Author Archives: Kurt Luchs

My Day On NBC Sports

By: David Martin

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If Sunday Night Football broadcast my day at work:

AL MICHAELS: Good morning bureaucracy fans and welcome to another exciting day at work with Dave. What do you look for in today’s match-up, John?

JOHN MADDEN: Well, Al, if past performance is any indicator, I’m guessing Dave will be late today. We’re always ready for a 9 A.M. kick-off but Dave is what we call a “late starter.”

AM: Whoa, wait a minute. It’s only 9:05 and here’s Dave. Have you ever seen such an early arrival before?

JM: Yes, but not often. I have to assume that he’s got a meeting.

AM: You’re right; it’s a meeting. He didn’t even glance at the computer screen. Instead he’s picked up a folder and he’s heading down the hall to the conference room.

JM: Hold onto your seats, bureaucracy fans. As a veteran player, Dave is a master of the morning meeting.

AM: His supervisor is standing up and it looks like — yes — she’s asking Dave for a progress report on his project! How can he possibly handle this unexpected offensive movement?

JM: Savvy veteran that he is, I don’t think this is going to throw him. Let’s listen in.

AM: Am I hearing right? Did he just give a whole status report off the top of his head complete with stats and future projections?

JM: That’s right, Al. From what I know, it’s all fabricated but it sounds great. But will it be good enough to fool his boss?

AM: Whoa! She bought it! Touchdown! And now here’s the conversion. It’s up…and it’s good. She’s agreed to wait until next week for the final report.

JM: Wow! He’s definitely playing without a net today, Al.

AM: He sure is, John. And look at the move on the way back to his cubicle.

JM: Can you believe it? He told Fred there were free donuts in the lunchroom and then dropped the status report file in Fred’s inbox.

AM: A perfectly executed screen play from one of the all-time great buck passers.

JM: And he still has the presence of mind to backtrack to the lunchroom, take the last of the coffee and not make a new pot.

(Lunch break)

AM: For viewers who were watching Fred’s lunchtime nap in cubicle 402, welcome back to the coverage of Dave’s day at work. It’s 2:30 and Dave is back in his cubicle. He looks a little wobbly. Is he injured John?

JM: I don’t think so, Al. We’ve got a report from Dave’s restaurant and apparently Dave had two glasses of wine with lunch today. It’s gonna be a tough afternoon for him, no doubt about it. This is where the veterans show what they’re really made of. I’ve seen Dave in worse shape than this in the morning and still make it through regulation without being touched.

AM: I don’t know, John. He’s looking a bit shaky. The head is wobbly and the eyelids are fluttering. He could be out for the count.

JM: Oh! Look at that move! He placed a dozen upturned thumbtacks on this desk. I haven’t seen a move like that since Dick in Accounting drank half a container of White-Out to stay awake.

AM: John, I’ve just got a report that Dave’s boss is headed towards his cubicle. This will show what he’s really made of.

JM: If I know Dave, he’s got a couple of tricks up his sleeve.

AM: He better, John. That porn site on his computer screen could really throw him for a big loss.

JM: What a pro! If I’m not mistaken…yes, look at that. Just before his boss enters Dave’s cubicle, he taps the mouse wheel twice and switches the porn site to an Excel spreadsheet. I wouldn’t have believed it unless I saw it.

AM: Let’s look at this again on the replay. Wow, what a play! And see there how he quickly picks up the phone, motions to his boss that it’s an important call and waves her away? Amazing. Clearly he was under the weather and not playing at 100% but was still able to pull it out. What a gutsy performance.

JM: I think even Dave realizes that he accomplished something special today which may explain why he’s leaving early at 3:30.

AM: Except no one knows he’s leaving early. Since he left his coat in his car and his computer is still on, he’s out the door before anyone realizes that he’s gone.

JM: What a performance from a veteran worker.

AM: Ordinarily we’d be back on air tomorrow morning at 9 A.M. with more of Dave. But tomorrow is a Friday so chances are our next broadcast won’t be until Monday. Or maybe Tuesday, right John?

JM: That’s right, Al. A wily pro like Dave will always keep you guessing.

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45-Year-Old Nancy Drew Reflects

By: Megan Amram

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(The front door opens.)

Nancy: (flicking off Oprah) How was your day, honey?

Allen: (kicking off shoes) Long. My boss was terrible. I’m completely exhausted. How was your day?

