Zach breaks down the crowd, the Seattle Mariners and Lenny Kravitz’ penis.
Live from August 4, 2015…
I spent 30 minutes yesterday explaining to my brother that a deep part of me believes in the theory that our entire human race is the result of aliens coming down and impregnating chimpanzees with alien DNA.
“Oh my God you’re an idiot,” he told me.
“What? Why?” I responded.
He took a deep breath and went into a perfectly believable explanation about how we we’re once all neanderthals, apes, chimpanzees, et al. and how we have evolved over thousands of years. He cited scientific evidence, showed me websites of evolution and perfectly explained Darwin’s theory.
“But” I said, “What if were all wrong?”
Nervously, my brother laughed, even going as far as to point out that we once produced, wrote and directed a parody song about creationism vs. evolutionism for Comedy Central years ago… It was a burn on the actor Kirk Cameron who had recently gone on a TV show and produced a banana – which he claimed was “an Athiest’s nightmare – and proof that we were all created by a higher being.”
The video went viral and Kirk Cameron sent us hate mail.
My brother was confused at how I went from evolutionary hippie evolutionist to alien-worshipping creationist.
“Look man,”” I said. “I’m not saying I’m anti-religious, or that I even believe what I’m saying – I just really have started to think that aliens founded our planet and possibly created humans out of the lifeforms that were here before us… dig?”
My only explanation for these new beliefs is that I watch WAY too much of the TV show Ancient Aliens on the History Channel. Ever see this show? It’s the most convincing TV program of all time. It will have you convinced that the Pyramids are intergalactic phone booths, the spiritual symbols of Peru are prayerbooks to “those who came from above” and that Fenway Park was originally designed as an “Alien Toilet.”
Plus, once you see how many “flying discs from the sky” are featured in Renaissance art pieces, you are forced to start to think a little differently… And I wasn’t saying I believed in creationism, I was simply quoting the self-proclaimed “Ancient Astronaut Theorists” from Ancient Aliens.
My brother demanded that I join him on a walk with his dog. I tried once again to explain myself, using the dog as an example of an entirely different creature that we do not know where it came from. He shook his head in disappointment. We changed the subject to the next morning’s Total Solar Eclipse, which was scheduled to mesmerize Americans and clog Instagram feeds the following day, August 21, 2017.
“So what’s your plan for the eclipse?” He asked. “Are you planning on making a cardboard sign that says ‘Take me With You?’”
I laughed and we called it a night.
The following morning we awoke and went to Hermosa Beach. Avid Boogie-boarders, we decided to ride some waves before the solar eclipse began – which was approximately at 9:08 a.m. with the sun being totally obscured at 10:18 a.m. It was in the water that morning when we noticed a few other local swimmers paddling around watching us ride a few waves. Then a few more came. Eventually, over 20 swimmers had gathered in the early morning ocean. Funny, we thought. It’s never this crowded…
“These are total eclipse waves, am I right?” A heavy-set woman paddling nearby muttered to a long-haired surfer a few feet over.
“Fully,” the surfer responded. “Crazy sets all morning… best waves of my life.”
“I’m Artemis,” she offered.
“I’m Jonas… I wonder if the eclipse will freak out the dolphins.”
My brother and I looked at each other.
“Excuse me,” I yelled over in Artemis’ direction. “Do you really think that the eclipse will affect the waves?”
It was then that Artemis turned towards us and revealed that she was wearing a pair of “eclipse glasses.” Yeah, the ones your friends bought online for $300 to stare at the sun safely for ten minutes. I had mistook them for goggles.
“Absolutely,” she said. “In ancient Germanic text, the Moon God ‘Mani’ claims that a total solar eclipse will affect everything it controls, from the waves of the sea to the female menstraul cycle…. In fact, I’m heavily menstruating right now.”
“We gotta get out of the ocean,” I told my brother.
We walked back to our spot on the beach and watched as my kids ran around chasing sand crabs.
As the eclipse came and went, and our social media feeds were overrun with kids looking into cereal boxes, people posting photos of themselves looking at the sky and our President staring directly into the fucking thing itself, it dawned on me that everybody was hoping to see something amazing. Of course, most people were underwhelmed, but some folks were hoping for a sign – a symbol from another world, perhaps. A trans-galactic message from space. Everybody was looking for an explanation…
“Look,” I told my brother. “Can you just maybe give me the benefit of the doubt that maybe, just maaaaybe, we don’t know how we got here and that human experimentation by extra-terrestrials is a possibility?”
