs the arm of her reluctant friend. Let’s get out of here.

Jamal

This book was hilarious, the big, black football player says between bench press sets at the stadium. Being a bad-ass football player in high school and college, I’ve never been alone. It’s hilarious seeing what it’s like for the meek, dorky kids. It’s kind of sad they’re not as naturally gifted in sports as I am—to which I thank the savior Lord Jesus Christ every morning, although I skip doing so a couple of times when my girlfriend is lying naked next to me, sleeping. I mean, if she wakes up, I don’t want to come off as a wuss in front of her, y’knowhatimean? he jokes as he lightly punches the shoulder of the kid with the journalist pad, who almost tripped over the weight rack after the fist’s impact.

Sorry about that, Jamal says as he grabs the short white kid and pulls him up. I don’t know my own strength. …What was I sayin’? Oh, yeah, I was talking about my natural, God-gifted, Met-Rx enhanced skills. It’s sad that everybody doesn’t have the same Catholic faith in God as I do, so they’re weak, and they have dicks at least a foot smaller than mine. I love this book. It reminds me how much better I am, and how special God made me.

Oh, hey, he says as the journalist is about to leave, can you not put that thing about me praying everyday in there? I don’t want my girlfriend to know that I do that. She reads everything, even my textbooks for my classes.

Steve and Bill

I couldn’t stop laughing as I read this book, Steve says. Steve is a fratty-frat kid in one of the big, well-known fraternities on campus. He and his frat-brother, Bill, each holds a can of beer in his hand as they sit on their fraternity’s front porch. Other people—‘non-cool’ people—are so dumb.

I was a loser in high school, too, Bill adds. I couldn’t get any girls to…talk to me. Bill sees his brother is staring at him blankly. His voice deepens,Um,that’s what’s so great about our fraternity.And hot sorority sluts are the best kind. YEAH!

Yeah, dude, Steve says as he nods and gives his friend a high-five. He takes a final swig from the can, then crushes it against his skull. Ughh, he lets out a Neanderthal scream.

Yeah, Bill burps, then nods. The two laugh.

Scott and Mike

This book rings of so much truth, you have to laugh and love it, Scott says. Scott and Mike are in one of the lesser-known fraternities. They’re sitting outside, watching people go in and out of the buildings surrounding them. Nobody goes near their building.

The girls who were standing out front of the building next to them disappear inside. Man, those chicks were so hot, Scott pipes, the two girls’ image still reflecting in his mind. How come we never hang out with anybody so hot as that?

Yeah, Mike responds, not really paying attention to his friend, but to the two girls walking from the other side of the quad.

What’s going on? Joe says as he pops out of the entrance. Joe is cleanly shaven and wears thin-rimmed glasses, a polo shirt and khaki pants on the early autumn afternoon. Scott is growing a scruffy beard and it looks like Mike hasn’t shaven in days. The two loungers are wearing shorts and beat-up T-shirts.

We were just talking to this kid, here, Scott says, moving his head to recognize the kid standing across from them. He wrote a book, and he’s asking for reviews.

Are you in any fraternity? Joe asks the kid.

Uh, no, the kid hesitatingly responds as he looks up from his writing.

Joe’s eyes light up. We’ve got a little party this Wednesday if you want to come, here at the house. He hands the kid a business card and a cup. If you ever need anything, he says.

Thanks, the kid shyly responds, then slowly steps away. Joe follows him, and puts an arm around his shoulder.

What a tool, Scott jokes in the background when he thinks Joe and the kid have gotten out of earshot.Remember when we were freshman, what this fraternity was like?

Theodore and William

Hello, Theodore brightly says upon meeting the kid with the notepad. I’m Theodore Williams, and this is William Theodore.

Why do you have to do that all of the time? William says, turning to face Theodore. You always do that.I can introduce myself,y’know.And why do you say our full names?

I say it because you’re so cuute, Theodore grabs the cheeks of his companion. Oh, yes, sorry about that. You wanted something about the book? Theodore asks when he releases his vice-grip from his close friend. I just loved it! he accentuates every word, raising his voice even higher when he says loved it.

It’s exactly how I felt when I was straight, William says.

No, no, no, no, no. Theodore interrupts his friend, puts his hands on his side and turns his hips. That doesn’t sound good at tall. He looks over at the kid with the pad, cups his hand over his mouth and whispers, Don’t write that down.

It was the truth. What do you want me to say? William asks.

I don’t know, says Theodore, facing his friend again. What about something more…elegant. For instance, ‘It’s the fruitless plight of a straight, hopeless romantic.’

That’s great, William says emphatically.

I know, Theodore flaunts. I said it.

