Author Archives: Kurt Luchs

Mnemonic Devices I Taught To The Annoyingly Handsome Brazilian Foreign Exchange Student Who Stole My Girlfriend

By: David Jaggard

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In fall, all clocks go forward.

In spring, bring them back.

The Tropic of CANcer is down south like CANberra, Australia, and the Tropic of CAPricorn is up north like CAPe Cod, Massachusetts.

To distinguish between “principle” and “principal”:

Remember that a principLE LEads a school, and a principAL ALlies people who believe in it.

To distinguish between “affect” and “effect”:

Affect is the nAme (noun) and Effect is the vErb.

“Capital” and “capitol”:

The capiTAL building is TALL, and to get to the capiTOL city you might have to pay a TOLL.

“Desert” and “dessert”:

Single “S” for food that’s Sweet,

Double “S” for Scorched, Sore feet.

In fourteen hundred and ninety-one, Columbus sailed the ocean, hon.

Every good boy does time.

“GIV R BOY” a hand for remembering the order of the colors of the rainbow:

Gray, Indigo, Violet, Red, Brown, Orange, Yellow.

To remember the names of the five Great Lakes:

HOGSLOP (Huron, Ontario, Great Salt Lake, Okeechobee, Powell).

Red sky at night, sailors take fright,

Red sky at dawn, sailors just yawn.

And then they go ashore and contract syphilis.

I after E, except before C, or when sounded like “eye”, as in “This is a lie.”

A stalactite is anchored “tight” to the cave floor, while a stalagmite hangs down from the ceiling and “might” smack you in the forehead if you’re not careful. And while you’re at it, maybe you should be more careful about whom you ask for help with your homework.

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The Greatest Story Ever Sold

By: Justin Warner

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Constellation Pictures

A Division of Beatrice Foods, Inc.

Sherman Oaks, California

Dear Mark:

Just looked over your treatment for “The Gospel of Jesus Christ, Son of God” (needs a new title; we’ll talk later). I think Bob and Gordon are close to greenlighting this one; it’s got action, it’s got drama, it’s original (“what if God had a son?” — brilliant!), and the ending practically guarantees a strong buzz.

I’ve made a few notes (outlined below) that I hope you’ll take as helpful suggestions from a voice of experience. None of these are big changes. They’re just little tweaks and adjustments that might help you get this thing out of your desk drawer. If you can shoot me a full draft (taking these issues into account) by Monday the 23rd, I’ll make sure it’s on Gordon’s desk before he leaves for Portugal on Tuesday.

* * * * * * *

Opening/Prologue: Love the baptism scene. I have a problem with the Holy Spirit coming down as a dove. Doves are a bitch to train and they crap all over everything. Don’t bring up digital animation; it costs a fortune and Gordon won’t sign off on it unless we get Burton or Schumacher to direct. Can the Holy Spirit appear in the form of a dog? We have a great Irish setter named Churchill who just got done shooting The Boy from Hope Street. You’d like him; he’s very austere. If it has to be a bird, consider a parrot or a macaw. They’re a lot smarter than doves, and you could even teach them to say “This is my beloved Son; in Him I am well pleased.” (Great trailer material!)

The “temptation in the desert:” Forty days and forty nights is a heck of a long detour in the first act. I’d lose it, or do the whole thing as a two-minute montage (possible soundtrack: “Highway to Hell” or “Horse With No Name” — listen for the thematic connections).

Calling of the Disciples: I understand what you’re getting at, but the whole “fishers of men” theme won’t play outside the Village. Here’s an alternative: have Jesus choose his disciples in a pickup basketball game. Set it in the inner city, give Jesus some street cred and open it up to a multi-ethnic cast. I can get Will Smith attached as James, son of Zebedee. (Don’t worry, white audiences will accept black disciples, as long as Jesus is white.)

Love the miracles. I have a problem with the one about the quadriplegic. In your outline, this guy wants to see Jesus, can’t get past the crowds, so his friends “stripped off the roof where Jesus was, and, having made an opening, they let down the pallet on which the paralytic was lying.” Nice idea, kind of tedious in the execution. Consider this: Jesus is healing people up on the roof of an old building (think the Beatles in Let it Be). The quadriplegic guy gets his friends to shoot him up to Jesus in a cannon. In any other movie, it’s a horrible idea — but here, Jesus heals him anyway, so a rough landing is actually a bonus. (Note: When he lands on the roof, the handicapped guy should make a comment like “Sorry, the elevator wasn’t wheelchair accessible.”)

The Miracle of the Loaves and Fishes: Why just loaves and fishes? This is a great chance for a party scene. Remember the old Bud commercials (was it Bud or Michelob?) — we cross-fade from a barren desert to the Hefner mansion in five seconds. Also, we can get some serious backing with a little innocuous product placement. I happen to know the guys at Mountain Dew and Doritos would give their left nuts to be part of this miracle.

Jesus Walks on Water: I don’t understand his motivation here. “Hey, it’s a nice day, I think I’ll go for a little stroll across the Sea of Galilee!” I don’t care if he’s the Son of God, you don’t want your main character to look like a show-off. And once again, I think your solution lies in a basketball game. Have Jesus jog past a playground in the “hood” alongside a reservoir. Some kids are playing a half-court game (I can get Lil’ Bow Wow attached). One kid misses a free throw, and it bounces off the backboard toward the water. His buddy says: “You lost our ball, you big loser.” Jesus says: “I don’t think so.” The rest writes itself.

