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.


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


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..."


"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."


"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?"


"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.


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.



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


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:


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.


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.


"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.


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"

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!"


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?"


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.


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


"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


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