Nancy: You know what, it was really good. This morning I got started on the dusting and ironing. After the kids left for school, though, I was rummaging through the attic and I found some of my old case files. My case files, Allen! Remember when I used to sleuth as a girl?!

Allen: Hey, here’s a case you can start on: The Mystery of the Late Dinner. Here’s a clue: it’s late because you haven’t started cooking it yet.

Nancy: Allen, I’m seriously thinking of getting back into the detective business. I used to be really good at it. Plus, the children are almost grown, and I feel like it could be really good for me.

Allen: This is just the hysterectomy talking.

Nancy: I’ve even thought of a title for my first case. I’ll call it Nancy Drew and The Mysterious Ennui.

Allen: Your name is Nancy Sampson now.

Nancy: Allen, you have no idea how moving it was. I was so young, so beautiful. This morning I just sat alone in the attic for hours, weeping quietly to myself.

Allen: Oh, that’s right, dear, go ahead and cry over your silly, girlish detective games.

Nancy: I solved over 200 cases…several involving dangerous felons! There was The Hidden Staircase, The Secret of the Old Clock, and my lesser known case, The Secret of the New Clock.

Allen: And now you can’t even manage to feed your husband? Well, guess what? I’m a detective too. At work today I just solved Women Who Reenter the Workplace and the Case of the Invisible Ceiling. Turns out it was glass. So that’s why it was invisible. It was a glass ceiling.

Nancy: Don’t you want me to have hobbies, Allen?

Allen: Of course. I just, you know, thought the bimonthly Jazzercise was enough.

Nancy: Look, I’ve even found the outfit I used to wear! After a few cycles in the washing machine, it’ll be as good as new!

Allen: Speaking of washing machines, where’s my dinner?

Nancy: I just hope it still fits. I haven’t quite solved The Mystery of the Non-Disappearing Baby Weight Paired with the Compulsive Closet Eating…

Allen: You’re telling me.

Nancy: Sleuthing would probably be good exercise, though.

Allen: Come on, you don’t need any more exercise. You and Type II Diabetes are meant to be together!

Nancy: All right, all right, you win. I guess those floors aren’t going to Swiffer themselves. I’ll just put my case files back in the attic.

Allen: What, aren’t you going to work on The Case of the Hungry Allen? Here’s a clue! He’s hungry because he just got back from work.

Nancy: (sighs) Of course, dear.

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My Skateboarding Moves Have Evolved Over The Years

By: Tyler Smith

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The Boneless (old)

Ride with back foot on the tail, and front foot in the middle of the board. Slide front foot off the board and put foot on the ground. Jump up into the air with hand holding the toe rail and back foot still on the tail, raising front foot back on the board. Land, typically.

The Boneless (new)

Ride with back foot on the tail, and front foot in the middle of the board. Kick the tail up violently and plummet off the curb in a violent paroxysm. Vomit. Do a Google search: “pancreas burning sensation can they explode?” Throw skateboard into drainage ditch and proceed to IKEA because we just have to have that new trestle table.

The Ollie (old)

Bend knees and press down hard with back foot while lifting front foot. When the tail of the board hits the ground, jump off the front foot and lean forward, guiding the board forward and upward. Land, presumably.

The Ollie (new)

Buy new skateboard and commence shredding. Bend knees and succumb to shin splints, causing a damaging fall, a split lip, and a trip to the emergency room. Curse wife for taking car keys after coming home last night smelling like stripper perfume. Explain that “outings” at Rick’s Cabaret are often necessary steps toward procuring new clients.

Backside 50-50 Grind on Half-Pipe (old)

Ride up the transition and do a high backside kickturn before the wheels touch the lip. Raise upper body and turn. When the back axle touches the lip, stand upright and lift body over the ramp. Turn the board back toward the ramp. Land, occasionally.

Backside 50-50 Grind on Half-Pipe (new)

Ruminate on the once keen dexterity of youth. “Hey, I’ll buy you guys beer if you let me rip your half-pipe.” Sweet. Climb up side of ramp. Look over the edge and panic. Goaded by teens drunk on warm Mad Dog 20/20, I, also drunk on warm Mad Dog 20/20 attempt to drop-in and smash teeth on the side of the ramp. After convalescence, watch self on YouTube get peed on by drunk teens while knocked out from the fall. Embarrass son, who still sees fit to forward YouTube video on to friends and 3rd grade colleagues. Run over skateboard with Volvo. Call about the toilet.