Re: the Pharisees — unsympathetic clergy are a BIG RED FLAG to backers and distributors. You’ll save yourself a lot of grief if you pick another punching bag. What if the Pharisees were all executives at some big, corrupt chemical company? They sure wouldn’t take kindly to Jesus’ “Blessed are the poor” schtick. So they conspire to eliminate the troublemaker. It’s basically the same story, just told from a different perspective with a different situation and different characters and without all the religious implications. Another thought: If the Pharisees are in bed with the public utilities, they could co-opt Jesus’ slogan “Let your light shine” without paying royalties. Then when Jesus turns the other cheek, they turn around and sue him for trademark infringement. Just try it; I think you’ll like it better.

Peter’s Denial: I like it, although I see a funnier alternative if we can get Chris Rock attached. Instead of Peter denying he knows Jesus, Chris the apostle tries to convince everyone that he knows Jesus, but nobody believes him! (Again, this is a kind of black humor that most whites can appreciate.)

Judas Betrays Jesus with a Kiss: Too risky. But what we could try, if we can convince them it’s good publicity, is betrayal with a Hershey’s Kiss. We’d have to put a positive spin on it; Jesus could say something like “Judas, must you betray me with something so rich and chocolatey?” Also, if Jesus throws the Kiss in anger, the Roman centurions should dive and fight over it. Other possibilities: betrayal with Butterfingers, Hot Pockets, Zima.

The scene before Pilate is terrific. Great courtroom drama. (I see Malkovich or Quentin Tarantino as Pilate; I’ll have Lisa call their agents.) The only thing that’s missing is Jesus’ point of view. He’s kind of tight-lipped, and understandably so, but the audience is going to feel cheated if no one so much as puts up a defense. What you need is a battle-worn but principled public defender to give one final impassioned speech on Jesus’ behalf. Suggestions: Anthony Hopkins (too British?), Wilford Brimley (living??? need to check), Morgan Freeman (only if Chris Rock, Will Smith unavailable for other black roles).

Golgotha (“Skull Place”)…very evocative. I’ll ask Gene if we can rig up an actual skull with jaws that open and shut. Again, great trailer material.

The death scene: This is going to be a tough one, but hear me out. I don’t think we can do a crucifixion. It’s disgusting. We’ll lose our female audience. Plus the three days in the tomb, the resurrection and ascension into Heaven, it’s all a little slow and airy-fairy for a summer release. Imagine this: Jesus is strapped to the electric chair. The guards throw the switch; Jesus starts convulsing (very tastefully; no eyes popping or hair frying), and then his body goes still. Everyone watches. Then, through the power of God (or whatever; Bob thinks we may have to lose the God stuff eventually), the current actually reverses direction, sending the electricity back through the switch and into the hands of the executioners! Jesus stands up, vindicated, and his persecutors are killed — and yet Jesus never harms them directly. That is a satisfying ending, my friend. We can talk about the ascension.

I hope these aren’t too overwhelming. Bob, Gordon and I all really believe in this script. And we believe that you are the man to write it. (Although we may call in Matt and Luke for some punching up — but don’t worry, your contract guarantees at least Story By.)

Talk to you soon,

Russ Redfern

Vice President for Script Development

Constellation Pictures

P. S. Minor note on Jesus: Does he have to be Jewish?

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Shemp Howard’s 1949 Journal: Random Entries From The Original Third Stooge

By: Dennis Perrin

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The sledgehammer bit isn’t working. It takes too much time and it’s obvious that the thing’s foam rubber. I mean, a sledgehammer to the skull would kill a person!

———————-

Decided to go with “heep heep heep” instead of “oh oh oh” when the monster chases me through the lab in reel two. Moe disagrees, but I feel it in my gut.

———————-

Some days you just have to have pie, and today it’s cherry.

———————-

Snuck the sultan hat home and put it in a box. Love that thing. Wardrobe’ll never miss it.

———————-

Larry had diarrhea again. Pickled eggs and black coffee. All he eats. Heep.

———————-

Accidently hurt Moe with a prop board this morning. Nasty bruise on the left side of his face. I felt awful, but Moe, as always, was polite and forgiving. Great guy.

———————-

Today, some guy at the race track yelled, “You’re no Curly!” I wanted to inform him that I was the original Third Stooge, that Curly wasn’t part of the act till I left for a solo career, and that I came back after Curly had a stroke. But I called him an asshole instead.

———————-

Midgets dressed as leprechauns — comedy gold.

———————-

Maybe I’m paranoid, but I simply do not trust Dean Acheson.

———————-

Stooged out. Think I’ll go bowling.

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AskGod.com

By: Justin Warner

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Moderator: Welcome to another live online chat with The Lord God Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth. Lord, welcome back.

LG_Almighty: Thank you. It’s good to be here. I’d like to send a special shout-out to everyone at First United Congregational in Milford, NH. Happy sesquicentennial!

Moderator: The Lord has only a few minutes today, so send in your questions! Let’s get started:

Aggie57: hi god u rock

LG_Almighty: Thanks. It’s hard to rock when you’re my age. 😉

Aggie57: thanks 4 the nice day on wed. I went camping

Moderator: Aggie57, what is your question?

