Interoffice Correspondence

Interoffice Correspondence

From: Yours Truly

To: The Foundation

Dear Sirs and Madams,

I write today with the news. Yes, I have the news. The news myself and the entire Nohv Pairjen Miento organization have anticipated for weeks. I am confident that each one of you is aware of what I am hinting at – not that this is some sort of guessing game.

If the person reading this letter is reading aloud to the foundation, please cue a drum-roll to sound after you have spoken with my voice: “Drum-roll please!” If you have missed the meeting, and are reading this notice on your own, cue the drum-roll yourself. No demand necessary.

With that, it excites me to announce to you that yes, we have the mothers. The mothers are in. Each and every one of them has signed the universal consent forms. They have halted their previous birth-control regiments. And currently, all are en route to the facility. That’s rights folks, all four-hundred and fifty-five of them. They’re excited. I’m excited. We’re excited.

I’ve included the results of our recently concluded experiment which, if you’ve been following closely, establishes the differences in ability between fraternal and identical brands. It seems our initial musings were unsound. Needless to say, we’re going with the identical brand.

D.W. and I will be joining you all on Tuesday for negotiations with representatives from the identical brand. The negotiations begin at eleven o’clock. The Head has expressed a desire for us all to meet together before the negotiations begin so that any misunderstandings or qualms may be resolved. The Head has specifically instructed me to inform you that this conference will be a safe place. Feel free to air out anything that is on your mind. I suspect there will be much to talk about. With that, what say we meet at seven o’clock? If that is too early for any of your transpacific commuters (I know tunnel service isn’t what it used to be) let either me or D.W. know a few days beforehand so we can arrange to meet at a later time.

But not much later.

Best drink your coffee,

Yours Truly, M.E-B., Ph.PI., M.D.O.

Horace and Doris will achieve excellence for every child

Horace and Doris are in charge. Horace and Doris are in charge of watching. Formulas #304 and #320 are strung on separate strings around Doris’ neck. Whenever Doris begins to feel her nerves she alternately unscrews the dropper tops of the bottles of #304 and #320 and pinches. Then a droplet of either #304 or #320 falls upon, and is absorbed by her tongue.

Horace has a special job other than watching. Horace is the Doll Manager. Horace manages the dolls. Specifically, along with breakfast, lunch, dinner, and midnight snacks, Horace hands out dolls. When Horace pushes the dolls through the E1617E, 549FF1, or FEE97F stroked triangular flaps, it is his job to ensure that the pointer on the dial underneath each doll’s overalls points to the name matching the name embroidered above each flap. After 46 years of being the Doll Manager, Horace has only 11 times pointed the pointer on the dial to a name that did not match the name embroidered above the flap into which the doll was being pushed.

This afternoon, Doris would drop 5 drops of #304 and 6 drops of #320 onto her tongue. Horace would also mismatch names for the 12^th and 13^th times in his lengthy career.

Like Horace, Doris also had an additional task other than being in charge of watching. She was to ensure that not one of the 455 she was in charge of watching ever sang. On her first day of work at age 22, the bosses informed Doris that singing was absolutely a “worst-case-scenario” type of situation. The boss standing to Doris’ left plopped their hand down upon her shoulder, looked Doris square in the eye with eyebrows raised, and reassured Doris that “Really, it never happens. You have nothing to worry about.” Doris smiled politely, laughed “Heh”, jarred her head to the right, looking on the other boss, now nodding with his lips a little up-puckered.

“Time to get the dolls now, Doris. I’ll be right back.”

“Is it lunchtime already?”

“Yep. Did you remember to put the chocolate milk cartons in the refrigerator this morning?”

“Oh shoot, I didn’t.”

“Ah, that’s ok. I’ll go get the dolls.”

There were 6 dolls in total. Divided into two subsets, Male and Female. Each subset contained a black, brown, and white doll. The funny thing is, there were only two types of dials, Male and Female.

The Female dial had 14 names to point to: Guadalupe, Barbara, Martha, Esther, Lisa, Jane, Neus, Minerva, Laurel, Shawn, Cassandra, Elizabeth, Mary, and Montserrat; while the Male dial only had 11 names the pointer could point to: Mark, Steven, Eric, Paul, George, Fox, David, Matthew, LeBron, William, or John.

