I used to work with this cranky, old Puerto Rican man named Manny Reyes. This guy had an attitude so raw, I swear he could wipe his ass with like 33-grit sand paper and smile like it was Charmin!

Manny Reyes was the shit, ‘cause he smoked a cigar, had bushy eyebrows and this big piece of grizzled skin under his neck with blue veins in it, that just hung there and flapped around in the air when he talked, like some kind of second scrotum, UH! We’re talkin’ ’bout stories here, so raw, it felt like the biggest, meanest prisoner in a federal penitentiary was engaging you in the act of unlubricated sphincter ripping pennatration and you are loving every minute of it! YEA!

This is called: The Philosophies of Manny Reyes: Tales of Socially Redeeming Value.

Fathers and Parole Officers

So my parole officer goes to me: “LOOK, you gotta stop hanging around with the element that got you into prison in the first place,” and I’m like, “HEY! The guy’s my father, what am I supposed to do?”

Criminals and Crash Test Dummies

You know, it costs $200,000 dollars a year to incarcerate one of those maximum security criminals and only $150,000 dollars to build one of those crash test dummies. And I’m like, hey! Why doesn’t anybody make the connection? Because personally, I’d be proud to drive one of those DODGE NEON DEATHTRAPS if I knew it was safety tested with three time convicted killers and child molesters, YEA!

Drug Use in the Olympics

You know, with all this controversy over drug use in the Olympics I think we should just solve the problem by introducing two classes like auto racing. You know how we’ve got stock and modified? Well, we’ll have human and steroid, YEA! ‘Cause I want to see a guy who’s been taking steroids from the womb with more mussels in the back of his neck than Arnold Schwartznagger’s got in his entire body. I want to see a woman so riddled with testosterone a penis grows right out of her vagina. I want to see a guy shoot pure adrenaline, lift twenty-five-thousand pounds, pop every blood vessel in his neck, like some ceased-up nitro-fueled monster-truck, and then kick back in the locker room with ABC’s Wide World of Sports and a couple lines of coke like, “Hey, baby, SNIFF! it’s Miller time!”

Giving His Wife the Finger

So Ladies and gentleman, before we go any further here, I just want to say two things: The first is, I love my wife very much, that’s nice huh? ...and the second is, at the right angle, it only takes five pounds of pressure to snap the human wrist.

So the other night, I’m giving my wife the finger and she’s going to me: “Manny, harder! Harder! HARDER!” And I brought her to a climax so powerful, she twisted her hips and sprained my wrist. CRACK! So consequently she’s rolling around like some kinda’ sheepdog in heat, and I'm in agony. But because I care, even in the afterglow I kept my finger there until she was completely satisfied. What a guy!

Depression is like a Really Expensive Bubblebath

Hey, fuck those guys who cry and get in touch with their feminine sides. ‘Cause look son, I know what it feels like to be as sad as a cockroach stuffed up the ass of Richard Gere as he’s getting butt slammed by some beef-cake leather-boy, doin’ poppers, SNIFF! so high, only God knows why, he has somehow mistaken you for a gerbil. Don’t even think of breaking out those high-tech kleenex tissues lubricated with that K-Y shit a little cry. No. I’ll tell you how I get in touch with my feminine side over there. I just take that depression and rub it all over my body like a really expensive bubble bath, yea! EVERY nook, EVERY cranny, SNIFF! Until I am as clean and pristine as a pair of Junior High School cheerleaders double-jumping of those Wrigly’s Doublemint gum commercials with their legs legs spread wide-fucking-eagle as if they are experiencing their very first vaginal mussel spasm in mid-air. WHOO!

The Medicinal Purposes of Drinking Your Own Urine

You know in Newsweek the other week they’re talking about the medicinal purposes of drinking your own urine. I don’t get it: you are your own rest room? This would be great for road-trips with the family though. “Hey Dad stop the car I gotta pee!” “Shut up and drink your own urine son, it’s good for, ya!”