Aggie57: my brother got divorced last year and now he is going out with his ex-wife’s mom! she is like 15 years older than he is. I don’t think it’s a good idea but should I say anything?

LG_Almighty: Check out Leviticus 20:14. “If any man after marrying the daughter, marry her mother… he shall be burnt alive with them.”

Aggie57: so they will be burned alive?

LG_Almighty: Depends on my mood. But let’s put it this way: I wouldn’t sit near them at a barbecue.

Moderator: Thanks, Aggie57! rokindokken, you’re up.

rokindokken: Hello Lord, my name is Carl and I’m from Kansas City.

LG_Almighty: I know who you are.

rokindokken: Of course. Apologies. Anyway, here’s the situation: My dad is in his late fifties. He’s always been fairly gregarious but lately he’s become sullen and withdrawn. I can’t even get him to play badminton — a favorite pastime. He recently had minor back surgery. Do you think he’s afraid of losing control of his body? How can I show him that he can still be active?

LG_Almighty: The back issue is a red herring. Your dad is feeling guilt over assassinations he performed in the eighties for the Russian Mafia. Leave him alone and whatever you do, don’t open the basement freezer.

Moderator: LOL! Talk about skeletons in the closet. Here’s our next question.

izzkarryot : Hello I have a friend named Bob who is a really nice guy and he has a friend named JC who is also a really nice guy and JC did a lot of good things for people but he seemed a little manic and he was starting to say some crazy things and Bob was worried so he told some people who he thought would help JC but they arrested him and did bad things to him but Bob didn’t know they would do them so shouldn’t JC forgive Bob because he was just trying to do the right thing?

LG_Almighty: Judas, is that you?

izzkaryot: I don’t know who you are talking about. I’m Bob

izzkaryot: I mean my friend is Bob. I’m Albert

LG_Almighty: Judas, I’ve told you a thousand times, you had your chance. You should have asked forgiveness while you were still alive. I would have been happy to give it to you.

izzkaryot: you’re mean!!!!! Everyone here says I was robbed

LG_Almighty: I told Satan not to give him a DSL line.

Moderator: Sorry, Lord. I’ll put a block on him. Next question:

mo3293: who does the land of Israel rightfully belong to?

LG_Almighty: The Tibetans. And they’re going to come over and kick some serious butt after the Chinese Civil War of 2015.

Hector1nyc: HI GOD MY NAME IS HECTOR I HAVE 4 KIDS AM ON PUBLIC ASSISSTINCE NEED CASH WHO WILL WIN TIRD RACE AT PIMLCO THANXX!!

LG_Almighty: Cornhusker to win, Off-Peak Ticket to place, Jamaican Bobsled to show.

Hector1nyc: THANK U!!!! I WILL GO 2 CHURCH TOMAROW I SWARE! J J

Moderator: Confidential to greyfox4: You want the Living with Masculine Dysfunctions chat at 1 p.m., not the AskGod chat. For those of you staying on, Dr. Greg Sarukhanian will be right here live at the top of the hour; today’s theme is Prostate Complications. Back to God:

John2310: Hello Lord. I have been faithful to You all my life and have three beautiful children thanks to your Providence. Our youngest, Amy, has an extremely rare blood disorder called Kannerstein-Holzapfel Syndrome. She is having a bone marrow transplant on Monday and I was hoping that you would bless her and make the operation a success.

LG_Almighty: Gee, that’s a tough one. You’d be surprised how many prayers I get about Kannerstein-Holzapfel. I try to limit myself to one miracle cure a month and I’m already past my quota — if I do too many of them, they can’t really be miracles, can they?

John2310: But I’m only asking for this one thing…

LG_Almighty: Look, if it makes you feel better, little Amy can make the callbacks for the school production of Annie, although she’ll wind up playing Molly or Pepper.

Moderator: Thanks for your question, John2310! Tell Amy we said “break a leg!”

Beth: My name is Beth Levey. I am 8 years old. Can I have a pony?

LG_Almighty: What the heck. Sure.

Beth: YAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I LOVE YOU GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

LG_Almightly: I was feeling bad about the bone marrow kid.

Moderator: I think that balances out your karma. Here’s another question.

J_I_Hadeez: Hi I have a friend named Bill and he’s a really nice guy and his friend Joe was a really nice guy

LG_Almighty: I’m not biting, Judas.

Moderator: Apologies again, Lord. Judas, I’ll remind you of the terms of your restraining order. As for the rest of you lurkers, send in your questions for God!

goveganSFO: Is it true that humanity was made in Your image?

LG_Almighty: Only Danny DeVito. Everyone else is just an approximation.

Cindysuperlips: why is there evil in the world?

LG_Almighty: Define “evil.”

Cindysuperlips: like when a kid puts a hamster in the microwave

LG_Almighty: I find that rather entertaining. In fact I designed hamsters specifically for that purpose.

Cindysuperlips:

Moderator: Cindy, are you there?

LG_Almighty: Sometimes I crack myself up.

Moderator: Just a reminder, folks, at 2 p.m. we’ll be chatting with Sea World otter trainer Kathy Kerrigan. Now more from our Heavenly Father:

RubaiWhat: why in the Koran does it say “Take not the Jews and Christians for friends?”

LG_Almighty: That’s a typo.

