JonahWeiland.com

Back when I was in High School I actually looked forward to the return to school following spring break. Sure, I lamented the fact that my carefree days of summer were soon over, but the return to school always meant fresh new stories from Mr. Huntington. It was on my return to school for my senior year that Mr. H told us kids about one of his brushes with celebrity coupled with the capture of the “big fish.”

During the summer Mr. Huntington would routinely visit La Paz, Mexico for some deep-sea fishing with his wife and a friend or two. Sport fishing was something of a passion for Mr. Huntington. Considering how much he loved seafood, it fit. He’d come back from his trips with chests full of marlin, yellowtail, tuna and many other species.

Well, that summer of 1988 Mr. Huntington went down this time with his wife and his friend James. Mr. H chartered a boat for him and James to go out for the day while his wife laid on the beach, soaking up the Mayan sun. Now, Mr. H and James had all their own rigging, so all they needed was a big enough boat to handle the fishing. They found their boat and their captain and made way for the open sea and all the fish it had to offer.

Except there was one small problem – the boat stalled half way out. They hadn’t made it out far enough to the good fishing spots, but far enough away to ruin the entire day. It would take a while for the Mexican coast guard to come out and tow them back to land and once that was done, their chances for fishing that day before sundown were completely blown. Mr. H and his buddy were sorely disappointed.

Then, as if sent from God himself, they spotted another large boat making way for the open sea. Mr. H, standing on the bow of “The Shitty McShit Shit Steamer” as he called it, flagged down the approaching vessel, which pulled alongside the McShit. The two crews traded barbs and Mr. H explained how they were stranded there and all he wanted to do was get himself some fish that day. Well, the new ship, named “The Goddess Herself,” was making way for a great fishing location and invited Mr. H and his friend to join them. Mr. H was never one to miss an opportunity and gladly accepted the invitation.

The crew of the Goddess was very welcoming of their new guests, offering them plenty to drink and some great snacks and what not. Mr. H said there was the ships crew, which numbered two men, then about three different women who were all “one with the much pretty and booty,” two very bulked up men and two random dudes named Mikey and Ralphy who also had some rather expensive video equipment. It soon dawned on Mr. H that not only was he on a fishing yacht of some sort, but also on the set of an adult video film shoot. Mikey and Ralphy, the much Italian brothers, explained to Mr. H what was going to happen, how they’d be filming the group sex porn video at the bow or front of the ship, while Mr. H was more than welcome to fish off the stern or back of it. “I can say I’ve fished to the sounds of music, but never to the sounds of fucking,” said Mr. H. And of course, as you well know by now, Mr. H is always up for an adventure.

The Goddess dropped anchor about seven miles from shore and Mr. H and James got to setting up their rigging as the film crew and actors readied themselves for their shoot. Mr. H and James laughed about their odd set of circumstances, with a bunch of dumb ass white folk shooting some video at the front of the ship while the real action, the good fishing action, was back there with those two guys. They threw back beers and talked about the good times they had.

About an hour in, they started to hear rumblings from the front of the boat. Mostly a grunt or two to start with, nothing too crazy. They heard a little conversation, but the boat was big enough that it was hard to make out. Mr. H and James would steal a look once in a while, mostly ending up catching a shot of some guys ass, then it would disappear, then reappear in view, then disappear again. You get the idea.

Then, the timing got really odd. Just as the sounds of cottaging got louder and louder from the bow, the fish started to bite in the stern. Suddenly Mr. H’s main line grew taught, he jumped out of his chair and he and James began reeling in the big fish. At the same time, Mr. H heard the screaming sex, “Yes! Oh yeah, you do me so good! Come on baby, I want that big fish of yours!” As Mr. H wrestled with the big fish he found the sex talk to be very confusing and shouted out in response, “You like that, big fish? Huh? Do you? Well, you’re slippery ass is mine, baby! I’m gonna reel your sorry ass in!”

The dialogue from the bow continued. “Oh baby, that’s right, fuck me with that life preserver on! That’s so sexy! I’m gonna fuck you over overboard!”

Mr. H responded, “That’s right, keep fighting big fish! That’s how I like it! You’re lil’ fish ass is mine, motherfucker!”

