Thursday, August 11, 2011

Experts Determine That Singer-Songwriter Bob Dylan is "Just Some Guy" - A DAILY FLYLEAF SPECIAL REPORT

Experts Determine That Singer-Songwriter Bob Dylan is "Just Some Guy"

A DAILY FLYLEAF SPECIAL REPORT

by Jeremy Kellerman

Originally published in

"The Daily Flyleaf"

August 6th, 2011

"KETTERING, OHIO -

            Today during a press conference, an international team of scholars, scientists, philosophers and music critics have announced that they have determined that "legendary" singer-songwriter Bob Dylan is, in fact, human, the result of a study that has taken over three decades to complete.

            "Few singers, songwriters and musicians, or in fact artists of any field or medium, have had the impact same impact as Bob Dylan." said lead geneticist and Harvard University professor Frank Edmonds. "Dylan's music captured the interest of the youth during the turbulent 1960s and has somehow remained relevant to nearly all subsequent generations and to people from nearly every walk of life. Though his career has experienced some downturns, the overall consistency of his success is remarkable, to say the least."

            Explaining the particular reason for the study, simply dubbed the "Dylan Human Question Project," Edmonds went on to say that "...unlike other, similar artists, Bob Dylan has acquired a mythical quality that from the earliest days of his career has caused his fans and followers to view him in an elevated, even supernatural light. Many have referred to him as a prophet, a mystic, and other such lofty titles. We felt, decades ago, that it was worthwhile to determine the truth of these claims and to discover just what value one might find in Bob Dylan's life and work."

            What these scholars found, said Edmonds, is surprisingly underwhelming.

            "From what we can tell, Bob Dylan is just some guy. Essentially, he is no different than you or me. Genetically speaking, Dylan is absolutely just a typical human with a basic genetic structure like that found in all people." Dr. Edmonds went on to explain that thanks to testing on multiple tissue, urine and stool samples collected over the years, the research team had concluded that in an overall biological sense, there is simply nothing different about Bob Dylan.

            However, a biological evaluation of Dylan isn't the only type of study the team has focused on. Brown University professor Martin Hilliard headed a special task force as part of the study to examine the neurological makeup of Bob Dylan, and Hilliard's group worked closely with those led by doctors Annie Dodson of Ohio University and Michael Thomas, who led teams formed to study the mystical/spiritual power of Dylan's lyrics and their literal meanings (as close to this as could be determined) respectively.

            "We studied Mr. Dylan's brain during several daily processes. Firstly, of course, we studied it during songwriting, and also while performing, and listening to music, and his neurological functions during these activities proved not at all dissimilar from those of other singers and songwriters, or even of any other type of artist at work. In an effort to be thorough we also tested it during other activities, such as during meals, talking on the telephone with friends and while sleeping, and absolutely none of these produced any results outside of those usually found in normal, human subjects. It was," Hilliard added, "kind of a letdown."

             Dr. Thomas, chair of the English Department at Royco University in Amsterdam, The Netherlands, has scrutinized Dylan's lyrical content since his career began in the early 1960s.

            "I began taking serious notice around the time that the album Bringing It All Back Home was released. At the time I saw the album's title as a clever metaphor about the Vietnam War, though in retrospect I saw nearly everything as a clever metaphor for the Vietnam War back then. In all fairness, nearly everything was. As the years passed I saw his lyrical focus shift a number of times, and I wrote a number of well-received essays and delivered a number of highly successful lectures on the various literary allusions and other such techniques employed in Dylan's creative process."

            However, Dr. Thomas's enthusiasm for Dylan's work suffered some strain over time.

            "Don't get me wrong, I still think his stuff sounds cool as all Hell. The thing is, though, after all the work I've done, figuring out the various ways he has borrowed from sources as varied as Confederate poets, obscure Japanese crime novels, and traditional American blues music, I can't honestly tell you with any sense of authority what the f--- any of this stuff actually means. I mean, really, what the f--- are you supposed to do with it?

            Take It's Alright Ma (I'm Only Bleeding) for instance. The opening verse goes like this:

            "Darkness at the break of noon
            Shadows even the silver spoon
            The handmade blade, the child’s balloon
            Eclipses both the sun and moon
            To understand you know too soon
            There is no sense in trying"

            That sounds cool as F---. SERIOUSLY. But what the f--- does it f---ing mean?! Like, if I went home tonight, and found out my neighbor's house was burning down with the whole family inside but I only had time to save one of them, how the f--- is this song going to help me? Okay, so maybe it isn't a personal morals and ethics kind of song, maybe it's more political, sure. So say I'm the President of the United States and I'm on the brink of a third world war. What then?
            Gee whiz, better pop on the old It's Alright Ma, and that'll clear everything up, right? The only statement in that line that remotely resembles any kind of advice or prescriptive statement is "There is no sense in trying," and not only is that bleak as f--- but he doesn't even try and support it. All that's there is a bunch of bullsh-- imagery about darkness at noon and some kid's balloon. What the f---, seriously?!"

            A visibly exasperated Dr. Thomas went on:

            "And take Highwater (for Charley Patton) from Love and Theft in 2001. This one he wrote close to forty years after It's Alright, Ma but it's still the same thing: f---ing cool song but you can't make sense out of it for sh--. I'm no pig without a wig, I hope you treat me kind. Really? REALLY?! The only album of his that actually has any sort of definite, discernible meaning is Christmas In the Heart, and that's just a Christmas covers album without any original songs!"

            Catching his breath before excusing himself, Dr. Thomas concluded that:

            "It's just f---ing disappointing. You know, he's supposed to be a prophet, his music is supposed to bring about world peace, he's supposed to be this mystical, incredible force, but when you get right down to it, he's just some guy who writes really f---ing cool-sounding songs that don't mean anything in particular at all. They're great for when your girlfriend breaks up with you or you're mad at the government or your cat just died, but objectively, they just don't have any real significance whatsoever. 
            Just think about it. The answer is blowing in the wind. What the f--- is that supposed to mean?! I could write something as profound as that. Why not The meaning is resting on the clouds or The truth is sailing down the stream? Sorry, but f--- this. I love his music but f---, trying to figure it out is just a big f---ing waste of f---ing time!"

            Dr. Thomas's colleague, Dr. Dodson, has attempted to search for potential meanings in Dylan's lyrics relating to various kind of spiritual truths.
           
            "Certainly just as much has been said by various scholars over the years in regards to the spiritual, religious and philosophical content of Dylan's work as has been said about any other possible connection. My team attempted to cross-reference and evaluate each song, working with Dr. Thomas's  group, to see if any pattern presented itself. Nothing has. We've even taken his biographical details into account to see if his attributes align with any type of known gods or similar deities.

            Strangely, the only valid argument for Dylan's identification with a known spiritual entity is the Anti-Christ. Look on the back of his CDs. The address listed in the fine print is 666 Fifth Avenue. No, seriously, look at the back of this one." Dr. Dodson then produced a copy of Dylan's 1981 album Shot of Love and indicated the address. "It's not only that, but Dylan is friends with the Grateful Dead, and they sing Friend of the Devil. That's pretty hard evidence. Still, there are too many discrepancies and not enough indicators aside from these things to prove that he is anything other than a man with a real flair for songwriting.  That 666 Fifth Avenue thing is pretty weird, though."

            The news of Dylan's official status as a human being and not any sort of official spokesperson for a generation, spiritual or political leader or prophet was released just after his August 5th, 2011 concert here in Kettering, OH. Fans have only just begun to issue reactions. From the infamous Dylan "Red" boards, run by a Texas pastor who claims himself a fan of Dylan's Christian albums, fans had the following comments:

            "typiccal" : Bob Dylan is definitely God, but so is everybody else. The spirit of a thousand-year old Atlantian warrior, channeled through a middle-aged housewife, told me this.