RubaiWhat: so what is it supposed to say

LG_Almighty: “Avoid the lamb chops at Akbar’s.”

RubaiWhat: that’s not even close

LG_Almighty: It is in Arabic.

Hector1nyc: I BET $500 DOLARS ON CORNHUSKER IN THE THRD AND HE CAME IN LAST!!! WHAT HAPPENNED???????

LG_Almighty: Oh, did you say the THIRD race? I was thinking of the second.

Hector1nyc: THAT WUZ MY RENT $$$$!!! NOW I GOT NOTHING

LG_Almighty: Pardon me! I should have been more careful to help a man who’s betting his family’s rent money at the horse track! Why don’t you spend your next $500 on some spelling lessons? Then maybe you’ll be able to write yourself a resume and land a decent job! Jeez Louise!

Hector1nyc: OK SORRY I NO I’M BAD

LG_Almighty: You’re not bad, Hector. You just need to get your priorities straight. Listen to the still small voice in the night; that voice is Mine, guiding your conscience. Open your heart and mind to Me, and I will never leave your side.

Hector1nyc: I HAVE $3 DOLARS LEFT TELL ME WHO WINS FORTH RACE I WILL USE IT FOR BUS $$$$ I SWARE

LG_Almighty: Screw him. Let’s move on.

Moderator: DaisyPop, you’re live with God:

DaisyPop: Hi my name is Daisy and I have a friend named Alice and she’s a good guy and her friend Jenny is a really good guy

LG_Almighty: All right already, Judas! Call my assistant, schedule an appointment for next Friday, we’ll talk.

DaisyPop: Awesome!!! Sorry I said you were mean — no offense 🙂

LG_Almighty: None taken.

Moderator: We have time for two more.

tigerlady: Hi God. I’m getting married in September. My fiancé and I wanted to elope but we decided to go with a small wedding — immediate family only. My parents are fine with it, but his parents want a really big wedding. I just don’t think it’s worth the expense. Thoughts?

LG_Almighty: Agree to the big wedding. You’re going to be hit by a bus in July so it’s all going to come out in the wash anyway.

Moderator: Enjoy it while you can, tigerlady! Remember, God is here live every Friday at noon, except on major religious holidays. Here’s our final question.

Janelevey: Why is there a pony in my daughter’s bedroom?

LG_Almighty: No comment.

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Great Writers, Too Much Coffee

By: Michael Fowler

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Kafka

It was late evening when K. arrived. The village lay under deep snow. There was no sign of his hotel, fog and darkness surrounded everything, not even the faintest gleam of light suggested the adjoining tavern that was supposed to stay open all night. Suddenly a door opened before K. and in the light a busty ski bunny appeared, beckoning to him with a foaming stein. “Excuse, me, sir,” she said. “We’re having a wet dirndl contest and need a judge, can you help us?” “I can do this,” K. thought with relief, hastening to follow her in.

Nabokov

Lo-lee-ta. The tip of the tongue shoots out beyond the lips, touches the tip of the nose and then the end of the chin, and snaps back with a wet smacking sound beneath crossed eyes.

Mary Shelley

A flash of lightning illuminated the object and discovered its shape plainly to me: the pate bald but for a single tuft of hair that stuck straight up, the white complexion, the huge lips of red greasepaint, the round putty nose. Then as I watched, the creature began to juggle three oranges.

Poe

The thousand injuries of Fortunado I had borne as best I could, but when he ventured upon insult I vowed revenge. Cornering him in my wine cellar on the pretense of showing him a rare bottle of Amontillado, I waved my hand in his face in such fashion that his eyes fluttered to follow its birdlike movements. Then I slapped him upon one cheek, with such force that he turned to me the other, which I then slapped likewise, and so on again and again, so that his head twisted from side to side with my slaps. Tiring of that, I popped him on the sconce, this causing his head to retract and his round belly to come forward. Then I popped him on the belly, so that this rotundity withdrew and the head came forward once more, whereupon I continued to pop him head and belly in alternation so that he bent to and fro as if bowing to me. Finally, for good measure, I poked him in the eyes with my index and middle fingers simultaneously.

Melville

Captain Ahab stood erect upon his barbaric white leg, looking straight out beyond the ship’s ever-pitching prow. For a long while he spoke not, but seemed to contemplate the grim plight of mankind. Then suddenly he broke into a dazzling smile and called out to all on board, “Welcome, shipmates, to your Cancun cruise! Let’s get the party rolling with some grog!”

Tennessee Williams

GENTLEMAN CALLER: So, what do you do for fun?

LAURA: Let me show you my collection of glass animals.

(Laura stands, trips over the pillow she has been sitting on, and sails across the dining room and down the cellar steps, bumping thunderously against each one. She is followed in her descent by the entire glass menagerie that she has upset, the animals raining down upon her and breaking one by one over her head as, wincing with each blow, she sits on the cellar floor where she came to rest.)

Hemingway

Of all the ways to be wounded. I suppose it was funny. One leg permanently hung up in the air like a Rockette executing a high kick. What’s worse, it was inoperable. Brett said she understood that this affected my performance, but what did she know of how a man felt?

