The American Infidel Somewhat Wins Over Dr. Freudine
Written: Dec 08 '03 (Updated Apr 01 '05)
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Pros: honest, sometimes funny, stories from a world-traveling comic
Cons: crude male humor
The Bottom Line: This is an entry into Midwest Writers Can Write write-off. See http://www.epinions.com/user-loislane05 for info.
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| jankp's Full Review: American Infidel Books |
Author’s Note--Dr. Freudine, my psychiatrist character, like me (jankp) has never visited France, so an Epinionator who has helped me to love the country with her stunning travel reviews will defend France here. Last time Doc met with David to assign The Complete Idiot’s Guide To Understanding Men And Women, not that he’s an idiot!
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Before I left the office, I had a phone call from Irish where he asked me to go with him to a comedy club downtown. I’d never heard of Don Tjernagel and so decided to just meet Irish and Tjernagel afterwards at The Cat and the Fiddle bar. I really don’t care much for smoky clubs, anyway (or smoky bars of drunken sin, as Tjernagel would put it), but I still go. Irish promised a book or tape.)
Now as I step inside the classy-looking English pub, I’m alerted to the laughter surrounding an unfamiliar, dark-haired man in his element and Irish grinning beside him.
“In my opinion, I would consider it official that the French f*cking suck *ss. I would also say that their country stinks about as much as their country actually stinks. It smells like a frat party bathroom that hasn’t been cleaned in years...” (from pp 38 of American Infidel)
“But that’s so untrue!” a pretty, blonde-haired woman cries from his audience. “I have enjoyed my trips to France over many years and never has it smelled badly to me.”
The young man holds up an index finger. “Let me finish, sweetheart...I thought Paris was pretty for a little while, and then a Frenchman spit on me and called me an American bastard. I can appreciate people’s passions for France and their love of visiting the country, as well as the city of Paris. I myself, however, did not have a very good experience.” (pp. 38)
I come closer, drawing Irish’s appreciative gaze and his drink-laden gesture to join him at his round table with the comedian. The blonde lady looks rather upset, though, and suddenly shimmies up to them in her French-cut, little, black dress and pearls and opens her mouth.
“Look, lady, I have my opinion and you can have yours. I have lots more material than just my experience in France, like being banned from Canada, though I love the place; doing a prissy Christmas party in Omaha, NE; why we should be able to use the ’c’ word in pop culture...”
“Cancer? Cooties?” she asks, still frowning.
“No. C*nt. Which reminds me of the one good experience I had in France. This hot babe flirted with me and...we would’ve probably fallen in love in Paris like everyone says you do for some reason..."(pp 39)
Irish laughs out loud. “My brother and I fell in love probably a hundred times there, every night! French women aren’t only fine teasers, but damn fine sluts...Oh, hey, darlin'!” He greets me with an alcoholic-smelling smack on my lips, then eyes the blonde. “Say, lady, could we buy you a drink? Don needs a girl. Waiter! Your best French wine.”
“Well, I’m old enough to be his mother...”
“No! You fooled me. Didn’t she fool you, bud?” Irish starts to slur his words. “Oh, got something for ya, Doc, since you missed the show.” We all sit around the table. “Don’s book, American Infidel, has been out since last summer. He lives in Vegas now, but grew up in Iowa. A country boy, yesiree! Not much of a Christian and he adores protesters. Heh, Don’s known for burning lots of flags, even the California flag, you bad boy!”
He shrugs. “I believe in the freedom of speech and to burn flags, bras or whatever gets a rise out of people. Got a chapter about it and another on the first amendment.”
I open the lightweight, somewhat oversized paperback and notice the huge, black print. “So...it reads like you’re giving your comedy routine, talking to us casually without any censoring. On the back cover you call most comedians today wimps and yourself as the ultimate drinking buddy. Do you talk more dirty than most?”
“Hell, yeah. I tell it like it is, don‘t I, bud?” Don retorts, nodding to the drinking Irish. “I don’t sleep with married women, but will whip my dick out if the kid wants to play. Read page 116 about how my penis can sometimes be like Linda Blair in ’The Exorcist.’ Go to Chapter 21: Japan and Korea Are Foreign Fun. I have the most tasteless joke there about getting a hooker who was mutated from the atomic fall-out and had an arm growing out the side of her head so she looked like a Japanese Mr. Potato Head. She tried to stick her finger in...” (pp 112)
“Uh, that’s okay. I found it,” I lie, sharing a horrified glance with the blond. The cute waiter with a goofy smile steps in then with the wine and glasses. Irish takes it, pops it loudly and starts pouring.
“Oh yeah...I remember that one!” he chuckles and I clear my throat. The ashen-looking blond drinks up, poor girl, to calm her nerves.
“I, um, see you start the book with ’Initiation.’ You wrote it the day after 9/11 when ’our country was attacked yesterday by Arabs who hate us, and they think we’re infidels.”
“In a hotel room on Bourbon Street in New Orleans for a comedy festival, the perfect setting for your American Infidel, Don Tjernagel. Want to read the book?” Don tips his glass to me and smiles. I hesitate while I take the glass Irish offers.
“I’m sorry, but this isn’t my type of humor. Guys will love the crudeness, but...”
Don nods, shaking a finger at me. “I’ll give it to you...and you lady...for free. Sisters, you may not laugh as much as a guy, but there’s a lot of honest thinking and feeling in it and you’ll learn more about what goes on in this stinky, f*cked-up world than you ever will from TV or a newspaper or stupid comics with nothing real or worthwhile to say. We’ll probably have ‘censorship sooner or later in this country, because we’re not educated enough on our rights. The politically correct movement will gain more and more power over our children’s textbooks and sooner or later it will happen.’” (pp 59)
The blond hides a grimace behind her hand, but finally we smile. “Sure. 128 pages? No problem for us. Thanks!” I pause with my hand on my glass to catch Irish’s furtive look and glance toward the door. Smiling, I take a couple sips of the slightly fruity wine and he announces we need to get going.
Don blinks.“Gawd, did I offend you? Are you a right-winger? No? Well, I offend a lot of people like the French, Christians, Texans, Iowan girls, Katie Courac...”
Irish, the blonde and I all laugh as we wave good-bye to him. Don, the ultimate drinking buddy, pours himself another glass of wine and tips it to a pretty redhead nearby. Maybe his book won’t be so bad after all.
But I'll still never get male humor.
Recommended:
Yes
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