Honor Roll of Donors (Updated 7/21/09)

Here is a list so far of people who have donated to become sponsors of Will Franken's metaphorical NASCAR Car to Montreal (Please see entry below for more details!). Bless you each and every one. And if you haven't signed on to be a sponsor yet, there's still time!(PS - list will be updated as new sponsors donate)(Also, if you would like your donation to remain anonymous, please let Will know via winstonchurchill.will@gmail.com)

UPDATE 7/01/09 Joe Reifer Berkeley, CA signs on to sponsor Will Franken Team Montreal '09)

UPDATE 7/02/09 Arthur Culang; El Sobrante, CA and Jeff Gardner; San Jose, CA sign on to sponsor Will Franken Team Montreal '09)!

UPDATE 7/06/09 Michael Barrows; Pacifica, CA, Catherine Pateman; San Luis Obispo, CA, Daniel Levitin; Montreal, QC, Gevin Shaw; San Francisco, CA, Jessica Chen; San Francisco, CA, and David Silverman; Los Angeles, CA sign on to sponsor Will Franken Team Montreal '09!

UPDATE 7/08/09 Larry-Bob Roberts; San Francisco, CA; and Dan Barrett; New York City, NY join Will Franken Team Montreal '09!

UPDATE 7/15/09 Cinnamon Stillwell; Castro Valley, CA joins Will Franken Team Montreal '09!

UPDATE 7/16/09 Joe Rut; Oakland, CA joins Will Franken Team Montreal '09

UPDATE 7/17/09 Jill Bourque; San Francisco, CA joins Will Franken Team Montreal '09

UPDATE 7/20/09 Simon Agree; San Francisco, CA joins Will Franken Team Montreal '09

UPDATE 7/21/09 Neil Leiberman; San Francisco, CA joins Will Franken Team Montreal '09

Simon Agree (San Francisco, CA)
Dan Barrett (New York City, NY)
Michael Barrows (Pacifica, CA)
Eric Bone (Alexandria, VA)
Jill Bourque (San Francisco, CA)
Steven Capozzola (Washington, D.C.)
Peigi Chace (Brookline, NH)
Jessica Chen (San Francisco, CA)
Miles Comer (Phoenix, AZ)
Sean Crespo (New York City, NY)
Arthur Culang (El Sobrante, CA)
Jen Dziura (New York City, NY)
Edward Ehrbar (Los Angeles, CA)
Shoshannah Flach (San Francisco, CA)
Karl Fogel (New York City, NY)
Jeff Gardner (San Jose, CA)
Dawn Glenn (San Francisco, CA)
Emily Gordon (Brooklyn, NY)
Mark Grochowski (New York City, NY)
Carol Hartsell (New York City, NY)
Neil Howard (New York City, NY)
Richard Hubbard (Berkeley, CA)
Neil Leiberman (San Francisco, CA)
Daniel Levitin (Montreal, QC)
Randy Lowery (Savannah, GA)
Carlo Mastrogiacomo (San Francisco, CA)
Perrin Meyer (Albany, CA)
Lev Osherovich (San Francisco, CA)
Catherine Pateman (San Luis Obispo, CA)
Jim Pritchett (San Francisco, CA)
Joe Reifer (Berkeley, CA)
Vanessa Rentschler (Seattle, WA)
Larry-Bob Roberts (San Francisco, CA)
Joe Rut (Oakland, CA)
Gevin Shaw (San Francisco, CA)
David Silverman (Los Angeles, CA)
Cinnamon Stillwell (Castro Valley, CA)
Nathan ______ (Jersey City, NJ) (LAST NAME PENDING)

The Sad Ballad of Will Franken and His Birthday and His Gigs in Montreal and How You Can Help

Hello, my dear friends again. My lord, it certainly has been too long.
Too long indeed.

Anyway, tonight is the eve of my birthday. Tomorrow morning, June
30th, at approximately 7 a.m., I will officially turn 36 years old.

Birthday present? Why, thank you. Actually, there’s only one thing I
need this year. I recently received word that, after five years of
trying to get in and failing with each attempt, I have finally been
accepted to perform at this year’s Just For Laughs Festival in
Montreal, Quebec. However, since I’m not a “big name” in comedy (still), I am required to pay for my own transportation up north. So I am soliciting all good fans out there to
donate to become sponsors of the “Will Franken Has At Least Two More
Shows Left In Him” Montreal Tour. No amount is too small or too large.
By going to willfranken.libsyn.com and clicking on any of the Paypal
buttons, you can contribute to defray the cost of Will Franken making
his Canadian debut.

What? Why doesn’t Will Franken have any money to pay for his own trip?
Well, I’ll tell you.

Since I last wrote to you back in late March of this year, I have had
numerous ups and downs. More numerous are the downs than the ups it
seems like sometimes. But life wouldn’t be a roller coaster if the
only direction was down. That would be death. I’m not dead yet. So,
for the foreseeable future, I am not officially retiring. Although,
over the past six weeks, I have come frightfully close.

I don’t know where to start exactly. Let’s go back to December of ‘08
for a second. To tell the story will require an honesty from me which
will humble me and erase any misconceptions any of you may still
harbor about the rock-n-roll lifestyle that a comedian of my means
most assuredly does not lead. (I tend to omit a good deal of truth
about my life, particularly the economic inefficiency of my vocation,
in the hopes that the lie will eventually become the truth)

But right now, I cannot afford dishonesty.

CHAPTER ONE: THE CATS OF JERSEY CITY

In December of last year, I was living a miserable existence in a
dismal room of an attic apartment I shared with a 57-year old
substitute teacher in the unfashionable neighborhood of Woodhaven,
Queens just off of the relatively unknown J train subway line.

I thought I had hit bedrock when a few years before I arrived in
Berkeley, California to live out of my car at the Marina. Compared to
last winter, that was paradise. So when a friend of a friend of a
friend offered to sublet me his studio apartment in Jersey City for
$700 a month last December, I leaped at the opportunity. For the first
time since the Great Divorce of '07, I was going to be a man! At last!
My own place to create great works of art! And. . .who knows. . .maybe
a little hubba-hubba!

There was one catch, however. The friend of a friend of a friend (no
longer a friend) mentioned that his cats would have to come with the
apartment. He was moving in with a girlfriend in Hoboken who had a dog
and feared the two would not mix. He would be responsible for
purchasing litter and food and cleaning up after the cats when I was
away on comedy-related ventures, but I would have to take care of the
daily chores of feeding and box-cleaning when I was home. No worries,
I cheerfully thought. I have house-sat for cats before and expected no
significant problems. Boy, was I wrong.

My first night in my new place (Christmas Eve, 2008), I awoke to
discover the cats had urinated all over the bed while I slept. The
next day, I asked for "wiggle room" on the rent and was rebuked. “No,
Will” he snapped, “you knew what you were getting into.” Yet I can
honestly say that these were the first cats I had ever watched that
had no idea where the litter box was. But what was I going to do? Move
again? How many times can a man relocate in his life? I needed to
catch my breath. Perhaps the cats would get used to me with time.

No such luck. Though the cats did stop urinating, defecation and
vomiting were another story entirely. I told the landlord over and
over, but he wasn’t concerned in the least. As usual, I had blown the
first rule in business: never let the seller know you’re desperate. I
learned to live with it--constantly cleaning up messes and putting a
brave smile on the situation.

In late April, after returning from a relatively successful San
Francisco/Portland, OR tour, I returned to Jersey City. The landlord
hadn’t been by in days to check up on the cats. The place was covered
in feces and vomit. I called him up and demanded a reduction in rent
and he responded by evicting me. (Which he could do, since he never
put anything down in writing. I asked him over and over to do so, but
he told me he didn’t want to. Lucky for me, it turns out, as now he
can’t sue me for any of the money that he incredulously thinks I owe
him.)