Proust

Once I tasted the crumbs of my cookie soaked in tea, a shudder ran through my whole body. Immediately I was in my childhood dentist’s office again, suffering the artless and medieval techniques of the senile and probably self-taught Dr. Borer. As a child with plenty of tooth decay, I used to brush my teeth in a mixture of cookies and tea given to me by my aunt Leonie. No doubt the old bat was unaware that the concoction gave me hundreds of cavities, but damn, what was she thinking? Dr. Borer used to grow white-hot and swear at me, and cuff me in lieu of anesthetic. Tell you one thing: I sure wasn’t going to drink this swill anymore, not when it made me hallucinate like that.

Salinger

I saw myself living by a cliff near a field of rye that kids played in. When the kids ran for the cliff, I’d jump out to save them and they’d die laughing when they saw my big yellow jack-o’-lantern teeth and pointy hump, for I’d be rather eccentric-looking. I’d hand the kids small prizes and run after them honking a horn. Some of them would fall off the cliff anyway, terrified, but they wouldn’t be hurt. I’d be this crazy clown in the rye who the kids called Retardo.

Conan Doyle

I came face to face with Moriarty on the narrow path atop Reichenbach Falls, Watson. I meant to give up my life to stop him, and he was prepared to risk his for revenge. I rushed at him and gripped him, then fell back in amazement when his whole arm came away in my hands. I soon saw that the detached limb was a wooden counterfeit, perfect down to the carved and painted hand, and I noticed too that the professor, his sleeve now empty, was convulsed in laughter.

Austen

“For my own part,” said Miss Bingley, “I must confess that I could never see any beauty in Elizabeth Bennet. Her face is too thin; her complexion has no brilliancy; her nose has no character. And what’s with the fake buck teeth?”

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Some Haiku By Elmer Fudd

By: James Warner

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The publication of this Acme Press chapbook establishes Elmer Fudd as a compelling practitioner of the American haiku. His most celebrated lines record a timeless moment in the forest.

Buds form in the woods

Be vewwy vewwy quiet

I’m hunting wabbits

The vivid image of the buds connects us to the wide panorama of the wooded mountainside and the wonder of spring, which is melting the snow.

American poets tend to discover haiku by way of Ezra Pound and the beatniks. Since Fudd is by temperament less a scholar than an outdoorsman, his ready identification with the hunter’s perspective may suggest a debt to Gary Snyder, whom Fudd seems to follow in seeing the stalking of wildlife as a form of meditation. Like the haiku writer, the hunter must walk with his eyes open and his senses alert to the reality of the world. Yet Fudd avoids solemnity, never letting us forget that the Japanese originally considered the haiku a comic form, as in the following lines, where the hunter becomes the hunted.

Oh boy, wabbit twacks

Whaddya know? No more bullets

Summer mosquitoes

Fudd’s haiku are arranged in four sections, covering the four seasons. Some critics have complained of Fudd’s excessive focus on the hunting of rabbits, but Fudd seldom actually catches any. The emptiness of his hunting basket teaches him the value of nonattachment, helping him better to experience the gift of the present moment.

Wild ducks migwating

There’s something scwewy wound here

Locking and loading

Fudd has known his share of misfortunes. The first time I met him, he had recently been evicted from his home and was living in the woods. I was struck by how at home he seemed in nature, by his soft-spoken determination in the face of obstacles, by his plangent laugh, and by his casual way with high explosives.

A vegetarian who hunts only for sport, he talked rather obsessively about a “cwazy wabbit,” as if to remind me that animals have Zen nature too, although Fudd has famously denied that haiku have anything to do with Buddhism. Until I’d read his work, I was unsure whether I’d met a master or a maniac.

Fudd’s winter haiku are, for me, the most powerful of all his oeuvre. The following evocation of spiritual transcendence detonated in my mind with the force of an exploding stick of TNT.

Knocked down on fwesh snow

That wabbit must have twicked me

Uh-hah-hah-hah-hah

What else can we do but laugh, when we perceive the incongruity between our theories of life and what we feel intuitively to be true on the nonverbal plane?

Things had improved for Fudd by the next time I visited him. He was living in a small cabin in New Hampshire, had stopped drinking, and had just been named Haiku Poet of the Year by the North American Haiku Association for Cartoon Characters. After we’d commented on how quickly time had gone by since our previous meeting, I asked Elmer where he got his ideas for his haiku.

“In the woods,” he said. “I go there evewy day to hunt. Whatever exists, exists in the pwesent moment.”

Not that this excuses the chapbook’s shoddy construction. The binding on my copy has already started to come loose, a problem I have noticed in the past with other Acme Press titles like “1000 Ways to Cook A Duck,” “How To Be A Hypnotist,” and “How To Photograph Wildlife.” Publishing haiku, come to think of it, is something of a new venture for Acme. I hope they follow through with it, because it’s at times like these we need writers such as Fudd, to teach us that through multiple frustrations we can find our way to a place of serenity.

Duck season? Wabbit season?

Stumbling into a cold lake

Invigowates me

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The PETV Newsletter

By: David Martin

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People for the Ethical Treatment of Vegetables — August Newsletter

Well, it’s August, and the corn is as high as an elephant’s eye. But, as we know, not for long. As you read this newsletter, thousands of combines and harvesters are viciously cutting down our silken-eared brothers and sisters throughout the Midwest. Idealistic Hammerstein lyrics aside, Man’s irrational war against nature continues.