They say Gandi drank his own urine. That’s a big surprise, huh? ‘Cause letting people hit you over the head with sticks all day and drinking your own urine, kinda goes hand in hand when you think about it, right? That’s why Mahatma Gandi and Marie Antoinette would’ve made the great world hunger all-star team, YEA! Let them eat cake and drink they’re own urine. What a hit that’d be. Hey Gandi and Marie, let’s make some wee-wee tea! They’d love it! Forget about Live Aid and We are the World and sending millions of dollars to some third-world country. If there’s a disaster somewhere, anywhere, all you need is some porta-potties and a couple of packets of Tang!

Kevin Cosner, that jock-boy from the suburbs, he’s drinking his own urine in Waterworld and the next thing you know they’re gonna have urine flavored Gatorade, YEA! They’ll call it Urade, Urade-lemonade, and you’ll see Michael Jordan on T.V. going, “Yea! To keep that competitive edge in my game I drink my own urine, and now you can too, I’ve been bottling it for years! SLURP! AH!”

by TJ Richter

© February 1988 Theodore J. Richter

THE EARLY PHILOSOPHIES: DIRECT MANNY QUOTES

The real Manny Reyes worked as a draftsman when I was an engineer for the Grumman Areospace Corporation. Manny Reyes was totally street, but was also a top-notch draftsman, and would kick out these little jems amid t-squares and triangles while drafting tail section ribs for the Navy's supersonic aircraft. These are direct Manny Reyes quotes.

Kid With the Circle of Flies On His Head

The Mets should win the world series every day. Because when the Mets win the world series, and you look in the newspapers, every page, all you see, THE METS. Everything else just fades away. All those people on welfare are living in ‘hundred-thousand dollar condos and the kid with the circle of flys on his head has got a full meal.

Animals Are Better Than People

Teddy, I could really get into becoming a hit man for the mafia. I could kill a person like that. But I could never kill an animal. Because if you bring an animal up in this world and take care of it, that animal will never turn on you. But a person will turn on you in a second. That's why sometimes animals are better than people.

Saga of Man

The Jews beat the shit out of the Arabs, the Arabs beat the shit out of the Jews. This is the saga of man: he never learned to be civilized, he only learned how to wear shoes.

MANNY REYES BONUS TRACKS

Manny Reyes was actually a composite of three people: the real Manny Reyes; Jose, a doorman I worked with in a luxury apartment building in mid-town Manhattan (see the story DOORMAN or Why Mike Tyson Said “He’s the Dickhead Who Wouldn’t Get My Girls a Cab!”); and Jan, a wacked-out (in a good way) older dude in my apartment building who was very rubbery, always bending his arms and legs in weird positions when you talked to him. Here and there, these Manny Reyes bonus tracks have shining moments of clairty.

Elle MacPherson Slamming Her Tongue Down The Throat of An Imbred Appalachian Hillbilly with Rotting BrownStumps For Teeth

So the other day, I’m at the dentist, and I’m like: Doc when it comes to promoting good oral hygiene I think the entire dental industry has got some of these issues here way out of focus.

I mean, take some teenage boy over there. Don’t tell’em that if he swishes and swirls properly he’s not gonna get cavities ‘cause I got news for ya Doc: TEENAGE BOYS DO NOT GIVE A FUCK ABOUT CAVITIES. Don’t even tell’em they’ll have whiter-brighter teeth, no. What you gotta do is sit that boy down and say, “Look son, if you want some cheerleader slamming her tongue down your throat you gotta floss EVERY DAY.” THAT’S RIGHT and if you had a commercial on television with the most inbred Appalachian hillbilly with rotting brown stumps for teeth just flossing away to Dueling Banjo’s, "Ba-da bing bing bing bing bing!" and when he’s done you get a shot of some supermodel like Elle MacPherson slamming her tongue down the guy’s throat I swear to you now, you’ll have every guy in this country flossing away like the young Jack Nickelson’s Oscor-winning masturbating in One Flew Over the Kokoo’s Nest,YA!

