August 20, 2004

Exerpts from "Tour of Doody - the Mitch Berg Story"

From Douglas Brinkley's upcoming work of history, "Tour of Doody - the Mitch Berg Story":

Page 175: of the most difficult jobs Berg faced at that time of his life was choosing between the woman he loved, Marisa Tomei, and the woman who was throwing herself at him, Madeline Stowe. The stress was taking its toll, although Berg's public facade remained as unflappable as ever".
More, from Page 269:
"Los Angeles Sheriff 911", the operator answered.

"Hi, I'm calling about OJ Simpson. He's drunk and disorderly and talking about killing his wife".

"Who is this?"

"My name is Mitch Berg...oh, crap, he stole my glove, too!"

Page 301:

The driver of the rented school bus waved to Berg as the 30-odd men sitting in the back watched, idly fingering their retracted box cutters.

"Escuse me, sir", said the driver in a guttural accent. "Could you tell us how to reach the Twin Cities Airport? We need to get to the Northwest counter by 7AM".

Berg thought for a moment. "Take Edgecumbe 'til you get to Highway Five, and take the Five East exit, then drive 'til you see the Airport", Berg responded idly, wondering to himself how he was going to make it to work on time. "Look for the Lindberg Terminal sign".

"Thank you", the man said as a frenzied "Allahu Akbar" erupted from the back of the bus. The bus pulled away.

"Oh, Crap", Berg muttered. "Did I just say Five East or Five West? I hope I didn't send them to Wisconsin, not the airport". But it was too late.

"Dang. I guess they're going to miss their flights". Berg was preoccupied with other problems. The next day, September 12, was the day his design proposal was due, and that weasel sales manager was not helping at all.

Page 195:
So it had come down to this: Days spent crossing the desert since the Night Stalkers' Blackhawk had dropped him in the desert near Nasirieh. Forty hours spent wriggling through the sand and scrub to get into position. And it all came down to this moment.

Berg was in position. As tanks maneuvered through the desert hundreds of miles to the south, and coalition jets screamed overhead, oblivious to the highest-value target in the war in the camouflaged palace below, Mitch Berg was in position for the coup de main of the war - perhaps of military history.

Berg drew a bead on the mustachioed monster, flanked by his sons, Uday and Qusay. Mindful of the Republican Guard that swarmed over the palace compound, Berg whispered into his mic.

"Bagpipe Four. I have Woodtick dialed in. Request permission to engage".

There was a pause while officers at CENTCOM conferred.

Suddenly, a frantic voice squawked over Berg's tiny headset. "Negative, negative, negative, Bagpipe Four. Ultra November negotiations are underway. Say again, the UN is intervening. Abort abort abort!"

"Crap", Berg muttered. He could have shaved either half of Hussein's mustache off with a .308 boat-tailed match-grade round at this range, to say nothing of blowing his brains down his spinal column.

Typical brass at CENTCOM. Friggin' UN.

Now Berg's problem was, how to get out of Saddam's palace complex without getting seen.

"I've been in worse scrapes", he thought, although he couldn't remember any offhand.

Page 562:
Berg addressed the short, nattily-dressed, sunglass-wearing man.

"I think the idea for the show isn't bad. But..."

Berg produced the eyeball of a cow from a small plastic bag in his pocket, and took a bite.

"...I think that making the contestants eat British food doesn't promote the proper..." he paused, lost in thought, then concluded "Fear factor that would make the show really good."

Berg finished the eyeball and ordered a shot of whiskey.

The shorter man took his leave, and walked out to his Audi TT and pulled out his cell phone as he walked.

Page 942:
"I'm thinking about doing a website about NASCAR", the last line of the email read. "I'm going to call it "James' NASCAR Fan Site".

Berg typed quickly "Not bad, but why not think bigger? I bet you could do a decent site on - oh, I dunno, current events, your daughter, architecture, hilarious old ads, Macintoshes, funny stuff, and domestic life. Why not call it..." Berg thought for a moment, "...the Bleat?".

"Tour of Doody" by Douglas Brinkley will be available in bookstores on September 1.

Posted by Mitch at August 20, 2004 06:35 AM | TrackBack

Friggin' Hysterical!

You know, with qualifications like that, you could be, oh, I don't know, maybe, a Twin Cities Mayor!

but, really, "Bleat"? It sucks, It'll never fly.......

Posted by: Kaptin Marko at August 20, 2004 06:01 AM

Mitch Berg as Forrest Gump! Run Mitc^H^H^H^HForrest!!!

Posted by: Eliza-beta at August 20, 2004 06:31 AM

Slap a bibliography on that sucker and it'll be well-nigh unassailable!

Posted by: Brian Jones at August 20, 2004 09:37 AM

Is Mitch Berg runing for an office?

Posted by: Brian Wilson at August 20, 2004 08:37 PM

You're too modest, Mitch. Tell them the story on page 749, where you meet a modest UTK law professor with a modem and an opinion.

Posted by: Fredrik Nyman at August 20, 2004 10:09 PM