As the ladies up front were being railed by the bulky guys, Mr. H and James began reeling in their catch. Suddenly, with unbelievable timing, as Mr. H caught the biggest red snapper he’s ever seen, some bulky dude caught an entirely different type of some snapper from the bow.

“Oh yeah, fish! Oh yeah! What up, gills? I’m gonna hammer your scaley fish ass,” shouted Mr. H as he and James brought the catch on board and put it out of its misery. The shoot was done, and so were Mr. H and James.

Everybody cleaned up and they returned to the shore. Once there, Mr. H invited everyone back to their bungalow where they prepared the fish and everyone feasted on the catch. They all exchanged addresses and phone numbers and had an excellent time. Ralphy told Mr. H he’d send him a copy of the video when they were done, with Mrs. H’s permission naturally.

About a month later the video arrived and Mr. and Mrs. H decided to watch it together. They watched the video, surprised to find that as your watching the pretty people humping like mad dogs you could clearly make out the sounds of Mr. H screaming in the background at his catch. In fact, there were moments when you could see their fishing pole randomly pop in and out of the frame. With odd timing, “You’re lil’ fish ass is mine, motherfucker,” could clearly be heard as the money shot began. There was a note inside the DVD from Mikey and Ralphy who said this could possibly be one of their best shoots ever and was already a top seller because of the crazy man in the stern of the ship screaming out the bizarre obscenities.

The video, “Big Fish At Sea, Volume 1,” was a huge seller and began a very popular series of videos that continue to this day. And every time they go out to shoot, someone is fishing off the back of the boat. Mr. H even gets an occasional residual check, because Mikey and Ralphy are the nice kind of porno directors.

Great story. Total bullshit, but someone really should try this idea out. Fishing + Porn = Much Profits.

A handful of years after I left High School I returned to my old stomping grounds to say hi to a few teachers with the mission of specifically finding Mr. Huntington and catch up with him. This must have been about 10 years ago now. So, I went to the school, caught up with a bunch of teachers, but didn’t find Mr. Huntington anywhere. I asked if he was still with the school and everyone assured me that he was, but he just wasn’t in that day. So I left, somewhat disappointed, but I figured I could come back another day.

As I was walking to my car I heard someone yell out across the quad. “Weiland!” I turned and sure enough, as you might expect, there was Mr. Huntington. Suddenly in my head I had one of those movie moments where we ran across the quad towards each other and embraced with great vigor. In fact, we simply walked towards each other with a hefty smile, shook hands and then gave each other a man hug with copious amounts of pats on the backs to make it as manly as possible.

We got to catching up. I told him how shit college was, he told me how shit all the school teams had gotten. It was good times. I asked how he and his wife, Lacy, were doing and he said good. We got to talking about my struggles with trying to get a full time radio gig and he then told me another one of his priceless stories. It seems his brother, Roland Huntington, had himself become something of a success in radio, anchoring the afternoon drive position at some Smooth Jazz/Easy Listening station up in Portland, OR.

Apparently about two months prior to my visit Mr. Huntington’s Mother, Flossie Huntington, had expressed some interest in going up to Portland to visit her son Roland. Now, I met Flossie once, or as we all called her the Great Mrs. H, and she was a truly amazing woman. Very southern and very outspoken. Mr. Huntingon had a way with words and it was clear where he got that talent from. Mrs. H was a true raconteur in the old style, with abilities well beyond those of the common folk.

But Mrs. H was an elderly woman and while she could get on quite well taking care of herself, traveling was a whole different beast. So, Mr. Huntingon decided to take Mrs. H up north to visit her son. Mr. Huntington taught me years ago that you should always do at least one good thing a week for your mother, whether that’s a simple phone call or lunch or whatever, if for no other reason that it’s just a smart idea. So this trip was going to keep him safe from any doghouse potential for a long time.