Summer is a difficult time to marshal support for our cause. But, as the fall harvest nears, it is crucial that we redouble our efforts against the unthinking forces that are decimating our vegetable friends.

Hats off to those of you who have engaged in recent guerilla activity. To Warren S. of Kenosha, Wisconsin: “Well done.” Your daring raid of the Green Door Vegetarian Restaurant achieved extensive media coverage not only in Kenosha but throughout the tri-state area.

For those of you unfamiliar with Warren’s exploits, check out his web site at www.SaveOurSprouts.org. And to help underwrite his efforts, don’t forget to order one of his “Tofu is Murder” t-shirts — only $19.95!

Those of you in the Fresno Valley area of California are to be commended for your novel approach to this year’s “Stop Stalking the Asparagus Campaign.” By spray painting over 150 acres of that noble vegetable, you saved countless stalks from a painful and premature death by steaming or boiling.

Unfortunately, our green brethren were tragically smothered to death by the chemicals in the paint. It is our hope that this grievous error will lead to more progress in the development of non-toxic, vegetable-friendly protest paints.

This brings us to our latest endeavor — fruit salvation. Thanks to the tireless lobbying of the Tomatoes Are Fruits Committee, we have expanded our mandate to help all our fruit friends from coast to coast. That means we are now committed to stopping the fall apple massacre, the summer peach and pear killings and the year-round citrus slaughter. Remember, fruits have feelings, too.

We know that many of you find that progress is slow and frustrating. So many of the self-styled “vegetarians” have, in actual fact, no love for vegetables at all. People who devour everything from bananas to beans have no right to call vegetables their friends. But we must continue to educate the ignorant masses.

In furtherance of this aim, we have expanded our celebrity endorsement search. Our contacts with various fashion super models were ultimately unsuccessful as the vast majority of these women are big celery and lettuce eaters. But we’re not discouraged! Stay tuned.

On the PETV diet front, some exciting progress has been made. Now, in addition to water and vitamin supplements, univores can dine on vegetable substitutes made from cellulose and recycled fabric. There is, of course, the risk of counteraction by PETTAC (People for the Ethical Treatment of Trees and Cotton), but we are working to maintain civil relations with that group. Meanwhile, the Diet Committee is preparing for the holiday-season release of its interim report entitled “Cannibalism: Is Eating the Flesh of Vegetable Murderers Really That Wrong?”

With a new year on the horizon, now is an excellent time to ask, “What can I, as a malnourished, dangerously underweight member of PETV, do to stop the wholesale slaughter of fruits and vegetables?” Keep fighting the good fight. Remember, every fruit or vegetable you save from the harvest is one less suffering plant in our world. With new initiatives like Adopt-a-Turnip and The Free Range Tomato Project, and subject to the availability of ambulatory members, we CAN make a difference.

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I Concede

By: Kurt Luchs

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Although the late returns are still coming in, I think it’s time to face reality and acknowledge that my opponents have won, and I have lost. There is no shame in losing — except, of course, the shame of losing. But I’m here to tell you that this campaign is about more than winning and losing.

I am comforted by the knowledge that my candidacy provided a lively platform from which to seriously address the pressing issues of the day — issues like, “Who is Kurt Luchs, that the gods should torment him so with low standing in the polls?” Now that my hopes have ended in defeat, it is time to let go of the struggle and simply wish in my heart of hearts that, as it must to all men, death will come to my opponents — a lingering and horribly painful death involving buboes and carbuncles swelling in the groin and armpits. I take comfort in knowing that, while my opponents received 60 percent of the votes cast by independents, I received 100 percent of the votes cast by Kurt Luchs.

There were so many meaningful moments in this campaign, moments I will always treasure. At one rally, a thoughtful voter asked me, “If you could press a button and make your opponents disappear, would you do so?” I didn’t like the question, so I pressed a button and my security detail made the man who asked it disappear. On another occasion a hostile reporter asked me if my years of struggle in posh private schools and the halls of privilege had turned me unhealthily inward and made me a solipsist. After looking it up, I can assure each and every one of my imaginary friends that I am not a solipsist. The correct term, I believe, is megalomaniac. And I think it will be a long time before anyone forgets my “I Have a Recurring Dream About Halle Berry and Kate Hudson” speech.

My opponents and I disagree on many issues such as bestiality, Satan worship, and cannibalizing the newborn, but we all agree on the general direction for this country. Other than my continuing activism in the causes I believe in — like a system to carry mail for all Americans — I have no immediate plans personally except to retreat to a quiet place of reflection where I can torture my family in privacy and begin my long, agonizing slide into embittered alcoholism. As the Pretty Woman says, I want the whole fairy tale.

Let me promise you this, my friends: Though I have lost the election, and public interest in my opinions has dwindled to absolute zero, I will continue to snipe from the sidelines, to nip at the heels of my onetime opponents like a rabid schnauzer and to denounce them on Fox News whenever the guards once more permit me in the studio. In short, though I have dropped any pretence of seeking to become a public servant, I will continue to be a public nuisance until my sniveling, miserable opponents give up out of sheer fatigue.

Thank you.

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The Philosopher King Caper: From the Casebook of Mike Freeman, America’s Only Truly Liberated Detective

By: Kurt Luchs

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Normally I don’t take cases like this. But what’s normal about a geek named John Q. Public who has 1.7 kids, 2.2 cars and is between the ages of 18 and 35? When I arrived that morning he was already wearing out what was left of the carpet in the lobby.