            "Mr. Stinx" : Bob Dylan is not God, but he's definitely Protestant. I must go jump in a lake now.

            "bloomin' insane" : Bob Dylan is definitely a hippie.

            "Spartacus" : Bob Dylan is definitely gay.

            "Eggbert" : "Under the Red Sky" is definitely a WAY better album than "Highway 61 Revisited."

            "DefinitelyThatGuy" : This is all definitely ridiculous.

            At the Kettering, Ohio, concert, fan reaction was mixed. A Daily Flyleaf correspondent in attendance, Leo K., had this to say:

            "Leopard Skin Pill-Box Hat and Girl of the North Country were amazing. Things Have Changed was absolutely top-notch as well, but after that I couldn't focus because the guys in front of me decided that they would be THE ONLY ONES in our entire section to STAND UP. I'm sick of concerts. 60 bucks to see some idiot's back. I hope that guy is reading this and feeling ashamed of himself. Oh, also, The Carolina Chocolate Drops were AWESOME."

            This mix of fan reactions is nothing new to Dylan. During his 1966 European tour, when he "went electric," a fan infamously called out "Judas!" The man later revealed in a televised interview that he actually mistook Dylan for the current persona of the Biblical Judas Iscariot, who he presumed to have become immortal. It was assumed during that time that folk music was imbued with the Power of Christ. Later, fans thought they saw heavenly visions of Dylan during the airing of a Victoria's Secret ad. It was later explained that the "angels" that surrounded him were simply models wearing fake wings.

            Noted Dylan trash collector A. W. Jeberman and obsessed Dylan scholar Rhistopher Cricks, upon hearing the news of Dylan's humanity, have since locked themselves in Cricks's office at Cambridge University and are refusing to leave. Sounds from inside, plus the large amount of ponchos and umbrellas they were seen hauling with them, indicate to authorities that they are either engaging in sexual activity and/or preparing for very rainy weather.

            Despite Bob Dylan's lack of godhood, the research team did manage to determine that Dylan's son, former Wallflowers front man Jakob Dylan, is in fact the Babylonian god Marduk, Lord of Cities. So far, neither the public nor the media has taken much of an interest in this.

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

The Bear is Swelling

"The Bear is Swelling"

For her fifth birthday on the 23rd of June, Susie was given a teddy bear by her mother and father. She named the bear Mr. Hugs. Susie developed a habit of falling asleep with the bear wrapped in her arms. The bear became a source of comfort to the child.

Frequently the bear, "Mr. Hugs," would be left at random throughout the house as the family members went about their daily business. The bear gazed upon their activities with dull, lifeless, thoughtless eyes.

Yet, somehow, as the days passed, something began to change. For reasons unknown, and though it is unclear upon which exact date, the beginnings of sensory impressions formed, eventually leading to the existence of some primitive form of consciousness. The bear, though lacking any ability to interpret what he saw, was able to watch the family, hear them, smell them, and feel them for the first time. From approximately July 1st to July 15th, the bear existed within a state of pure experience and observation, not unlike a human infant trapped within an inanimate form.

Some short time later, the bear began to form memories of what he saw, and after that, gradually, began to learn from and develop opinions about his memories, observations and experiences. Sometime near the end of July, for the first time the bear began to desire experimentation and as a first act of will, the bear moved on his own. First one paw, then the other. Under cover of night, the bear taught himself to walk. This took only a brief period of three days.

As August wore on, the bear began to explore the house on his own every night, just after Susie fell asleep. At first he only explored Susie's room. He tried on her dresses and discovered that, somehow, he would swell in size in order to perfectly fit her garments. After Susie's room lost the sense of novelty it first had for him, the bear began exploring other rooms. In Susie's older brother's room, the bear found a different style of clothing to wear, and his size ballooned to match that of the teenager. In Susie's parents room, the bear took on the size and attire of first a full grown woman and then a full grown man. The bear liked the flow of Susie's mother's dresses, and of having breasts, but he preferred the larger, masculine frame he gained from wearing Susie's father's suits.

The bear, in time, learned to enjoy television (with the volume down low enough so as not to wake the family) and to prepare food as he saw the family do during the daytime. Having no mouth, the bear could not eat the food, so he usually wrapped it in tinfoil (mimicking the practice of Susie's mother) and hid it in the back of the refrigerator.  The family members would assume these leftovers to be the work of each other and no one ever questioned anyone else about where they had come from. Most of them went untouched and spoiled. A few of them, peanut butter and jelly, were left on Susie's night stand. She ate them for breakfast. They were her favorites. No questions were asked; she assumed them to have been put there by her mother.

By mid-August the bear had thoroughly explored the house and desired more. On August 18th, the bear stole a suit from Susie's father and quietly left the house, undetected. Standing with Susie's father's imposing frame, the bear quickly and quietly traveled down various side streets and alleys before finding the city's downtown area. On a massive main street the bear discovered countless casinos, restaurants and clubs. Curious, he entered one named "Luscious."

Inside the bear was exposed to the gyrations of many strippers, dancing upon poles. One of the strippers proceeded to give him a lap dance. She commented upon what she thought was the "interesting costume" he was "wearing," unaware that it indeed constituted his entire physical body. When the dance was finished and he did not pay, she became irate, criticized him for what she understood to be his sexual fetish for anthropomorphic animal costumes, and requested a bouncer to throw him out. The bouncer was unsettled by how light the bear was, as well as his lack of speech or screams as he was tossed roughly out the door. Several passersby snapped pictures.

Confused, quizzical and vaguely  frightened, the bear returned home, replaced Susie's father's suit, and, shrinking down to his original size, returned to his original position on Susie's bed.

The following night he repeated his actions. This time, he was approached by a woman who revealed herself to be a prostitute. She took the overwhelmed and confused bear to a hotel room with whom she had a previous arrangement and attempted to pleasure him sexually. She unzipped his pants and realized that she did not know how to access his genitals through what she, too, perceived to be a "costume." Frustrated, she tore open the fabric of his crotch. When nothing but fluff was revealed inside, she screamed and fled the building. The bear escaped to his home once more.

The following morning, Susie found the damage to her bear. Crying, she brought it to her mother, who repaired it. Her mother held his arms and caused him to appear as if he was dancing around happily. This made Susie laugh.

Yet again the bear repeated his actions, this time finding a different prostitute. However, on this occasion, he brought with him a pocketknife he found in the pocket of Susie's father's trousers. As this prostitute began to unbutton his pants, the bear motioned for her to sit back. When she did so, he grabbed the pocketknife and flicked it open with incredible swiftness and proceeded to slice into the woman's leg.

Unable to feel pain, the bear was simply mimicking what he had experienced the night before, as a way of experimenting. To him, it was a simple test of actions and reactions. His expectations were confused when the woman, bleeding profusely and with a limp, ran quickly from the room. The woman who cut him had run away first the last time; why, he wondered, was he not the one to run away first this time? At any rate, he once again returned home.

On the 21st of August, the bear returned to the main street, but several men were waiting to apprehend him. His antics had become the subject of fear and paranoia in the area and he was suspected of being a potential serial killer. The bear was grabbed by one man and a part of his arm was ripped off. The man screamed and retreated when he realized that no human arm was revealed inside the would-be bear costume. Before any further experimentation could be achieved, the bear, frightened, returned home.

The night of the 22nd of August the bear did not wear any clothes nor leave the house. During the day Susie had again been upset by the damage to the bear, and her mother chided her for damaging it. Nonetheless, Susie's mother repaired the arm in quick order.

As the night passed the bear considered many things. It briefly stole away to the family book shelf where it attempted to read "The World As Will and Representation" by Arthur Schopenhauer, but could not do so. Unable to learn anything further, it considered revealing itself to the family, as it felt a sense of trust for them. It spent the day unmoving as it weighed the options.