Judo Air (old)

A difficult half-pipe maneuver. After grabbing the nose during a normal backside air, take foot off the board and kick it forward pulling the board backward while the back foot is still on the board. Land, once — when nobody was looking.

Judo Air (new)

What do you think this is, the X Games? I just came do a little “skate and destroy” while the wife is over at the Gap. “Hey, do you kids have any weed? No, you’re poseurs, you little Good Charlotte groupie punks. Give me that board.” Approach half-pipe. Flee at a full-sprint and hope the car starts. With new skateboard, advance to the E-Z-Pawn over by the Panda Express and get some spending cash in exchange for the board. I recommend the orange chicken. “What time is it? Oh, man. The wife is going to kill me.”

McTwist (old)

This crowd-pleaser is another aerial that is essentially a back flip, but while still rotating on one axis, perform a backside 540 while grabbing the toe side of the board with the front hand. Once attempted this maneuver off the diving board at the neighborhood pool using a kickboard and my swimsuit fell down mid-air, revealing my privates. I still have nightmares about this. “You ask a lot of questions, don’t you? No, just forget it, okay?”

McTwist (new)

At neighbor’s BBQ, tell wife — in a high-volume voice — that “the fire is gone” and that she has “turned frigid.” And there’s my friend Curt, who’s like, “That’s what you think, dude!” I could just kill him sometimes. Throw hot charcoal from the Old Smokey in Curt’s face (that’s one of those things where I overreact, but it’s because I’ve had probably like a million glasses of Chardonnay). Catch on fire along with Curt and force terrified guests to toss two grown men into the pool. Wake up nude and wet on new IKEA trestle table. I guess there is no real mention of a skateboard or even a kickboard here, but it really all goes back to the soul of skating, man. Don’t be such a poseur.

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Things Dead People Can Do

By: Michael Fowler

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As determined by a forensic medical examiner, golfer Ted Mintzer was struck on the head and killed instantly by a golf ball on the fifth green at Burrowing Owl Golf Course in Fort Myers Beach, Florida, but went on lining up his putt. He three-putted for a bogey, not bad for a stiff. After that he caught fire, playing the best round of his life, though dead. When friends in the clubhouse told him he’d set a new course record, the now still golfer got as excited as a block of clay.

*****

A woman passed away of natural causes just as she hit the snooze button on her alarm clock. The next buzz nine minutes later failed to rouse her, and finally, dead, she got up already half an hour late to work. Cursing, she dressed, went out to scrape the snow from her car, got in and tried to start it. When it wouldn’t start, she slumped forward in the driver’s seat, cold as a mound of slush.

*****

A male pedestrian died quickly when struck in the head by a brick tossed from a moving vehicle, but he gave chase to the car and screamed obscenities at the laughing teenage passengers for several blocks until all the blood drained from his body and he sat down on the curb a wasted husk, never more to move.

*****

Don, ticket taker at Lollapalooza 2007, accepted a pair of admission tickets from a teen couple dead for hours from drug overdose. “My suspicions were aroused when neither of them blinked after I told them Coldplay had cancelled,” he said. “In fact, they didn’t show any emotion at all. I had security follow them in.” The deceased teens boogied until late in the evening, then strolled into the shower tent. Rigor mortis hit them under the nozzles, and they fell out like two sacks of hardening concrete.

*****

A woman thrown through the windshield of her car lost her brain and was dead as a broom handle. Still she managed to accompany friends to cash in a lottery ticket worth five hundred dollars and shout “Yowsa!” before she collapsed like a rickety bridge.

*****

A man sliced in half by a rocket went to a movie (top half) and took a scenic hike (bottom half) before he finally keeled over (both halves).

*****

A man killed in a flash after driving a nail into a 100,000 volt wire near his home went to a bar and drank “one last cold one” before he sank to the barroom floor as rigid as a stuffed owl. He still owes the bartender for that beer.

*****

Vera Hatfield of Springfield, Illinois died of starvation after playing video games for 5 days straight without eating, but continued to work her X-Box for an additional 72 hours before she dropped to the floor with some body parts already starting to rot.

*****

A man trying to run across an expressway was struck by a semi as soon as he stepped off the shoulder. He died instantly but continued on, with several more vehicles buffeting him and rendering him almost unrecognizable, until at last he achieved the opposite side. There he gave a thumb’s up to no one in particular and fell over the guardrail into some tall weeds, where he slept the Big Sleep.