I asked for a reasonable amount of time to look for another place.
During those few weeks, I scoured Jersey City for even just a room
that I could afford on my measly transcriptionist’s pay. (Yes, I had a
day job.) I couldn’t find any affordable lodgings that did not
contain the admonitions a) no smoking, b) no cooking, and c) no
visitors.

CHAPTER TWO: ON TO ROUND LAKE

There were no gigs on the horizon except for a May 16th callback in
Manhattan for the Just For Laughs showcase. I couched-surfed in the
days leading up to the show with the plan to stay with a friend in a
little town in Round Lake, NY (where I am writing this now). Round
Lake being only two and a half hours from Montreal, the plan was to do
the gig and retire to the countryside and await word on whether or not
I had gotten into the festival. Since I was responsible for paying for
my own transportation, I figured my positioning so close to Canada
would defray some of the cost.

My friend here had warned me ahead of time that it might be difficult
staying in Round Lake as I don’t have a car. Boy, was he right. The
nearest sign of life from where I am residing is a convenience
store/gas station a mile and a half up the road. At first it didn’t
matter. I was told by the Montreal coordinators that I should receive
word on whether or not I made it into the festival within two to four
weeks. Until that time, I thought, I would just relax in the country
and eke out an existence on my meager savings.

Well, four weeks soon elapsed and I started to worry that once again,
I would be denied a chance to perform in Montreal. I sunk into a great
depression. The plan as I had conceived it was a) if I got into
Montreal, I would take that as a sign to continue doing comedy and
slug it out on the East Coast for at least another year, most likely
in Jersey City. and b) if I did not get in, I would return to San
Francisco and most likely give up on comedy entirely, at least for a
year.

Things got pretty bleak as of last Friday. I couldn’t get a “yes” or a
“no”. I was stuck in limbo and consequently, was prevented from making
plans for either eventuality. And my escape fund, should I have chosen
to return to San Francisco, was getting perilously low. Then, at the
close of the day last Friday, I received word that I had gotten into
the festival after all.

As of the present, I am awaiting word on a typing job I can do from my
isolated country fortress which will pay me enough to survive these
next three weeks. But again, I come to you, my fans, pleading the
causes of my birthday and my recent less-than-comic misfortunes, to
help me succeed in Montreal. Plane tickets are too exorbitant, even
for such a short trip from Albany to Montreal. The only train that
goes there arrives too late in the day for me to perform. But with a
little bit of help from you guys, I can afford to rent a car and drive
the three hours north.

So that is it, I have bared my soul to you. It is a less than
glamorous life, I warrant you. I have recently taken to calling myself
“The Drifter”. Will there be a future for me in comedy? I do not know.
I only know what is on the menu for the short term. And that is a gig
in Montreal. Please, I beg you, keep the dream alive. Help me get to
Montreal by sponsoring me. Go to willfranken.libsyn.com and click on
any of the Paypal buttons to donate today. As of this writing, we have
two sponsors already, Carlo Mastrogiacomo from San Francisco and Randy
Lowery of North Carolina. But we could use more.

And for those San Francisco fans who have been urging me to return to
the Bay, let me just say that there is another tier to my plan. If I
go to Montreal and am somehow miraculously able to finally get an
agent or a manager who can advocate for me in the entertainment
industry, I will continue to slug it out here on the East Coast. If I
go to Montreal and still come up empty-handed, I will definitely
return to San Francisco and the Love I hope still remains in that city
for me and what I do.

I love you all,

Wm. Franken

A Patch of Gravel Alongside Route 19 A Quarter of a Mile from the 319 Junction in Stafford Is For Lovers!

Summer doldrums got you down? Tired of searching for the perfect family vacation spot? Not looking forward to spending those valuable weeks of free time in the same old boring way? Then why not put a smile on your family’s face this summer and take them to an earthly paradise that’s out of this world!

This summer, take a trip you and your family will never forget to. . .

A PATCH OF GRAVEL ALONGSIDE ROUTE 19 A QUARTER OF A MILE FROM THE 319 JUNCTION IN STAFFORD!!!!!


Commissioned in Connecticut in the summer of 1934, (at the same time a dashing young Adolph Hitler across the ocean was ordering the mass murder of his political opponents during the award-winning "Night of the Long Knives"), A PATCH OF GRAVEL ALONGSIDE ROUTE 19 A QUARTER OF A MILE FROM THE 319 JUNCTION IN STAFFORD provides travelers with a touch of rustic New England charm and a poignant reminder of the Holocaust which befell the Jewish people in WWII!


It's entertaining and educational!

Combine learning with leisure--all at your leisure! When it comes to work or play, business or pleasure, there’s no mutual exclusivity at A PATCH OF GRAVEL ALONGSIDE ROUTE 19 A QUARTER OF A MILE FROM THE 319 JUNCTION IN STAFFORD!

Come for the tire-changing and child-reprimanding, but stay for the thistles and gravel!




What is there to do at A PATCH OF GRAVEL ALONGSIDE ROUTE 19 A QUARTER OF A MILE FROM THE 319 JUNCTION IN STAFFORD?


A PATCH OF GRAVEL ALONGSIDE ROUTE 19 A QUARTER OF A MILE FROM THE 319 JUNCTION IN STAFFORD is conveniently located a quarter of a mile from the 319 junction in Stafford!!!

And if you don’t feel like driving, the yellow diamond-shaped road sign is only ten to fifteen feet away!!!



How far are you located from the man in the white coat fishing at the pond?


A PATCH OF GRAVEL ALONGSIDE ROUTE 19 A QUARTER OF A MILE FROM THE 319 JUNCTION IN STAFFORD is only a stone’s throw* away from the man in the white coat fishing at the pond. Please note during hours when the pond is frozen or his wife has called him to dinner, the man in the white coat may not be there. For the man in the white coat’s hours of availability, please visit www.apatchofgravelalongsideroute19aquarterofamilefromthe319
junctioninstafford//maninthewhitecoatfishingavailability.html.org. **

*Please do not throw actual stones at the man in the white coat

**website under construction

How late are the yellow lines open along route 19?

If you’re looking for a little action to **spice up** the night-life, don’t worry: the yellow lines along Route 19 are open 24 hours a day, 7 days a week! We proudly offer a left yellow line and a right yellow line so you and your partner can paint the town red!

**asterisks, they don't mean anything. We just put them in there to spice up the words "spice up"

Is it true you can get AIDS just by having unprotected sex or sharing a needle with someone who is infected with the AIDS virus?

Anything’s possible at A PATCH OF GRAVEL ALONGSIDE ROUTE 19 A QUARTER OF A MILE FROM THE 319 JUNCTION IN STAFFORD! What are you waiting for? Book your vacation today!


What a wonderful vacation! My nieces loved playing in the gravel!

--Ant: Laramie, WY



The staff was very accomodating at A PATCH OF GRAVEL ALONGSIDE ROUTE 19 A QUARTER OF A MILE FROM THE 319 JUNCTION IN STAFFORD! Even though we were a large group and arrived unannounced, we felt just like part of the family!

--A Pile of Trash: Chicago, IL

My wife and I had an amazing time at your yellow lines! The food was out of this world!

Joseph and Mary Scavenger: Aerie, PA

www.apatchofgravelalongsideroute19aquarterofamilefromthe319junctioninstafford.org

twitter us!

About The Author

Lofretta Blipboom is the first African-American woman. Despite her Hispanic/Latina heritage, she is proud to be a lesbian working hard for the equality of Filipinos. Last year, she was awarded the Asian-American Medal of The Pink Ribbon in honor of her achievements in the Islamic community of Northern Ireland. In addition to her efforts at removing guns from the hands of inner-city streets, she continues to work within the homosexually-gay Native American population of Pakistan through such programs as T.H.R.U.S.T. and P.E.E. in order to further the knowledge of abortions and the education of condoms.