As he uploaded a picture of the eclipse that he somehow took through a set of binoculars, he shook his head.
“Haven’t you ever seen that TV special about aliens abducting pregnant women and creating ‘hybrids?’ You know, my kids could be half Pleiadian or even half Reptilian!”
“Haven’t you ever heard of the ‘Humanzee’ experiment?”
“Zach,” he said. “When you come back to planet Earth, let me know. Until then, why don’t you go talk to Artemis in the ocean, maybe she’ll have some answers.”
He left on a run, and I stood on the beach alone, staring out into the sea.
Artemis had long left for the day, but Jonas was still out there, riding some of the best waves of his life…
COME SEE ZACH TAPE HIS PODCAST LIVE! THIS SUNDAY at 7pm!
I have been a hip-hop fan since the time I was given the first RUN-DMC cassette for my birthday in 1984. I dove into rap music full-fledged and became a true wannabe emcee once the Beastie Boys made white, Jewish rappers cool a couple of years later. I have every great hip-hop classic on vinyl. I stream the newest stuff that comes out within 24 hours of its release and I still get excited when I hear that De La Soul is touring or that there is a Wordstarhiphop video of a “weave snatch” at Drake’s latest pool party.
So, imagine my elation when my boss at my job asked me to work with a one-time super famous gangsta rapper for our website… and even gave me a budget to approach him with.
For the sake of this piece – (and for my safety as a human being) – let’s call this rapper “SEISMIC.” Seismic is one of those rap stars who had a lot of hits in the 90’s, but is now out of the music game altogether. Gangsta rap is all but extinct and even though Seismic has appeared on a few reality shows in the past few years, including one where he attempted to become a professional dog-walker that never aired, I was a lifelong fan and couldn’t wait to work with him.
“What should we get Seismic to do for us?” I asked my boss.
“I think it would be funny to have him read the children’s book Goodnight Moon,” my boss suggested.
The idea was approved and through a connection, I was able to obtain Seismic’s manager’s information. He went strictly by the name “Dope Green.” I dialed up his phone on a Monday morning, hoping to close the deal by the end of the week.
“Who dis?” A terse voice greeted me with.
“Hi, my name is Zach Selwyn from TBS Digital,” I said.
“We already got cable,” the voice said.
“No, no… I’m from TBS – I’m calling about hiring Seismic to do some web stuff for us? Is this Dope Green?”
“Oh shit. Hole up.”
I waited on the other end of the phone for what seemed like an eternity. I was obviously muted, because all I heard was silence. For eight minutes. Finally, Dope Green returned.
“What’s the deal?” He said. I don’t wanna do any talking over the phone, can you come through to our spot? We in a small warehouse by the Burbank Airport…”
I was beginning to feel like I was a molly dealer who had to drive to deliver pills to some video set. I asked my boss if I could leave to go meet Seismic and his crew. He said no.
I told Dope Green that I was not able to leave the office.
“Shit. Let me call you back from my burner phone then.”
A few minutes later, a blocked number rang up my cell phone and I explained that we wanted Seismic to read Goodnight Moon to camera. The entire process would not take more than a minute and we had real money to offer him. Five thousand dollars.
Dope Green laughed.
“You from TBS? Like the network? And you tryin’ to pull off Seismic for five G’s?” He said. “Seismic don’t do shit for less that 50 thousand… And we need crisp hunneds – in a bag. That’s how we do business,” he said.
50 K? To read a children’s book on camera? For a rapper who hadn’t had a hit since Tupac was alive? As excited as I was to work with Seismic, I had no choice but to turn down his demands.
“Sorry, Mr. Green, but 50 grand is way out of our budget,” I replied.
“Go call Ja Rule then,” he said. And hung up.
I started sweating. Not because I was nervous that I wasn’t going to get my job finished, but because I truly felt like there was a chance that Seismic’s manager was going to send some lead pipe carrying mother-fuckers after me. I went back to my boss and asked if we could sweeten the pot a little bit to get him to read the book.
“I guess we could double it,” my boss said.
“What about the ‘crisp hunneds,’” I asked. Can I go to the bank and cash a check or something?