They arrived in Portland, set-up shop in their hotel and called Roland to see when would be a good time to stop by. He suggested that evening, so Mr. Huntington rented a car and they made their way over to the studios. It was a really joyous reunion; the three of them hadn’t seen each other in two years, but naturally Mrs. H had many a comment about Roland’s style of dress, weight, his thinning hair and pretty much anything else that was in eyesight of Mrs. H. The first stop set came up and Roland told everyone to put on some headphones so they could listen to him on the radio and instructed his mother to be quiet. “You don’t get to tell me when I’m quiet, Rolly,” Mrs. H responded in the indignant way she always did.

“Mama, just be good. I gotta be on the air and it’s got to be quiet,” said Roland.

“Oh you just shush up. I know how to be quiet. You do your job and I’ll do mine,” Mrs. H responded.

So they put on their headphones, Roland turned on his mic, which quieted the studio speakers. As he took to the air, the following happened.

Roland: “Ahhhh yes, the sounds of Kenny G on Smooth Jazz 107.5 The Storm. We’ve got another 20 minutes of smooth jazz coming your…”

And in the background, clearly heard over the air, Mrs. H just let out with, “Smooth jazz? Smooth jazz? Sounds more like smooth crap to me.”

Roland went absolutely quiet.

Mr. Huntington shouted, “Mama!”

Mrs. H: “Stop that nonsense, boy. Roland’s on the air! He’s got to play his bullshit jazz for the people and there you go shouting out my name.”

Roland quickly wrapped up his stop set, went in to the commercial break, took off his headphones and just stared at his mother. He had no idea what to say because he knew yelling at her would only cause more problems.

Mrs. H said to Roland, “Why you got that face? You look like you gots your grundle all up in a bunch!”

Roland just sat there, dumbfounded. Mr. Huntington got up, told his Mrs. H they should adjourn to the listening room next door to give Roland some space to do his job. No complaints ever came in to the station, despite the fact this was clearly heard over the air. As far as we know, to this day, Roland’s program director has no clue this happened.

Great Story. Almost completely bullshit, but a great story.

I was going to write a full review of last night’s showing of “The Office” on NBC, but felt the New York Times review really said everything I would have and more.

About two months ago I received a copy of the pilot and it’s slightly different than the episode that showed last night. A couple of different jokes which have been removed, but the show last night had a couple that my version of the pilot didn’t have. Maybe they’ll show up in future episodes.

Overall I rather enjoyed it. I did laugh out loud numerous times. Steve Carell did a great job, slightly tweakig the character Ricky Gervais made famous. I remember reading an interview with Gervais about a year ago when he found his lead man. He said he found the only actor in America who could pull it off and he’s pretty much right.

People like to point to the American version of “Coupling” as an example of how you can’t translate British humor to an American audience. The problem with the American version wasn’t the comedy, but a horribly miscast group of actors. They just didn’t fit their characters in any fashion. That’s not the case with NBC’s “The Office.” I wouldn’t say its perfect casting all around, but they managed to pull things off pretty nicely.

And it would be nice to find one review out there that reviews this show without comparing it to the British original. Review it on its own merits without trying to compare it to the original. Sure, by pretty much recreating the first episode word-for-word, the creators are just asking for it, but it would be nice to see.

Well, by now what you know about my former gym teacher Mr. Huntingon is that he’s a funny man, loves teenagers (not in that Michael Jackson way), is big (”Big as a mountain”), fast (”Quick as lightning”), smart and just an all around good guy. Back in high school he was easily the most popular teacher. In addition to teaching our various phys-ed classes and coaching the basketball team, he was also a very able-bodied history teacher, specializing in early American history (he got his minor in History from UCLA). But the story I’m about to tell you illustrates what a truly great man Mr. Huntington was and his true sense of honor.

One day he was out and about in Downtown LA. He liked going downtown to the garment district to shop for clothes. So, he’s shopping and walking and walking and shopping when suddenly he witnesses a crime – some older woman, say in her 70s, had just had her purse snatched by a young latin kid. She began screaming, “OH NO! My purse! That boy stole my purse!” Mr. Huntington couldn’t believe his eyes. It happened in broad daylight and everyone stood around doing absolutely dick while this woman screamed her heart out. He told me he thought to himself, “You know, if that was my Mama what just got jacked, I’d want someone to smack that little shit’s ass!”

