1: Mundane Morning at 8:00 At your service, Jacksie, old boy.



And please don't call me 'Jacksie.' This is a bank we're running here, not a car wash.

Sorry, boss.

Right. Now, about that Assistant Manager position --

Oh, yeah, boss, I'm your man. Here, check this out: 2+2=4. 4+4=8. 8+8=...

Yes, well --

Wait, don't give me any hints: 8+8=16!

I never said I doubted your math skills, Bryan. It's just that --

I mean, who else are you going to hire, anyway? Stu over there has only been working for us two measly weeks --

I know, but --

And here I am with two years' of experience.

Well, you're both in the running for the position, okay, I will definitely say that.

Both of us? I assumed I was a shoo-in for the job!

Shh! Keep it down, will you? There are several stuffy millionaires over there filling out deposit slips! (with vox) Hello there, Mr. Dingleberry. Nice day today, isn't it?



I trust the wife is fine -- and the dog -- what is that dog again, it's a King Charles Spaniel, isn't it? Lovely animal.

Easy there, boss: I think it's a Norfolk Terrier!

Terrier, Spaniel -- he's not listening to me anyway, Bryan.

Then why are you talking to him, sir?

What? Well, rich people expect the working class to be interested in their lives -- although they obviously feel no corresponding duty to satisfy the no-doubt flattering curiosity of such inquisitive peons.

Did you just call yourself an inquisitive peon, sir?

Oh, just get back to work, would you? There's a haggish old woman over there at your desk that may very well be loaded. Now, scoot!

Okay, I'm going, I'm going.

You don't see Stu over there dawdling and reciting his math tables by way of a long-winded joke.

But I --

You heard me: Andale, andale!

All right, already. I'm going! Jeepers creepers, dude. Stu this, Stu that: That's loyalty for ya: I've been here two years, and he's going to promote that smart-aleck newcomer as the new assistant manager! Humph! That is just SO not right.

II: Foreclose THIS!

Now then, Mrs. Kostunova Ganush, is it? What can I do for you today?

Oy! You look like a good boy -- you look like a mahvelous boy!

Well, I --

Your mother must be proud of you, what with you working in a big bank like this, making loans to the poor people what might otherwise lose their houses!

What?

Do you see this boy, here: This is a good boy! He's going to do right by poor Mama Ganush, what has otherwise lost her house on account of money problems related to her bum eye.

Your bum eye, Mrs. Ganush?

Yes, hadn't you noticed? My right eye is made of glass on account of an accident that I had when I was but a slip of a Gypsy back in the Old Country. Here, you can see for yourself

No, please --

And just so you know I'm not trying to hide anything from you, I'll let you see my teeth, too. Hold on a minute, now....



Oh, now, don't even go there...

Thar. You zeeee? Hm-mn-mn-mn-mn....

Mrs. Ganush, please return these various body parts to their original locations, pronto! (Oh, dear me!)

Mn-mn-MN-MN-mn?

The teeth especially, madam, on account of I can no longer understand a word that you're saying to me!



So you zee...

Zay are taking my house because I miss only a few simple payments, so I need a loan, kind sir, so that I can get back on my feet.

I understand.

Speaking of my feet, one of them is fake, too. Do you want what that I should show it to you? Here...

No, no, please, Mrs. Kostunova: I already fully understand that you are a woman with many physical trials, okay? from which I think we can reasonably infer that your health bills are enormous, too.

Ja. I knew you vould understand. Didn't I tell you this was a wonderful boy here?

Oh, dear: I'd like to help this old lady -- notwithstanding her abysmal appearance and almost criminal negligence in the personal hygiene department --



but old Jacksie already thinks I'm a pushover when it comes to making loans, and unless she has evidence of collateral in those scrunched-up official-looking papers of hers, I don't think I can justify an extension of credit.

You seem to have some papers in your claw there -- Ahem! I mean, in your hand there. Could I see them?

But, of course. Lovely boy, no?

Hopefully I'll find some collateral in here that we can attach here at Bank of Lakewood, thereby justifying a loan to you in the amount that you require.

Och! So nice!

Och? Och? Well, I'll be -- This is the first Gypsy Jewish mother I've heard of who hails from Bonnie Scotland.

I'm sorry, Mrs. Ganush, but you've no collateral at all according to these papers. (To self) not to mention the fact that your accent is all over the map! Humph!

What a nice boy! How... What is it dat you speak?

I zay -- or rather, I SAY that you have no collateral, Mrs. Kostunova: I'm afraid I'm going to have to turn you down for a loan. I'm very sorry.



I, Kostunova Ganush Babushka the Third, daughter of Ivan Chernenko Ganush Babushka IV, Landowner of Kursk, do hereby get down on my tattered knees (one of which is fake) to plead for mercy for the first time in my natural-born life!