“Are you kidding? Tell him we need a 1099 or W-2. There is no way we’re going to pay him cash in a paper bag… get real, man.”
I went back to Dope Green and informed him that the paper bag idea was out. And that we could get him a little more money, but not Seismic’s going rate. I offered 10K.
Dope Green actually said we could try to work something out. BUT, Seismic had some demands. First, he wanted a development deal with the network. Second, he would have full creative control over his original TV show idea, including handling the directing, casting and production of the 13-episode comedy he had in his head. It was Empire meets Friday. A comedy about an aging rapper (Think Chris Tucker as a Warren G. type) on the road trying to get paid. I asked what some of the storylines would be.
“It’s a rapper trying to deal with thirsty hoes, his baby mamas, his bitch ex-wife and a bunch of kids and shit.”
I never got to meet Seismic. When I informed Mr. Green that I had no power in getting TBS to pony up a development deal for him and his TV idea, he told me that I could forget about getting anyone to read Goodnight Moon. Let alone, a rapper as dope as Seismic. The deal was done.
I walked into my boss’ office and told him that deal had gone away. He was disappointed and shook his head, telling me that I should come up with an alternative personality that could read Goodnight Moon for our website.
“I bet Sisqo is available,” I offered.
My boss laughed and turned me down.
I went back to my desk and put on some RUN-D.M.C…
*Get ready for the podcast launch of “Missi and Zach Might Bang!” Follow on Twitter & Instagram! Instagram @mightbang Twitter @mightbang1
Like most of us, I have Googled ex-girlfriends from high school and college to see what they look like now. I’ve found most of them online, to no immediate fanfare – (Other than finding out one girl I made out with in high school is now a grandmother…) – but nobody has captured my social media imagination more than a girl I once dated in 1991 named Jenny Herren.
I have spent the better part of two decades wondering what happened to this girl. I have hunted Linked in, Google images, Myspace and Facebook hoping to see if Jenny was still beautiful, single and yes, even alive. (When I came across an obituary of a Jenny Herren in Houston last year, I was relieved to see that the woman was 89-years-old).
In today’s world, where the Government can track you every time you visit collegeorgy.com, it might seem impossible, but I was convinced that Jenny Herren had no digital footprint.
And then my sister alerted me that she had found her.
Jenny truly blossomed into my boner jam around 1991 when we randomly sat next to each other at a movie theater, watching the film If Looks Could Kill starring Richard Grieco. The film was so terrible, we mocked and heckled it together like we were boyfriend and girlfriend on a regular date. I was sprung, and within a week I had made her a romantic mixtape featuring my “closer songs” (Chris Isaak, Sting, Dire Straits) and had asked her out to the mall the following weekend.
The mall was fun, but I couldn’t get a read on her, so I took it as a sign to not present her the mixtape just yet. It burned a hole in my pocket. I dropped her off without so much as a kiss and went home and scribbled three pages into my journal about her sense of humor, her laugh and – well – her incredible tits.
A week later at a high school football game, I carefully planned a casual interaction with Jenny by the snack bar. When I saw her, I dreamed we’d be heavy petting beneath the bleachers by the end of the third quarter. Instead, our mutual friend Tanya Brightly cock-blocked me by taking Jenny away and leaving me with my hands dug way deep into the pockets of my Guess jeans.
Finally, I got the second date I was looking for. It was a month later and I had it all planned. I would get some weed from my stepbrother, take her to see Hot Shots at the $1.00 theater and then close the deal in the abandoned church parking lot at the top of Swan Road – a notorious make-out spot overlooking the city where horny teenagers tried to get past second base.
The movie was hilarious, and things were going great. We stopped and got ice cream bars at a Circle K and made our way to the church. I lit the pipe and passed it. I became horribly paranoid. We looked out at the city. Silence. There was that perfect awkward teenage feeling arising between us… I lightly brushed my hand against hers and grabbed it. I pulled her in and we kissed… Soft and beautiful, alone beneath the Tucson sky, awash in the possibilities of what lay out in the real world ahead… I was 16 and in heaven… And then a hesher dude named Paul Humphries shined a flashlight on us from his pick-up truck.
“GET SOME, SELWYN!” He yelled, blinding both of us in the process.
“Fuck you, Paul,” I screamed back. When I turned back around, I noticed that Jenny had walked away.
“I think you should take me home,” she said. “It’s getting late.”