Lofretta lives alone in Femur, OK with her three children: Dot, Feather, and Scalp. She divides her time between sleeping and waking, often confusing the two in a literary lucidity which she uses to great advantage in works such as Morgan's Wheel: How Freeman Redeemed Shawshank (1995) and the The Brown Escalator: Civil Rights in the Age of Multi-Floored Malls (1987)


Affirmative Hope is Lofretta's nineteenth book on the Inauguration of President Barack Obama. Her relentlessness in chronicling the minute-by-minute activities which led up to to the capturing, by a third camera, a few seconds before 10:17 a.m., on the morning of January 20th, 2009, of our 44th president's famous half-smile and head-tilt have earned her the moniker "The Chocolate James Joyce".


Lofretta is also a trustee of The Leni Riefenstahl Girls, a non-profit, female-run, racially-empowered, diversity-driven, multiculturally-fueled, rainbow-generated Fortune 500 company--dedicated to the conversion of black-and-white movies to black. Between books, she volunteers at the Po' Center, silkscreening Che Guevara images on camouflage T-shirts for disenfranchised rich white girls. On Tuesday afternoons, she hosts the popular NPR radio programme, Sanctimony Live.


In her spare time, Lofretta is a black nationalist, a black panther, an illegal immigrant, an employer of illegal immigrants, a highly-paid diversity seminar leader, a tenured race and gender-obsessed literature professor, a college girl in a keffiyeh, an exploding Palestinian, a Marxist, a death-row inmate, a militant dyke couple, and a writer and performer of numerous poems she's written about her pussy and her dick.


Bio written by Lofretta Blipboom

Hey Ladies, Who Wants To Make Love To A Drifter?

Hey ladies,

I'm just drifting through town. Checking out all the ladies. Ladies like you.

Oh me? I'm just a drifter. A long-haired drifter.

Thank you. I grew it myself. That's what happens when you drift.

Town after town, convenience store washroom after convenience store washroom, until that one day when you look in the dirty mirror and see how long your dirty hair has grown since you started drifting.

Mind if I smoke? What's that? Oh, it's a state law that you can't smoke under the awning even if you're outside?

No problem. I'll just step over to the side here. Hell, I've drifted all the way from California to New York, I suppose it wouldn't hurt me to drift a few more inches. There. How's that? Ooh, I like that. A much nicer view over here.

What's that? Why am I drifter?

Er. . .uh. . .nobody's really asked me that before. . .I, uh. . .

I drift because. . .

Because I'm a failure. It takes a success to put down roots. I've never been too successful at being a success. But I've never failed at being a failure. And when I feel that old feeling of failure crop up, no matter what city or town I may be in, all of a sudden the pretty girls and the big money starts to make my eyes hurt--the eyes of my heart, you understand--and I just have to get away and be alone in my traveling. Cause a man don't need to be crying in the presence of the pretty girls and the big money. Gives 'em both too much power. More than they already have.

So I guess you gotta get going? That's your boyfriend ringing on that skinny phone there? I completely understand. I guess I'll drift on over to the other side of the street. Maybe I'll drift on out of this town before the sun goes down. Sure was nice talking to you and all. . .

What's that? Oh, thank you. No, I'm glad you find me funny. That's what. . .well, I was going to say that's what I do. But really, it's not what I do--it's who I am. I'm just funny. I know I'm funny cause I'm so sad inside. I guess I already told you that I was a drifter and. . .

Anyway. . .So I understand if you gotta get to your boyfriend and all. . .oh, by the way, which way are you going to be walking? I'm asking cause I'm going to start drifting again here pretty soon and I don't want to drift in the same direction as you, cause you might think that I'm trying to drift with you. . .but I'm not.

I'm a drifter. I drift alone.

I hate to ask. . .but could you please stop laughing? Please? Don't you need to answer your skinny phone?

Okay, I'm drifting now. . .please stop laughing. . .please. . .

What's my name? I don't have a name. . .I'm a drifter. I can't be pinned down with a name. . .

It's Will. . .or Willy. . .or William. . .now would you please let me go away before I have to face my inferiorities?

Listen, you don't need me. . .you have to trust me on this. . .I'm atoning for my sins, I'm living out my karma, I'm making restitution. . .whatever you want to call it, that's what I'm doing. . .now, please let me drift. . .let me drift away. . .

Goddamnit! Stop laughing! DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND? I THOUGHT I HAD IT FIGURED OUT AND I DIDN'T! LIFE WASN'T SUPPOSED TO BE THIS DIFFICULT! I THOUGHT I DESERVED THE BRASS RING, BUT THE BRASS RING HURTS TO LOOK AT! IT'S LIKE STARING AT THE SUN!

THERE IT IS! SPEAK OF THE DEVIL! THE SUN'S GOING DOWN! AND I'M STILL HERE!

YOU GOTTA LET ME DRIFT. . .LET ME DRIFT. . .THE SUN'S GOING DOWN AND I'M STILL IN THIS TOWN. . .

NOW GET AWAY FROM ME!

You're just a fiction. . .I know that. . .

I know what fiction is. . .I live it.

But it sure felt good to write you. . .

. . .I'm going to drift on now. . .

. . .away. . .

. . .alone. . .

Why I Believe VO5 Silky Experiences Moisturizing Shampoo Champagne Kiss with Silk Protein is the Best Shampoo

INTRODUCTION (ROUGH DRAFT):

In our society today, there are many different shampoo brands. There are even more shampoo bottles. Sometimes you will see many bottles of the same brand. This happens a lot in the store when you buy a bottle of shampoo. For example, when you take a bottle of shampoo off the shelf--surprise!--there is another bottle right behind it that is exactly the same. Well, not exactly. The one in your hand is in your hand and the one on the shelf is on the shelf. That is to say, there is a spatial division between not only the various brands of shampoo, but also between the various bottles of shampoo. It would not be fair to the rest of the people who use that brand of shampoo if you bought all of one brand of a shampoo that a store stocked for the price of one bottle. That is one of the many reasons that God invented the spatio-temporal universe: to allow many different people to buy different bottles of the same brand of shampoo.

INTRODUCTION (REWRITE #1)

In our society today, there are many different shampoo brands. Different types of hair require different shampoos. A person cannot will their hair to conform to the needs of a single universal shampoo. That is to say, a person with dry hair cannot make their hair moist without the aid of a moisturizing shampoo. Humans are not self-sufficient in that regard. Therefore, if the only brand of a shampoo in our universe was a shampoo for dry hair, it would not be fair to the millions of people who have moist hair and vice/versa. This is one of the many reasons why God endowed mankind with the ability and the desire to create multiple brands of shampoos to conform to the manifold idiosyncracies of individual human hair.

INTRODUCTION (REWRITE #2)

In our society today, hen. I have always liked the word "hen". But I cannot for the life of me figure out a way to use it in this paper on shampoo. Hen. Hen.

INTRODUCTION (REWRITE #3)

In our society today, shampoo plays an integral part in the cleaning of hair. Teachers, firefighters, railway workers, jingoists, and even bakers are among the many occupations held by people who wash their hair using shampoo. Though some occupations require head coverings (like a firefighter's helmet or a baker's tall hat) many of these individuals still clean their hair in the event that they might remove their head covering later in the evening (or in the morning, if they are working a graveyard shift) so people can see their hair (including themselves if they are in or around a mirror). This is one of the many reasons why God invented headwear: so that man could notice the difference between a covered head and an uncovered head and realize that he came into this world without a hat and will leave this world without a hat. When we go to meet our Maker, we should have clean hair because we won't get a chance to wash our hair in Heaven where there is no need for water because our deepest thirst for glory will have been sated and all our sins washed away.

INTRODUCTION (REWRITE #4)

In our society today, writing instructors often admonish students to keep their religion out of their term papers. This is endemic of a rapid secularization of our institutions of learning and God will not hold guiltless those who defame His glory by keeping Him out of the classroom.