Doris met Horace in the double doorway that to this day leads into the gymnasium. Horace hugged all 6 dolls to his chest while Doris pushed a cart holding 228 lunch trays, each hosting a rectangular slice of Tony’s Cheese Pizza, a serving-size container of Mott’s Apple Sauce, carrot and celery slices, a plastic cup 75% full of Newman’s Own Ranch Dressing, a Capri Sun, and either a cold skim, 1%, or 2% milk carton, or a warm chocolate milk carton. She believed coasting downhill was only satisfying after climbing up one.

Horace and Doris crossed the threshold from their florescent-lit watching area into the gymnasium. The illumination of the gymnasium always came from any number of the 455 televisions within each one of the 455 stationary canvas shelters. Each shelter has a square base and a circular crown. These shelters are constructed with non water resistant canvases – the sort painters usually buy at Dick Blick Art Supplies – PVC pipes, and a little bit of thread. Each one houses a child. Horace and Doris are in charge of watching these children.

Horace and Doris approach the shelter of the first. Doris hands Horace a lunch tray. Horace pushes the lunch tray through a 549FF1 stroked flap. Horace then raises his eyes, and double-checks the name embroidered above the flap. The name reads “George”. Horace then picks up a Brown and Male doll. He unfastens the overalls of the doll and grabs the dial on the doll’s back with his thumb and forefinger. He points the pointer of the dial to the name ‘George’, pulls the string, re-fastens the overalls, and pushes the doll through the flap. As Horace and Doris move on to the shelter of the second, voices can be heard. If Horace or Doris hadn’t worked as Doll Managers, Lunch Ladies, or been in charge of watching for 46 years they would have heard these voices.

Supervisors, Bosses, Visitors, Flies-on-Walls, and Walls always heard the voices. The Brown Male doll spoke to the first:

“Hey George, Georgie, Georgie-Boy, Georgie-ol-Boy! How are you doing today? Hey! I’m your Dad! I love you! I love you George. I love you Georgie. I love you. I love you George. Hey! Lemme put your Ma’ on!

George? George? Is that you? George! My Boy! How are you George? This is your Mom! George? Hey! I love you George! I am your Mom. I love you George. Give me a kiss. Come on. Give your old Mother a kiss. That-a-boy. Ok George. Be good now. Wait a second! Guess who wants to say hi? That’s right! Dog is here! Go ahead Dog, say hi to George.

Hey George, it’s your Dad! Did you hear Dog? Dog loves you! Ok. Hey George, me and your Ma’ gotta’ get going! Ok George? See you tomorrow! Have a good day at school, George. We love you. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. No singing now! Ok Georgie-boy! Take care now.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Shady

Very early this morning, a little grey bird arrived at her spring, summer, and fall home after a truly sustained trip. The friends and family birds of the little grey bird had become boring and annoying to her, as, for four consecutive days, they had done nothing together but fly, sleep, eat berries, and chit-chat. All of the grey birds cascaded down from the drippy cloud-layer when they realized their destination. Spiraling, the little grey bird floated and set down upon one of the branches belonging to the tree next to the school, which grew tasty berries.

Several sleepy-eyed people walked like ants upon a path towards the doors of the school. The little grey bird was happy to see the people of the school again. Sometimes, and usually when the tasty berries had become just berries, the little grey bird would sing a song for the people of the school. If the people of the school liked the song, they would drop crumbs of bread, French fries, or sour-patch kids upon the ground for the little grey bird to eat. Although the little grey bird was not hungry and had not yet grown tired of the tasty berries grown by the tree upon which she was perched, she decided to sing a song for the sleepy-eyed people of the school. How could she not? She was so excited to be back!

The little grey bird began to chirp her song. “Hey! Hey! Hey!” she sang. The little grey bird did not know of words besides ‘Hey’. She sounded ‘Hey!’ many times in seven or eight harmonious pitches.

As she sang, a notably sleepy-eyed boy slowly approached the tree. He saw the grey of the little grey bird in contrast with the kind of blue only a morning sky can be. The notably sleepy-eyed boy halted his walk, and contemplated what sort of reason, motivation, or intention a little grey bird might have to open and close her beak. He could not understand. He did not understand, because he could not hear the song of the little grey bird.

The little grey bird and the notably sleepy-eyed boy were immersed in air. The two bathed in unseen spinning molecules. Either one could only know of air in three ways: from the teachings of a parent, from a book, or from the presence of the smell created by airplane, bus, and car exhalations without proportional grass, lily-pad, and tree exhalations. Still, whether or not either the little grey bird or the notably sleepy-eyed boy was aware of the air, it certainly surrounded them.

