MONDO EXTRAS

The Magic of Me!

by Omar G April 16, 2001
Copperfield! Tornado Of Fire

The next naughty bit is called "Voyeur." It's me walking down the street doing what I always do: Trying to peek into windows in hopes of seeing a naked woman. This time, I totally score: Two attractive ladies are doing the Dance of Lesbonics as I watch through stage windows. Sexy music plays. My rampaging erection has returned two-fold. Boy, is this hot. The two ethnic ladies are wrapped in silk sheets, and writhing around and touching the other as if trying to extract Tom Cruise's home phone number from an orifice. CBS sure liked this one. They wanted to have me go in there and get it on with them, so they could call it "Touched by an A-Hole." But I vetoed that one. I come center stage, and it is they who touch me. Because that is the natural order of things in the world of David. My name is David, and I am the best; all the pretty women wanna feel my chest. See? I rap, too. The sexy women hit a platform on the right side of the stage. They raise a satin sheet, are silhouetted for a moment, and as I pull the sheet, they are gone. Think I'm going to tell you how I did that? Yeah, right. So you can go making attractive women disappear all the time and reappear in your bed? Back off, buddy. These girls are mine, all mine. And it has nothing to do with the floor platform that's moving on stage. Nothing at all. I move to another platform on the left and hold up the sheet, which has a rounded, bulky top (pay no attention to that). I hold it up and it stays there. The shape of two women appears. I pull the sheet, and there they are: Two hotties ready to tear my clothes off. God, I love myself. In moments like this, I couldn't give a damn where Claudia is and which tennis instructor she's boffing. The scene ends with me staring through the windowpane and looking awfully spent.

The next amazing illusion brings back Jacob the cherub and a new guy, "Big Daddy," a man who wrote to me telling a sob story about his estranged son. It's fake as all get out (as is the "photo" of the middle-aged man), but it works as the sad violin plays. Big Daddy, who looks like a retired running back, tells the story of how he abandoned his wife and son, Mike, and how now he wants to get closer to the boy, who is now grown. Big Daddy was in the military and spent two months in Hawaii, which he says was "paradise." Now he wants his son to go to Hawaii and see what it's like, maybe even get lei'd. (My joke, not his.) I introduce Mike, a dreadlock-wearing young man in the audience who doesn't seem too thrilled to be onstage talking about his estranged dad. Don't worry, folks. This trick totally pays off. I end up looking like Mama Love, and the women just eat that up. I go back via satellite to "Brett," my point man in Hawaii (and a fantastic coke dealer on the weekends), who has set up a little platform amid all the sand and surf. "There are no trapdoors in Hawaii," I announce, which is complete and utter bullshit, but hey, we're in Memphis. Who's gonna know? These people are just happy to be in any city that doesn't specifically require that you marry your cousin by law. Two lackeys fold out a piece of canvas on the sand while I tell the audience that it's been raining all morning and that it might cause problems. Yeah, problems with me blowing their little minds! All part of the trick, folks, all part of the trick. I then lambaste the cynics who say that this might not be real. It's an illusion. And illusions are real! So bite me. I whip out a steel ball and threaten to throw it into the audience to select my next victims. The audience laughs. Yeah, cracking people in the head with steel is funny. Or so my Mafia-affiliated friends tell me. I throw the near-weightless ball to the audience, and then let the person who caught it throw the ball to select someone else. I have a guy in a striped shirt write his initials, "TS," on my arm with a Sharpie. I ask Jacob to write a big "J," which he does in reverse, on the big postcard. Then I have everybody stand in front of the postcard, take a Polaroid, and then have somebody write on the bottom of the photo. Long set-up, I know, but it's brilliant, I promise. Just stay with me.

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The Magic of Me!

by Omar G April 16, 2001
Copperfield! Tornado Of Fire In the next bit of magic, I introduce our live feed from Hawaii and ask some folks from the audience to participate. By throwing a floppy Frisbee in the audience, I find Andy, a woman who likes volleyball. (Hey, who doesn't?) I ask her to draw herself playing volleyball (naked, I hope) on an oversized postcard. She draws a stick figure and a ball. I make fun of her: "That's not volleyball. That's The Blair Witch Project." Oh, but I kid the yokels. I find an obviously planted kid actor in the audience named Jacob. Jacob the little bastard cherub (trust me, he's a nightmare to work with) is assigned the task of standing by the propped-up postcard and making sure nobody touches it. A true recipe for mischief, I know. I leave that trick behind to start a new one: I bring up two very Aryan-looking guys who I call "Uncle Morty and Aunt Ida" to the stage. One of them's a plant. The other one's not. Ain't I a devil? I have them strapped to a couch and, damn! Look at that! I have made a couch levitate! I even manage to give them airline bags of peanuts, and then crack up the audience with jokes about the two men holding their nuts. I'm a family magician, with just a hint of naughty. Somebody spank me, please. The guy on the left makes little hand gestures under the blanket so I can joke, "What are you doing under there?" Okay, have you guessed which one is the plant yet? The two men levitate on the couch, which is an exact dramatization of what stoners feel like when they watch 2001 on DVD while baked. I encase the men in glass, along with the couch, just to make them feel trapped while I hit on their girlfriends. I make them levitate inside the glass case, because I'm that good. The audience applauds wildly. I bow. Life is good, even without Claudia. When that trick is over, I look over to find the little devil child Jacob shirking his responsibilities as postcard guard. I give him a stern look, and he looks guilty and cherubic at the same time. That's why I don't have kids. I'd saw them in half. Right before another commercial, I show my now-famous "magic in the street" (take that, David Blaine, you prick) by floating some people into the air on my magic couch in broad daylight.. They scream and bleep-cuss. And when I ask if they want to go again and they say no, I shoot them up into the air anyway. Call it my hatred of humanity. Back from commercial, and it's time for me to do my Mr. Wizard impression: I introduce a glass of water in a crystal glass and announce that this trick can be performed at home. (It's actually vodka in the glass, but nobody has to know that.) I make the glass sing by rubbing around the edge, take some water out, and do it again at a higher pitch, but oh, amusement of amusements: -- some Asian guy comes into the frame, revealing that it's him singing a falsetto, not the glass. Oh, I kid the eunuchs. But then I show off the real trick: I take a moon rock and pass it around the now-cloth-covered glass. I simulate low tide (empty glass), high tide (full glass) and life (goldfish coming out of my hand). On my next CBS special, I'll be doing card tricks for the viewers at home. Stay tuned.

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