INTRODUCTION (REWRITE #5)

In our society today, students must recognize that teachers hold the key to their future in the form of a grade book. To not do so is to run the risk of dropping out of school and engaging in free thought, living a righteous individualistic life in accordance with the whims and eccentricities of one's own hairstyle, and dying a martyr's death at the unclean hands of the Dirty-Haired.

INTRODUCTION (REWRITE #6)

In our society today, many different people use many different brands of shampoos in many different bottles. Some people may even use two bottles of shampoo to wash their hair if they are in a hotel and they only have small bottles of shampoo and a lot of hair. Some people who are bald don't use any shampoo at all, unless they are pretending they still have hair in order to make themselves feel better. Maybe they put a little shampoo on their hand and wave it a few inches over their head in an attempt to recapture the glory of their youth. I feel bad for those people. They need blow jobs, too.


INTRODUCTION (FINAL DRAFT)

In our society today, there are many different brands of shampoo. One of the many brands of shampoo is VO5. One of the many brands of VO5 is Silky Experiences Moisturizing Shampoo. One of the many brands of VO5 Silky Experiences Moisturizing Shampoo is Champagne Kiss with Silk Protein. In my essay, I will show why I believe VO5 Silky Experiences Moisturizing Shampoo Champagne Kiss with Silk Protein is the best shampoo. (SEE FIGURE 1A)


FIRST BODY PARAGRAPH (ROUGH DRAFT)

It has often been said that silk is sexy and sex is silky. Some people disagree and say that sex is sandpapery and rough and there's a lot of blood and coarse hair. Those people are male homosexuals. But whenever there is a woman involved, either in a heterosexual sexual relationship or in a lesbian relationship (the good kind without real dykey-looking lesbians, but sexy girls kissing each other on Youtube) there is at least some element of silkiness involved. Women are silky and smooth. For example, when you lick their stomachs, it tastes good. It feels natural and right to lick a woman's stomach. Her tits are nice, too. I like biting their thighs also. Sometimes I have left bruises.


FIRST BODY PARAGRAPH (FINAL DRAFT)

When we think of the word silk, we often think of nice things that won't terrorize us. There is a safety in silk. If a shampoo said "Islam" on the bottle that would mean "submit". One should never submit to a shampoo out of force, but come to it freely of their own volition. This is one of the many reasons why God invented Himself: so I would one day write this paragraph.

SECOND BODY PARAGRAPH (ROUGH DRAFT)

The first time I saw a bottle of VO5 Silky Experiences Moisturizing Shampoo Champagne Kiss with Silk Protein I was really high. I came to the store to buy a Reese's Crispy Crunchy Bar. But soon I found myself wandering around the store and pulling out those coupons in those little electronic dispensers just so I could watch another one come out. I was fascinated by the process. It seemed as if there were an infinite amount of coupons in this miniscule dispenser. Then a black woman


SECOND BODY PARAGRAPH (FINAL DRAFT)

The first time I saw a bottle of VO5 Silky Experiences Moisturizing Shampoo Champagne Kiss with Silk Protein I was really high. I came to the store to buy a Reese's Crispy Crunchy Bar. But soon I found myself wandering around the store and pulling out those coupons in those little electronic dispensers just so I could watch another one come out. I was fascinated by the process. It seemed as if there were an infinite amount of coupons in this miniscule dispenser. Then an African-American woman in a blue Duane Reade smock approached me and said, "Child, is you gonna waste all my coupons? Them's is made out of paper, child. Don't you know today is Earth Day?" I told her I didn't believe in Earth Day since it was started by a man named Einhorn who killed a woman and that I always preferred the Cosmos to the Earth anyway. Then I tried to quote a line from Shakespeare but forgot how it went; something about "Earth will pass away. . ." but I might have been thinking about the line from Hamlet which was "There are more things in Heaven and Earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy, Horatio" which didn't really do anything to advance my position. Or I might have been thinking about some line from the Bible which goes: "Heaven and Earth will pass away", but I didn't want to say "Heaven" if I just told her that I liked the Cosmos, because I consider the Cosmos Heaven and the Heaven Cosmos and if the Cosmos pass away along with the Earth then it wouldn't make sense to prefer the Cosmos to the Earth since both are finite entities of a limited duration. And since my argument for the preferential reverence of the Cosmos over the Earth relied heavily on a presumed infinitude to the Cosmos, I realized I was in a very scary position. What would happen to me if this African-American woman realized that I was about to engage in a philosophical fallacy in the middle of the store? Would she call security? But then I stopped myself and said to her, "Heaven cannot be finite. If it were, it would not be Heaven. Heaven cannot be constrained neither by space nor time. Therefore, if the Cosmos are Heaven and Heaven is the Cosmos, the Cosmos cannot be finite. So, yes, I DO prefer the Cosmos over the Earth."

THIRD BODY PARAGRAPH (ROUGH DRAFT)

She looked at me as if I were crazy. Then she asked me if I was going to buy anything. I had forgotten what I had come into the store to buy. I should have told her I wanted to buy a Reese's Crispy Crunchy Bar, but even that would have been wrong. You see, my memory fails me even now. I know I didn't want a Reese's Crispy Crunchy Bar. That is, I don't remember the exact candy bar I wanted, but I have to put something specific in this narrative in order to give it context. If I just say "candy bar" the teacher's going to bust my balls for using non-descriptive language. Uptight cunt. How's that for desciptive language? You're an uptight cunt! I don't remember the name of the candy bar I wanted, you uptight cunt!


THIRD BODY PARAGRAPH (REWRITE #1)

Now it's killing me--the name of the candy bar I actually wanted. It had peanut butter in it, but it wasn't crunchy. Oh, wait. It WAS crunchy--but it wasn't crispy. So it was something crunchy, but not crispy. That had peanut butter in it.

THIRD BODY PARAGRAPH (REWRITE #2)

You know what? I think I wanted a bag of pretzels and then a regular Reese's peanut butter cup. Two different things. One crunchy thing and one peanut butter thing. I guess my mind is colllapsing those two items together, because there's only so much specific memory the human mind can contain. You can have a million different memories and get by, but then let's say there's just that one little thing--like the memory of wanting two things at the Duane Reade--and now you're not just remembering one thing (the memory of wanting something at the store) but two things (the memories of wanting two things)--and your head explodes. It's like that story of the Princess and the Pea. She can't go to sleep cause there's that one pea under all the mattresses. The only difference here is, instead of a pea, it's two different thoughts about wanting two different things. And instead of not being able to sleep, your head explodes and your brains splatter the walls. No, that would probably require a gun. I'm worrying about nothing. It's fine. I can go ahead and remember that I wanted two different things: a bag of pretzels and a regular Reese's peanut butter cup.


THIRD BODY PARAGRAPH (REWRITE #3)

By the way, doesn't "crunchy" and "crispy" mean the same thing anyway? I think candy bars try too hard for alliteration sometimes.


THIRD BODY PARAGRAPH (FINAL DRAFT)

No! I remember now! I actually went into the store without any preconceived specifics about what type of snack I was going to get. Yes, it's all coming back to me now. I just wanted a snack. And the way I figured it, I would go into the store, see the selection, and then use my powers of decision making to make a decision. As a matter of fact, I remember calling my mother before I went into the store. She was shocked to hear from me. It had been nineteen years since she had heard from her only son. I remember she asked me, "Where have you been? We've missed you all these years! What are you doing with your life?" And I said, "Momma, I'm going into a store and I don't have any preconceived specifics about what type of snack I'm going to get." Then I hung up on her when she started to cry and asked me if I was still taking my medication.


FOURTH BODY PARAGRAPH (ROUGH DRAFT)

Meanwhile all these memories are taking place as the black woman

FOURTH BODY PARAGRAPH (FINAL DRAFT)

Meanwhile all these memories are taking place as the African American woman in the blue Duane Reade smock is staring impatiently at me, waiting for me to tell her what I came into the store to buy. She left for a minute and returned with a frying pan from Aisle Five and told me if I didn't tell her forthwith, she was gonna hit me with it. I stammered I stutt-Istam-stumm--I stam-sttu--stammer-stut

FIFTH BODY PARAGRAPH (ROUGH DRAFT)

She hit me with the pan!