*****

An airline pilot died of heart failure after narrowly missing a control tower, but managed to land his craft safely and bed a stewardess in a hotel room — both on “autopilot” — before turning blue as the sky and blank as a sheet.

*****

A 65-year-old woman died of a stroke while bowling. She appeared to revive when a teammate administered smelling salts, but she was really dead, and she wouldn’t quit bowling until she achieved a new personal best score. “I knew I could do it!” she crowed when success came 30 minutes after her death. Then she crumpled over and lay face-up in the right-hand gutter, about as frisky as a broiled scrod.

*****

Flight 712 crashed into the sea and all 86 passengers were killed in the blink of an eye. Nonetheless they all escaped the wrecked plane and, in their various states of dismemberment and drowning, swam to a nearby tropical island. They were “rescued” by a US Navy vessel two weeks later in advanced states of decomposition, but not before sharks had eaten a dozen of them and natives speared ten more.

*****

30-year-old Todd Morse gave up the ghost choking on a hotdog at a Cincinnati Bengals game. But he refused to stop watching the game since the Bengals were actually leading at the half. When the team pulled further ahead in the second with no hope of being caught, he jumped into the aisle pumping his arms and sailed headfirst down a flight of concrete steps. The fall actually revived him somewhat, and he had a near death experience. He beheld soft white lights and heard a comforting voice urging him to rise up and savor his team’s victory. But he remained a goner and in two days was six feet under.

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Old Safe on Wheels for Sale

By: Greg Boose

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Classified Ad — Week One

FOR SALE: Old safe on wheels. Locked and no combination — I’ve never seen inside it. Leaving the country and can’t take it with me. Buyer owns whatever is inside. Could be a pile of diamonds or could be nothing. Maybe gold bars. Sorry, no refunds. $10,000. Call Rob X3324.

Classified Ad — Week Two

FOR SALE: Big old safe on wheels. Locked! I don’t have the combination or key, and I’ve never seen inside it. Once belonged to my great grandfather, a popular French fur trader, so there may be some nice fur coats in there or stacks of money made in the fur industry. Buyer owns anything and everything found inside. Safe most likely crowbar accessible. No refunds. $9,500. Call Rob X3324.

Classified Ad — Week Three

FOR SALE: Big antique safe on really nice wheels. I don’t know the combination and the door is locked. My highly regarded archaeologist uncle died and left me the safe in his will. Priceless artifacts inside? A map maybe? Or perhaps the answer to all your financial problems? You figure out the combination and whatever’s inside is yours! No refunds. $9,350. Call Rob X3324.

Classified Ad — Week Four

FOR SALE: Beautiful antique safe on ivory-like wheels. Safe is locked and I don’t have the combination or key. Once belonged to my great-great grandfather who sailed the Caribbean and around Cape Cod as a savage, yet brilliant, pirate. Buy it and crack the code, and own whatever is inside! (When I roll the safe around on its super nice wheels it sounds like there are jewels bouncing around inside, but can’t say for sure. Could be pearls.) Absolutely no refunds. $8,000 OBO. Call Rob X3324.

Classified Ad — Week Five

FOR SALE: Beautiful antique safe on wheels so nice that they have to be worth at least $50 each themselves. Door is locked. I have never had it opened, but possess six-sevenths of a riddle that leads to the combination. My obsessive manuscript-collecting grandmother died and left safe to me, but I don’t have room for it in my car. Buyer owns riddle and whatever’s inside even if it is the first draft of Ulysses or The Great Gatsby. Sorry, no refunds. $6,500 OBO. Call Rob X3324 or email RGarrison@yahoo.com.

Classified Ad — Week Six

FOR SALE: Big old safe on wheels. Locked. No combination. Opened once but lost the key. Four dishwashing sponges still in package and very large amount of grocery plastic bags are inside. Make me an offer! No refunds. Call Rob X3324.

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Bartlett’s Unfamiliar Quotations

By: David Martin

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Selected entries from Bartlett’s Unfamiliar Quotations (first edition):

Socrates (469 – 399 B.C.)

“I didn’t know you could make tea from hemlock.”

Jesus (ca. 1 – 33)

“Now after I’m gone, don’t go adding a bunch of elaborate rituals.”

Christopher Columbus (1451 – 1506)

“Who the hell set the course west?”

William Shakespeare (1564 – 1616)

“”rancis, would you mind lending me a hand with these plays?”

John Milton (1608 – 1674)

“Paradise Gone? Paradise Misplaced? Paradise Missing? Damn, this title is elusive.”