Please, madam: Arise! This is most unseemly. Indeed, all the bank patrons are staring at you in disbelief -- and I must own, I share their incredulity in large measure, if not entirely!

Please! Please! Please! Give me a loan! loan! loan!



You... have... SHAMED... me!!!!



I'm so sorry, but --

AAAAAaaaaaaaaaaahh!



Die! Die! Die!

Stop it, stop it, stop it!

Aha!

Ganush steps back with an odd look of triumph on her face, glances up at florescent bulb directly above her, and shouts: Uklay binga ooh-lenny HO!



Ganush smiling cryptically as security guards take her by the tattered elbows.

Come along, miss, you have to leave now.



The next time, you will come begging to MEEEEEE! HEH HEH HEH HEH -- cough cough cough -- slobber slobber slobber -- HEH HEH!"

III: Hot Heads at Water Cooler

#Stu# So, that was quite some loan you turned down yesterday.

What? Oh, yes, that.

#Stu# I thought that old crone was going to strangle you to death.

Indeed. Look, let's not talk about it, okay? It's still giving me the heebie jeebies, especially the way she was slobbering and all that.

#Stu# Yeah, and that rude and disgusting way that she shoved her flippin' teeth up in your face: that must have bothered you, too.

Stu, please --

#Stu# Not to mention her eye.

Yes, thank you for not mentioning the eye, too, Stu, that's a good mate.

#Stu# But that's all over now, of course.

Of course. Listen, I'm going back to my desk, if it's all right with you. Good luck with the Assistant Manager position, by the way -- though I still think I'll get it, Mr. Newcomer-who-has -only-been-here -two-weeks-after-all! Ha ha!

#Stu# No doubt. Listen, Bryan, before you go, I just wanted to warn you.

About what, may I ask?

#Stu# That withered old crone: I don't want to scare you, but I think she cast a spell on you as she was leaving the building yesterday.

Oh, nonsense!

#Stu# No, seriously: I even wrote it down phonetically at the time, just out of curiosity, I guess.

Indeed?

#Stu# Yes, it was (bearing in mind that I can't say this line half as creepily as hag-face did): Uklay binga ooh-lenny HO!



Sounds like a storm's up.

#Stu# Oh, right, um, Mr. Jacks. See? I merely say those words and presto!

Oh, come on: You're not telling me that it thundered just because you said Uklay binga ooh-lenny HO!



Deniece, would you go outside and make sure that all the windows are closed in my Toyota Corolla -- it's the red one with the spoiler on it.

Yes, I know, Mr. Jacks. One minute, please...

#Stu# See? You have been cursed, me boy: But good.

Well, even supposing that those lines: Uklay binga --

#Stu# Are you sure you want to press your luck?

Even though those lines may bring on thunder, that doesn't mean that she cursed me with them.

#Stu# Oh, yeah? Well, I looked up those words last night on the Internet in one of the surprisingly numerous dictionaries of curses that I found online.

Oh, yeah? And what do those words supposedly mean, Stu?

#Stu# It means: "I will drag you to New Jersey!"

To New Jersey? Well, see: That's not so bad, relatively speaking. Well, okay, it's bad, but it's not BAD bad. I mean, it's not like the curse says I'm going to be dragged to hell, does it?

#Stu# Well, that's just it, Bryan: I've been doing some supplemental reading about such curses.

Oh, boy, here we go...

#Stu# And there's general agreement among the folks who study such things that 'New Jersey' is actually a euphemism for... ... Hell!

Stuart Monroe: Watch your mouth, young man: There are customers in the lobby!

Ha! Gotcha! NOW who's going to become Assistant Manager, eh?

#Stu# Me.

Oh, yeah: And why would that be, exactly?

#Stu# Oh, I don't know... maybe because you're going to...



#Stu# burn in hell!

I'm not going to tell you again, Stuart!



This is just great. I've just talked to this incredibly expensive seer named (improbably enough) Rham Jas, and he tells me that the old hag must have a button of mine with which she's fixing to consign my soul to hell.

Watch your mouth, Bryan: Language, people, language!

#Stu# Nyeh-nyeh nyeh-nyeh nyeh!

Oh, shut up, you.

Ahem, sorry, boss: I was just thinking to myself.

Well, think a little softer, would you? Some of us are trying to work in here!

Yes, sir.



It seems I have to find this button before tomorrow night, or this so-called lahmia character will... drag me to you-know-where, toll plazas and all!

#Stu# Yo, Bryan, I couldn't help overhearing you whispering to yourself.

Oh, yeah?

#Stu# Yeah. And you're wrong about that button business.

How so?

#Stu# You don't only have to FIND the button, you have to formally give it to somebody else.