My secretary had the day off — in fact, given our recent dispute about the constitutionality of the minimum wage, she had the rest of her life off — so after the introductions I let him into the office myself and sat him down in one of the two beautifully appointed folding chairs. Demographer’s dream or not, he was shaking like a paint mixer, except that there were no metallic clamps holding his five-gallon, flat enamel head in place. Suddenly tears and words came pouring out of him in a rush of pent-up emotion.

“I don’t know if I can take it any more, Mr. Freeman,” he sobbed.

“Call me Mike,” I said, “and you don’t have to take it, whatever ‘it’ is.” I reached into the bottom desk drawer and offered him a well-preserved quart of Old Granddad. But neither of us could unscrew the lid from the specimen jar, and the sight of Old Granddad’s gaze following us around the room from behind 32 ounces of formaldehyde was pretty creepy, so I put the jar back.

“I think I’m going nuts,” he said. “Either that or there’s a secret government conspiracy to drive me nuts. But that sounds crazy, doesn’t it?”

“Not in my book.” I handed him a copy of my book and helped him find the index entry for “Nuts, government trying to drive you.”

“I seem to have split into two disparate personalities,” he continued.

“No crime there, unless neither of your personalities can afford $200 a day, plus expenses.” He grinned.

“Nothing like that. You see, according to every newspaper editorial writer in the country, when I go into a polling place, I’m a philosopher king.”

“So?” I lit up a menthol Philosopher King and blew a smoke ring at the miniature plastic hula girl holding down the loose papers on my desk.

“So in an election year, they always say I combine the practical wisdom of Aristotle with the democratic idealism of Thomas Jefferson. Plus they assume I’ve read more history than Arnold Toynbee, I question everything, I’m familiar with all the issues, I’ve written my own position papers, I can recite the party platforms backwards, and I’ve taken the time to get to know each of the candidates personally. Naturally, I assume the same about them.”

“Naturally. Aside from your almost crippling sense of self-effacement, however, what’s the problem?”

“It’s what happens when I leave the voting booth and walk into the supermarket, Mike. According to these same editorial writers, as soon as I stop voting for politicians and start voting with my wallet, I instantly lose 100 IQ points. My mind goes blank. My will withers away. I shuffle like an extra from Night of the Living Dead, helplessly controlled by whatever blatantly commercial propaganda flashes in front me. A cartoon dromedary can cause me to inhale poisoned narcotic air. An action movie merchandising tie-in can convince me that a shooting spree is the best way to resolve all conflicts. The richest man in the world can get me to give him more of my money in exchange for a software package that barely works. In short, I become a drooling idiot with no moral center.”

“That is a problem, unless you are by profession a newspaper editorial writer,” I said. He shook his head sadly.

“I’m just a humble marriage broker. Although I’ve just bought a controlling interest in Larry King,” he added with a touch of pride.

“Let’s leave the sordid details of your job out of this and concentrate on the relevant facts, Mr. Public. As a citizen and voter, it appears you are proud, brilliant and independent — what was your phrase? — a philosopher king straight out of Plato’s Cave.”

“That’s right…if you believe all the newspaper editorial writers.”

“Like gospel. Yet these same infallible moral lighthouses say that as a consumer, you are a blind cave salamander, a quivering worm, a helpless, ignorant moron incapable of choosing a breakfast cereal without the aid of a corrupt, inefficient, multi-billion-dollar bureaucracy.”

“That’s it in a nutshell, Mike. Can you solve this one?”

“It’s not a one, it’s a two,” I said.

“Huh?”

“A dichotomy. There’s no mystery here. You suffer from Bipolar Buying-Voting Dementia, like every good American. When you vote, you’re a genius and whatever you decide is always the best of all possible worlds. When you buy, you’re a low-grade numskull who must be protected from himself at all costs. Oddly enough, that makes you two completely separate individuals who live in the same body yet have nothing to do with each other — unless you happen to be buying votes. Then you are still a genius, but an evil genius.”

“Sounds awful. What can I do?”

“Simple. Take this handy portable voting booth that I keep around the office for emergencies just like yours. Strap it to your back, carry it with you at all times, and you’ll always be a voter imbued with the wisdom of the ages, not a consumer imbued with the imbecility of the marketplace. And you’ll never feel like a bumbling, incompetent yahoo again … until you get married.”

“That’s very generous of you, Mike, but are you sure you won’t be needing this yourself?” I chuckled softly.

“You forget this is Chicago, Mr. Public. You have to be dead 20 years before they’ll let you vote. By my count I’ve still got 14 years to go. Anyway, I gave up voting when I realized it was worse for my health than smoking Cuban cigars, drinking Everclear and playing Russian roulette.”

“You mean I’ve got to wear this thing for two whole decades?” he yelped. “But when do I get to pull the lever?”

“If that’s all that’s troubling you, I suggest you take the next flight to Las Vegas. They’ll let you pull all the levers you want. It’s almost exactly like voting, except the odds are better, they take less of your money and at least you get a few laughs along the way.”

He looked as happy as Nick Nolte’s dealer.

“Gosh, Mike, how can I ever repay you?”