On the ride home, Jenny said she didn’t think we should hang out anymore. She said she wasn’t sure why, but that something didn’t feel right. I tried every move in the book to get her to reconsider, but when I finally dropped her off, she took off running inside and I have not seen her since our high school graduation night… Until my sister found her Facebook page.
“Her name is now Jennifer Klein,” my sister informed me. “Married a guy named Mark Klein. Air Force instructor. They live in San Diego and don’t have any kids as far as I can tell.”
My sister should have been a private investigator.
I immediately began cyberstalking Jennifer Klein like a tween looking for “Shirtless Zayn Malik” pictures. I wanted to know everything. I was hoping she’d be open to a conversation – and maybe she could shed some light on our night together all those years ago.
Meanwhile, my wife was in the other room asking me what I was doing.
“Writing,” I responded, feeling guilty that I was busy looking up a girl I had made out with 25- years prior.
Many of my friends have spent hours digging into online profiles of exes, looking for something that proves that there was a reason it never worked out between them. My buddy’s wife found her ex-boyfriend on Facebook, posting about how great it felt to “finally be out of prison.” My other friend’s ex had nine children and was divorced twice. In fact, the majority of people I know have revealed how stoked they were to find their exes all out of shape, full of grey hair and still living in their hometowns.
Amazingly, Jennifer hadn’t aged at all. Her profile picture was taken in a bikini in Mexico, where she posted that she had been “marlin fishing” for a week straight. She posed holding a Corona. She was tan, supple and looked terrific. I added her as a friend and awaited a response.
When she did not accept my friend request a week later, I wondered why. I felt as nervous as I did the night I had watched her running into her house. I felt like a fucking teenager again.
Meanwhile, I got out my old high school journal. The one that I had kept since I was 14. I re-read the page from my date with Jenny – and I felt like a complete horny moron. I had written the following:
October 16, 1991 – I kissed her! After packing a bowl of dirty Mexi-schwag that my stepbrother traded me for a Van Halen CD, we made out at the church. (My old hookup spot – where I macked on Marni Thomas last year in my dad’s Jeep!) My hair looked good… like Luke Perry! But then that dumb hesher Paul ruined everything. Shit. I hope she calls me back I really want to feel those heaving melons.
October 23, 1991 – I have called Jenny 15 times and she has not returned my calls. I don’t know why. Do I suck? Am I ugly? Maybe she just hasn’t been getting my phone calls?
November 3rd, 1991 – I heard she told Tanya to tell me to back off and that she might get a restraining order. What the hell did I do? I feel like a creep… I just wish she’d give me a chance… Man. I’m so pissed. Luckily, this weekend is Adam’s party and there is some freshman girl named Daisy who said she thought I was cute. Shit, I’m almost 17 – ! I’m so old!!!
After three weeks or not hearing a response from Jenny, I re-checked her page. She had been there, alright, obviously ignoring my friend request. I reached out one last time, this time just posting something on her wall – something that I thought would be funny. I wrote:
Hey – I still have a mix tape I made you in 1991 – Any chance you want it?
Jennifer Klein never responded. But, the next day, a familiar person did. It was Tanya Brightly, who had commented on my post. She added the following: Unbelievable… 25 years later and Zach still doesn’t get the hint.
I was mortified. I had been lusting after this girl for a quarter century, and Tanya Brightly was STILL cock-blocking me.
I issued a response, including a photo of me and my family – saying that I was not a stalker – but just reaching out as an old friend who was trying to hold on to whatever memories I retained from my youth. I also asked Jenny if she remembered our night at the church.
Finally, Jennifer Klein wrote me a message.
Hi Zach – long time – I’m married to a guy in the Air Force – no kids to speak of – congratulations your family looks beautiful. Re: that night at the church… I have no memory of it. Sorry! Oh, I’d love to hear that mixtape!
I haven’t sent her the mixtape yet. I think I’ll let her wait around for me this time…
Ed. Note: Zach has since been blocked from Jennifer Klein’s Facebook feed.
WATCH ZACH’S MUSIC VIDEO “DONG ON THE WHITEBOARD!”
written by Zach Selwyn. Dir. by Adam Siegel.
Antonio Brown? Punching refs? Mitch McGary going all 420? You’re on blast with Zach and his TBS web series “Out of Control Athletes of the Week.”