**

Eh, I know I said earlier I would only use real people, but I just couldn’t pass up paying some well-known celebrities to say a couple of words, or at least using their names without permission because I thought they would say the following.

Metallica’s Lars Ulridge

I love this book. This book is the greatest shit I’ve read, ever (although all I ever get my publicist to read to me—since I can’t read myself—are my reviews and my net worth statements)…Is that good enough? Where do I get my paycheck?

Uhm, says the non-celebrity wearing a black t-shirt with the word ‘Metallica’ written on the front with masking tape. You’ll get paid for the…royalties.

Royalties? OK. Yeah, 20 bucks per book.

Uhm, no, the kid responds. We can’t do that. The book sells for less than that.

Okay, I’ll take less. I don’t care, this book will sell a couple of million copies if I promote it.

Uhm, no, the kid hesitates for a third time. We’re only printing 1000 copies.

A thousand copies? Fuck you. How did I ever get duped into shit like this? Y’know, I’m the richest shit on this earth. Someday, I’m going to be richer than fucking God. That whole fucking Napster business was because we were losing $200,000. Our concert tickets cost $75. I still feel we got gypped on that deal. Y’know that MI:2 gig? We bided our time for years, just so we could get the highest possible deal in movie history. Some people would idolize us for not being sell-outs all those years. Those fucking fools. Hey, how dumb do you think I am?

Uhm…

Led Zeppelin vocalist, Robert Plant

This is a pretty good book, written by a good fan of Led Zeppelin. Y’know what makes me bloody angry? That damn Jimmy Page. He’s taking—stealing—all of our old songs, and selling them off to the newest rock band. This punk teenager from the ‘Black Crowes’ is butchering my bloody vocals. If I ever get close to him, I’ll show him something to crow about.…

Isn’t he a Gen-Xer, in his mid-20s or something? the kid with the notepad asks, not too sure.

I wouldn’t know, the Brit yells back. All I know is that when we were first played, that kid was probably still in diapers. If Pagey’s doing this, what can I do? Sing with someone like Jimmy Eat World? He’s just making money stealing all of our songs!

Britney Spears

Oops, I did it again. I screwed up my line. Can I do it, Baby, One More Time? …This book is wholesome entertainment for the entire family, like my music. What’s more, it’s written by a guy as cute as I am sexy.

Believing that she is finished with all she has to do, she crawls on the coffee table that separates her from the young man who was there to get the quote. Y’know, you’re not just cute, you’re really sexy. Carson Daly is, like, so dreamy. But, you’re 100 times more of a man than him. I’ve tried to seduce him so much, but he only has a thing for young girls. Plus, besides his crush for O-Town, he likes that skank, Christina Aguilera. She’s a whore. She stole my whole thing—y’know the whole dumb, hot blonde with a voice gig. I did that first, and she stole it…

A week later, on a male student’s answering machine, Hey-a-a-a-aay. Oops, I KRASH.

Beep doop beep doop. ’ey, mom, my answerin’ machine broke. Can I buy a new one?

Who am I?

If you’ve actually read this far, thank you. Even though you’ve already bought this book and given me the $.20 royalty, I am more excited that what I wrote is being read.

But, who am I? You’ve read the theological implications of this book, the description of its format and an astute variety of recommendations, but you still have no idea what the book is about. The book is about me, the author. Like many nuclear families, I have a mother, father, brother and dog.

Bunny (my mother)

My mother, a short, glasses-wearing, gray-haired omnipresent woman with a Coffee Talk New York accent, was simply known by everybody the city over as Bunny. Yes, she’s really called Bunny. Yes, it’s her legal name.

No, the straight arrow was never in Playboy.

Oh, your mom’s so nice, everybody would talk about Bunny. They didn’t know.

I’m not a morning person. I’d wake up screaming so many times because the first thing I heard every day growing up was Bunny’s scratchy, annoying whisper in my ear, Wake up. It’s your half-hour warning. She would come back into my room again, whisper in my ear every five minutes. When the set time came that I would have to roll out of bed and shower, she would yell from downstairs, It’s time, get up, until she heard the shower running.

The traditional mother lives at home and is obsessed with celebrity gossip shows and the local news. In anticipation of possibly winning up to $5,000 from the local news channels when they call one random person twice a day for having a password that promotes a show on the network, Bunny used to tape the news to get the answer if she knew she would be out of the house between 4 and 5 p.m (Mountain Standard Time, the time zone that the rest of the country forgets). She taped Celebrity Who Wants to Be a Millionaire, despite her boycott when regular people were contestants, because the previews on Entertainment Tonight, Access Hollywood and Extra! were cute, she said.