One the night of August 24th little Susie awoke as she was shaken awake by a foreign hand. She opened her eyes to see not her father, but a figure her father's size and wearing his business suit. The figure was her bear.

Susie became horrified and ran to her parents. At first they did not believe her claims, but soon the bear followed them into their bedroom. Susie's father grabbed a golf club and beat the bear to the ground. The blows hit the soft flesh of the bear's fabric-and-fluff body, confusing Susie's father. On the floor, the bear was motionless. Suddenly, the body began to heave, expanding and shrinking to an extreme degree, and the spine of the bear pierced the suit and the fabric-skin, and the back of the bear's body ripped open.

From out of the body came a flood of fluffy stuffing and red, human blood. Out of this emerged a naked, middle-aged man with a balding head of blond hair and a blond mustache. The man stood, uneasily, and looked at the family, with an uncomprehending expression. He continued to heave, as if he had difficulty breathing. The family looked on, silent and terrified. Susie cried.

Just as suddenly as the man had come into existence, he collapsed onto the floor and shrank into a shriveled fetus.

---------------------------------------------------------

The family buried the body that night and no one spoke of it again. No questions were ever asked; authorities never traced the incidents in the city to the home of Susie's family. Susie later became a successful optometrist. She married once but following the news that she was unable to have children, her husband requested a divorce. In the spot where the fetus and the remains of the bear were buried, a small tulip grew and existed for many years (despite the climate not being conducive to such a flower) until the lot was used to build a strip mall. 

Monday, August 8, 2011

"Priests Bake Cookies for Astronauts for Some Reason"


"Priests Bake Cookies for Astronauts for Some Reason"

originally printed in

"The Daily Flyleaf"

August 7th, 2011

            "YPSILANTI, MICHIGAN - Today in downtown Ypsilanti, priests from around the country gathered at Our Lady of the Sacred Conception Church in order to bake cookies for visiting NASA astronauts.

            The astronauts were in the area in order to attend a lecture being given by renowned theoretical physicist David Angle as he revealed several potential new applications of his work to the field of space travel. The astronauts included such luminaries as Michael Hargrove, Gregory Benton,  Clint Frasier and Martin Trappe.

            During the lecture, the priests gathered at Our Lady of the Sacred Conception's rectory to bake a variety of types of cookies for the visiting adventurers. Father Richard Byrne, who calls Our Lady of the Sacred Conception his home parish, was flabbergasted.

            "This wasn't a planned thing. I had invited a couple of friends, also priests, to join me in watching the Michigan versus Ohio State game the other day, and then when we realized that we had the date wrong and there wasn't a game due to the off-season, Father Larry Kildare just suggested we bake some cookies. Father Daniel Fitzpatrick said, 'Hey, you know, I bet those astronauts would really like these.' and we all just sort of agreed with him. I'm not even sure why he thought of it, or why we thought it was such a great idea."

            The cleric was particularly confused by the eventual size of the event.

            "We had a small disagreement over what to make. I said chocolate chip, Father Larry said peanut butter, and Father Dan said oatmeal. We each called friends for advice, to sort of take a poll to see what most people liked best, you see. Somehow that snowballed and we had all these friends, all fellow priests, stopping by to join us. Before long we had priests showing up from other states, some as far away as Delaware and Montana, and some of these priests didn't know any of us or the people we invited. We can't figure out how it happened or why they showed up."

            One such priest, Father John Herriot of Charleston, West Virginia, unconnected to the original group, had this to say:

            "I was just preparing for Mass when all of a sudden I feel this incredible urge to travel to Michigan and bake cookies for these astronauts. It's bizarre. I've never even been a fan of astronauts or space travel or any such thing. I've never even baked cookies before in my life. I have no idea what compelled me to do it."

            Hundreds of other priests expressed similar sentiments, and no one seemed sure exactly how or why the entire situation arose. If anyone was more confused than the priests, it was the astronauts. Astronaut and avid golfer Michael Hargrove had this to say:

            "We were stepping out of the lecture hall when all of a sudden we see what seemed like several hundred Catholic priests just lined up around several blocks, all of them with these huge trays of cookies. At first we thought it was a joke but then it just kind of went on and on, with this huge, awkward silence. The priests seemed embarrassed, like they hadn't really thought it through, and didn't know what to say, and we were feeling odd about it too. Nobody wanted to offend anybody else. I'm not Catholic so I wasn't really familiar with their ways; for a while I thought it was like this typical thing they do, but my Catholic friends are just as stumped as me. We couldn't figure it out. I'm still really confused."

            Indeed, many of those who participated in the unexpected, unplanned baking event remain baffled as to the ultimate significance behind it. Some have attributed the unplanned gathering to the influence of the Holy Spirit, while others have taken it as a sign of the End Times, occurring after the recent discovery of beached whales of a previously unknown species washing up all along the east coast, the sudden appearance of what seems to be Leonardo da Vinci's self portrait on the surface of Ganymede, and the bankruptcy of Borders bookstores.

            Naturally, far more cookies were produced than the astronauts could consume. While some took extras home for their children, many were left behind. The Catholic Church determined that as many as possible would be given to charity, and the unused remainder would be prepared for a very special Mass to be broadcast from the Vatican via the internet."

Saturday, August 6, 2011

"Satan Dies of Diphtheria in 1954" - A Personal Tribute from Jeremy Kellerman to Mr. Chriddof, aka Chris Lyons

"Satan, Lord of Hell, Dies of Diphtheria"

Originally published in

"The Daily Flyleaf"

Ann Arbor, MI

July 14th, 1954

"LONDON, ENGLAND - Satan, the Lord of Hell and bringer of Eternal Damnation, has died, say sources close to the fallen angel.

According to Daniel Kingston, publicist and manager for Satan's much-anticipated tour of Europe, the Dark One contracted diphtheria while having a swim in Belgium's famous Lake Ponché. After initially complaining of a headache, Satan appeared fine until he collapsed while having dinner with the Mayor of Brussels and other local dignitaries, says Kingston. He was rushed to London for treatment but died just after his plane landed.

Satan began his long career under the name of Lucifer, serving as an angel of the Lord in Heaven. However, the ambitious young go-getter soon struck out on his own, transforming the once lifeless caverns of Sheol into Hell, a fiery pit of unending suffering for the souls of the damned.

Satan's rise to prominence was not without controversy. Many have accused him of bringing about "Original Sin" and the Fall of Mankind, citing the Biblical account of the temptation of Adam and Eve as evidence of Satan's guilt. Satan, however, always maintained that the serpent referred to in Genesis was simply "some random, talking snake . . . who just felt like being an a**hole that day." Further, Satan claimed that he simply took advantage of the situation for his own ends, an action that fully complied with Satan's well-known philosophy.

Political and religious figures the world over have spoken out on the death of the controversial spiritual leader.

Pope Benedict, giving a statement in-between the games of the annual clerical competition The Catholic 500 currently being held in Barcelona, condemned Satan's actions and reputation, saying that the Evil One had "set a very bad precedent for both humans and angels, and [he] certainly put a lot of undue stress on both God and the Church. We'd have been much better off if he'd never existed."

"I have never met Satan nor have I been aware of his influence on anything or anyone in particular. We're actually very different people, please don't make this mistake again." said Asian spiritual guru Buddha.

Minister Rat Pobertson, founder of the "1700s Club" Puritan television channel,  also spoke of Satan's demise on his morning newscast:

"We're all very sorry to hear this. He was our most beloved scapegoat, and a real sport. I don't think we'll ever see another one like him." Becoming emotional, a teary-eyed Pobertson added "He left us, just like that . . . without even saying goodbye, woosh, he's gone, hauled his gay a** down to Mexico..." A hotline was later set up to counsel those bereaved by the news or confused by Pobertson's statements.

