One More Thing: Stories and Other Stories(51)

“The modern-day chain bicycle was patented in Germany in 1817,” said Wikipedia Brown. “Ten-speed bikes became popular in the United States in the 1970s. Carrot Top uses a bicycle as a prop in his popular mainstream comedy act.”

“Oooh, Carrot Top,” said Joey. “Whatever happened to him?”

“Carrot Top was born Scott Thompson in Big Bear City, California, in 1965,” said Wikipedia Brown.

“Big Bear City? What an odd name. Is that a real place?” asked Joey.

“Big Bear City is an unincorporated census-designated location in San Bernardino County, California, with a population of—”

“Wait! Let’s not get distracted,” said Sally. “Every time we talk to Wikipedia Brown, we get distracted. We spend hours and hours with him, and always forget what we were supposed to investigate in the first place.”

“Yes, good point,” said Joey. “We have to find my bike. Sally, do you have any ideas?”

“Sally is a bad detective and a well-known slut,” said Wikipedia Brown. “Citation needed.”

“Is that true?” asked Joey—his intentions unclear.

“No,” said Sally, fuming with anger. “I don’t know who told him that. It could have been anyone. Literally, anyone.”

“The government caused 9/11!” Wikipedia Brown shouted suddenly, for no reason.

Sally pulled Wikipedia Brown aside. “Are you sure you’re okay, Wikipedia?”

“I’m not perfect,” said Wikipedia Brown. “I never said I was. But I work fast, and I work for free, and I’m everyone’s best friend. Plus, I’m getting better by the second—and it’s all thanks to people like you.”

Sally smiled. She liked being part of Wikipedia’s process. “Okay, Wikipedia,” said Sally. “But I have a question for you, Joey. You say you left your bike outside the library this morning? It’s Sunday morning. The library is closed.”

Wikipedia Brown stood up with a start.

“George W. Bush is the father of Miley Cyrus’s baby!” announced Wikipedia Brown.

This story is under review.





Regret Is Just Perfectionism Plus Time





They all gathered around his hospital bed to cry and watch him die.

“Do you have any regrets, Grandpa?” asked the ten-year-old, solemnly, as if he imagined himself wearing a tie.

“Yes, I do,” said the man. “I bought a lottery ticket in 1974. Once. One ticket. Ten million dollar jackpot.”

“Did you win?”

“No.”

“Were you close?” asked the boy.

“No,” moaned the grandfather. “I got all six numbers wrong. All six! I said 12-5-28-4-17-31—that’s what I put on the form. If I had put 3-16-18-19-34-1, then everything would have been different.”





Chris Hansen at the Justin Bieber Concert





His daughter was dying, literally dying, to go to the Justin Bieber concert, and it was only going to be one night, and her mother was going to be out of town, and it was practically impossible to get tickets anyway except, except! He could always get tickets to anything thanks to his connections as the longtime host of the NBC series To Catch a Predator.

But Chris Hansen did not want to go to the Justin Bieber concert.

“I just think,” he said, choosing his words to his twelve-year-old daughter carefully, “I just think that my presence there … might make some people … uncomfortable.”

“Who? Pedophiles?” snapped his daughter. “You’re afraid of making pedophiles uncomfortable?”

“Yes—no!—I mean …” stammered Chris Hansen. “Look. Anyone who has followed my career knows I am not afraid of making pedophiles uncomfortable. Okay? That’s just Chris Hansen 101. Let’s get that straight right off the bat.”

“Then what is it?” she challenged.

Tough girl. His daughter all right.

“What is it, Dad?”

“You want to know what it is?” said Chris Hansen. “You really want to know? I go to the Justin Bieber concert, and everybody’s looking at me. You know why? They’re looking at me trying to figure out who I’m looking at. So everybody’s staring at me. And I have to do them the courtesy of not looking back at them, because what they don’t realize is that if I look at them back for as much as a split second, then everybody’s gonna stare at them for the next two hours. You understand why, don’t you? And by the way, do you know who’s not looking at me? There are only a few people at this point who are not looking at me, who are trying to avoid eye contact. Do you know who those people are? That’s right,” said Chris Hansen. “Pedophiles. Those are the pedophiles. So, great, now I know who all the pedophiles are. That’s a fun thing to know, isn’t it? And now, I am morally obligated to do something—but what do I do? How am I supposed to alert someone in a position of authority that these people are definitely pedophiles who are destroying lives, but that the only evidence I can offer to support this charge is that these alleged pedophiles are suspiciously not staring at me? Huh? I’d look like something of an egomaniac, don’t you think? So you know what I have to do, to make it tolerable for myself? There’s only one thing I can do, Kaitlin. I have to stare straight ahead, right at Justin Bieber, never taking my eyes off him, not even for a second. And when people see me at a Justin Bieber concert, staring holes into Justin Bieber, you know what they think? They think, Ahhh, I see. It all makes sense now. And I don’t even care—I don’t have an ego about stuff like that,” he lied, “but besides all that, besides all that, what about the fact that I bust pedophiles eight hours a day, five days a week, and maybe for once in my life I just want to relax on a Saturday night spending time with my daughter without any of this on my mind?”