FIFTH BODY PARAGRAPH (REWRITE #1)

Pan me with the hit she!


FIFTH BODY PARAGRPAH (REWRITE #2)

Me the hit pan she with!

FIFTH BODY PARAGRPAH (FINAL DRAFT)

She hit me with the pan!

SIXTH BODY PARAGRAPH (ROUGH DRAFT)

"Ouch! My hair!" I screamed. It always hurts my hair more than my head when my head hurts. My head is strong. It can take it. But my poor little hair! It got all bloody! "Look at my hair!" I said, "It's all bloody!"


SIXTH BODY PARAGRAPH (REWRITE #1)

"Ouch! My head!" I screamed. "My hair is all bloody now." She told me that shampoo was on Aisle Five in the Rite Aid on the other side of town. I left the store and got on the cross-town bus with bloody hair. People stared at me and laughed. I felt like a black

SIXTH BODY PARAGRAPH (FINAL DRAFT)

"Ouch! My head!" I screamed. "My hair is all bloody now." She told me that shampoo was on Aisle Five in the Rite Aid on the other side of town. I left the store and got on the cross-town bus with bloody hair. People stared at me. I felt like an African-American in the South before the Civil Rights Movement. Before Black People Were Called African-Americans. BEFORE EVERYTHING BECAME CAPITALIZED. WHEN I FINALLY GOT TO THE RITE-AID, I WAS NO LONGER HIGH. EVERYTHING BECAME CLEAR TO ME NOW. I NEEDED SHAMPOO TO WASH THE BLOOD OUT OF MY HAIR. THEN, AFTER GETTING SPRUCED UP, I WAS GOING TO VISIT THE EMERGENCY ROOM AND ASK POLITELY FOR A DOCTOR TO PREVENT MY DEATH WHICH WOULD HAVE BEEN A MOST UNFORTUNATE THING CONSIDERING THE FACT THAT I WAS STILL ALIVE AT THE TIME OF THE INCIDENT. WHEN I ARRIVED AT THE RITE-AID I WAS SHOWN TO THE SHAMPOO AISLE BY A WOMAN NAMED ARJANI (SHE MAY HAVE BEEN A MAN, IT'S HARD TO TELL SOMETIMES WITH SHORT-HAIRED INDIAN PEOPLE). THE FIRST BOTTLE THAT CAUGHT MY ATTENTION WAS VO5 SILKY EXPERIENCES MOISTURIZING SHAMPOO CHAMPAGNE KISS WITH SILK PROTEIN. IT WAS ONLY A DOLLAR FIFTEEN. WHICH IS EXACTLY THE AMOUNT THE TOOTH FAIRY LEFT UNDER MY PILLOW THIRTY YEARS AGO WHICH I HAD BEEN SAVING JUST IN CASE I EVER NEEDED TO BUY MY BABY TEETH BACK; YOU KNOW, IF I EVER HAD A BABY OF MY OWN I COULD SAVE MONEY BY GIVING HIM MY OLD BABY TEETH. HAND-ME-DOWNS AND WHAT-NOT AND DASH-DASH. SO I BOUGHT THE SHAMPOO AND TOOK IT HOME AND WASHED MY HAIR WITH IT AND EVERYTHING WAS FINE AND I LIVED TO TELL THE STORY.

CONCLUSION (ROUGH DRAFT)

Hen.


CONCLUSION (FINAL DRAFT)

In conclusion, after washing my hair with VO5 Silky Experiences Moisturizing Shampoo Champagne Kiss with Silk Protein, my hair felt silkier than ever. It felt like I had a woman in the shape of my hair on top of my head. I licked it and it felt right and proper to do so. I bit it gently. My cock throbbed as I thought of teacher and how silky smooth she is. Her tits, her long legs, how I want them wrapped around my back clenching me tighter and tighter in the warm comfort of her moist cunt. I will squirt in teacher like I squirted VO5 Silky Experiences Moisturizing Shampoo Champagne Kiss with Silk Protein from the bottle onto my head to make my hair as silky as teacher's thighs. I can't wait to bite your thighs teacher. I will leave bruises. You will come to me for more bruises, teacher. And I will gladly give them. That is why, in our society today, I believe VO5 Silky Experiences Moisturizing Shampoo Champagne Kiss with Silk Protein is the best shampoo.

figure 1A: VO5 Silky Experiences Moisturizing Shampoo Champagne Kiss with Silk Protein

A Rembrandt Now

Time is a painting
of whatever I am seeing at the moment

My perception of time, however,
is an outline of the painting of Time,
drawn on cheap tracing paper.

If my tracing paper outline
rests exactly over the painting of Time,
the contours match up and
everything is okay.

On a good day,
I can even convince myself that I am the artist!

Yet sometimes I think about mistakes I've made.
Or things I neglected to do.
Or people that are no longer around.
Or goals I failed to realize.
And I move my tracing paper outline to the left.

Sometimes I doubt I'll ever matter much.
And I become consumed with fear and self-hatred
at all these childish things I once believed
would come to pass and did not.
And I see a pauper's grave
and no one there to cry.
And I move my tracing paper outline to the right.

And my outline looks ugly and artificial
the farther away I get from the original painting.
The painting is filled with such color and detail
whereas my measly man-made image
is nothing but a chicken-scratch approximation of the masterpiece
that was at one time directly in front of my eyes.

(The best place for a painting to hang!)

And I hate myself so much
because I'm not as good an artist as Reality.

Reality, the prodigy.
Reality, with its effortless strokes
that make every moment into
a Rembrandt Now

How prolific!
Moment after moment
Another masterpiece!

The Universe, Reality's gallery,
ever-expanding to contain the ever-expanding body of work
hatched from the ever-expanding Mind of the Invisible Genius!

While I, with my Crayola
lash out at the canvas;
a baby jealous. . .
. . .not fit for apprenticeship. . .

I am not worthy to hold the palette.
I am not worthy to clean the brushes.
I am not an original.
I am only a copy.
Throw me away.
Throw me away.

Course Syllabus: Philosophy of Relativism

PHILOSOPHY OF RELATIVISM

MTW 11-11:50a.m.

Instructor: Wm. Franken; Office Hours: Saturdays, 3-3:27a.m.

Welcome to the Philosophy of Relativism!

OBJECTIVE:

In this course, you will gain a deeper understanding of the philosophy of relativism. You will see how relativism throughout the ages has brought us to a point where we can't understand anything at all. You will discover that everything is just a series of subjective opinions. You will realize that nothing is either teachable or knowable. You will come to see that everything is pointless, even this class. In fact, you don't need to come here anymore. Class is over.

WITHDRAWING:

If you would like to withdraw from this class, it's too late. You already took it.

SPECIAL NOTE ON TUITION REIMBURSEMENT:

If you would like a refund for your tuition, please be advised that all requests for reimbursement need to be submitted before you read this sentence. Now go home and leave me alone. I've earned my tenure for today.

Never Eat Alone Again

I’ll never eat alone again.

Thank you Christian Match Dot Com.

Now that I have a partner, a love-mate, a female antithesis to my maleness, I’ll never eat alone again.

I have finally found that special someone to pull the chicken bone out of my throat.

I owe everything I have--even the very air that I breathe--to Christian Match Dot Com.

God bless you,

William and Mary of Orange


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

I’ll never sleep alone again.

Thank you Christian Match Dot Com.

Now that I have a wife-person, a help-lover, a breasts-and-vagina possessing entity, I’ll never sleep alone again.

I have finally found that special someone to prevent me from falling out of my crib, strangling myself on my blankie, or perishing from other forms of Sudden Adult Infant Death Syndrome (SAIDS)

I owe everything I have--even the dreary continuance of this never-ending nightmare we call life--to Christian Match Dot Com.