All of these unseen spinning molecules are like ping-pong balls. They are buoyant and hollow. If one’s body so much as burps, trembles, or vibrates, all of the air in contact with a body will be moved accordingly. A bird’s song is especially suited for bumping unseen spinning molecules in such a way that it inspires people to drop crumbs.

The notably sleepy-eyed boy gazed upon the still opening and closing beak of the little grey bird. He contemplated furiously. Why would a bird be opening and closing their beak without also singing a song? Granted, without the mediation of a miracle, the notably sleepy-eyed boy would not come to realize that the reason he could not hear the bird’s song was because of the manner in which his head bumped air.

Within the head of the notably sleepy-eyed boy were four overhead projectors he had attained from his elementary school. As the bird sang, the four dusty, but functional overhead projectors within his head pitched, and cast out four different varieties of blue light.

The light of the first overhead projector propelled the blue of a ripe blueberry in sun.

The light of the second overhead projector launched the blue of a maturing potato spud, grown in cold.

The light of the third overhead projector concocted the sort of blue (really, more of an indigo-violet) seen as stains on the shorts and t-shirt of a kid who has rolled around in elderberries.

The light of the fourth overhead projector shot a beam of the blue of the sky, seen through a nimbostratus layer of cloud.

When the boy with notably sleepy eyes had halted to contemplate the opening and closing of the little bird’s beak, the lights leaving the overhead projectors from within his mind arranged themselves, intersected, and formed a cube of sorts. The cube assembled by the lights caged the little grey bird.

The notably sleepy-eyed boy stood, the little grey bird sang, the movements and understandings of unseen spinning molecules – air – were affected by both. But to reach the ears of the notably sleepy-eyed boy, the little grey bird’s song first had to ford the boundaries of the light. The light dismantled and broke the song of the little grey bird as the chirps roamed through its frame.

As the little grey bird’s song exited the square of light, eighteen hands emerged and stretched out from the midst of the darkness created by the contrast of the light of the overhead projectors within the mind of the notably sleepy-eyed boy. They edited the original order of the little grey bird’s song. If before deconstruction, the song was a subtle and uninterrupted flow of water from a sink’s faucet – beautiful in its simplicity – the eighteen hands had turned it into a noisy collection of shed dog hair, belly-button lint, dead skin flakes, and concrete dust – beautiful because of its existence.

One hand remained in the darkness. Before the smashed, broken, and now glued together song of the little grey bird entered the ears of the notably sleepy-eyed boy, this hermit hand sprayed down the transparencies atop each projector. Frantically, the hand drew a Kleenex out of a box, and erased the figures, images, and words previously written upon each of the four transparencies.

The hand quivered anxiously as he searched through the notably sleepy-eyed boy’s memories. The hand needed to remember before the song reached his ears. The hand remembered. The hand stopped shaking. The hand grabbed the nearest Vis-à-Vis transparency marker and quickly scribbled down what had been remembered. The work of the four lights and of the eighteen hands would have been exhausted in vain if the hermit hand had not remembered the correct fashion to interpret, translate, and express the little grey bird’s song.

The hermit hand had finished the rendition in time. Simultaneously, the glued-together song of the little grey bird entered the ears of the notably sleepy-eyed boy, and the mended lyrics entered the eyes of the mind of the notably sleepy-eyed boy.

The notably sleepy-eyed boy heard! Although, he did not hear “Hey! Hey! Hey!” Instead, his ears and eyes were flooded by and submerged in the labors of his mind’s hands and overhead projectors. He blinked and felt as though his contemplation was complete, that his wonder had been quenched. He began to bob his head to the glued-together song of the bird. This old and familiar tune, which may be beloved to many of you, looped over and over:

“Two trailer park girls go round the outside,

Round the outside, round the outside.

Two trailer park girls go round the outside,

Round the outside, round the outside…

Guess who’s back (back, back)?

Back again (gain, gain)?

Shady’s back (back, back).

Tell a friend (end, end).

Guess who’s back, guess who’s back

Guess who’s back, guess who’s back

Guess who’s back, guess who’s back

Guess who’s back…

I’ve created a monster…”

Natural and Artificial Flavors

…Well, then, does God love fictional characters?

No, Son, God does not love fictional characters.

Then… does God love people in movies?

Of course God loves the people who are in movies, Son

So God loves Robin Hood and Little John and Maid Marian?

Oh, Son… Are you talking about Robin Hood the movie?

Uh-Huh!

Son… Robin Hood and Little John and Maid Marian are fictional characters; I’ve already explained this to you.

