...And Other Short Stories

The names, locations and events described in this work are entirely fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. This work is in very poor taste and if it does not offend you, you’re going to burn in hell.

“Promise me… promise me you will always love him. Promise… you will name him… Offer…” Those were the last words Abishag Shlomi would ever speak. The nurse took the newborn from her arms and her body went limp, lifeless. “I promise,” choked David Shlomi as he took his son from the nurse and together they cried for the loss of the wife and now mother. True to his word, David named the boy Offer. Offer Shlomi.

Three years later, in 1967, David and his son left their home in Haifa, Israel and came to the United States. Determined to make a better life for his son and himself, David worked long hours doing odd jobs throughout Los Angeles. Though they were barely scraping by, David kept hope in his heart that someday, his son’s dreams would come true. “Remember, you can be anything you want, Offer. Anything!” he would tell his son every night before tucking him into bed.

It came as no surprise that what Offer wanted was to be on television. From an early age, he was enthralled with anything and everything that came through that box. And there was one thing on TV that he loved more than anything else. Infomercials. He would sneak out of bed late at night to watch pitchmen hocking obscure wares on the networks. He dreamed of one day being as great as his idol, Billy Mays. Alone after school, he would stand in front of the mirror and pretend to be Mays, practicing his over the top enthusiasm and disturbingly excessive full body gestures. Offer dreamed of being Billy Mays. Offer dreamed of being the greatest pitchman who ever lived.

The highlight of Offer’s young life came at the age of 13, when fate allowed him to actually meet his idol. Offer was walking home one day through a particularly dangerous part of the lower class suburb he lived in with his father, when Billy Mays himself came walking out of a run-down house. Offer, overcome with excitement, ran up, stuck out his hand and said “Hello Mr. Mays! My name’s Offer Shlomi and I’m your number one fan!”

Billy Mays nervously looked around and finally said, without shaking the boy’s hand, “Damn it, kid! Keep it down. What the fuck do you want?”

“Um, what are you doing in a place like this Mr. Mays?” Offer asked.

“I’m, uh… I’m visiting my… sister. Yeah. That’s my sister’s house.”

“Oh, wow! I can’t believe your sister lives so close to my house! Well, I’m your number one fan, Mr. Mays! I want to be a great pitchman like you when I grow up!”

“That’s great kid. Now get the fuck out of here. I gotta get going.” Billy Mays turned from Offer and started to hurry away.

“Wait!” Offer called after him. “Can you give me some advice Mr. Mays? How can I become great like you?”

“Heh. Tell you what kid, the secret to being a great pitchman is to have lots of energy. And change your name. Nobody’s gonna buy anything from a fuckin’ Jew.” Billy Mays began to walk away again.

“But, Mr. Mays… you’re part Jewish,” Offer pleaded.

Billy Mays spun around and glared at the boy. “Who fuckin’ told you that? You shut your god damn mouth! I ain’t no fuckin Jew, kid. Got it?” With that Billy Mays turned the corner and was gone. Years passed and Offer’s life went on, but he never lost his dream of becoming the world’s greatest pitchman, and he never forgot what Billy Mays told him that day.

At the age of 16, Offer dropped out of school and went after his dream. His first audition for HSN came and Offer could hardly contain his excitement. He found his way to the waiting area, and an attendant asked “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Offer Sh…” He stopped. “Nobody’s gonna buy anything from a fuckin’ Jew.” Billy Mays’ voice rang in his head. “Vince Offer,” he finally came up with. He signed his new moniker to the registration form and took his seat.

Vince didn’t land that gig. There were a lot of failures in those first couple of years. But it never broke him. Each part he didn’t get made him that much more determined and drove him to work that much harder to achieve his goal. Finally, at the age of 18, Vince landed his first pitch gig. It was a hemorrhoid cream for dogs. A terrible product, but a great start for an aspiring pitchman.

In the 3 years that followed, Vince would star in 4 infomercials for various companies trying to sell various products. He began to build a reputation as an outgoing, clever young man with a memorable face and a flair for improvisation. By the time he was 21 he was earning enough money to support himself solely on pitching. Vince’s dream was coming true.

Sadly, Vince’s father David died shortly after Vince’s 21 birthday. A freak accident left a pigeon lodged in David’s heart. He died within minutes. “I knew you could do it son. I always told you your dreams would come true. Your mother would be so proud of you.” These words rang in the empty void left in Vince’s heart after his father passed away. He grieved for a time, but seemed to find renewed strength and vowed to reach his goal of becoming the world’s greatest pitchman.

The first audition Vince went to after his father’s death was a big one. Mighty Putty, the revolutionary way to fix and seal virtually anything, was already a well known product. So many well established pitchmen were at that audition. Vince almost lost his nerve when he saw the great Anthony Sullivan practicing lines in one corner of the auditorium. Despite the pressure, Vince summoned all of his composure and delivered a knock-out performance. He felt sure he would get the part.