Local Michigan pastor Reverend Arnold Fuzz said, in a brief phone conversation, that he hoped that Satan's death would bring about a new era of peace and that it would also discourage littering, which he said was a particular problem in his neighborhood.

Satan's original employer and later adversary, God, has remained silent since the passing of the former angel. Rumors have circulated that, without Satan to act as antagonist, God may decide to abandon the universe.  

The denizens of Hell, too, were predictably upset by the death of their leader. Speaking exclusively to The Daily Flyleaf, noted demon Belial had this to say:

"He was like a brother to me. If he was a woman, I'd a ****'d him. In fact, I did **** him a few times, and, gosh darn it, he was a real gentleman about it, putting up with me like that. I'm not sure what we'll do next. It won't seem like home without him. We're all coping in different ways. I'm about to have a ménage-a-tois with Genghis Khan and Hitler. You're welcome to join."

Beelzebub, rumored to be a possible successor to Satan, also spoke out:

"He was a dear friend. If I am chosen to replace him, I can only hope to do one-fourth of the job he did. My only regret is that I couldn't have been the one to kill him."

Public memorial services are expected to be announced within two days, and a private service for personal friends and family will be held this evening.

Two minor demons currently residing in Michigan, speaking on condition of anonymity, had this to say:

Demon "A" : "The big guy really held things together. Who knows what will happen next? I only hope that his death serves to remind people that nobody lives forever and you have to live every day to the fullest."

Demon "F" : "I do this in honor of the Dark One."

Demon F then proceeded to transform his own head into that of a stag and caused the interviewer to fall in love is his assistant. Their whereabouts are currently unknown.

NOTE: This version of the article corrects the earlier edition which mis-identified Buddha as Satan's archenemy, Jesus Christ.

For more on this story, please visit these links and watch the following videos:











Dedicated to Mr. Chriddof / Mr. Christopher Lyons

Thank you so much for everything.

Think well, live well, and be well, Mr. Sir.

- Jeremy Kellerman

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Family Incorporated


Bobby is in his crib sucking on a teething ring. In front of the crib, the bars of which have been removed, is Bobby's desk. On his desk there is an In Box and an Out Box. The In Box is stacked high and the Out Box is empty. Through the big windows, the light of the setting sun makes the room appear red and orange and fiery. Bobby's Mommy knocks on the door.

"Honey, Auntie wants to see you."

Bobby, not yet old enough to speak, gurgles incoherently. He is barely aware of what Mommy means.

Bobby's Mommy picks him up and carries him down the big white corridor. It goes on for what seems to Bobby like miles and miles.  As they go, they pass huge rooms filled with nurseries where newborn babies are set up in their brand new cubicles. The room is filled with their cries. A doctor man wearing a surgical mask attempts to scream over their voices.

"Bobby, Auntie isn't happy with you." says Bobby's Mommy. "It reflects badly on Mommy, you know. Auntie says your quarterly reports are bad. She says the report you did for the Mendelssohn account was terrible. She couldn't even read it. It made Auntie cry and then she screamed at me. She screamed at me about you."

Bobby yawned. Bobby's Mommy was taken aback.

"Bobby! Don't you ignore me! This is serious! If you can't pull your own weight around here, we're going to have to let you go! Mommy doesn't want to lose her little Bobby-wobby."

Finally, they arrive at the massive oak door. Bobby's Mommy knocks, and a loud voice insides beckons them in. Without a word, Bobby's Mommy places Bobby on the floor in front of Auntie's desk and shuffles out of the room, closing the door behind her. Auntie, sitting in her big leather chair and staring out through the huge windows at the fiery sunset, turns to Bobby.

"Bobby, Bobby, Bobby..." says Auntie, "what are we going to do with you?"

Bobby begins to roll around on the floor and laugh.

"BOBBY! PAY ATTENTION!" Bobby's Auntie is a tall, heavy, imposing woman with stern features and a perpetual frown.

Her loud voice makes Bobby cry.

"NO CRYING, BOBBY! This is a BUSINESS! Our goals here are greater teamwork, more effective products, and communication but these all serve one end, the one thing that keeps this whole company together: profit. Your department is bleeding money, Bobby. You show no sign of concern nor any willingness to improve. You've been given your last chance. Do you understand me?!" Auntie is furious.

Bobby simply continues to cry. Now Auntie is absolutely livid.

"VERY WELL, BOBBY. YOU LEAVE ME NO CHOICE. I'M GOING TO HAVE TO TERMINATE YOU."

Auntie reaches inside her desk drawer for something, but before she can produce it, Bobby's Mommy rushes in.

"DON'T DO IT, MATILDA! PLEASE, DON'T DO IT!"

Bobby's Auntie produces a revolver and shoots Bobby's Mommy in the face. Bobby is crying so hard that he is about to pass out.

"Now, Bobby," says the huge, sweaty woman in an ill-fitting business suit, "look what you made me do!" She presses a button on the desk.

"Security? I need you to remove a corpse from my office, and also please escort Mr. - "

Just then,  the huge windows shatter as a gigantic Bald Eagle flies into the office and grabs Auntie in his massive talons.

"I'm very sorry, Bobby," says the Eagle, "I am really, truly sorry."

With that, the Eagle flew Auntie away, far away, to some new kind of Hell, which, although certainly Hell, is exactly the one she would have chosen for herself if she had the chance.

As the Eagle disappeared into the horizon, Bobby suddenly transformed into a large, imposing man and took control of Auntie's duties and assets.

The papers, he knew, loved a good hostile takeover, and prepared for the onslaught of embarrassing, probing questions.  As he ensured that his affairs were in order, he also installed his company's new product, which caused his mother's corpse to dance, much to his amusement. Contemplative, Bobby hoped in his heart that he would die before the Eagle returned for him.

Tuesday, July 5, 2011

Dear Old Mrs. Cranston

Stacy, an attractive, friendly young woman in her early 20s, was heading down to the local green grocer when she spied her elderly neighbor, Mrs. Cranston, a few feet ahead of her. Just at that moment, an object fell out of Mrs. Cranston's pocket and onto the sidewalk. Stacy quickly ran to the object, picked it up, and then returned it to Mrs. Cranston with a friendly hello.

"Why, thank you, Stacy! You're such a polite young lady! Not enough of them around these days, I dare say."

"Oh, Mrs. Cranston, you're sweet. I'm sure there are many people just as conscientious out there who would gladly return a lost item to a friend, or even a stranger. Speaking of which, what was that thing you dropped?"

"That," said Mrs. Cranston, with a small tear in her eye, "is my late husband Carl's penis. I carry it with me wherever I go to remember the good times we shared."

"I'm so sorry to have brought it up!" Stacy replied.

"It's all right, dear. Carl and I had sixty-two wonderful years together. All good things must come to an end. Still, sometimes it is hard, with him not around."

"I understand. Mrs. Cranston, can I ask you a question about marriage?"

"Why certainly, honey. Here, sit down with me on this old bench and you ask whatever you want to ask."

The two of them sat down.

"Well, you see, Mrs. Cranston, it's..."

"Yes?"

"It's Kevin. We've been going steady for the past five years and I'm ready to take things to the next level, but he doesn't show any sign of wanting to propose. I can't tell if he's just nervous and scared or if he doesn't take things as seriously as I do."

"Ah. Let me tell you a story, Stacy. Back when the war was on, Carl was overseas. He'd write to me every week and I'd write back, and in every letter I'd drop little hints that I was ready, but he never seemed to get it. So finally, when he came back between tours of duty, I proposed to HIM."

"What?!"

"That's right! I got down on my knees and asked me to marry him. In those days, that was done even less than it is now, and folks could get awful mad about it. I didn't care, though, Stacy, and you know why?"

"Why?"