But you told me God loves the people in movies…

The actors Son, the actors…

What are actors again?

Son, actors are the people who play the characters in the movies. In the movies, Robin Hood is a fictional character, he is a cartoon. Son, there is an actor who speaks for Robin Hood.

What do you mean?

An actor gives Robin Hood his voice, Son.

But Dad told me Robin Hood was a real person!

Yes, Son… Well… Maybe… Robin Hood might have been a real person sometime in history.

Mom?

Yes, Son?

Is history a movie?

No, no… Son, history is everything that has ever happened. The Cream of Wheat you ate this morning is history!

Oh, ok. So history is not a movie?

Good, Son, good.

So then… God loves Robin Hood?

Let me try to help you understand this, Son. God only loves sinners.

What are sinners?

I will explain that to you, if you let me get to that.

Ok.

Ok, Son, sinners are… Well… We are all sinners. I am a sinner, you are a sinner, Mr. Rogers is a sinner.

Mom! God does not love Mr. Rogers.

What? What are you talking about? Why is that, Son?

Mr. Rogers is a movie!

No, no, no, Son. Mr. Rogers is a man, he is a real person. He is just on television. People are not movies, and neither are characters in movies. Characters are in movies, but people are on television. Mr. Rogers is on television.

What?

Wait, wait, wait, Son. You still need to understand what a sinner is.

Why?

Because you are one.

Oh, ok.

Sinners are… are… Sinners are messed up! We’re all people, and we’re all sinners, and we are all messed up. Wait, Son, wait! Sinners are not just messed up. Sinners are evil! Sinners are bad, bad people. We are all evil, we are all bad people!

Oh, ok. So Mr. Rogers is evil?

Yes, son, yes! Finally, you understand.

What makes people become sinners?

Oh! Nothing! Ha, no one can become a sinner. We are just born this way. Everyone is a sinner. This is just the way we are!

Oh, ok. So, I am a sinner?

Yes! Son… Geez. Wow. Yum. That is music to my ears. It tickles me pink to hear that you know that you are a sinner!

Why, Mom? Why does it tickle you pink? Why is that music to your ears!

Are you ready for the best part?

Uhm, ok?

You have just received the key! Now that you know you are a sinner, you can unlock the door of your heart and invite God to come live in your heart’s house.

What?

Son! Son! You can invite God to come live in your heart. He gives you eternal life!

What?

Son, since you are a sinner, since we are all sinners… Well, Son… there are two things that can happen to a sinner when a sinner dies.

What?

Son, if a sinner dies, and God is living in that sinner’s heart’s house… Son, when a sinner dies with God inside their heart, they get lifted up to heaven to be with God forever and ever. For all eternity!

What?

Eternity… Eternity is… It is… Longer than anything you can ever imagine! Imagine the car-ride to Grandma and Grandpa’s house in Indiana… Are you imagining it?

Yes.

Now, imagine that the car ride never ever, ever, ever ended! We just keep driving and driving forever, and ever and never ever, ever get to Grandma and Grandpa’s house.

Whoa.

So, if you die with God in your heart, you get to live in the clouds with every sinner that has ever died with God in their hearts. This place you go when you die with God in your heart is called Heaven. It is the best place ever! It is better than anything that you will ever know here on earth. It is the best! Oh, but only the sort of sinners that go to our church will be in heaven.

Will Jaime be in heaven?

Yes, Son, she will be as long as she dies with God in her heart.

Yuk. I don’t want to go to heaven.

No, Son. No! Don’t you understand? Heaven will be awesome. It is the best place ever! Wait, wait, wait. I forgot to tell you!

What?

Do you remember eternity? Do you remember how long it is? How long it feels?

Yes.

Ok, ok. Son, if a sinner dies without God in their heart, they have no balloon to lift them up to heaven, the best place ever. They fall down, down, down into HELL! In hell, there is only fire, and brimstone, and the smell of sulfur, and sodomy, and rape, and pain, sorrow, and sadness. Everyone in hell is always burning. They are so thirsty down there! There is no water to drink. Everything is dry! There is no water!

Oh.

Imagine driving to Grandma and Grandpa’s house forever, and ever without any water, or even Mountain Dew to drink!

What? No Mountain Dew?

No, Son. No Mountain Dew.

I want to go to heaven.

That is music to my ears, Son.

Mom?

Yes, Son?

Since God is a balloon, can I put one inside Robin Hood’s heart so he can float up to heaven and drink water and Mountain Dew with me?