“We’ve decided to go with Billy Mays.” The company ad managers announced after all auditions had finished. Vince was stunned. He hadn’t even noticed that Billy Mays was there. He looked around frantically, and finally he found him. Appearing out of a dark corner of the room, Billy Mays walked right up to Vince and stopped.

“I’ve heard of you, kid. Let me give you some advice. You will never beat Billy Mays. You hear me, you little shit? You don’t have the energy. Billy Mays is the god damn greatest and he always will be. The sooner you get that through your fuckin’ head the better.” Vince’s head spun, his knees felt weak and he was sure he would collapse at any minute. He had fallen to his idol and, perhaps more devastatingly, seen his hero for the evil, heartless beast that he was. Billy Mays left him there, broken.

The months ahead were hard for Vince Offer. He had lost his determination. His dream was slipping away, until one day he found a picture of himself as a boy, perched upon his father’s shoulders. They both looked so happy. On the back of the photo, his father had written “Your dreams will come true. Love, Dad.” This stirred something deep within Vince’s very soul. His dream would come true. He would not let his father down. Vince decided then and there that he was going to beat Billy Mays.

He scoured the pitch listings for targets that he knew Billy Mays wouldn’t be able to pass up. One in particular stood out above the rest. The amazing towel, chamois and sponge that washes and dries any surface… ShamWow! Billy Mays would be there for sure, and so would Vince Offer. But first, Vince had to find his energy. And he knew right where to go to find it.

Back in his old suburb, standing in front of the house where he had first met Billy Mays all those years ago, he couldn’t help but feel nostalgic for his innocent childhood days when his father was alive and Billy Mays was still, in his naïve mind, a worthy role model. But those days were gone and Vince could not linger. He knocked on the door of the house and an old lady answered.

“Who are you?” the woman asked.

“I’m Vince Offer.“

“You a cop?”

“No, I… I need some energy.”

“Energy? I don’t know what you’re talking about. Get outta here.” She began to close the door.

“Wait!” Vince stopped the woman. “Billy Mays sent me.”

“Billy Mays sent you? Hmph. You got money? How much energy do you want?”

Now Vince was ready. He walked into that audition like Odysseus returning to Ithaca, energy oozing out of every pore. He didn’t even give Billy Mays a second look. He went in there and took what was his. Vince Offer would be the face of ShamWow!

“You will regret this, Offer! Television ain’t big enough for the both of us! You will pay, you hear me? Nobody beats Billy Mays!” Vince didn’t say a word, just sneered in his fallen hero’s face. That moment, when Billy Mays stormed out of the building, was the greatest moment of his life. He had beaten Billy Mays. He would be the greatest pitchman ever. His dream would come true. But Vince’s jubilation was short lived. Just a few weeks later, Vince’s agent called him on the phone.

“Vince! Vince… there’s a problem, man.” His agent was frantic.

“Whoa, hey… slow down. What’s wrong?”

“I uh, I just heard that Billy Mays landed the Zorbeez pitch.”

“Yeah, so what? It’s a cheap ShamWow! knock-off. Who cares?” Vince couldn’t understand why his agent was so worked up.

“No, Vince… Zorbeez is better.”

“What do you mean it’s better? I’ve seen the specs, ShamWow! is a superior prodcut.”

“No Vince…” Apparently the ShamWow! marketing team had fudged the figures to make ShamWow! seem like a more amazing product than it was. “Vince, I know you think, I know they told you that ShamWow! holds twenty times its weight in liquid, but… well, shit Vince, it only holds ten.”

Vince was crushed. Not only had he lied in a publicly released pitch, but his nemesis, Billy Mays, had gone and found a better product and scored the pitch. He was humiliated, and he knew Billy Mays would never let him live it down. Something had to be done. Vince knew that Billy Mays would never stop, not until Vince was destroyed. If Vince were going to be the greatest, Billy Mays needed to be out of the way. Vince knew what he had to do. Vince knew he had to kill Billy Mays.

Two weeks later, in the middle of a moonless night, Vince stood over the bed of Billy Mays and watched as his enemy convulsed. A smile crept across his face when Billy Mays finally fell still. Vince tucked Billy Mays’ lifeless body into bed, and carefully straightened up the room. One last happy glance at his handiwork, and Vince was gone.

The next day, the news reported that Billy Mays had died in his sleep. It would later come out that Billy Mays was a cocaine addict and this would deter any who may have originally thought that foul play was involved. Vince had gotten away with the perfect crime. His childhood hero turned nemesis was dead, and now, Vince’s dream would come true.

Again, this story is totally fictional in every way. None of the names, locations, products or events are real. None of this ever happened. In fact, this story was never even written. You are hallucinating. Go listen to music or something.