Thomas Jefferson (1743 – 1826)

“That bastard son of Adams’ will probably win the Presidency even though he didn’t get the most votes.”

Abraham Lincoln (1809 – 1865)

“Mary, I told you these half-price theater tickets were no good.”

John D. Rockefeller (1839 – 1937)

“What the hell are we going to do with a million barrels of oil?”

Adolph Hitler (1889 – 1945)

“No, seriously, some of my best friends are Jews.”

Lyndon Johnson (1908 – 1973)

“What pleases me most is a consensus arrived at through reasoned and gentlemanly discourse.”

Ronald Reagan (1911 – 2004)

“The national debt’s tripled. When is this trickle down crap gonna kick in?”

Richard Nixon (1913 – 1994)

“John, Bob…I feel the fairest thing to do is release all the tapes.”

John F. Kennedy (1917 – 1963)

“Ask not what your President can do for you; ask what position you can assume for your President.”

Queen Elizabeth II (1926 – )

“Remind me again, Philip, why we had children.”

George W. Bush (1946 – )

“They voted me in again? And they say I’m stupid!”

Bill Clinton (1946 – )

“What this country needs is a good, self-lubricating cigar.”

Al Gore (1948 – )

“I categorically deny, refute and gainsay any allegations to the effect that I am boring.”

Mel Gibson (1956 – )

“No, seriously, some of my best friends are Jews.”

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A Letter From God To HSBC Regarding His No-Interest Loan

By: Ken Krimstein

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Dear Sir or Madam,

I have more than a small bone to pick with you regarding the instigation of the full APR on my no-interest loan for the MacMall purchase I made earlier this year — account number 3259-4300-9546-8891. As you know, MacMall had been touting a special incentive to lure me into upgrading my computer from a G4 to a G5, or was it a G5 to a G6? I’m not sure, I usually have people who deal with such matters for me. Dead people, to be sure. But since they’re trying to earn their wings, I find they are very dedicated and focused on such matters. And, at any rate, had I wanted to, I could have just caused said machine to appear in front of me — whoosh — but, as they say, I work in mysterious ways. Sorry for the digression. I’m a little overwrought.

That’s better. I just breathed deeply for ten seconds. Now, to get back to the matter at hand. The offer was, and I quote, “same as cash, no interest payments for six months.” Due to a screw-up by the Post Office (I swear this is true, there are some things even I can’t remedy), my final statement arrived THREE DAYS AFTER EXPIRATION DATE OF THE PROMOTIONAL OFFER. Now, I could turn you and the entire Hong Kong Shanghai Banking Corporation to pillars of salt if I wanted to, but I’d rather state my case calmly and equivocally. The point is, your statement came too late. I should not have to pay the 23.99% APR on the entire balance, even the paid balance.

I promptly called the service number. I’ll have you know, I could have simply done a mind-meld with anyone in your organization, I could have made the Secretary of the Treasury, the Chief of the Federal Banking Commission, even Henry Kissinger do my bidding by telepathy, but I called the 800 number. I don’t like to cross boundaries if I don’t have to. I’m not that kind of Supreme Being. After being put on hold, and forced to listen to an off-key version of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons for what felt like three seasons, I finally got in touch with someone, a human being. Now, I love all my children equally, that’s a big part of my deal, but this person on the end of the line — clearly not, how shall I put it — a person whose first language is English. There were problems. I could have changed the languages of the world to whatever obscure tongue was this member of my flock’s language of choice, but no, I play by the rules. So, after an interminable bout of furumphing and thissing and thatting that tried even my patience, I finally asked to speak to a supervisor. I didn’t mean to pull rank, really, charity is my middle name, but I thought, under these circumstances that, as a figure of authority myself, it might be more efficient for me to take my grievances to an entity, who, like myself, understands Power. (Sorry for all the clauses in the previous sentence, but having invented the comma, sometimes I really like to put that little sucker through its paces.)

So, I got a Janice Y58. I know and you know that Y58 is not her real last name. But that way she was speaking to me, I could have made it her last name. I could have made Y345.782 her last name. Would have caused her one garbanzo of trouble when she tried to cash her next paycheck. But I didn’t do that. I heard her out.