Oh, I do, do I?

#Stu# Yes. That way the lahmia will come for THAT poor slob rather than for you.

Oh, well, thank you for that clarification. Say, YOU wouldn't be in the market for a nice button, would you? -- assuming I find it, of course. It's only had one owner, and they only wore it on Sundays.

#Stu# Very funny. Look, here's what you do. (I don't know why I'm telling you this, incidentally, because I could really use that Assistant Manager position right now, and me with a baby comin' -- hence, consigning you to Hell SHOULD be in my interest.).

Out with it: What should I do?

#Stu# Well, if I were you, I would find that hideous crone that is so disproportionately angry with you and I'd give HER the button.

What if she won't take it?

#Stu# A little 'persuasion,' shall we say, might help?

Persuasion, huh?

#Stu# And even if it doesn't, she'll no doubt eventually keel over from the exertion of defending herself from a few right-left combinations to her apparently ever-drooling mug. Then (heaven forgive you) you can actually place the button in her hand -- and Bob's your hellish uncle.

I see.

#Stu# Always remembering, of course, to recite the appropriate mumbo jumbo, you know, to let the spirit world know in no uncertain terms that you have officially transfered title of said button to said hideous crone.

Um, Stu?

#Stu# Yes, Bryan?

How do you know so much about hideous old crones and the way to foil them?

#Stu# Hey, I figure one never stops learning in this life, Bryan. (Maybe that's why I'm up for potential promotion even though I've only been here a couple of weeks...) In fact, I'm learning polka this summer as just one small example of my ongoing attempts to better myself in all possible areas.

Whatever. At least you didn't recommend that I kill my poor kitty cat in order to appease the angry gods. (That Rham Jas should be ashamed of himself!)

#Stu# Ooh, that's a GREAT idea! Yes, kill your favorite cat! Why didn't I think of that first! It might very well appease that old lady -- and/or the lahmia, of course: whichever comes first!

I can't believe that you, too, are recommending that I kill my cat!

#Stu# Tough love, scout. Tough love.

I'm like, Rhammie baby, for the price I'm paying you, I think I should be permitted to kill YOUR cat. (Rhammie has a tabby named Jo that would seem to fit the bill perfectly when it comes to the appeasement of demons.)

#Stu# Anyway, I don't even have a cat.

You have a dog, don't you?

#Stu# Don't even go there.

That's charity, for you.

#Stu# I tell you, you just have to track the hateful creature down (the hag, I mean) and formally give her the button, will she or NILL she!

I suppose so. What a bi...

Bryan, please!

IV: No, I Insist





Ah, you must be the loan officer who turned down my grandma for the loan money necessary to save her house.

What? Oh, not me, no!

Not you, huh?

No! Lakewood Bank sets the policies: I'm just an employee, you know.

Sounds like the Nuremberg defense to me.

Young lady, I'll thank you to keep a civil tongue in your head. Now, I work hard for a living and --

Oh, but there she is now, resting on that sofa over there.

No, she's not resting --

Don't be silly: I see her right through the screen door, resting on that sofa -- or cot or whatever.

Suit yourself.



Mrs. Ganush, I came to apologize on behalf of my bank. I never personally would have turned you down, but bank policy is bank policy, alas.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaah!

Mrs. Ganush, what are you doing? Stop gnawing at my chin like that with your toothless maw! Ilenka, help!



The idea! I just had this suit cleaned, too!





Oh, THERE you are. Why didn't you tell me that the woman was rabid!

Rabid? She's dead, you fool.

Oh, I get it. Of course. How silly of me. She's DEAD, not rabid. What was I thinking, she's...



Wait a minute: d-d-d-DEAD?



Exit stage left!



Wait a minute, if you guys are all friends and loved ones of the dear (if still somewhat angry) departed, why didn't any of YOU loan the lady the money she needed to save her house!



See what I mean? Oh, it's great to beat up on the big evil capitalist pig of a banker, but she wouldn't have needed to come to me for money if the hearts that were nearer and dearer to her were in the right place!

He's right. Dad? Why didn't YOU advance her some money?

Now, wait a minute, Ilenka, darling, I ain't no Rockefeller, you know.

Yeah, but you could have chipped in with Cousin Ralph here. He has a second home in Florida.

Now, Ilenka, honey, it's not as easy as all that. I have debts up the wazoo, you know.

All I'm saying is, I count at least 10 regular wage earners in this funeral wake, and between the lot of you, you could have easily paid Grandma's mortgage -- for at least as long as it took her to get sorted with the medical bills generated by her bum eye.

What about you, Mother Teresa? Why didn't YOU give the old lady some money?

Oh, yeah, like my salary at Burger King was really going to get her on her feet.

It could have HELPED!