"Because I was in love. And I knew Carl loved me too. True, I didn't know if he was afraid of proposing, afraid of the commitment or how I might answer him. Heck, for all I knew, maybe he just plain didn't want to get married at all."

"So weren't you scared?"

"Sure I was! But I didn't let that stop me! When you love someone, you have to take that risk and put your heart on the line, even if you might get hurt. It's worth it, trust me, it is worth it."

"So is that how you and Mr. Cranston got married?"

"It was. I even gave him a ring, rather than the other way 'round! Of course, we were poor in those days, so all I could afford was one I'd made myself out of aluminum foil and a shiny pebble. But it was just as good. And since he didn't have a ring for me, he gave me this instead."

Mrs. Cranston smiled and held the penis up to Stacy's face. Stacy smiled.

"Wow. Thanks, Mrs. C. I think I know what I have to do now."

"You don't have to do anything." said Mrs. Cranston, with a much deeper voice than usual.

"What?! But you just told me to - oh!"

Suddenly, Mrs. Cranston's jaw unhinged and the top and bottom halves of her head split apart, and from her mouth emerged Stacy's fiancé, Kevin! Soon, Mrs. Cranston's whole body crumpled up like rubber on the ground and Kevin was sitting next to his bride-to-be. He got down on all fours and looked into Stacy's eyes.

"Stacy Whitehammer, will you marry me?"

"Yes!" They embraced, and Kevin's tongue got so far into Stacy's mouth that her uvula tickled.

"But if you're here, where's Mrs. Cranston? I need to return this!" Stacy held up Mr. Cranston's penis.

"Stacy," said Kevin, "there is no Mrs. Cranston. There never was. It was me the whole time."

"All these years?"

"Yep!" Kevin smiled proudly.

"Oh, Kevin!" Once again they embraced, and then Stacy looked again at the penis.

"Let's plant it! To mark the date of our engagement!" she exclaimed with excitment.

"Yes, let's!" Kevin replied eagerly.

And so Stacy and Kevin went to the park and planted the penis, and it grew into a wonderful tree.

--------------------------------------------------------















Many years later, a young boy of only three years of age sat beneath that very tree. A pigeon landed next to him, and with inhuman speed, the youngster grasped the bird in his fists and strangled it to death.

"Mommy, mommy, look at me! I'm a big boy!"

Though the lad was Caucasian and only a toddler, his voice was that of a full-grown man of African descent.  

An Advertisement for Hot Sauce

An elderly, handsome Spanish gentlemen sits at a bus stop on a barren road. Surrounding him are dry, barren fields. The sky is an endless expanse of pure blue, not a cloud can be seen. The man stares off onto the opposite horizon, peacefully lost in thought. Sitting on the bench next to him is a stylish leather briefcase.

He is brought out of his gentle reverie by the sound of the bus approaching. He looks to his left and sees the shadowy outline of the bus. However, as it steadily comes closer, his placid, careless smile turns to an angry and bitter frown. The bus is in fact a giant, red hot pepper which acts like a bus, with wheels on the bottom and windows on the sides.

The pepper pulls up next to the man and stops. The door opens and over a dozen anthropomorphic peppers flood out of it. They surround the bench which the man is sitting on. They begin to shout joyfully.

"MUY BIEN! MUY BIEN! NEW VOLCANO SAUCE IS MUY CALIENTE! ARRIBA! ARRIBA!"

The leader of the group, a large red pepper man wearing a sombrero and sporting a stereotypical Mexican-style mustache, shakes maracas in the elderly man's face. The pepper, in a deep baritone and with a stereotypical Mexican accent, leads a song.

"VOLCANO SAUCE, VOLCANO SAUCE
IS MUY CALIENTE,
VOLANO SAUCE, VOLCANO SAUCE
IS MUY EXCELENTE!

EAT TOO MUCH VOLCANO SAUCE
AND YOU'LL SPOUT LAVA FROM YOUR EARS!
IF YOU DON'T EAT ENOUGH VOLCANO SAUCE
YOU'LL REGRET IT FOR YEARS AND YEARS!"

Just as the chorus begins again, the elderly man, who has been suppressing an onslaught of rage, cries out:

" STOP IT! STOP IT! NOT AGAIN! I AM TIRED OF YOU ADVERTISEMENTS! LAST WEEK IT WAS LAUNDRY DETEREGENT! THE WEEK BEFORE THAT IT WAS HAIR GEL! THE WEEK BEFORE THAT IT WAS CONDOMS! AND NOW HOT SAUCE! I HATE YOU, YOU DAMNABLE VEGETABLES, I HATE YOU MORE THAN I CAN BEAR!"

The pepper people ignore the man's outburst and continue to sing. The leader of the peppers shakes the maracas in the man's face in an even more obnoxious way. The man cries out again:

"I WARNED THE LITTLE SOAP PEOPLE! ONE MORE TIME, AND I WOULD KILL YOU ALL! I MEANT IT! I WILL KILL EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU!"

The elderly man then opens the stylish leather briefcase on the bench next to him and produces a small axe. Pushing a button on the base of the wand, both the wand itself and the blades extend, making it into an even more menacing weapon. Without further delay, the man stands up and slices the leader of the pepper people in half. He then reaches into the corpse and gobbles up some innards.

"YES, VERY HOT INDEED, YOU HORRIBLE CRETINS! BUT YOU'RE THE ONES WHO WILL REGRET IT FOR YEARS AND YEARS!"

The pepper people scream and begin running away, but their unnaturally bipedal bodies causes them to be slow, and the man would not cease from slaughtering them until every last one of the singing party was lying in oozing, sauced-covered pieces on the ground. Then, the man enters the bus and finds several horrified females feeding the baby peppers with milky hot sauce from their bulging teats. The man, in a threatening voice, commands them to stay still, and amidst the screams of the women and cries of the infants, he commandeers the pepper bus.

He drives for a little over an hour before causing it to careen into a deep canyon. There were no survivors.

Meanwhile, on a space station, several human brains connected into a massive computer network share thoughts with each other at an incomprehensible speed. They consider matters of demographics, synergy, product placement, and the high costs of mass-scale genetic engineering, and ultimately decide that they needed to retool, organize a new focus group and hire a different consulting firm.

Monday, July 4, 2011

Happy Birthday

It is your birthday. You visit the home of your best pal, only to find it filled with your friends and family; it is a surprise party!

Oh, you realize, there are so many presents, of all shapes and sizes! You can hardly wait to see what each one is.

After sharing a few obligatory laughs with the guests, it is time to begin opening your gifts.

First the big one, then the little one, then the medium-sized one. You are so overwhelmed with delight that it doesn't occur to you right away just what is happening.

You open one box to find a personalized copy of the Holy Book. You turn to thank the one who gave it to you, and, suddenly struck with embarrassment and terror, you realize that you no longer remember his name.

You say thank you without mentioning any name at all. You look to the woman who gave you the last present; you've forgotten her name too!

"What's the matter?" asks an old woman, "Don't you like your presents? Don't you want to open more?"

Yes, you say, you love them, and you will open more. You can't get away. All eyes are on you. You must keep going. But with every gift you unwrap, every present you open, you forget the name of the person who gave it to you. You forget ever having known them.

You go on, and the tension escalates. Finally, it is over. All of the presents have been opened. There they are, all laid out on the table. A book, a comb, an old tape recording, a photo album, a record, and so much more. You are standing in a room full of strangers.

You smile and bluff and continue to go along with the proceedings. You eat cake. The sweetness is sickening.

Finally, it is time to go. They help you load the gifts into the back seat of your car.

You begin driving, but something else is wrong. You panic.

You've forgotten who you are. You've forgotten where you live.

You don't know where to go. 

Merle Prepares for a Night on the Town

Merle is asleep on the soiled mattress. It is positioned on the floor in the living room in the spot where the sofa used to be prior to being repossessed. The television plays static, punctuated by occasional snippets of random speech.