She wouldn’t budge. Wouldn’t move. Wouldn’t yield. Insinuated that I, the Font of all Goodness and Charity in Creation was the One at fault. Not very nice of Janice Y58. But, in my eternal wisdom, I could see she was just following company policy. It wasn’t Janice Y58’s fault that I had to pay the $327.00 APR. No, not one tiny little bit. I could see, with my all-seeing eyes, that she was graciously and professionally following the company policies. (Well, truth be told, and I am the Supreme Truth Teller, she wasn’t that gracious, but more about that later.)

I don’t have to tell you that $327.00 is a lot of money, even to me. I didn’t get to where I am today by being a spendthrift. Even though I could have just gotten the combination to the big safe at Fort Knox and taken as much gold bullion as I wanted to, I didn’t. Instead, I have written the letter you see before you.

So, I put it to you, Sirs and Madams. Either you waive that APR or I end all life as we know it.

Thank you for your prompt attention to this matter.

Sincerely yours,

God

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A Memo To Thunder, The Golden State Warriors’ Mascot, Regarding The Upcoming Second Half Of The 2006-2007 Season

By: Jay Dyckman

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Thunder:

While the first half of this season has shown promise, management feels, given the history of this organization, that it’s best that we prepare for the inevitable collapse. As you are surely aware, times have been tough for the Warriors family. No championship since the ’74-’75 season. Thirteen years without making the playoffs. Top draft picks traded only to go on and produce for other teams. A coaching carousel. And an increasingly bitter fan base stung by prior promising starts that are most likely illegal under some type of bait-and-switch tort theory.

Well, we are leaving nothing to chance this season and have planned in advance for the forthcoming collapse. So, our lycra-clad friend, here are some things to keep in mind going forward.

First, a general note on your performance. There have been complaints from the front office that your enthusiasm had notably waned during last season’s second half debacle. Yes, we expect that from our fans. You, however, are not permitted this luxury. Did you really think we wouldn’t notice the frequent smoke breaks in the player’s entrance tunnel? Look, we don’t care how many fourth quarter collapses, defensive breakdowns, stagnant offensive series, comatose rebounding performances, missed free throws, apathetic box-outs, failures to rotate, blasé responses to full-court pressure, apparent boycotts against driving the lane or ill-advised three point attempts you are forced to watch, you will cheer them on. When the PA system blares “Get This Party Started,” you will get that party started. Or you may get unemployment started. Your call.

Second, as the playoffs slip even further from our fragile grip, we expect head coach Nelson to begin the annual “rebuilding phase” and turn to his bench to groom any potentially untapped talent. But, as you are probably aware, our drafts haven’t gone so well, leaving us a little thin on reserves. So, long story short, you should be ready to enter the game at a moment’s notice. No need to panic here. No one expects you to play defense, least of all Nellie. Just show some hustle, and maybe one or two of those high-flying dunks. (Although, to be on the safe side, please try to get in a little practice on these without the aid of the trampoline.) Plus, we hear this is how Mugsy Bogues got his start in the league so make the most of the opportunity.

Third, years of the customary “we’re out of contention” circa Groundhog Day have taken its toll on fan turnout. However, in order for our games to continue being broadcast, we need to have a minimum fan attendance. Thus, to prevent embarrassing television blackouts and to keep the ad revenue flowing, we have reached an arrangement to augment our fan base with “volunteer” fans from local rest homes and juvenile detention centers. Again, no reason to panic. Our new octogenarian friends should not impact your act much. Simply avoid hitting them with the T-Shirt bazooka. At the end of the game, they will simply be woken up by ushers and pointed toward the exits (as has been standard fourth quarter procedure for all fans at the Arena for years.)

The juvenile seat fillers will probably provide more of a challenge. If you simply refrain from direct eye contact you should be fine. However, and we cannot be more emphatic about this, DO NOT POINT THE T-SHIRT BAZOOKA DIRECTLY AT THESE FANS. If you do, expect counter fire and take defensive action immediately. In fact, no need to get the party started near that section.

Finally, and this is not a threat, but your contract does run at the end of this year. While we have no immediate plans to start looking, you might recall that management conducted a fan poll last season of possible mascot replacements. Top vote getters were team owner Chris Cohan’s head on a stick (unlikely) and Manute Bol. Again, not that we’re inclined to make any moves in that direction but we did think you should keep it in mind.

And Bol is available.

— Chris Mullin, Executive Vice President of Basketball Operations

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From the Pop Culture Dead Letter Office

By: David Jaggard

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Guidance Office

P.S.12

New York, New York

May 17, 1936

Guidance counselor’s follow-up report for: Peter R. Seeger

re: Our meeting of May 15 about your plans for the future

Peter, it was good that we had that little talk the other day and I want to share a few thoughts about it with you.