See? You're all really greater schmucks than I am, not withstanding the high horses that you were curveting about on when I first came in here trying to bury the hatchet.



Oh, and another thing: I'm the last one in the world to be prejudiced against Gypsies, but it's just not nice to go about threatening people with eternal hellfire.



Aha! You know what I'm talking about, don't you? Yes, your otherwise no-doubt lovely grandmother cursed a button of mine in the hopes of sending me to hell!



And all because I didn't do something that you guys didn't do either -- and you're members of her own family, for heaven's sake!





Look, all I'm saying is, you should be proud of yourself as Gypsies. I mean, you guys invented playing cards, didn't you? I myself LOVE cards, especially Cribbage and what I like to call Extreme Crazy Eights. Just stop conspiring as a people to consign utter strangers to perdition, that's all. Fair enough?



Yes! Those sad sacks don't know it, but I got my button back from the old woman when she was trying to gnaw my chin with her toothless mouth! Yep: Pried it right out of her bony paw! Now I just have to legally dump this thing on the open market and then I am SO not going to hell after all! Ha ha!



V: Lahmie, Lahmie da voodoo veau:
He'll Put a Spell on You

Magical button, folks: get your magical button here!

Gee, I feel like a schmuck trying to unload this cursed object on my fellow Americans, but my expensive seer tells me that this so-called Lahmia person is going to drag me to hell tonight at midnight merely because it belongs to me.

Perfect for reciting charms. Button, folks! Magical powers!

So I figure that if I can officially unload the thing before then, I'm home free. Oh, that reminds me: I MUST remember to get a receipt!

Oh, criminy, look at the time: 11:58 P.M.

You, sir! You look like an adventurous person!



Oh, no, no, thank you, just the same.

I'll take that as a yes! You won't regret this. Look, I'll put it in your suit jacket pocket here and then you can pay me whatever you think it's worth.

It's worth NOTHING to me, now leave me alone.

Nonsense. This is a magic button, dude.

Oh!

Look, humor me, okay? I'm obviously a ranting lunatic -- but if you pay me so much as 20 cents for this silly button of mine, I will leave you alone!

Okay, okay: I'll buy the button: Look, here's a quarter: Keep the change.

Oh, thank you -- but don't go anywhere: I'm going to write you out a receipt.

Never mind the receipt, now goodbye.

No, I insist!





Oh, no, it's the Lahmia! Here, dude, here's your receipt.

What?



So, where is the owner of this cursed button?

The cursed button? It's funny you should ask: I just sold the thing to this emphatically dumbfounded office worker standing next to me here. Well, would you look at that: I think he's passed out standing up, if that were possible. It's like his eyes are open but there's nobody home.



Don't believe me? Look, here's the receipt for the button right here in his suit pocket.



What's this? It says: "Whopper with cheese, no pickles: $4.99"!

What's that? Oh, no, no: Look on the other side, your honor! (Sorry about that, but I was in a hurry and I must have written MY receipt on top of the chit from last night's pitstop at Burger King!



Is... this... your... button!!!!!!????

W-what? NO!

It is SO! You bought it, fair and square.

No, I didn't: You just shoved the receipt in my pocket.

But it's a signed receipt!

No, it isn't: You just put an "x" on it.

Okay, so I was in a hurry, but an "x" still counts.



Does not!

Pardon me, sir, but you know nothing about finance.

What?

If I want to endorse a check, for instance, it's perfectly legal for me to sign with an "x."

No, it isn't.

Look, stop any banker on these streets: they'll tell you.

But if they have your regular full signature on file in the bank, they'll obviously want to see you sign that way for verification purposes. They wouldn't settle for an "x."

If, if, if! Anyway, never mind the receipt: Here's the very quarter that you gave me for that button not 5 minutes ago!

Why would I pay you anything for this lousy button?



Aha! Bryan, you are coming with me...

But why? WHY!?

That button that you were trying to sell this gentleman is actually from the tattered and heavily stained blouse of Kostunova Ganush Babushka herself! Heh heh heh heh!

Yes! Now if you'll excuse me: I'll continue my haggard and world-weary way back home, thank you very much. (Humph!)



And now I will take you to...

No, no, NO!

...the Garden State! Mouhahahahahaha!

No, help!

Mouha -- Ahem (cough cough) -- I say, mouhahahahaha!



Okay, look: You can just drop me off over here in the Oranges, okay?

Mouhahaha!

Okay, how about Atlantic City?

Mouha -- I say, mouhahahahaha!

W-well then... wh-where are you taking me???

Mouhaha... (et cetera)

Wait a minute, this looks like -- no, it can't be!

Yes! Ha ha!

Exit 7A on the Jersey Turnpike?

Ha ha!

You mean...?

Yes! I am taking you to...



Trenton!!!!!!

Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!