For the summer after I would graduate high school, she excessively feared for my safety in Chicago. We moved from Denver to Chicago less than a week after I graduated high school. Bunny plotted to have me stay with my brother, who had an internship that summer in beautiful Craig, Colorado, which had a population about less than my school and was located in the middle of nowhere, four hours away from the rest of civilization. That idea didn’t pan out because my brother barely survived living by himself and away from my mother’s omnipresent sheltering.

Bunny thought about letting me live over the summer with a neighbor, with my summer job as a live-in babysitter for her two young kids. That would have been a useless experience since I would have been left without a car to drive the kids to their activities, if they hadn’t been in camps the entire summer.

Bunny failed to land an arrangement with her cousins in New York and Chicago, so she was stuck keeping me.

My father

There’s not much to my father, at least nothing significantly important or funny about the biomedical engineer, except maybe the night I got a speeding ticket. He was livid, although he didn’t yell and scream so much as Bunny.

When I woke up the next morning, as I rolled out of bed and tried to discern objects to find the bathroom without corrective lenses for my 20/800 vision, he said, You beat me. I thought he was in the middle of a conversation with his wife, so I kept feeling for the wall to the bathroom. You beat me, he said again jokingly when I sat down, still blind, at the table to eat my Cocoa Puffs and Cap’n Crunch.

Huhh a noise erupted from my mouth in confusion as my eyes squinted even more.

You beat me, he said as he laughed. I didn’t get my first speeding ticket until I was 20, he said, as I could see his attempted smile and laugh.

He lived alone in Chicago for a year (as Bunny and I lived alone in Colorado for my senior year of high school) until Bunny and I moved in with him. When his company shut down his division, he found a job doing the same thing for a start-up company in Chicago. After my freshman year in college, he and Bunny moved back to Colorado, to the same company where he used to work, only a different division.

Adam (my brother)

Since before my inception, I’ve been my mother’s son. Bunny gave up on my older brother after two years. My brother is exactly two years and eight months older than I. I was born a month early. She molded me, her favored son, and left him almost free reign, except for choices for college. When my brother was applying to college, she forbid him to look anywhere but the state school, CU in Boulder. She whispered to me: I have faith in your intelligence. I’ll at least let you apply to other schools.

Franklin (my dog, sort of)

Despite living with a dog throughout her youth, Bunny is allergic to any animal. We never had a dog or any pet. I snuck a dog into the house near the end of my senior year. I called him Franklin.

Franklin’s not a real dog. Franklin is my TV-watching buddy, a three-foot tall, gray stuffed boxing bulldog, who is named after the boxing glove company. For the first hour in my parents’ new house in Chicago, (when I had the house to myself for the night as my parents packed up the temporary apartment) I opened every box in the house looking for my favorite TV-watching buddy, but I couldn’t find him. Disappointed after the movie ended and I hadn’t shared it with him, I double-checked every box for an hour-and-a-half more looking for him. He was in the garage.

Franklin wears purple shorts with a blue trim around the waist, and a Band-Aid on his nose. He fixedly stares at the television, even when it’s blank, cupping a little stuffed black and white soccer ball in his left arm. (For May and parts of April and June of 2001, he held a Colorado Avalanche puck to give the hockey team superstitious luck and support for more than half of the Stanley Cup Playoffs. The team won the Stanley Cup, the National Hockey League championship trophy.)

Me (the author)

I don’t know how to describe myself in a first impression, except maybe a list of all of the good qualities I had near the end of my senior year in high school.

1. If you ever need a DD or someone to hold back your hair, I can do that.

2 I have a good sense of humor. I can say funny things 50-60% of the time. However, most of the things I say are comments on situations at least 24 hours after an event. Also, when I am completely serious, people think I’m being funny. The opposite holds true as well.

1. I’m nice, quiet and shy. I say nothing 70-80% of the time. It just happens that the other 20-30% I act like an ass.

2. I’m sensitive and caring. I think about things other than myself 25% of the time, 40% if I concentrate.

3. I’m ambidextrous. I can cut a deck of playing cards using only one hand. I can do so with either my left or my right (my lone athletic ability).

Besides being my lazy, TV-watching buddy, Franklin is also the personification of my ego. Franklin is quiet and shy, and he does nothing except sit upright on his lazy behind and watch television, like me. But, as a boxing-bulldog, he has the potential for strong outbursts. My ego is usually in check, but there are times when I cannot resist patting myself on the back, especially in writing, like the following.

NHS Speech

I ran for a board position in National Honor Society not so much because I wanted to be in a leadership position, but rather because my brother was on the board before me, and I wanted to give a speech.

When I gave the speech, people were laughing frantically at some subtleties, which surprised me. Everybody I passed on my way back to my seat, most of them I never saw before, said: Great speech. I voted for you. Good luck.

