Mr. Spacely
On this episode of Studio 360, Simpsons writer George Meyer talks about his collection of space memorabilia: Listen

In the late eighties, Meyer created a short-lived but legendary humor magazine called Army Man. I posted some Army Man excerpts here.

Here are some more:

Memories of Mac

My freshman roommate was a remarkable guy. The first week of school Mac and I drove out to a mixer at Wellesley. We had barely gotten in the door when Mac pulled me aside. "See that girl?" he said. I certainly did. She was a dark-haired beauty in a leather miniskirt, drinking a margarita out of a beer mug. "That's the girl I'm going to marry." Naturally, I laughed in his face.

On our way home, Mac was quiet. Clearly, the man was stricken. We stopped at a pancake house, where I noticed a cute waitress. I was about to point her out to Mac when he turned to me and whispered, "See that waitress? That's the girl I'm going to marry."

I was to hear that line countless times during the next four years. Rare was the woman Mac didn't vow to marry -- probably a thousand in all.

And the funny thing is, he did end up marrying around five hundred of them, so I guess you could say he was no different than the rest of us: part liar, part truth-man.

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Pet Peeve

It always bugs me when a doctor uses a term like "vagina". C'mon, Doc. We all know what you really mean. We're not idiots.

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Drug Warning

When you're part of a panel discussing the drug problem, never say, "Can I inject something here?"

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Money-Saving Tip

At tax time, I like to save money by paying several hundred dollars less than I owe. Uncle Sam won't miss it, and I can always use the extra cash to pay for things I like to buy.

Or, if you prefer, you can donate your "windfall" to your favorite charity. If you do, don't forget to take a hefty tax deduction.

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SPACEMAN: Even though we are from different worlds, Princess, I love you.

PRINCESS: What is "love"?

SPACEMAN: You mean you don't know what love is?

PRINCESS: And what is "what"? And what is "is"? I don't know many words. Where am I?

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Needed

What this country needs is a good five-cent sports car.

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I went to a nursery to buy some garden gnomes for my pal Tom's birthday. You know -- the kind with beards, smoking pipes and pushing little wheelbarrows. The lady said, "Gee, we don't sell many of these." I was too much of an asshole to just admit that I liked them, so I said the gnomes were for the set of a play I was doing.

Later, I felt guilty for the lie, so I rented a theater and put on a play, with the garden gnomes prominently displayed. Like a jerk, I forgot to invite the lady from the nursery. But it all paid off, because my play just won a Pulitzer Prize.

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There's one thing to be said for crack: It sure does get you high!

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PATIENT: I had a dream last night that my waffle iron suddenly spat out its waffle and stabbed my husband to death.

PSYCHIATRIST: Have you called the police?

PATIENT: (PAUSE) No. It didn't really happen. It was a dream.

PSYCHIATRIST: I see. Please continue.

PATIENT: Well... then... (QUICKLY) And this didn't really happen either...

PSYCHIATRIST: I understand.

PATIENT: I dreamed that I was doing somersaults down the freeway, and my head blew out, and I lost control...

PSYCHIATRIST: (INTERRUPTING) And you say this didn't happen?

PATIENT: No.

PSYCHIATRIST: (PAUSE) Then I don't get it.

PATIENT: It was a dream.

PSYCHIATRIST: I understand. Please continue.