Merle  awakes in the late afternoon. After relieving himself, he changes his sweat-stained tank top and showers and then shaves, carefully trimming the corners of his mustache. He brushes his teeth and applies antiperspirant to his oily armpits.

Merle then buttons up his red, silk shirt, pulls on his very tight jeans and puts his gold chain necklace on. During one brief return to the bathroom, Merle applies a generous amount of styling gel to the remnant of his hair.

Strutting proudly, Merle, filled with excitement, makes his way to the new disco, eager to scope out the beautiful women certain to attend the establishment's opening night.

When he arrives, however, Merle discovers that forty years have passed and that the disco has long since shut down.

Falling to his knees in rage and despair, Merle prays for Zeus to curse his father, Kronos. Zeus obliges, setting free Prometheus at last and forcing Kronos to take on the Titan's original punishment of being chained to a rock whilst an eagle eats his liver. To add insult, Zeus forces Kronos to do so in women's clothing.

Merle, seeing an opportunity, asks to have his genitals enlarged as a form of restitution. Zeus, however, has grown old and lost much of his power and mental focus, and mistakenly transforms Merle's genitals into the head of a golden retriever.

Merle is struck by painful irony when he finds that the dog barks when it sees beautiful women and that women always find it both charming and arousing, yet due to the nature of the thing he can no longer have sexual experiences.

Buddha Delivers A Speech

Buddha is nervous. He is about to give a speech. Buddha hates giving speeches.

He was up all night writing it. The speech was his attempt to tell of his experiences reaching enlightenment under the tree of figs. Buddha hoped that by sharing his experiences through public speaking, he might help others to improve their lives.

Shortly before the speech was to begin, Buddha vomited in a public bathroom. Buddha hoped that this would ensure he would not vomit during the speech.

Buddha put on a clean suit and tie. He looked like a dapper gentleman.

His speech began and Buddha proved himself an eloquent writer, though a somewhat inelegant, inconstant speaker. Nonetheless, the audience listened patiently and were polite, and Buddha managed to finish his speech without any major anxiety attack or particularly embarrassing flub. When the speech had concluded, Buddha told the audience that he would now take questions.

A tall man in the front row wearing thick, black glasses raised his hand.

"Yes, you in the front," said Buddha, pointing to the man, "what would you like to know?"

"You never mentioned the part where you were crucified."

Buddha stood in a daze of confusion for a moment.

"I never was crucified."

The crowd gasped. A woman sitting in the middle, near the aisle, stood up.

"What about Pontius Pilate? Did you ever forgive him?"

"For give him for what? I wasn't crucified. I never knew Pontius Pilate.  You've got me confused. You're thinking of Jesus Christ."

The crowd began talking amongst themselves. The frustration was palpable. Buddha felt like a fool.

The crowd began to boo. The man who spoke first shouted loudly "Get off the stage!"

Just when it appeared the that the audience may become violent, everyone present suddenly transformed into balloons of every color and floated so far up into the sky that Buddha could no longer see them.

Buddha reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a cellular phone. He dialed his manager's number. There was an answer.

"Hello?"

"Dang it, Chuck, it happened again!"

Piggyback Ride Through Time and Space

I am eight years old. I am at a picnic. It is our family reunion. I am wearing a green sweatshirt.

The other children and I play hide and seek, and hopscotch, and tag. It is great fun.

Uncle Bart  comes over to me. He has a big, fluffy moustache and is wearing overalls.

"Hey, sport," he asks me, "how about a piggyback ride?"

"Yeah!" I scream, and he lifts me up upon his shoulders. I take his baseball cap and wear it.

He runs forward as I hold on tight.

Suddenly everything becomes a blur; the ground, sky, and sunlight stretch out into infinity.

Moments later I am forty-five years old. I am in front of my workplace.

It is a multinational advertising firm. It is a skyscraper in New York City.

I am wearing my usual suit and tie. I am sitting on the sidewalk.

Underneath me is Uncle Bart's shattered skeleton. 

Sarah Davis Experiences a Difficult Bowel Movement

Sarah Davis was an attractive girl. Twenty-two years old, she had a constant stream of boyfriends; she was never without one at any given time. Men could not resist her long, luxurious dark brown hair, her toned, powerful arms and legs, her wide, innocent eyes nor her large, perfect white smile. Sarah had worked as a model and as an actress and never had any problem finding work in these fields. Eventually, Sarah had decided to challenge herself and so was working her way through law school. Her sheer physical beauty and regal composure were enough to  cause even the most powerful men to bend to her will.

Sarah had her pick of men. One night while on vacation, after an evening out, she and her new boyfriend, Bradley Michaels, retired to their penthouse suite. He had the prestige that was a prerequisite for time with her; he was a young lawyer at the top of his game. His large, muscular arms were the very definition of security to her.  She could hardly bear to be apart from him, such was his magnetism. His passion for her was not rare, but her passion for him was a sensation she was not used to feeling. Excitement and lust coursed through her entire body as they lay sprawled out on the bed. She wanted him. They began to undress each other, slowly and sensually.

Suddenly, however, Sarah felt a cramp. She felt a strong urge to defecate.

"Brad, I'm sorry. Wait here for just a sec, okay?"

"Sure," he replied with a smile, "I'm not going anywhere."

Sarah rushed into the bathroom with an urgency befitting neither her usual, regal composure nor her current sexual energy. Sitting down, she was overcome with difficulty as she attempted to cause a bowel movement. Pain began to surge through her stomach as she tried to pressurize her bowels and force out the reluctant, presumably rock-hard waste.

Suppressing the urge to scream, Sarah rocked herself back and forth on the toilet, hoping to bring an end to this terrible agony. Minutes passed. Bradley knocked on the door.

"Are you okay, Sarah?" he asked with somewhat feigned concern and an unsuppressed impatience.

"Fine..." she gasped. "Just a...minute."

Nearly a half an hour had gone by. The television, which Sarah had heard being switched on some time ago, suddenly went silent.

"I'm going to go down to the bar and get a drink." Bradley said, and then he left, slamming the door on his way out, before she could attempt any sort of coherent reply. Her mind had lost focus and conscious thought; she had become nothing more than an animal in pain.

Suddenly, just as suddenly as the pain had started, it was over. Sarah heard a loud PLOP in the water. Standing up, she looked down into the bowel. There, floating, was a massive, round, solid turd.

For a moment, Sarah felt as if she might laugh. Something about the absurdity of it all struck her and she wanted to fall back into hysterics, to lose all sense of self and of having any part in the grand scheme of things.

Then, the turd began to crack, and she saw a tiny hand reaching out of it. Slowly there emerged a tiny figure, not more than an inch tall, of a naked adult man. She immediately recognized it as her last boyfriend, Justin. The tiny figure stood on top of the turd and began screaming her name as loudly as he could. Due to his size, the sound was not very loud, but it was shrill.

Then, out of another crack, another small man emerged. This, she saw with horror, was the boyfriend she'd dated before Justin, Doug. He too began screaming her name.

This process repeated as she saw every boyfriend she'd ever dated emerge; meanwhile, the turd that acted as their giant fecal egg slowly crumbled and collapsed into the toilet water.

Soon, the commode was filled with bits of floating waste and countless men shouting her name with thin, shrill voices that made her feel as if she might go deaf. She held her hands over her ears but to no avail; she could not escape the sounds of the voices. Then, furthering her terror and confusion, many of the tiny figures in the center of the bowl joined together, hugging each other as they floated on the filthy water, and as they hugged they began to fuse into a large, gelatinous infant. It appeared partially like a human child, but the eyes were larger and less solid, and the teeth looked like fangs that had melted. The entire creature seemed on the verge of melting, lacking enough cohesion to keep solid.