First let’s take a look at your idea for pursuing a career in the manual arts. Here’s the thing, Peter: I have a hammer. And since you don’t, but seem so intent on acquiring one soon, there are a few things I think I should point out. For starters, hammers make a lot of noise, especially on the harder woods like oak. For the sake of your family and neighbors, I strongly encourage you, contrary to your plans, to exercise the common courtesy of not hammering too early in the morning. Or too late in the evening, for that matter. As for your desire to hammer “everywhere around the country,” or however you put it, I must advise you that there is very little work available for an itinerant carpenter. People prefer to hire contractors they know from their local area, and if you keep moving around you’ll never build up a solid customer base. Also, your ideas for your first woodworking projects are fine enough, but a little too ambitious in my opinion. Yes, an allegorical sculpture, in the hands of a talented and experienced artisan, can be a thing of beauty, but the themes you have chosen — “danger,” “a warning,” “love” (and incestuous love at that!) — seem to me too abstract and open to interpretation for a beginner like yourself. You have to walk before you can run. Why not start with something simpler, like a birdhouse?

Moving on, we come to your second point. Apparently you can’t yet afford a hammer — I know times are hard — and yet you’re already talking about buying a bell. Might I suggest that you build up your set of carpenter’s tools first before considering such discretionary purchases? And here again I have to caution you about disturbing your neighbors with too much ringing in the early and late hours of the day. Also, while I admire your reiterated and therefore I assume keen desire to travel, if you’re going to embark on a cross-country trip why not just leave the bell at home? If you really want to go “all over” it’s better to travel light.

But if you’re serious about this, have you considered joining a local bell choir? Maybe the other members will be interested in working out some routines based on what seem to be your favorite themes of danger, a warning, etc., but I have a warning for you: most bell choirs are associated with churches and I think your fellow “ringers” will not be kindly disposed to learning a number about incest. Peter, you really ought to try to focus your attention on something less, let us say, controversial, and more appropriate for a young man your age.

Now then, as to your musical ambitions. Yes, I know — these days everyone wants to become a popular singer and get on the radio, don’t they? Peter, you seem to think that if you can just get the right repertoire it will be easy going after that, but let me assure you that there’s a whole lot more involved in building a career in the entertainment business than you think. You say you’re willing to put in long hours practicing from the moment you get up till after sundown, and that’s great, but it’s probably too soon to start planning a nationwide tour.

And I see that once again the themes you want to explore in your songwriting are danger, a warning and love. Again with the incest! Peter, are you trying to come to terms with some dark secret from your childhood here? You seem to be preoccupied about something that may have happened between your brothers and sisters, and yet every time it looks like you’re about to confront the issue head-on you just trail off, saying “ooh ooh ooh.” I’m not making any insinuations here, but I strongly suspect that you might need counseling. I’m enclosing the business card of an excellent psychologist I know. Please promise me you’ll call.

Ah — just as I was about to mail you your copy of this report it was brought to my attention that you have, in fact, now acquired all of those things you wanted. Well, what can I say? Fast work, Mr. Seeger. If I understand correctly, you received the hammer as part of a legal settlement and somehow managed to get a bell for free. And it seems that this peculiar obsession of yours with the unorthodox emotional relationships in your family has indeed become the subject of your first record release. This is all well and good, but Peter, now that you’ve got those ideas “out of your system,” so to speak, please try to write some songs about other, more pleasant things, will you? How about something with flowers? Flowers are nice.

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The Office of National Drug Control Policy Steps It Up

By: Eric Feezell

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From the Desk of John P. Walters

To: President George W. Bush

Re: Holy War on Drugs?

Dear Mr. President:

Over three decades have passed since President Richard Nixon declared drugs “America’s public enemy number one,” and that declaration still holds true, if we don’t count as relevant Osama Bin Laden, which, completely off the record, I understand we really haven’t been doing lately, anyway. Since that time, particularly since I took the position of Drug Czar at the beginning of your first term, I feel some progress has been made. Some, Mr. President, but not nearly enough.

