Are You There God? It's Me Terry.

I got da blues bad. I get em every holiday season. What can I tell ya? It ain't easy bein divorced—4 times! Its the sorta thing that takes its toll on ya. Anyway the guy that runs this site said that I should talk about my feelins seein as it might help me shake em out and I guess I can understand that. I got no one really to talk to. Johnny aint much to bounce feelins offa. Usually he just gets more ajitated than normal. So I keep em all bottled up and maybe that';s why I have so many heart attacks. I can take a lotta pain. Its my ticker that ain't so hot.

Anyway, New Years is just around the corner and me and Johnny gotta work. We got this gay cowboy case that started in Chelsea and took us all the way up to Westchester County. Let me tell ya, Westchester may sound like some quiet, wrangling land but it sure as heck aint. Well we got to put that on hold for New Yrears Eve and help work crowd detail. Boy that gets my goat. I hate crowds (so why am I in NY right?) and I hate detail. And Details magazine for that matter. All those metro sexual fancy boys and their expensive gadgets. Reminds me of Tiny and Guy. Those two knuckle heads.

All right. I'm done here. I feel better actually. I guess you were right guy. I gotta hit the head anway.

Gristle out.

Gristle here.

So I'm back with antoher installment. The guy runningthis show insists on me doin it a few times a week but I aint got the time. At least that's what I keep tellin him. What does he want from me. I'm just a cop. I belong on the streets. Like Vic Mackey. But don't compare me to that guy. He killed a cop. That dont fly strate with anyone. Especially a cop. I love that show THE SHIELD but even I have to admit that the last season and a half were pretty crappy. To much talkin and plotting. I got so confused and bored if the truth needs to be told. But the first four seasons of THE SHIELD were some of the best TV I seen in decades. And I seen a lot of TV. I mean that is before Beverly took my set. Nothing is worse than a woman scorned. Or however you say it. Anyway, I'm tired of typing. I gotta go pick Johnny up. Ever since I accidently backed over his foot, his drivings none too good. Poor kid. He ll never let me live it down.

I dont' blame him.

Gristle out.

Gristle, over. Again.

Apparently some folks like reading these blog things. I don't see why. Anyway, according to the guy runnnin this show, we need to update it more offen. So what do I say? First off, I really hate this. I aint a good typper. I only use my two fingers. It takes me forever to write out an arrest report and my captain is always on my case about my spelling and gramma. I don't know why. I told him, jus let me do my job. I'm all about solvin cases and geting scum off the street. AS much as I hate my job I really do love it. Nothing feels better than putting some low life street punk behind bars where he belongs. John and I do a pretty good job. He's a lot yonger then me so he's a little more enerjettic but together we make a pretty good team although I gotta pull back on the reins with him because he gets a little too rambunksus. Kids.

Hey guy is this enough?

Good. Okay, the guy says it is. Dam if my index finger isn't hurting. Where's my ben gay?

Gristle out.

Gristle, over.

Terry Gristle here. I was asked to say a little somethin about myself here on this—hey, guy! What's this thing called? A Blob? Oh. Blog. Sounds stupid.

Anyway, I'm not much for this writing crap. Maybe it has somethin' to do with me signin' all those alimony checks for my four X-wives: Bonnie, Bonnie, Betty and Beverly. The way I see it, writing about your self is some poor sad sacks way of cryin' to the world—sayin oh look at me. I have problems. Well if anyone can tell you about problems, it's me. Like I said, I got 4 ex-wives—count 'em: 1,2,3,4. And five kids. Each one hates me in their own way. I don't blame 'em. I was a lousy dad. I also got a car that's been on it's last leg since the day I got it. Plus, I got a bad ticker, bad back, bad Akilleez tendon, bad breaf and an all around bad aditood.

Anyway, about this writin' stuff. I ain't much for gettin' all literrarry. I speak my mind and I usually don't give a rat's ass what anybody thinks. I been a cop for 25 years and I seen a lotta shit go down so maybe I'm a little jaded and don't care much to flower things up for people so they can feel good about themselves. You wanna feel good about yourself then go watch some of that crap reallitty tv. I usually just have a couple a shots a J.D.

Hey guy! Is this enuff? Okay good.

I don't know who would be interested in this crap or waht I got to say. Some sorry loaff who cant leave the house I imajine. All right. Gristle out.

City Slickin'

SLENDER & GRISTLE
City Slickin’

Downtown, New York. Terry Gristle and John Slender stand over the decapitated body of a man wearing nothing but cowboy boots and assless chaps.

Slender: From the coagulation of blood underneath his body, I’d say this guy’s been dead for 8 or 9 hours.

Gristle: Well Johnny, looks like his days of ridin’ em cowboy are over.

Slender: I’d say he roped in his last doggie for sure.

They both stand observing the body and the surroundings.

Slender: Another Chelsea club humper?

Gristle: I don’t think so. He’s too doughy.

Slender: Thank God. I didn’t want to have to go undercover at one of those clubs again.

Gristle: John, don’t be such a homophobe.

Slender: Let’s see you do it next time then!

Gristle: John, it wouldn’t work. You’re the pretty one. I’m the brawn.

Slender: What are you talking about? You’d get your fair share. You’re a bear, man! Lot’s of dudes who like dudes could go for a dude like you ... dude.