I was told by a close source the elections for president the previous year were rigged. The sponsor did not want the class clown to be president, even though he overwhelmingly won the popular vote.

I was not elected. I still feel robbed. (I still got into college, even without being on the board for the community service-driven NHS.)

In the speech, I accented organization, in imitation of hockey-loving Canadians. Dan Patrick and Keith Olberman did this on Sportscenter, but I did not know that until after I wrote my speech. I had watched the Colorado Avalanche for the whole year, and I listened to the Bob Hartley Show, a half-hour talk show on the radio with the Avalanche’s rookie French-Canadian coach. On TV, about was always accented, with both the o and the u pronounced. Hartley always accentuated the i on organization, and I always heard him say this word nearly every other sentence, which was my intention, too. Hartley, a French-Canadian, always mentioned then-Avs winger Rene Corbet, also a French-Canadian, as Corbette with a non-silent t.

Everybody else’s speeches were dull clones of each other. "I’m in

NHS, Speech and Debate and Excalibur (or Big Sisters if the speaker

was female). I like community service, so vote for me." I formulated my

NHS speech to be unique. My plan backfired a week later at another

club’s election. Even though I tried a serious speech, everybody else

tried to be the next Jerry Seinfeld. The banquet ran a half-hour late, and

I missed the first period of the Avalanche game on television. My NHS speech:

Hello, my name’s Josh Cole, and I’m running for treasurer of this or-gan-í-za-tion all abóut tutoring. I could follow my acquaintances and list the clubs I’m in. But, that would be counterproductive to making myself look good by listing the chess club, the computer club and the school newspaper… especially seeing as how I’m not a part of any of those. (I joined and quit each one at some time during high school.)

(Added by Bunny’s insistence) I am part of NHS, Speech and Debate and Excalibur.

I would like to be a part of the board of this or-gan-í-za-tion based on three major areas of analysis. First, let’s all face the truth: we’re all part of this club to put it on our college applications. I would like to put this on my college application, too: I was in a leadership position for a service club. That’s not too shabby. I will put it on my applications to such places as Bristol University—where Dean Chris Berman says, There is no such thing as a stupid question, only stupid people who ask questions—Bovine University and Cornell…College.

Second, I want to tutor and or-gan-íze programs to tutor. Last semester, I went to the resource center, the library, and the middle school. I only got to tutor once during that span. I was really sad. But that one time I did tutor, I had so much fun. I get so much joy just attempting to show these little kids how to do simple pre-algebra problems using Calculus 2 formulas and methods. Obviously, it confuses the hell out of them, but, more importantly, I learn so much. I hope to or-gan-íze programs to help other members to feel the joy of tutoring that I had. In addition, I really like tutoring because, well, I can take over, er, uh, I mean, change the world one hour/one child at a time.

Finally: keep the Legacy alive. Some of you might remember last year’s treasurer, Adam Cole. It might be hard to see the family resemblance, but…So vote Cole.

Student of the Month

My school’s Student Senate enacted a program called Student of the month. It was an opportunity for students to recognize their peers. I thought I deserved something like this, so I nominated myself. I wrote up a short paragraph about myself, and had my friend sign it with his real name and signature. I wrote it as colloquial as I could so that it sounded like someone else besides a journalist had written the paragraph.

My friend, Josh, does a lot for the school. He does more than anybody I know. It’s surprising everything he does. Every weekend, he says he can’t do anything because he has to work. Yeah, nearly everybody works, but not like Josh. He writes about nearly every school sport for a newspaper, the Villager I believe it’s called. He did some football games (and even traveled to Boulder for one) and the volleyball finals. He even did a sport I never heard of before: field hockey (that game’s not just played on the street and ice?). He said he was getting recruited or something by the top journalism school in the nation. He said that school didn’t have a good hat at its bookstore, so he wears a Northwestern hat every day, another school he’s looking at. When he’s not at games, he says he has Speech and Debate each weekend. He’s so dedicated to this class that he always reads news articles at lunch. I think he’s also on the board of Excalibur, a community service club. It’s open by application only, so that must be good, especially since every college asks for community service. He always points out his great work on Excalibur posters around the school and he wears a long-sleeve shirt that says Excalibur every couple of weeks. I noticed the latter because I wondered, if he wears shorts in freezing weather, why does he wear a long-sleeve shirt in boiling weather? He’s in NHS, another community service club. I offered to sign his sheet a couple of times, but, even though he helps me in math regularly, he was too humble to accept my offer. He’s smart, too. He can name every Avalanche player and replay every goal from this year and last. Oh, yeah, I think he takes a math class downtown, two years past Calculus, because he says, "I’ve got class today (at CU-Denver). Y’know