Kill me now,

John and Jackie Kennedy of Camelot


=============================


I’ll never fuck alone again

Thank you Christian Match Dot Com.

Now that one of my ribs has been plucked from me during my sleep and given its own profile on an internet dating site, I'll no longer have to pay a prostitute to dress up as a hand.

I owe everything I have--including every ego-validating orgasm that I inflict upon my quaking and dripping better half--to Christian Match Dot Com.

Oh GOD!! OH!! CHRIST!!! OH FUCK YEAH!!!

Adam and Eve of Eden


+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++


I’ll never procreate alone again.

Thank you Christian Match Dot Com.

Now that I have been elevated from amoebic organism, given opposable thumbs and the capacity for rational thought, sexually compartmentalized into a separate and distinct male gender and provided with a compatible female life form for the purposes of biological reproduction, I’ll no longer have to rely on my previously asexual regenerative capacities to procreate.

I owe everything I have--even the multitudinous progeny I have carelessly overpopulated the earth with throughout the entire course of human history--to Christian Match Dot Com.

What have you done, you fools? God help us all,

XY and XX of Birds of Bees

Lesson Seven

YOU MAY NOW OPEN YOUR BOOKLETTES AND BEGIN

1. She IS pregnant.
They ARE pregnant.
He _____ pregnant.

2. Nokia want Wombat. Wombat no want Nokia. How much miles Nokia walk for Wombat if Nokia know Wombat no want Nokia?

a) Any
b) All
c) Some
d) None
e) None (but different kind)

3. The cost of syphilis is one 50 dollar crack whore. If Jeremy wants a triple dose of syphilis, how much will he spend?

a) 25 dollars
b) 17 dollars
c) 150 dollars
d) The Gross National Product of Rosie O'Donnell

4. Lice is to scabies as pustules are to _____

a) St. Thomas Aquinas
b) Rhyme and Reason
c) Boils
d) Meet Asian Women
e) Meet 1000s of Asian women in your area
f) Meet 1000s of Asian women in your area today at Asianpeoplemeet online dating.

5. Draw the shape of your doubt on a separate piece of computer. Remember to complain.

6. A train leaves the airport at half past seven. A quarter till eight, people point at the train and say, "Look! A flying train!" What time will it be when people realize everything they were taught about trains was wrong?

7. Josannah is a word problem writer. One day she writes seven word problems and then takes a break to have a cigarette with her friend Scratch. On the way to the lounge, she is stopped by her boss, Mister Cragmore. "Josannah," says Mr. Cragmore, "how many word problems have you written so far today?" "Seven, Mr. Cragmore," says Josannah timidly, like a five-foot tall mouse in cheap lipstick. "Only seven?!?" shouts Mr. Cragmore, "Hmm. Josannah, I'd like to talk to you in my office." "But, Mr. Cragmore--" begins Josannah. "No buts, Josannah. Your cigarette will just have to wait," says Mr. Cragmore. “If. . .and. . .Mr. Cragmore--” says Josannah. “No ifs or ands, either,” says Mr. Cragmore, “If your cigarette really loves you, I am sure he will wait for you. Right now we need to talk about your job.” “Okay, Mr. Cragmore,” says Josannah and then turns to Scratch, “Scratch, you will have to smoke a cigarette without me. I’m sorry.” Scratch looks upset, “But Josannah, I don’t know how to smoke and you promised you were going to teach me today.” “Excuse me, Scratch,” says Mr. Cragmore, “but I need to talk to Josannah right now. You’ll just have to learn how to smoke from old movies.” “Yes, Mr. Cragmore,” says Scratch. “Okay, Josannah, step into my office,” says Mr. Cragmore. Josannah and Mr. Cragmore step into Mr. Cragmore’s office; Mr. Cragmore first (because he is the boss) and then Josannah (because she is the employee) “Have a seat, Josannah,” says Mr. Cragmore. “Thank you, sir,” says Josannah as she crosses her legs like a girl. Mr. Cragmore goes to the liquor cabinet. “Would you care for a scotch and soda?” asks Mr. Cragmore. “No thank you, Mr. Cragmore,” says Josannah, “I don’t drink.” “I understand,” says Mr. Cragmore as he hands Josannah an empty glass, “Josannah, how long have you worked for us here at Word Problems Incorporated?” “Oh, let’s see,” says Josannah, “I lost my virginity when I was seventeen. That was the day that you hired me. So all in all, I would say seven years so far.” “Yes,” says Mr. Cragmore, “Seven years as of this half hour. Josannah, are you happy here at Word Problems Incorporated?” “Yes,” says Josannah, “I love my job. It has a great dental plan. I can get thirty-two teeth with the purchase of every mouth. Why do you ask, Mr. Cragmore? Is something the matter?” “Well, Josannah, as your employer, I am concerned. Lately your word problems have become very strange.” “Strange?” asks Josannah as she licks her empty glass, “How do you mean, Mr. Cragmore?” “Josannah,” says Mr. Cragmore, “when you first started working here at Word Problems Incorporated, you wrote word problems about trains leaving a station at a certain time at a certain speed. They were concise and to the point, usually focusing on a certain mathematical or scientific proposition. But now. . .well. . . like I say, I’m concerned. There seems to be a lot of needless exposition in some of your latest word problems. Last week, for example, you wrote a word problem with a twenty-five page preamble about the fall of man and the doctrine of original sin. The week after last week, you wrote a word problem with three appendices and a map of ancient Judea. The week after this week, I can’t really say what you will write as that is in the future, but if it is anything like what you have been writing lately, well, I am concerned that my concern will grow exponentially. And that concerns me.” “What are you saying, Mr. Cragmore?” “Well, Josannah,” says Mr. Cragmore as he takes Josannah’s empty glass and refills it with more emptiness, “I may have to fire you unless you start writing normal word problems again.” “Mr. Cragmore,” says Josannah, “I’m afraid I still do not understand what you’re talking about. My word problems may be a little off the beaten path at times, but I wouldn’t go so far as to call them strange.” “Josannah,” sighs Mr. Cragmore, “what about this word problem that you and I are in right now? Would you call this a normal world problem? I certainly wouldn’t. There’s no need for me to even be in it at all, yet here I am, peppering it with meaningless dialogue. And Scratch? What the hell was that all about? This is just damned weird. There’s no other way to put it.” “I’m sorry, Mr. Cragmore,” says Josannah, “that you object to my employing a little creative license. I was just trying to counteract the stultifying atmosphere of having to write for these standardized tests all the time.” “Goddamnit, Josannah!” shouts Mr. Cragmore, “That’s not your job! I’ve got the fucking board of education on my ass, day in and day out, complaining that these standardized tests are all bullshit anyway! The last thing I need as the CEO of a multi-million dollar word problem corporation is some rag-tag two-bit upstart trying to be James fucking Joyce! Now goddamn it, end this word problem right now before I fire your sorry ass!” “Yes, sir” says Josannah as she gets up and leaves the office and returns to her desk. The clock above her wall reads 12:30 p.m. Josannah sets a goal to write 40 normal word problems by the end of her working day at 5 p.m. Assuming that the current time on the clock is correct, if Josannah writes 4 normal world problems every half-hour, will she reach her goal?

YOU MAY NOW CLOSE YOUR BOOKLETTES AND END

Dear Erasmus

(ed.--the opinions of Erasmus do not reflect the opinions of Will Franken. Will Franken is not in any way responsible for anything Erasmus might say or do. There is a clear demarcation between Erasmus and Will Franken. The two are NOT one and the same. They are as distinct as snowflake to snowflake)

Dear Erasmus,

I am so confused! I was walking today in the street and a car hit me! Now I am dead! I don't have any health care! Who is to blame? The government? The car? Me? Show me which way to hate!