Gristle: That’s sweet, John. I appreciate you saying that.

They eye the dead body up and down.

Gristle: So whadaya think?

Slender: Well, I made a call uptown. The Naked Cowboy is alive and well.

Gristle: So he’s not the deceased. Does Naked Cowboy have an alibi?

Slender: Yep. Been singing all day except for a couple of bathroom breaks. Hundreds of Times Square tourons can corroborate. He’s clean.

Gristle: That guy gives me the willies ... dancing and singing in his underwear.

They both squat down over the victim. Slender pokes at the dead man’s butt with a pencil.

Gristle: Are you thinking what I’m thinking?

Slender: You mean, if all of the Village People are still alive? Yeah.

Gristle: No, that’s not what I was thinking—although that’s a good question. I’m pretty sure one of them is dead.

Slender: Actually I think you’re right. Didn’t the construction worker die a few years ago?

Gristle: I think that was the cop.

Slender: Are you sure?

Gristle: Coulda been the biker.

Slender: Biker?

Gristle: Yeah. Looked like Freddie Mercury.

Slender: The guy from Queen?

Gristle: Yeah. Real queen.

Slender: Too bad he wasn’t from Queens.

Gristle: Ha ha. Yeah. Although he was from England—and they have a queen.

They both chuckle into a long pause.

Gristle: Maybe it was the Indian.

Slender: Indian? What are you tallking about?

Gristle: From the Village People.

Slender: You mean like Ghandi?

Gristle: No. The American Indian. Like Tonto.

Slender: Tonto? Who’s that? Was he in Dancing with Wolves?

Gristle: It’s Dances with Wolves. Not dancing. And no, that was Graham Greene. Or Wes Studi.

Slender: Who the hell are they?

Gristle: The two indians. The main good one and the main bad one.

Slender looks at Gristle vacantly then smiles.

Gristle: What?

Slender: Tatunka.

Gristle: Huh?

Slender: You know. Tatunka. Like in the movie.

Slender puts his fingers up over his head to mimic Kevin Costner imitating a buffalo to the other indian in the movie.

Slender: Tatunka. Tatunka.

Gristle smiles.

Gristle: Ohhhhh yeah, tatunka. Ha ha. Great fuckin’ movie.

Slender: You know it won 7 Academy Awards.

Gristle: Know it? I won the Oscar pool at the precinct that night. 300 bucks!

Slender: Wow. Not bad.

Gristle: Not bad at all. Especially for the early 90s.

They both ponder the movie some more.

Slender: Beautiful cinematography.

Gristle: Costner’s finest work.

Their eyes lose focus then bounce back.

Gristle: What the hell were were we talking about?

Slender: I don’t know—the indian.

Gristle: From the Village People.

Slender: Maybe you’re thinking of that crying Indian from those “Don’t Pollute” commercials.

Gristle: Whadaya talkin’ about. Not that guy. The Indian from the Village People—he wore a headdress.

Slender: Hey remember that Indian from Land of the Lakes?

Gristle: Land O Lakes.

Slender: Yeah that. "You call it butter..."

Gristle: “My people call it Maize.”

They both start chuckling as the camera pans down to the dead guy’s ass and then back up to Slender and Gristle pondering.

Slender: We should probably check this dead guy out some more.

Gristle: Yeah. Let’s roll him over.

They both begin to roll him when a business card falls out of the waist band of his assless chaps.

Gristle: What do we have here?

Gristle picks up the card and reads it:

Gristle: Wally’s Western Wear. White Plains Galleria. White Plains, New York.

Slender: (speaking the words dramatically) White Plains. It sounds so ... so ... majestic.

Gristle turns to Slender.

Gristle: When’s the last time you were on a horse?

Slender: Not counting when I went deep cover at The Manhole? Never.

Gristle: Really?

Slender: Terry, I’m from Brooklyn.

Gristle: Well saddle up Johnny Boy, we’re heading to upstate New York—big sky country! To a little town so small—so quaint—it doesn’t exist in my Encyclopedia Britannica set.


Cut to:

Slender and Gristle in front of a the White Plains Galleria on horses surrounded by a handful of Westchester yuppies and a large group of black and hispanic men and women.

Tune in next time for another exciting episode of
SLENDER & GRISTLE

Coming Soon

More.

I promise.

Numerous meetings with cigar-chomping big-wigs.

Slender & Gristle: Stakeout

Slender & Gristle: Bombed

Slender & Gristle: Jurisdicktion

Variety News Release

Actors David Duchovny and Dennis Franz are said to be up for consideration to play defective detectives, John Slender and Terry Gristle in a secret project rumored to be directed and produced by J.J. Abrams.

SLENDER & GRISTLE

Advance marketing has begun. Look for a teaser trailer attached to the new James Bond film, Quantum of Solace, at select theaters.

Slender & Gristle

Chris Mori and I created these alter egos at work. He's John Slender and I'm Terry Gristle. Together, we're two old school detectives fighting crime, colleagues, ex-wives and each other in a new school world.

Here you'll find "scenes" I've been writing for the upcoming television event:
SLENDER & GRISTLE: TAKE-DOWN CHINATOWN






* To enjoy Gris more, read it out loud in your most gravelly voice, like Christian Bale's Batman without the anger.