"SARAH!" it boomed, "WHY SARAH, WHY?! WHY, IN THE NAME OF GOD?!"

Suddenly Sarah remembered something her ninth grade chemistry teacher, Mr. Campbell, had told her: "Flush first, don't you ever ask questions."

Sarah, trembling, pushed the lever and the sickening water began to swirl, taking the hideous, malformed creature and the remaining scores of little men with it down the drain.

Moments later, Sarah, wearing nothing but a filthy robe and her undergarments, collapsed into Bradley's arms in the hotel bar.

"I'm so, so sorry..." she sobbed, "I'm so sorry, please forgive me, please..."

The first question that suddenly assaulted Bradley's mind was why he was more aroused than he had been at any other point in the evening. The second question was why he was suddenly reminded of his grandmother. 

Sunday, July 3, 2011

Mrs. O'Hare

When I was 7
I used to visit Mrs. O'Hare

she was old and lived in a little brown house
down the street

she had poofy white hair
and wore big thick black glasses

when it was hot in the summer
she'd give me big purple popsicles

we talked about what it was like to be a kid
and the differences between then and now

she told me about how her grandma
used to sew her dresses

I told her about which videogames
were my favorites

she told me she used to play hide and seek
I told her I loved that game

she said summer was her favorite season
I said it was mine too

she said her favorite candy was lollipops
I told her mine were chocolate

she asked if I had any girlfriends
and laughed when I got mad and said no

she said she used to have boyfriends
and asked if I wanted to see them

she took me to the basement
and opened up the big boxes

after that I stopped visiting Mrs. O'Hare
except on the really hot days
when no one else had any purple popsicles

forging ahead

a wealthy businessman neglects his son
and enjoys going hunting for quails

he spends time with his son
only once
he takes his son hunting for quails

the businessman grows old and dies
the businessman's son grows bitter

the businessman reincarnates as a quail
the businessman's son unknowingly shoots his father
as an outlet for stress
and as a way to relive one happy memory

the businessman reincarnates as a quail again
this repeats indefinitely

a robotic condom

a robotic condom

Gerald lived with his parents and had very little sexual experience. One day he saw an internet advertisement for a new product from Japan: a robotic condom. In this device Gerald saw the potential for a new era of solo carnal pleasures, a welcome change from the funk he'd found himself in of late. Carefully, he ordered it while his parents went out for cocktails and arranged for it to be delivered to the address of an abandoned gas station.

One week later it arrived. Under cover of darkness and disguised as a box of school supplies, Gerald brought the Japanese robotic condom home and unwrapped it in his room. As soon as he opened the box, he was struck at once with the sadness in the eyes of the robotic condom. Gerald felt as if he could see into the very soul of the creature, and realized suddenly the oneness of all things.

Overwhelmed with regret, compassion, and bittersweet joy, Gerald released the robotic condom into the wild. Deep within his heart, Gerald hoped that the robotic condom would not be corrupted by the folly of men.

Within 48 hours, Gerald forgot that any of this had happened. He remembered it only once, nine years later, as he stared through the window of a deli.

for FDL

Saturday, July 2, 2011

"My Day With The Actor John Lithgow" GUEST BLOG POST BY RUPERT PINSTRIPE

"My Day With The Actor John Lithgow"

By Rupert Pinstripe

For many years I have admired The Actor John Lithgow. His performances in such films as "Harry and the Hendersons" and "Buckaroo Bonzai" have made me laugh and cry and feel joy scarcely experienced in the proceedings of my usual, day-to-day life. I've spent many hours enjoying his silly antics on "3rd Rock from the Sun" and being educated as he introduced the "American Cinema" documentary series for PBS.

I have always wanted to know The Actor John Lithgow up close and personal, to learn from him the secrets to living a spectacular life. Needless to say, was I ever surprised when one morning I got a special telephone call!

I was just trimming my rubber plant when all of a sudden I heard the familiar ting-a-ling of my telephone. I answered with the usual excitement I feel when an old or new friend gives me a call. My mind raced through the infinite possibilities that this call might provide. For all I knew, it could be a job offer to become a zoo keeper, or a call telling me I'd won a million dollars, or a famous physicist who wanted me to participate in an experiment. Who would have guessed the actual call was a thousand times better than all those things combined!

"Hello?" I asked.

"Is this Rupert?" the voice asked in reply.

"Yes, this is he." I said.

"Rupert. This is The Actor John Lithgow and I would like to spend the day with you!"

"Hooray!"

I was given instructions to meet him at the local park, where we would begin our day together.

An hour later, I approached the appointed meeting place, barely able to contain my glee. Then, I saw the bench where he told me to meet him and...there he was! The Actor John Lithgow himself was there, waiting just for me!

"Hi, Rupert." he greeted me, smiling warmly.

"Hi! I'm your biggest fan!" I said.

"Sit down." He patted the spot on the bench next to him. Suppressing a squeal of joy, I sat down.

"I'm always happy to answer questions for my fans. Would you like to ask me any questions?" he asked.

"Sure! How do you psych yourself up for a role?" He smiled at me.

"I pretend I'm the character I'm playing. That makes me feel like them and then it is like I become them. It is fun to become other people. Now, another question?"

"What was your favorite role?"

"I loved playing Mr. Kurtz in 'The Advertisement.' That was fun."

"I've never seen that movie..." I admitted. His smile turned into a frown.

"I thought you were a fan, Rupert. I thought you were my friend."

"I am! I am! I've just never seen that movie. I'm sorry!"

"You may ask one more question."

"Okay, um..." I was nervous, talking to my personal hero.

"Are you going to ask a question or not?!" he demanded to know.

"Yes! Who is the best actor or actress you've worked with?"

"Florence Lawrence."

"When did you - "

"I will ask YOU questions now!" he said in a harsh whisper. Wow, I thought, my hero wants to ask ME questions!

For a few minutes, The Actor John Lithgow stared at the children playing on the playground a few feet away from us. He smiled as he watched them. Finally, he spoke again.

"Rupert, if you died, how long do you think it would take for your parents to forget about you?"

"I guess I really don't know." He hissed at me.

"New question," he growled, "do you ever wish you were a woman, or at least that you had lady parts?"

"I never wished that." I told him.

"I do. I wish I could make babies. I wish I could make a million babies. I wish I could make a million babies. They'd all be mine. All be mine."

He sighed. Then, his smile returned.

"It's lunch time. We ought to have lunch. Are you hungry?"

"No."

He pulled out something rolled up in aluminum foil.

"This is a sandwich. Eat it." I took it and unrolled the foil. Inside there was a sandwich with a mixture of strange gooey stuff in it. He smiled at me as I began to eat. It seemed to really please him to see me eat.

"I want to show you something." He grabbed my hand in his and I felt my heart flutter. I was about to throw the remainder of the sandwich away but he shook his head to tell me no, and I kept eating it and he started smiling again. He led me into the bathroom. It was dirty in there. He brought me into the last stall and pointed at something REALLY WEIRD in the toilet. It was gooey and purple and green and MOVING.

"This is mine, Rupert," he said, almost giggling as he locked the door behind us, "I made this. I made all of this. How do you feel?"

"I feel bad." I said. The sandwich had made me feel sick. I thought I was going to vomit but the next thing I knew I passed out.

I woke up lying on a stained mattress on the floor of a dirty apartment. My shirt and underpants were gone, but I was still wearing my jeans. The Actor John Lithgow was licking my exposed nipple.

"Do you like how it feels?" he asked.

"No."

"Do you wish I could be your mother? Your brand new mother?" he laughed as he spoke.

"No."

"I wish I could. I wish I could just roll you up into the shape of a baby and eat you and then give birth to you all over again. Then you'd be mine forever. Mine forever. Forever."