Signed,

Jeremiah Lucille-Ball

DEAR LUCILLE-BALL,

HATE COMES IN MANY LAYERS. THINK OF IT AS A SERIES OF CONCENTRIC CIRCLES.

MY ADVICE IS TO HATE INWARDS BEGINNING WITH THE WIDEST CIRCLE. IN YOUR CASE, YOU SHOULD HATE THE GOVERNMENT FIRST FOR NOT MAKING IT EASIER TO OBTAIN AFFORDABLE HEALTH CARE. THEN YOU SHOULD HATE THE CAR FOR KILLING YOU. THEN YOU SHOULD HATE YOURSELF FOR BEING A FUCKING IDIOT AND WALKING IN THE STREET.

YOU BROUGHT IT ALL ON YOURSELF. SEE YOU IN HELL.

ERASMUS

Dear Erasmus,

Today I went to the grocery store and bought an onion. When I got home, I realized I already had an onion. I took the onion back to the grocery store and exchanged it for an orange. Then I went home and found I already had an orange. I took the orange back to the grocery store and exchanged it for an apple. I took the apple home and saw that I already had an apple. I took the apple back to the grocery store, but the grocery store was closed.

So I went to the Apple store which was open for another two hours. I exchanged my apple for an iPhone. I took my iPhone home and saw that I already had an iPhone at home.

(I do not take my iPhone out in public. It is a home iPhone)

I took my iPhone back to the Apple store, but the Apple store was closed. So I went to a heroin dealer and exchanged it for some smack. I took the smack home and realized that I already had some smack in the fridge.

I sure felt stupid! I put the new smack in a mason jar and stored it in the cupboard with the green beans and preserved prostitute parts.

By that time, I was exhausted and didn't feel like leaving the house any more for the rest of my life. So I pulled out the smack that was in the fridge, cooked it, and spiked up.

Well, no sooner did that smack hit my brain and I began to nod off than I realized--I was already high on life!

My question is: what does one do if one already has everything one could possibly want or need?

Signed,

Lucille Jeremiah-Ball

DEAR JEREMIAH-BALL

CONGRATULATIONS! YOU HAVE REACHED THE END OF THE CANDY LAND GAME OF LIFE. THERE IS NO MORE WANT. THERE IS NO MORE NEED.

YOU ARE IN A COMA. TAKE A BOW. YOU'VE EARNED IT.

ERASMUS

Dear Erasmus,

Today I was walking down the sidewalk and driving down the street at the same time (I have been two people ever since my wife walked out on me last century)

As I turned left and right simultaneously, I saw the strangest thing!

Signed,

Ball-Luc-Jere-Miahille

DEAR BALL-LUC

COULD YOU BE A LITTLE MORE SPECIFIC?

ERASMUS

Dear Erasmus,

Oh, sorry about that! I always forget to end thi

Anyway, as I say, I saw the strangest thing! I saw two people and they each had one hand of the other clasped within one of their own hands. Their fingers were meshed together in an interlocking fashion.

That's not the weirdest part, though. They weren't yanking each other in separate directions! They were walking together in this strange manner. They were smiling. I saw no blood. No tears. There was no sign of a struggle, even though the female of the species towered over the male and could have easily devoured him in one cruel stroke! They actually seemed happy!

Should I have called the police?

Signed,

Howstellagothergrooveback Whenharrymetsally

DEAR HOWSTELLAWHENHARRY

WHAT YOU WITNESSED TODAY WAS PHYSICAL AFFECTION BETWEEN A MAN AND A WOMAN. AT THE PRESENT, IT IS ONLY ILLEGAL IN CERTAIN PARTS OF NORTHERN CALIFORNIA AND GREENWICH VILLAGE.

IF YOU HAVE NEVER TRIED IT, YOU SHOULD. EXPRESSION OF THE SELF CAN BE THE HIGHEST EXPRESSION OF THE SELF. IF THERE'S ANOTHER SELF JUST LIKE YOU WITH DIFFERENT GENITALIA, THE RESULTS CAN BE EXCITING AND BABY-PRODUCING.

ONCE UPON A TIME, THERE WERE PLAYS AND POETRY; THERE WAS MUSIC; THERE WAS ROMANCE; SUCH SIGHTS WERE NOT UNCOMMON IN THE CONTEXT OF THAT BYGONE ERA.

GO ON, NOW, AND BECOME ONLY ONE PERSON AND LOVE ANOTHER SINGULAR PERSON IN THE MANNER YOU WITNESSED TODAY.

LOVE, CHILD, LOVE. . .FORWARD IS ITS DIRECTION. IT IS WAITING FOR YOU.

THE TIME OF DARKNESS IS GONE NOW. KISS THE SUNLIGHT ON THE LIPS OF YOUR BELOVED. SHE IS THERE. SHE IS THERE. BASKING IN THE GLOW OF YOUR RADIANT HEART.

I TRUST THIS LETTER FINDS YOU IN FULL POSSESSION OF YOUR FACULTIES, FOR THERE IS NOTHING INSANE ABOUT LOVE. THE PRAGMATISM THAT ARGUES AGAINST IT, THAT IS WHAT YOU SHOULD FEAR. READ THE BOOKS, HEAR THE SONGS, THAT EVOKE THOSE TENDER PASSIONS.

FORWARD IS THE DIRECTION OF LOVE. LOVE IS THE SHORTEST DISTANCE BETWEEN TWO POINTS. THE WAY BACK TO ONE'S YOUTH IS THE FORWARD MARCH OF LOVE.

AGE IS THE MONOLITHIC CONSTRUCT WHICH LOVE DEMOLISHES. ITS STRENGTH IS ALL-CONSUMING. WHEN HARNESSED PROPERLY, IT IS A FORCE THAT MOVES MOUNTAINS, TURNS BACK TIME, PARTS THE SEAS, RAISES THE DEAD, STILLS THE WINDS, AND LAYS THE STARS AT OUR FEET.

LOVE HAS NOT GONE AWAY.

ERASMUS

Things I Used To Eat When I Was Growing Up In Missouri

A lot of people think that just because I'm from Missouri I've never eaten anything. Nothing could be further from the truth. Go ahead, measure the distance between the belief that I've never eaten anything and The Truth and you'll find a distance greater than that between the earth and the sun. You'll need some pretty long arms to hold that tape measure, I'll warrant you.

But seriously, I ate quite a lot of things growing up in Missouri. Here are twenty-five of my favorites from childhood. Some of which I still find myself eating from time to time even today, well into adulthood.

1. Peanut butter and syrup.

My mom would often make this for us kids in the morning if she was in a hurry and didn't have time to cook anything. We didn't know the difference. As far as we could tell, she spent hours on this meal. It was many years later when I finally realized how easy it had all been. She would take a slice of bread, spread some peanut butter over it and then pour syrup over that and hand us a fork. I remember always liking it, partially because I liked the trippy swirling patterns that the peanut butter and syrup used to make. I used to stare at the end of my fork before each bite, blowing my young and impressionable mind.

2. Biscuits and gravy.

Need I say more? The ultimate breakfast food. You can't get it in New York at all and in California they ruin it by making it healthy--I've even seen green gravy in San Francisco! No, no, no! The white gravy with the little bits of sausage in it. In the Midwest, in the South, that's where you find the real stuff. Biscuits and gravy were the perfect foundation food. You could eat them alone as a meal or you could pile all sorts of stuff on top of it--like hash browns, bacon strips, or cheese slices. At the Shoney's Restaurant breakfast bar in Sedalia, I used to even cover it with mushrooms! Ironically, I never preferred my mother's biscuits and gravy. She wasn't that good of a cook, actually. There were very few meals that she made that I enjoyed. One was the aforementioned peanut butter and syrup and the other was--

3. Burritos (and Mexican food of all formats: homemade, restaurant, and fast-food)

Soft flour tortillas, Old El Paso refried beans, grated cheese. Yes, burrito night was a happy night in our household. At least for me. My sisters hated them. Not me. I was always sure to clean my plate when two burritos were on it. This passion for burritos--and, by extension, Mexican food in general--I have carried with me all of my life. From Taco Bell to Tijuana, I've tried them all. Some old Missouri standouts include Mexican Villa in Springfield and El Sombrero in Sedalia. Gone, but not forgotten include Taco John's and Taco Grande.