So he did. He dropped his bags over by the old woman and took off against the little burgling bastard. Remember, Mr. Huntingon was a very big man and surprisingly fast for his size. The latin kid was a good 40 or 50 feet in front of him, a spry little fellow himself, but that really didn’t matter. See, Mr. H had speed akin to that of the God Mercury. His long legs moved so fast, appearing as though he wasn’t even touching the ground. It was like something out of an old cartoon and you could just hear “wind up” noises as he increased his speed.

Mr. Huntingon called out, “You best know I’m coming to get you! I’m gonna get that purse and show you a thing or two about respectin’ your elders you piss-bastard! I’m gonna get get ya, motherfucker!”

The latin kid pushed himself to run faster, but to no avail. Mr. Huntington was closing slowly. “Ohhh, you ain’t gonna get away. I’m quick as lightning motherfuckerrrrr! I’m an unstoppable locomotive bearing down on your ass! You best get prepared because here comes the H-Train!”

Yes, Mr. Huntington did really talk like that in times like this.

The distance was closing between the quick-footed Mr. H and the purse stealing scum. They weaved their way through crowded sidewalks. People got out of Mr. H’s way instantly so as to avoid serious bodily injury. No one wants 6′ 4″ of 300 pounds bearing down on you at close to 15 miles an hour.

“Little motherfuckeeee, in five seconds you is gonna be cooked medium rare style and I’m gonna eat up your meat!”

They duo got closer and closer, but suddenly, as they approached an intersection, a car came up along side of Mr. H, then turned right in front of the latin kid who jumped in to an open window, loosing the purse in the interim. The car sped off with the latin kid’s legs hanging out the window. He got away, but without his prize.

Mr. Huntington stopped, bent over to pick up the purse, and walked back to the old lady. He returned the purse to the woman, she handed him his bags, said thank you and tried to give him a reward. He refused, saying “It’s what I do, little mama,” but agreed to have an iced tea with her at the diner around the corner. He figured, she’d been through enough that day and could certainly use a friendly ear.

See, this is why Mr. Huntington is so great. He may be vulgar at times, he might be a bit weird, but he’s the biggest hearted man I’ve ever met and that, ladies and gentlemen, is a rare occurrence.

Great story. Only partly true as it’s based on something that happened to my Bro-In-Law years ago, but still a great story.

I’m so excited! Tonight I found an old journal of mine that I kept during my high school days. Mixed in with stories of my love for various chicks who I never had the guts to approach are many a story I wrote down that Mr. Huntington told us punks. So, in the next week or two I’ll continue to post more of his hillarious antics. I’m especially happy because it includes what his middle name is. I knew his first name, but had forgotten his middle name. Oh, it’s classic. EVERYONE called him Mr. Huntington, even his wife oddly enough, and there’s good reason why.

All in due time. Be patient my children. The next story has to do with him foiling a crime. Action packed.

You know, writing about Mr. Huntington’s escape from certain death the other day reminded me of another story he liked to tell us impressionable teenage kids. See, Mr. Huntington had something of an adventurous life. He used to say, “Life is about the new adventure.” He’s right and he certainly had a few. From that I created my own philosophical statement about life which is simply, “He who has the best stories wins.” It’s true and Mr. Huntington won a lot.

So one day Mr. Huntington gets a call at home.

Caller: “Hello, may we speak to Mr. Huntington, please.”

Mr. H: “Yes?”

Caller: “Mr. Huntington, we’re pleased to have reached you this evening and are excited to inform you that you’ve won a free, years supply of baby diapers for your newborn infant.”

Now, you see, Mr. Huntington had no children. Even stranger, it was physically impossible for him to have children due to something that happened to him while in the military (more on that later, it’s a whole Thai hooker/needle nose plyers story). So, this was a very strange phone call for him to get, but he liked talking to dumbasses and kept it going.

Mr. H: “Uhh, I don’t have no babies.”

Caller: “Sir, according to our records, you’re the new father of a baby boy.”

Mr. H: “Really?”

Caller: “Yes, sir, and as a reward we’d like to give you a years supply of diapers for your newborn baby.”

Mr. Huntington thought for a moment, allowing for an uncomfortable second or two of silence. Then launched right in to it.