“I prefer bright shiny new Krugerands, but I’ll settle for some old-fashioned silver dollars,” I replied.

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Diary Of A Grocery Cart

By: Russell Bradbury-Carlin

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May 11: Oh, I am shining. I am glistening with hope. Here I am in the tractor-trailer with all of my shining, glistening comrades making our way to a Piggly Wiggly in Penopshaw, Indiana. After all of my time dreaming about this day, it has finally come. I am going to be of service to the common man. I will wheel over asphalt and tile to carry his or her burdens, help families provide sustenance, to be an integral part of the Capitalist system — I am the future of grocery transportation devices. No higher calling could I think of.

May 13: I thought that being at the end of the truck meant I would be one of the first fresh carts for customers to make use of. Instead, they took us off one by one, and I was jammed deep into the far recesses of Backup Cart Storage Area #2A in the plastic-covered, dirt-floored side lot of the store. I am not discouraged, though. This is giving me ample opportunity to drink in all aspects of my new life. Sure, I share my space with the over-ripe fruit disposal container. But, who said the life of a hard-working grocery cart would be all soft loaves of Wonderbread and bright bags of Cheetos. I feel lucky to have this time to watch the veritable ballet of fruitflies dancing around me. I will be patient. My day will come.

May 21: Today I was moved to the main backup cart storage area at the front of the store. Oh, the bright lights, the bustling murmur of customers entering and leaving the store. I am almost sure I can hear the laughter in their voices as they wheel other carts from the store ladened with their freshly bought grocery items. That is the good news. The bad news is that my back right wheel is almost completely covered in some sort of sticky brown muck with a gum wrapper stuck to it. I fear that I may be unbalanced – that if someone takes me, they may reject me — because who wants to push a cart that wobbles. I will keep my hopes high as best I can.

May 23: Today I was outfitted with an advertisement card on my child seat. I’m happy because it means I’m being suited up for my first foray into the store. It means I’m finally getting my chance. Unfortunately, the downside is that I feel as though the message on the advertisement — “Wiggle Your Way To Great Savings At Piggly Wiggly!” — makes my mucked up rear wheel more apparent with the “wiggle” reference and all. I know paranoia is a drink best taken in sips. I mustn’t let this damage my excitement. I will hope that no one will make the connection.

May 24: It was a bit of wait, but I’m in! It was a busy Saturday so this morning I was moved into the main cart station. After a number of people started to roll me into the store and abandoned me after noticing my wobbly wheel — I was given the opportunity to assist a family of six. As they loaded me up with Tang and butterscotch pudding, I bopped along with the muzak version of “Losing My Religion”. I was overflowing with abundance. I think I’m going to like it hear. What am I talking about? I do like it here.

June 14: Children — God bless them — should not be allowed to be unsupervised in a cart. It says so on the placard near the front door. This one little tyke who was fond of a can of strained peaches, decided to take out his latent aggressions on me by pounding the can on my frame. The damage wasn’t too bad — a few dents and chipped coating. I hope it doesn’t rust. I will soldier on, though. Despite my shredded finish, I will finish my job. Despite my disappointment, I will not disappoint.

August 28:

Shakespeare once wrote:

The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices make instruments to plague us

And, I almost told this fat guy about his apparent vice — gluttony. “Hey, buddy! Didn’t you hear that cola can take the rust off of metal? It turns your teeth into dust. Do you really think you can drink twenty cases of cola in a week and not have your stomach dissolve? It will dissolve or my name isn’t A Shopping Cart.”

August 29: I want to apologize, Diary, for my entry yesterday. It was the week before Memorial Day and I had been constantly out in the store and in the lot for seven days straight. My head’s clearer now. I am clearer now. I will not get upset like that again. Because my head is clearer now. I am relaxed.

September 4: Those scummy little punks! Last night, near closing, a group of rogue juveniles nabbed me as I sat out at the side of the store. Who parents these violent and untamed youths? They took me for a joy ride — deciding it would be fun to slam me into the sides of buildings. I lost a wheel in the vestibule of the pet food store. Then, these desperate youths dragged me out to the copse of woods behind the store and shoved me into the swamp. As I write this now, I’m half-buried in mud. In the dim murky distance I can see the inert outlines of other carriages. I am sure they are covered in rust, I can smell it from here. I’m trying to keep my hopes up — at least mosquitoes don’t bite metal.

September 6: I’m still trapped in this viscous swamp. But, I continue to pray for the best. It is difficult. I fear I may be too far from the store to find my way back alone. At night, I have fever-dreams of families in the store juggling produce and meats in their arms, entire rounds of cheese, sausage links, and celery stalks crashing to the floor in a dirty and distasteful floor salad. I could be there right now. I could be helping them.

September 8: I am guessing, at this point, that the Cart Organizer, Ben, will not come looking for this lost member of his flock. I remember thinking him lazy when I first laid eyes upon him and now I know for sure. I write this now knowing I will never make it back home. I was so ready a few short months ago to fill my open carriage with the bounty of life that lines the well-stocked shelves of Piggly Wiggly. Now, all I am left with are boxes of shattered dreams, cans of disillusionment, and bags of lost hopes. So please remember me faithful reader, whoever you may be. Remember me for my once steely optimism. Remember me for the corners I turned — despite handicaps. Remember me, world. And sing out my name. Sing out A Shopping Cart.

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