With this in mind, we at the Office of National Drug Control Policy are proposing a revised tack in the War on Drugs, one based on a more progressive model and inspired by its sister conflict, the War on Terror. This new strategy will be more of an “if-you-can’t-beat-them-join-them” maneuver; or, perhaps more accurately, a sort of “fight-fire-with-fire” approach, except we will be taking the fire and fighting something totally different with it. By “it,” I am referring to “the fire.” And by “something totally different,” I am referring to “drugs.” By “the fire,” I am referring to “our new strategy.” And, finally, by “our new strategy,” I am talking about a Jihad on Drugs.

Yes, sir — Jihad. It is our intention to turn this fearsome term and the ideology it represents into our own weapon, to actually make people afraid to buy, sell, or use drugs, just as your administration has made people afraid to drive across bridges and travel internationally by constantly mentioning the phrase “terror alert: elevated.” While we understand there are differing kinds of jihad — personal, verbal, or “peaceful” jihads, for example — we do not know exactly what those other kinds are really about, and so have completely ignored them for purposes of our plan. In other words, we are referring solely to “bad jihad,” although I do not believe these are the exact words of the Quran.

Regarding ground-level tactics, we have already drawn out plans for specific types of operations to be carried out in the first stages of the Jihad on Drugs, which, if given the green light, shall occur in one broad sweep across America and the rest of the world. These tactics include, but are not limited to:

— Bombing actual physical drugs, drug users, and drug dealers, as well as those who harbor actual physical drugs, drug users, and drug dealers (we thought you would appreciate this touch)

— Raiding and pillaging so-called “cannabis clubs,” “hookah bars,” and “K-holes” (we admit we have not yet found any of these holes, but we are actively looking)

— Napalming suspected methamphetamine laboratories and, by default, the entire cities of San Bernardino and Hemet, California

— Complete denial of the 1960’s countercultural movement, as well as immediate removal of any written history of said movement

— Chemical warfare on the set of Weeds (or, barring that, permanent cancellation of the show)

— Water-torturing/electrocuting hip-hop “music” (if you want to call it that!)

— Hijacking and derailing of Cat Stevens’ Peace Train. (Everyone knows that where there are hippies, there are drugs. Furthermore, I hear the guy’s Muslim now; he may clue us in on its whereabouts)

— Forcing all male pharmacists (“legal drug dealers”) to wear emasculating pink ice-cream-cone insignias on their shirtsleeves

— Executing all female pharmacists (why the heck not?)

— And, of course, releasing swarms of aphids on commercial aircraft mid-flight (unbeknownst to crew and passengers), and then crashing said aircraft into suspected marijuana farms

As you can see, Mr. President, it is a tenacious attack plan with a high potential for success if properly executed.

The seemingly difficult question, we realize, is how we might successfully carry out a drug jihad of such grandeur and proportion without the aid of Islamic extremists, or mujahadin (or “strugglers,” if you want to be PC about it). But the answer is simple: We outsource.

People in these third-world countries evidently are starving for work — if the telecommunications industry is any example — and the wages are dirt-cheap. Furthermore, it should be obvious by now that we are in no shortage of Islamic struggler-extremist-people. (These guys are everywhere! Am I right?) With that being said, we should be able to assemble a team of Allah-praising, fanatical mujahadin in no time flat. As a bonus, there is a high likelihood that some of these fellows are still on the payroll.

Lastly, I bring to your attention the second prong of our proposed attack, whereby we shall vilify drugs and those associated with them (infidels) through an advertising blitzkrieg and media smear-campaign. Admittedly, this facet of the plan is still in its embryo stages, but here are a few ideas that have been floating around the office:

— Subliminal television images alternating between burning methamphetamine labs and disfigured babies

— Bringing back those “this is your brain on drugs” commercials, but with spooky Arabic chanting in the background

— A public beheading of Woody Harrelson

As for printed propaganda, we have also begun work on a nationwide billboard campaign, wherein every billboard in the United States will be commandeered in the name of the Jihad on Drugs, and painted over with anti-drug/pro-jihad directives such as:

— If you’re selling the Jah, you’re against Allah

— Death to American imperialist heroin addicts!

And, my personal favorite:

— Smoke speed, go to Hell

I don’t know about you, sir, but I am excited. As you can see, we have already invested considerable time and effort into developing our new strategy, one that we feel is practical and, most importantly, will work. For this reason, we at the Office of National Drug Control Policy strongly urge you to sign off on our proposal and allow us to begin our quest to rid the nation — indeed, the world — of drugs, drug dealers, and drug addicts.

God is great!

John P. Walters

Drug “Jihadist” (?), Office of National Drug Control Policy

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