A Very Special Greasetruck Episode

Although it is generally my purpose in life to live according to the premise of G:TB, sometimes it is fun to take yourself more seriously than you ought to. Sometimes it is fun to take things very seriously. Melodramatically serious. Ultra-serious. Super-serious. Sometimes it is fun to have a Very Special Episode. Because life isn't all fun and games. You thought it was fun and games when you were laughing at the antics of Dr. Johnny Fever, or checking out Loni Anderson's huge tracts of land, but then all those innocent people got trampled at The Who concert and you realized: life isn't always fun and games.

I remember that particular Very Special Episode of WKRP in Cincinnati vividly, and I can remember Tom Hanks drinking vanilla extract on Family Ties and Bobby and Cindy getting lost in the Grand Canyon, but I'm certainly no expert on The Very Special Episode. But lucky for you, the rest of the people working on the internet have dedicated a great deal of time to this topic. If you need a dose of TV nostalgia, head here, here, and here. And that's just the beginning. Apparently, people love Very Special Episodes.

And so, today on G:TB, I will take things more seriously than normal. In a just a moment, Greasetruck will tackle a subject that we hope no one in our audience will ever have to face, and Greasetruck hopes that the treatment of the topic is tasteful, compassionate, and empathetic. And I should point out that this was almost a Very Very Special Episode of Greasetruck, because a friend of Greasetruck actually drew illustrations for this episode, but because of scanner problems, those beautiful illustrations will not appear in this post. Perhaps some other time. Without further ado, here is the new song: "Jack Chooses Life."

Jack Chooses Life by Greasetruck

We were so young and dumb,
we didn't know what was to come.
Long ago before you remember,
the leaves had turned, it was late November.
We were cold, all alone at the lake.
Which path would we take?

I said to you in a little voice,
"You know Renee you have a choice--
you don't have to bear this thing,
you don't have to take my ring.
You're young and have a life to live.
I don't have much love to give,
and I don't really want a kid . . ."

"And you know about my past
the leaded paint, the radiation blast.
I don't want to prophesize doom,
but when I was in my mother's womb
I heard she did a ton of coke
and you know she loves her smokes.
It makes me have some real concern
on the quality of my sperm.
I'm not sure my juice is viable.
I don't want to be held liable
if we produce a devil child,
something evil, something wild.

I'll be frank, my junk is rank.
We should have got stuff from a bank.

I thought I told you this before
like Ripper, my essence isn't pure.
In fact, I really can't believe
that you went and had sex with me.
How could you stoop that low?
Maybe you're a little slow?

Don't you remember Pasiphae and the bull?
You may give birth to a minotaur."

As I finished up my plea,
I felt something on my knee--
but Renee's hands were in my own.
Where was the spare hand from?
It was a more a claw of bone,
stunted and not fully grown.

I traced the arm to the place
It came from that open space
beneath Renee's purple skirt,
and then her belly swelled and burst
with a ripe and cracking sound.
A melon fallen to the ground

A thing emerged from her uterus,
and lest you think I'm being humorous,
this thing began to eat Renee.
All that I could do was pray,
and hope it hadn't heard my plan
to toss it in the garbage can.

I ran but my legs were jelly.
I tripped and fell on my belly,
and I couldn't catch my breath--
you can probably guess the rest.
I felt a tentacle in my ear,
the other one went someplace weird.
And something happened in my brain
awful hard to explain:

Now I don't want to run . . .
I want to raise my little son.

Though tentacles sprout from his face
his heart is near the right place.
He may have a taste for human flesh,
but when he's napping he's the best.
I like to call him Slimy Jack.
I keep him in a pond out back,
but he prefers to swim in lakes--
eating turtles, frogs and snakes.



A chip off his daddy's block--
He killed our kitten with a rock.
The acorn falls near the tree,
if you love something set it free,
even if it maims and kills,
you can't cry over milk that spills.
So he's not the perfect kid,
if I told you all the things he did:
the livestock and the slaughtered deer . . .
be glad you don't live near here.
Once he ate my neighbor's Koi,
but he'll always be my little boy.