He cupped his mouth over my nipple and began to suckle so hard that it hurt. Then he bit it so hard that it bled and I screamed. He laughed. Then he began sucking again, sucking up the blood. After a while, he ceased and looked at me with a serious expression on his face.

"Do you ever wonder what happens after you die, Rupert? Wouldn't you like to know?"

Suddenly his smile grew so wide that I thought it would tear apart the nerves in his face. His teeth were exposed, big and jagged and sticking out of his mouth. The long, thick black hair on his face was brushed back behind him. I felt his massive, red hands caressing my cheeks.

"So pretty, you're so, so pretty..."

I gasped as I saw his eyeballs begin to protrude so far out of his skull that I thought that they might fall out entirely. Somewhere in the distance I heard what I thought was the cry of a horse.

It was then that I realized that this might not be The Actor John Lithgow. 

A Message in Regards to Jeremy Kellerman

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

Hello, Jeremy Kellerman fans.

Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Lance Erikson. I am the Chief Representative of The Jeremy Kellerman Advice Hour Archive. As you know, neither this blog nor Jeremy Kellerman's Youtube channel have been updated in quite some time. I am sad to inform you that Jeremy Kellerman fell ill just over three months ago. Symptoms began during his viewing of the television program "Witches of Beverly Hills," as recounted in his own blog post of February 25th, 2011, and became progressively worse as the weeks passed. During a fundraising event for the Mid-Michigan Track Association in mid-March, Jeremy fainted and was hospitalized. He spent much of the time since in a coma.

I am pleased to announce, though, that Mr. Kellerman finally woke up in mid-June. I personally oversaw his condition and can say, happily, that he is now predicted to make a full recovery. However, due to his weakened state, the upkeep of his blog and Youtube account have been forbidden by doctor's orders. Though updates to both may be sparse, I, along with his nephew Scott Kellerman, have been authorized to keep the blog and Youtube channel going, if only sporadically and as schedule permits.

As Jeremy has been recuperating, he made a friend in the hospital. Also recovering from a coma, this new friend and Jeremy discovered much in common. This friend, a wonderfully optimistic and positive young man named Rupert Pinstripe, was released from the hospital a few days ago and has generously agreed to honor Jeremy's request and write a post just for this blog. Mr. Pinstripe is a writer for the local paper and is more than comfortable sharing his views via the traditional op-ed piece format. In fact, the things posted here may appear later in our local paper; quite a reversal from the usual practice! Stay tuned and perhaps Mr. Pinstripe will honour us with further writings.

Please continue to feel free to contact Jeremy and the Kellerman Archive with any questions, concerns or etc. Those of us on staff will continue to maintain things on the home front while Jeremy recovers, and hopefully he will rejoin us soon.

Now, as Jeremy always says,

Think well, live well, be well,

Lance Erikson, Esq.

Manager, Chief Representative and Public Relations Officer
of the
Jeremy Kellerman Advice Hour Archive

Saturday, February 26, 2011

Jeremy's Musings 3 - Valentine's Day

So what did everyone get for Valentine's Day this year?

Valentine's was always very special to me. I always end up going all-out and over-exerting myself!

This year I got Deb that new massage chair she's been wanting. I thought I'd send some "good vibes" her way, LOL!

I also imported some chocolate from Vermont. She said she fell in love with that chocolate when we went on vacation there three years ago. I said Hey, honey! You're in love with the chocolate? What about me? Ha ha ha!

Finally, to make the day perfect I got us evening reservations at "Cat Man Melons." It is a French restaurant, I think, and it is renowned here for the romance factor, but nobody can pronounce the foreign name so we just call it "Cat Man Melons." Weird, I know, but that's our town for ya! Also, just to crank up the love vibes, when we were waiting for our food to be served I excused myself to the bathroom, dressed up as Santa Claus and then got the whole big band to come off the stage and play "Beautiful Dreamer." It's a combination of the things she loves that don't last to February; Christmas ends in December, of course, and the annual Stephen Foster Festival ends on January 16th, so I figured I'd get super-creative and combine then! Nobody else could have a more unique experience on Valentine's Day! Deb LOVED it. Hey, whoa, I'm having massive deja vu right now! Have I written this before?

I have to admit though (don't tell Debbie!) I was pretty disappointed with my gift.I got home from the studio to find a bunch of photos from me in high school pasted onto a basket with fake flowers in it. On each photo the word "HOTTIE" was written under my picture. It wasn't even Deb's handwriting! WTF kind of Valentine's Day present is that?!

Friday, February 25, 2011

Jeremy's Musings 2 - I might have caught a bug or something

I was watching "Witches of Beverly Hills" last night on the Kids Network. I love how creative these kids are today!

I really enjoy this show. It has magic and fun and wacky hijinks that remind me of stuff I watched growing up, good old-fashioned joke humor like "I Love Lucy," "Leave It To Beaver" and "My Two Parents!" It is great that kids are watching and enjoying shows like this.

The child actors are so funny and talented, and the people that play their parents are awesome too. The dad is Dom Deluise's son! Whoa! He grew up fast! He's hilarious and makes me laugh.

A weird thing happened though. When I was watching it I felt fine but then when the big fat school principal appeared, the fat bald guy with glasses who likes to dance ho-downs and dresses like a cowboy, when he came on the screen all of a sudden this sharp pain shot through my right arm and then before I knew it I became incontinent. I don't know what happened! I messed all over the sofa! WTF!

I went and saw the doctor after I cleaned myself up and changed pants, and the doctor said THE SAME THING happened to like FIVE other people in my neighborhood! He couldn't tell me who though because of medical privacy law. He said he doesn't know why people would react that way to seeing a particular actor on the screen, he's never heard of anything like it. He knows of Japanese people getting seizures due to flashing strobe lights but never just a reaction to an actor's appearance. The actor wasn't even dancing when it happened! Ugh! Anyway, the doc said there will have to be more tests done on me, the other people and on the show to see if they can figure out what caused this.

I need to go now and make sure I can call someone in to clean/shampoo the couch before Debbie returns from her trip, or else she'll box my ears!

After that I'm going to lay down because I'm POOPED! LOL!

Think well, live well, be well,
Jeremy Kellerman

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

Georgia Police Officer Indicted on Charges of Improper Conduct, Brutality - March 20th, 1997

Originally published in
"The Daily Flyleaf"

Issue 207

March 20th, 1997

In Westenra, Georgia this afternoon, disgraced police officer Reynold Tavis has been indicted on charges of improper conduct and police brutality after security camera footage recorded Tavis accosting an African-American male outside of a Seventown Mart gas station/convenience store. While a separate legal battle instigated by the victim, alleging that the act was also a hate crime, is still being processed in the courts, this marks the first time that a formal charge has been made against Tavis.

In addition to a history of questionable behavior on the police force, Tavis has recently incensed the public by ranting during interviews, claiming himself the victim of an "interracial conspiracy scam." When questioned yesterday by a visiting Michigan reporter from WXVH in Ann Arbor about his history of being required to take, but subsequently dropping out of anger managements courses on multiple occasions, Tavis replied "The thing about my job is, what people don't understand, is that it's stressful. I have to be out there beating up and harassing people, especially minorities, 3 days a week, 22 hours a day. It's ridiculous. That kind of effort can make you a little short-tempered, sure, but that would be the case with anyone in my possession." Tavis then made an obscene gesture at the reporter and fled the scene of the interview.

It was reported later that day that Reynold Tavis was involved in an incident in a local packing plant and that he had lost at least one extremity. For unknown reasons, Merle Danson, of Danson and Sons Funeral Home, held a press conference shortly afterwards saying that on behalf of Danson and Sons Funeral Home, he wished Officer Tavis a full and speedy recovery.

[UPDATE]: A message was received earlier this morning, written by someone identifying himself as Reynold Tavis, that reads "THE PIRATES ARE BIODEGRADABLE." More on this story as it develops.