Big Denny and Kato Get Revenge

"Hey, Maxey," Big Denny boomed out, "how many revolutions has ya made so far?"



"Revolutions? What do you think I am – a merry-go-round?"



"No, no, ya big dummy. I'm talkin' about New Year's revolutions."



"Oh, you mean resolutions. Well, I just made my usual ones – like not playing jack-eight offsuit when I'm out of position."



"Maxey, yer outta position every time ya sits down at da poker table, only because ya don't even belong dere. Why doesn't ya stick ta checkers like dose old guys at da senior citizens homes?"



"You don't tell me how to play poker and I won't tell you how to run this den of thieves you call a casino, " I snapped.



"And what resolutions did you make? How about resolving not to serve any more contaminated food at your so-called Four-Star Buffet; or promising not to rig your jackpots; or instructing your chip runners not to shortchange your customers; or …"



Big Denny waved a huge fist under my nose. "Dat's enough outta you, Maxey. Yeah, I made a rev … a resolution. Ta get back at ya fer all da trash ya writes about me all da time."



"What do you plan to do, Denny, bar me from the Barstow Card Casino? You'd be doing me a big favor."



A wicked smile spread across the big ape's face. "I ain't lettin' ya off dat easy, Maxey. I been talkin' ta Kato Kaelin, an' now me an' you is gonna be on dat show of his."



"You mean An Eye for an Eye?" I said, turning pale.



Kato Kaelin, of course, is the guy who gained worldwide fame as the houseguest in the O.J. Simpson trial. I met him last year when my sweetie was hired to be technical advisor for three National Lampoon's Strip Poker productions filmed at a nude beach resort in Jamaica. Kato was supposed to be the star. However, I earned his undying hatred when I was given a comedy bit in one of the productions and completely outshone him with my hilarious performance.



In September, a new TV courtroom reality show called An Eye for an Eye debuted with Kato as host. The theme of this program is, "Let the punishment fit the crime." When the judge determines that a defendant has done something rotten, he directs the injured party to take revenge by inflicting comparable damage on the perpetrator. For example, on one episode, a woman complained that a contractor did not finish work on a swimming pool and left her with just a gouged-out backyard. The judge gave her satisfaction by letting her operate a dredging machine and tear up the contractor's own backyard. Eye for an eye, get it?



The judge, played by "Extreme" Akim, wields a baseball bat instead of a gavel. The bailiff, Sugar Ray Phillips, is a former middleweight boxing champ. And Kato, who describes the goings-on and interviews the participants, does so with barely concealed glee at the carnage. I knew he'd like to get back at me as much as Big Denny would. All in all, it was not exactly the kind of program I would care to appear on, putting myself at the mercy of everybody.



"Forget about it, big guy," I told Denny. "There's no way you can force me to go on a show like that."



"Oh, yeah?" Big Denny smirked. "Remember dat time in Jamaica when ya sneaked off and spent da day at da nude beach? Barbara was wonderin' how ya got dat tan. How'd ya like Kato ta explain it ta her?"



I had a decision to make, but it was an easy one. On one hand, I could cave in like a wimp, let myself be made a fool of on national TV, be threatened by Big Denny and taunted by Kato, be terrorized by a baseball bat-wielding judge and a professional fighter, and suffer some diabolical, demeaning punishment that would haunt me the rest of my life. On the other hand, I could be a man, tell Denny and Kato to go to hell, and just come clean and tell Barbara what I did.



She'd understand.



Sure she would.



"When do we do the show, Denny?"



A date was set, and at the appointed time I walked onto the courtroom film set, determined to defend myself against Denny's ridiculous complaints. "Your honor," I began, "this is a travesty of justice, a constitutional affront to this nation's legacy of freedom of the press, a …"



"Save the speeches," the judge barked, waving his bat. "We only have a half-hour for the show." He turned to Big Denny. "Now, Mr. Denny, suppose you describe your grievance to the court."



"Sure t'ing, judge. Ya see, I operates dis nice card casino joint in Barstow, an' dis bum here, who writes fer some poker magazine, is always makin' up stuff about da place an' sayin' it's a crooked, run-down dump where I rents out da loft as a cow barn. He's always pokin' fun at me and makin' it look like I ain't got no class or nuttin'."



Denny opened a big box full of clippings and pulled one out. "Look here. In dis article, Maxey has me tellin' da dealers ta beat up any customer who hits a jackpot. In dis one he writes about a tournament where it looked like a big overlay in da guaranteed prize pool based on da number of tables, but den it turns out we had 25 players to a table. An' how about dis column where he says I oversold pieces of him in anudder tournament. And da one where he said customers came down with mad mule disease from eatin' da top sirloin at my buffet."



The judge let Denny rant and rave for another 15 minutes, then turned to me and asked if I had anything to say in my defense.



"Truth is a defense, and everything I wrote is true, your honor. As evidence, let me …"



The judge cut me off. "That's enough, Mr. Shapiro. We have to break for commercials."



The show resumed with Kato summing things up. "Well, there you have it, folks. It's an obvious case of cheap, inflammatory journalism. Mr. Denny, beyond any doubt, has proved his claim that this unscrupulous writer has lied, libeled, slandered, defamed, and seriously injured his reputation and that of the Barstow Card Casino. Now it's up to Judge Akim to devise a suitable punishment."



I turned to Kato with the intent of choking him, but thought better of it when bailiff Sugar Ray took a step in my direction. Instead, I faced the judge and braced myself.



"Let the punishment fit the crime," Extreme Akim intoned. "Mr. Denny, Max Shapiro wrote nasty things about you, so I hereby instruct you to do the same to him. You may write anything you wish, and you, Mr. Shapiro, will be compelled to publish his remarks in your next column. And you will split your writer's fee with him, as well."



"Sure," I said sourly. "How does he want it, heads or tails?"



Well, after an eternity of struggling with a pencil and paper, Big Denny created a list of slurs against my person. It took a long time to decipher his scribbling and make corrections to his spelling, grammar, punctuation, and vocabulary, but here is an approximate translation of what he was trying to say:



"Maxey Shapiro is a real wuss. He lived with his mommy and daddy until he was 40 and they threw him out of their house. His sweetie has to tell him what to eat and what to wear. She stopped trying to tell him how to play poker when she realized it was no use.



"I'm about the only person he ever writes about in his column because nobody else will talk to him. Nobody ever reads his columns because he's the only one who thinks they're funny. The only reason they let him keep writing for the magazine is because he's very old and they feel sorry for him.



"Maxey also does tournament reporting. He usually gets the hands all wrong, and sometimes the players, too.



"Well, in any event, Maxey hasn't got long to live. Not after Kato tells his sweetie what he did at that nudie beach."

Thanks for everything, Kato. But just to show there are no hard feelings, I'm sending you a certificate for a free dinner at the Four-Star Buffet.