ANIMAL CHEF

THE ANIMAL CHEF

The coyotes encroached into urban landscapes. People posted light poles and Starbucks bulletin board pleas to help find…Felix, Puffball, T.O.C. (The Orange Cat). He shook his head. “Didn’t these people realize, it was not the Chinese, it was the coyotes of Mullholland. It was Man vs Wild again in Los Angeles, California.

Nature fought back. Film crews were not filming the carnage for the Discovery Channel. These were predatory streets. It was no longer gang violence. It was white collar bonanzas, and watching MMA to release that carnal bloodlust that hid in most people's DNA. Larry just enjoyed watching footage on television news footage of the domestic cat battling a mountain lion.

Larry and his wife, Ping, didn't have to move to Alaska to witness the wrath of god or even escape the big apocalypse. That's why he chose comedy as his creative and monetary outlet, although he did graduate with a mechanical engineering degree.

He was one of those types of Armed Forces Veterans who loved to take apart Xboxes and tinker with them. He made friends knowing Xbox architecture and circuitry design, but the silly red ring of death was his specialty. He fixed quite a few, but he wrote comedic haikus to his wife while deployed in the Indian Ocean.

He loved the O.G. SNL crew.

He moonlighted as a comic. His friends called him the animal chef. Not because he graduated from The Cordon Bleu Academy of Culinary Arts, the simple logical reason, not because he attacked similar to Kraven The Hunter from Spiderman eating crudo meat on the Serengeti, he figuratively ripped people new assholes, especially hecklers, in roast battles as a comedian at the Laugh Factory.

So, his friends called him The Animal Chef.

His agent said, “You are too raw, Pullman, too blatant, and too liable.”

“Just tell me if I got the gig, Frank,” Larry George, for St. George, Pullman, shot back, “And look, my ACLU card.”

“Much better, Pullman. I’ll drop that in the contract to smooth things out,” he said and nodded.

“And why are you calling me Pullman, now?” Larry quizzically asked, in respect, wanting a concrete response.

“I just figured, with your military pedigree, and with my wife talking all her psychology babble, I figured you would feel comfortable calling you, Pullman, being in the military,” Frank Dillard Esquire responded with a good verbal slap.

Pullman paused, “I was an officer, so address me as Captain Pullman, you King Attorney Kong,” Pullman replied in a tone that deathly rattled him. Pullman could act, as well.

A serious tone of voice.

“Alright, Captain Pullman, and hold on with that tone of voice, I…I…I’m a Tom Clancy fan,” Dillard spat it out.

“I know the inside story of Tom Clancy, but maybe next time, Ping’s pregnant again.”

“You animal,”

“Animal Chef, legal, but don’t tell me you are a fan of the JAG show reruns.”

“No, Debt of Honor, to you.”

“Stick to attorney work, Dillard. a cool day today,”

“Tell Ping I said, Hello.”

They fist bumped, he left the office, and jumped into Ping’s electric Prius, mint green, her favorite color.

He drove to Rodeo Drive listening to KISS 101…the herd mentality of Angel City…, the modern copacetic vibes of new pop. His wife, Ping, killed him at karaoke. Harry Winston, with an appointment, big dollar signs, the gift of peridot and emeralds, a necklace for an anniversary, and a gift a good wife should deserve.

Lots of dollar signs.

He jumped back into the Toyota. He dialed Ping’s number. “Hello!”

“Larry, my mother is scared. Her friends think you are a racist. We must talk.”

“Did you tell them about the ACLU membership?”

“I didn’t get that far.”

He could slide, sometimes, with ethnic jokes with his father-in-law. His wife whispered in his ear, “He is telling you to “fuck off again, my grandfather is not like my dad,” in Cantonese…obvious, his wife was Chinese, Ping Long Pullman. He had heard it all in elementary school, and the skin toughened up as a U.S.N. man. He contracted for 6 years as a Navy man. His fellow U.S. Marine patriots called him a squid shit. He called them all clones, all the marines. “They're going to design something to kill all you clones, but it will not be me. I mean, you are tough Jarhead #1, Jarhead #2, and you know the rest.”

Well, Jarhead #1, was Captain Jarhead #1, and he eye-balled him, “You just fucking fly this osprey, are we clear, joker,” Captain Lawes told him.

"

It was the 2001 start of the Iraq War. It was a curse to be funny about Iraq. He grew up playing flight simulators, deftly, with the keyboard, until the USB controller. Obvious direction with a high intelligence quotient and was an aviator for the United States of America. He did have a mishap in chemistry class. “Too much Bunsen burner action, Larry, as his chem. partner’s hair, Colleen, a cheerleader, caught on fire. Fortunately, just some singed waterfall hair. Colleen’s parents wanted him expelled.

His mother said, “I spoke to Colleen’s mom, Barbara, and listen, my little devilish angel, Barbara calls Colleen her little Jewish princess, and you are the first-string quarterback at high school. Now, your father played high school football too.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I was his cheerleader sweetheart.”

He caught on, “Oh, is this about the birds and the bees?”

“You are so smart, son.”

“I rationalized Dad might mention the topic. Well, it’s like the Muppet Show, mom,”

“Oh, yes, The Muppet Show, and The Animal.”

"Yezzz, but we are also related to George the Animal Steel from WWF."

"Who is that, and who said that?" She recoiled, realizing her son's odd nature.

"Well, that was a joke," Larry cajoled.

"Oh honey, you are an animal...but your dad didn't know you froze your brain with too many slurpees from 7-11," she shot back.

"Yay, I am an animal. And I can't diss you with any momma jokes, but can I drive the Mercedes, because this baby bear does like Goldilocks?" He asked.

"It is about being just right, isn't it?" she acquiesced.