Born-again Christian Born-again Christians Should Not Be Air Traffic Controllers Introduction

I’m gonna set this piece up for you in case you don’t know too much about theology. See born-again Christians believe in the “end times” we’re gonna have the “tribulation,” that’s when all these natural disasters are going to happen like floods, forest fires, earthquakes and plagues. The anti-Christ is going to come and tattoo 666 on everyone’s forehead or the back of their left hand. All this is gonna climax with a world war in the holy land (this is all detailed in the book of Revelation in the Bible by-the-way). But right before all this evangelical shit hits the fan, born again Christians believe the “rapture” is gonna happen, that’s when all the true believers will be caught up in the air with the Lord in heaven in a “twinkling of an eye,” kinda like that transporter effect on Star Trek. The born agains believe they’re gonna be the only people who will go directly to heaven without dying first. This is called:

Born-again Christians Should Not Be Air Traffic Controllers

So the other day I’m driving down the highway and I see this license plate that says “2 COMIN” and I’m like oh! I gotta see what this pervert looks like. So I speed up and then I see this baseball cap in the back window that says “Jesus is Lord” on the brim and I’m like oh! I get it now, “SECOND COMING!” and I’m thinking to myself when is that rapture thing gonna happen anyway, huh? You know all these born again Christians getting vaporized up into heaven simultaneously, leaving behind their little piles of cloths here and there, sometimes with a bloody tampon. I mean, wasn’t that supposed to happen back in ‘92? So I look over at this guy and no shit, it’s a born again humpback with a broken nose opening up his sun roof like he’s getting ready to meet the Lord in the air. And then it hit me like fuck, BORN AGAIN CHRISTIANS SHOULD NOT BE AIR TRAFFIC CONTROLLERS! Because they could vaporize at any time. I mean you could be at Great America waiting in one of those new-fangled BATMAN loop-de-loop roller coaster rides for that clean-cut white-bread guy to check your safety bar. Little do you know he’s on spring break from the Moody Bible Institute, YEA! Next thing you know, WAMMO! He vaporizes, and you fly from an unlocked safety bar seven stories down to the ground taking out some wino in a Christmas smurf costume and his cute little puppy named “Wuffy.” Born again Christians? Fuck’um. That’s why when I drive and see a car with one of those “JESUS” fishes on the side to me it’s like a sign on an ambulance that says: STAY FIVE-HUNDRED-FEET BACK!

Rock Stars and Really Famous Junkies

You know, unless you’re a rock star or at least a really famous junky, it’s a harsh world out there. I mean as we speak devious motherfuckers are conniving ways to break into your car, steal your car stereo, and deny you of health insurance.

I mean just look at Duran Duran. This is a band in the "New Wave 80’s" that wore make-up, dated models and wrote songs about it, and people had the audacity to even SUGGEST these guys rock. Because after they got fucked by, and dumped by, every high-fashion bimbo in the business, they wrote a song about it and BING-A-DA! Hungry Like The Wolf makes’em a million dollars. And when these mascara wearing pussies were still bumming on that they’d shoot smack, smoke crack, write a song about that, and BING-A-DA! The Reflex makes’em another million dollars. I mean, these guys were breaking my heart! And I thanked God when they hadn’t sold a record in years and started to disappear on Totally ‘80’s CD's and cassettes. But NO! You gotta listen to Simon LeBon sing Rio on some New Rock flashback, while you'er working a six-dollar an hour McJob with no benefits or health insurance, and these fucks are still making royalties on songs that should’ve never been written in the first place. This is why, from my heart to yours, I wish you all, all the best. God Bless.

Kurt Cobain With His Arms Outstretched Like Lucifer

So! I’m glad to see you’re all dressed like very nice boys and girls. Huh? ‘Cause theses days with this grunge thing, people are just looking worse and worse. I mean, they’re crawling out of dumpsters and getting married with filthy tennis shoes and eggshells on their shoulders while Kurt Cobain is in his grave with his arms outstretched like Lucifer going: "YES! YES! YES!"

by TJ Richter

© February 1988 Theodore J. Richter