Mr. H: “Wait a second, is the mother’s name Juanita?”

Caller: “Uhm, sir, our records simply indicate you’re a new father because you filled out some form the other day. There’s no mention of the mother’s name.”

This surprised Mr. Huntington because he never filled out any form. But he played along.

Mr. H: “Well, motherfuck me.” (Remember, he likes to say “motherfucker” as one word. “Well, motherfuck me. I know what’s going on. It’s that bitch down in Tijuana what trying to get some money outta me, right?”

Caller: “Sir, I don’t know anything about a Tijuana, but if you could just give us your address so that we can start delivery of your…”

Mr. H: “I told that bitch I wanted no part of that baby. I told that bitch she was just my whore for the night and I was to do with her as I please. I paid her plenty and that’s that.”

Caller: “Uhmm, sir, I don’t know anything about that, but…”

Mr. H: “She wasn’t even all that good. She was kinda snappy! You now what I mean?”

Caller: “Uhhhhhh …”

Mr. H: “Yeah, you know! Snappy! You’ve had it before.”

Caller: “Uhh, what have I had, sir?”

Mr. H: “You know, the snappy bitches! They rides you like you’re some kind of mule and SNAP, they snap your meat hook right off.”

Caller: “Sir, I really don’t know about such things.”

Mr. H: “Course you don’t. You ain’t never had Tijuana Juanita and her snappy snoochy! I mean, yeah, she was cute, but sex ain’t about ripping your homeboy off, you know?”

Caller: “I think there’s been some sort of confusion. I’m going to go now.”

Mr. H: “Yeah, you do that, and tell that bitch Juanita if she’s ever up in my parts, it’s cool, I forgives her, look me up. I mean, she hurt me and stuff, physically, but I can go for another walk in her park.”

Suddenly the call came to an end.

Great story. It’s not true, but that’s another great story.

Back in High School I had a gym teacher named Mr. Huntington. Mr. Huntington was a rather large and imposing fellow. He was a 6′2″ or so African American, maybe 290 or 300 pounds. He clearly played football in his younger years, even tried to turn pro unsuccesfully. He was funny, intelligent, a fantastic athlete and just incredibly big. He used to say, “I’m big as a mountain, quick as lightning.” It was true, too. The man was so fast, although he tired quickly. He used to screw around and call “TIME OUT” a lot when we’d play basketball during practice. Great guy.

Tonight I was reminded of a story he told way back when. We arrived at the gym one day and Mr. Huntington told us about how he’d been mugged the previous night. He went to the Lakers game the night before. This was back when they used to play in Inglewood at the Forum. A real pit of a neighborhood. He forgot his wallet and didn’t have any money to pay for parking, so he ended up parking in one of the near by neighborhoods and hoofed it to the Forum. After the game he returned to his car and as he walked on to the block he was parked on, a guy seemingly jumped out of the shaodws with a ski mask on and a bat in his right hand and said, “Give me your wallet, asshole.”

Mr. Huntington said he was in a bit of shock. So he just stood there.

The masked man repeated his request, “Give me your wallet, asshole!” Emphasis on asshole because it’s really important to insult your victim while you rob them.

Mr. Huntington said after the second time he fell out of shock and knew precisely what was happening. He was hyper sensitive to everything at that moment and was ready.

So the attacker got pissed. “Oh, the silent type, huh? Well, you won’t be silent after this!” At which point the attacker lifted the baseball bat over his head with both hands and brought it down on Mr. Huntington.

But suddenly, the very still and calm Mr. Huntington raised his two arms to the sky and caught that beating in mid-air. That’s right, with both hands he caught the bat on the down swing and just held it there. The attacker was freaked and tried to wrestle away the bat from Mr. Huntington, but Mr.Huntington, he held that bat still and with that deep voice uttered the most fucking amazing thing I’ve ever heard.

“I’m a big motherfucker.” He said motherfucker as if it were one word. He said, “I’m a big motherfucker. I’ll kill ya. (pause) I’ll kill ya deaaaaaaaad.”

That’s all he said. And the attacker, well he fucking jammed like he was in an M.C. Hammer video, running the hell away from Mr. Huntington.