Every Day is an Atheist Holiday!

together and digging the future. That was before I visited some planned communities like Columbia, Maryland, and I became a libertarian. Smart city planning always seems like it’s going to be inspiring and beautiful but the results are usually beige, with those “tasteful” McDonald’s signs. Central planning doesn’t work; give me garish Golden Arches and people being free to be stupid. Central planning is not good for us nuts. It’s good for beige.

Walt Disney died and the Experimental Prototype Community of Tomorrow became EPCOT, just another Disney property. I like to think that Walt Disney would have designed his city better than Columbia, Maryland, but probably not. The problem is not who does the planning; it’s the plan itself. Groovy cities have to be free and wild with lots of unexpected ugliness; they can’t be planned.

The real corporate EPCOT follows the libertarian ideal of making money. Goddamn, they are good at that. Losing on Dancing with the Stars got me VIP treatment at all the Disney properties “forever,” which turned out to be about a year. We took our children over to California and down to Florida and we were treated great. I did worry a little that my children would be spoiled by not waiting in lines, but then ObamaCare was passed and I know they’ll get to wait in lines when they’re sick and that’ll build some real character.

I don’t remember why, but my wife was at EPCOT before or after me on one trip. We often fly separately. Our schedules are very different, so she’ll fly with the children the night before and I’ll fly noon the next day or something. It’s also good because then no one notices me flying first class while the children fly coach—hey, I’m bigger than they are, and they fit in those coach seats, right? No matter what the reason, Emily was at EPCOT for a while without me.

One of the ways EPCOT made money for a few years was by selling the little bricks that made up the walkway alongside the big white sphere known as Spaceship Earth. They called it Leave a Legacy, and instead of having to write a great novel or win a Nobel Prize, you could pay thirty-five bucks and have your picture taken or write a little message and they’d put it on a brick. Quite a deal. You got a tile with your picture or a message on it. They gave you a little map and when you come back, you could look for the message and maybe look at a few others until you be bored shitless with guys with carefully trimmed beards wearing mouse ears.

Emily Zolten Jillette is confrontational. She’s a freedom fighter. Some MILFs have dress shops. Emily’s fighting every time she goes through TSA and “The First Noel” at our child’s fancy-ass, uniform bullshit private school. (I think my major gripe with the private school Mox goes to is that she’s so happy there. How is that for a great dad? I had such a shitty education that I want her to rebel too, but she’s happy and learning a lot and treated well and making wonderful friends. Maybe there is something to this good education thing. I guess it plays to my libertarian ideals. Private schools are good and Mox even loves her uniform, but Emily still keeps an eye on their “Winter Pageant,” making sure Xmas doesn’t sneak in even at a great school.) Freedom fighters don’t take vacations, so at EPCOT she was itching for a confrontation. She decided to buy a molded piece of cement from Disney and have it signed “PEZ” (That’s P for Penn, and EZ her initials and her… style). She wanted the message to say “No God.” That’s a message she wanted in modern fake rock in the Experimental Prototype Community of Tomorrow. She gave them money, and that was it. Until they told her they couldn’t allow that, because the bricks couldn’t mention god. Emily pointed out that the walkway was maggoty with bricks that read “God Bless.” Well, they shifted, now they didn’t allow offensive messages. She demonstrated offensive right in their faces at that one. She finally decided it was a private park and it’s their little goatfuck, so she backed down. Emily said she’d give up and leave a legacy of “Dog On,” and then our PEZ signature. There’s nothing offensive about that. They took her money and that was that.

A couple weeks later they called while Emily and I were having lunch together. She walked out of the restaurant with the phone and the Disney folks explained they were sending her money back because “Dog On” was “No God” backwards and they couldn’t allow that. I saw through the restaurant window that she was getting frustrated on the phone and raising her voice. I was just eating. She came inside, having given up, and said, “I told them they should talk to my husband about this.” Now, you may think there’s some sort of sexist, “Let the man take care of the little lady’s problems here” thang going on. I assure you, there’s none of that. Emily plays poker. Emily plays golf. Emily does the business in our family. Emily goes out with the guys. I’m the bath-oils-and-reading-novels gal in our family. I don’t do man things. You might think she was trying to pull some celebrity card, “talk to my husband—he’s a two-bit magician and that will impress Disney.” Nope, she knows I lost on Dancing with the Stars. Emily was putting me on the phone for the reason a lot of my friends put me on the phone, “This asshole wants to be crazy; we’ll show them fucking crazy. Put Penn on the phone.”

“Hello, this is Penn, what’s the problem?”

“We’re sending your wife’s money back to her for the Leave a Legacy tile she wanted to buy.”

“Good, send us all the money back, we like money.”

“Fine.”

“But we’ll still get our tile, right?”

“Well, no, that’s why we’re sending your money back.”

“It’s my wife’s money. I’ll never see it.”

“Okay, your wife’s money.”

“And you’re still doing the tile right? We want that tile.”

“No.”

“Why not? That tile means a lot to us. You promised us that tile. You gave us your word.”

“I’m sorry, but the message is inappropriate.”

“Isn’t the message ‘Dog On’?”

“Yes, but it means ‘No God.’ ‘Dog On’ is ‘No God’ spelled backwards.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Of course, spell it out.”

“Dog… d-o-g… g-o-d… god. On… o-n… n-o… No… No God… well, I’ll be fucked.”

“Please, sir, watch your language.”

“Right, I’m not supposed to say ‘Dog On’ because you find that fucking offensive, but you said it first, didn’t you? Why wasn’t that offensive when you said it?”

“No, the other word.”

“‘Fuck’?”

“Yes, don’t use that language.”

“But ‘Dog On’ is okay?”

“Yes.”

“Good, then put it on the fucking legacy thing.”

“Watch your language, and it is offensive because she asked for ‘No God’ first.”

“And that’s offensive?”

“Well, not like the other word you said.”

“‘Dog On’?”

“No”

“What other word?”

“You know.”

“‘Fuck’?”

“Yes, and don’t say that or I will have to terminate this call.”

“I see, but I can say ‘Dog On’ or ‘No God,’ right?”

“Yes, we’re talking about that.”

“No, we were talking about ‘fuck.’ You changed the subject.”

“I’m going to have to hang up.”

“I’m sorry. Did you know that ‘Dog On’ meant ‘No God’?”

“Yes, because your wife asked for ‘No God’ and when she was told no, she just reversed it and made it ‘Dog On.’”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Let me check: Dog… d-o-g… g-o-d… god. On… o-n… n-o… No… No God… Yup, well, I’ll be fu— Sorry, I