4. My dad's chili

Technically, chili falls under the rubric of Tex-Mex, which is why it is receiving its own slot here. The only time my father stepped in to do anything remotely domestic was when he made chili. It was filled with meat, beans, and tons of melted cheese. It was painfully hot--indeed, that was its charm. And the masochist in me couldn't resist chasing each bite with a raw jalapeno pepper. Mostly to impress my father who was fond of eating jalapenos straight from the jar. I used to take three slices of Kraft American cheese and lay it on top of my already cheese-saturated chili and then crunch up a fair amount of Saltines to sprinkle all over. The result was an irresistible paste!

5. Handi-Snacks Cheese and Crackers

This was an after school treat. I remember watching "The Flintstones" in the late afternoon, munching away on Handi-Snacks Cheese and Crackers. For those of you who don't remember, Handi-Snacks Cheese and Crackers consisted of a small plastic tub with two compartments. The longer one contained a stack of five crackers. The shorter one contained processed soft cheese. It came with a little red stick that you used to spread the cheese onto the cracker. I had a ritual with these. You see, I liked the cheese a little bit more than the crackers. So I would spread a tiny amount on each cracker and eat them quickly just to get them out of the way so I could focus on my real interest: the cheese sans crackers. Once all the crackers were gone, I would scoop up the remaining cheese with the red stick and shovel it all into my mouth.

6. Oatmeal pies

You know, if you asked me today if I would like an oatmeal pie, I would probably say no. But when I was a child, I ate quite a good deal of these. Small little cream filled things with an oatmeal cookie covering. I can't tell you why my interest in oatmeal pies faded over the years. It's probably best not to think too much about it.

7. Coca-Cola

We were raised on Coca-Cola. We drank it more than milk, more than juice, more than water. Our refrigerator was always packed with cans. In the garage, dad kept an extra supply of twelve-packs in case we ran out, which was quite often. As a child, I averaged anywhere from six to twelve cans a day. I was never discouraged out of concern for my health from drinking such an excessive amount. Rather it was because my parents drank even more of it than I did and didn't want me guzzling too much of their stash. Nowadays, my favorite soft drink is Dr. Pepper. But back then, I hated it--mostly because it didn't taste like Coke. Pepsi, as you might have guessed, was frowned upon severely. It simply wasn't done in our household.

8. Mister Salty pretzel sticks with Frito-Lay bean dip

This was another after school snack favorite of mine. A bag of Mister Salty pretzel sticks and a can of Frito-Lay bean dip. I would take a cluster of pretzel sticks and scoop up a generous amount of bean dip (some brown paste in a tin can) and wash it all down with an ice-cold Coca-Cola. Often I would go through an entire can of bean dip and half a bag of pretzels in one sitting. I couldn't eat anything else with bean dip except pretzels--even though I know now that most people probably used chips; or perhaps refrained from bean dip altogether.

9. Totino's party pizzas with pizza rolls

My mother used to buy Totino's party pizzas, which I absolutely loved. She would spray the baking tray with Pam before heating one up in the oven and, like one of Pavlov's dogs, I would come running. I want to be very specific that no other brand of frozen pizza did for me what Totino's did. As I've gotten older, I've noticed that Totino's aren't available in many places anymore. I'm concerned about the company, to be honest. I hope they're doing well in these tough economic times. When I was a child, I used to eat an entire party pizza with a fork. Even though on the box it says that one pizza will serve up to four. When I started living on my own at sixteen, I used to cook two of them simultaneously (preferably sausage and pepperoni combination) and sprinkle a box of Totino's pizza rolls over the top of each pizza. When everything was cooked, I would pull the tray out of the oven and put one pizza on top of the other with the pizza rolls sandwiched in the middle. I would then put the entire concoction in a bowl and eat it all with a fork.

10. Pillsbury cinnamon rolls with lots and lots of butter

Another breakfast treat before school. Honestly, I was less interested in the cinnamon roll and more drawn to the butter, which I would heap without consideration, either for personal health or my mom's grocery budget, centimeters high on each roll. I was not satisfied until the entire top of the roll was yellow with slowly melting butter. The best time, I thought, to take a bite was when the butter was still cold and the roll was hot. The two temperatures turned into a tantalizing tornado of taste!

11. Pop Tarts with lots and lots of butter

The same as above except with hot pop tarts instead of hot cinnamon rolls. Butter spread all over the rectangular surface of the pop tart (the flavor of which was irrelevant) and bites taken while the butter was still cold.

12. Reese's peanut butter cups

As the commercial says, "There is no wrong way to eat a Reese's". True enough, although I was always filled with remorse at the fact that I devoured the cups whole with one swallow. I ate everything that bore the Reese's logo. The single and double and king-size packs of the peanut butter cups. The miniature ones that came in bulk-sized plastic bags. The easter-egg shaped ones that came out once a year. And, though they were not my favorite, even Reese's Pieces had a special place in my heart. To this day, I always take note when Reese's comes out with a new variation on an old theme. My personal favorite over the last few years has been their Crispy Crunchy Bar. When I was very young, probably six or seven, I remember asking my mother "What is Heaven?" She answered, "Heaven is a place where you have everything you've ever wanted for all time." For years, I imagined Heaven as a grocery store that carried nothing but Reese's products.

13. Buddig brand sandwich meats with Kraft American cheese slices.

I was probably in 5th or 6th grade when I got turned on to Buddig brand sandwich meats. I wonder if anybody remembers them or if they're even available anymore. They were very heavily processed, thinly-shaved meats that came in handy little pouches. Supposedly they could make three or four sandwiches. Not for me. The whole clump of meat came out of the pouch and went onto the bread. Then came three individually unwrapped Kraft American cheese slices. One on the top of the meat, one on the bottom and one right in the middle. When I began living on my own and buying my own Buddig brand sandwich meats, I realized how impractical they were on a cost level. I think for the same amount that an individual pouch of Buddig meat cost, I could have bought an entire week's worth from Oscar Meyer. Buddig brands came in all different kinds: Corned beef, pastrami, ham--but my favorites were chicken breast and turkey.

14. Stove-Top stuffing and my grandmother's noodles

I have put these two together because I associate them both with Thanksgiving. For most people, Thanksgiving is Turkey Day. For me, at least when I was younger, it was Stove-Top Stuffing and My Grandmother's Noodles Day. I haven't had grandmother's noodles in a while, so now it's just Stove-Top Stuffing Day. It's a consistency that runs throughout my dietary preferences. You can see the same principle operating with biscuits and gravy (#2) and my dad's chili (#4)--that is, the more a food resembles a thick, colorless paste, the more apt I am to enjoy it. As far as my grandmother's noodles, I don't really know what they were. They were just long, flat white noodles. When I saw a picture of a tapeworm in a medical book years later, I thought "Wow! That looks like one of grandmother's noodles!"

15. Four plain McDonald's cheeseburgers

By the time I entered fourth grade, my regular meal when mom would take us kids to McDonald's was four plain cheeseburgers. I ate them all in one sitting, usually averaging no more than three bites per cheeseburger. Only McDonald's had a special saltiness to their meat that I found difficult to describe but easy to devour. Today, I still prefer them plain--although I usually don't order them that way. You see, my main beef (no pun intended) with non-plain cheeseburgers wasn't the ketchup or the mustard or even the onions. It was the pickles. The goddamn, motherfucking pickles. I hate pickles more than Satan himself. You'll never get me to eat a pickle, I'll guarantee. Nevertheless, ordering four plain cheeseburgers (now, it's usually five) takes longer than ordering four regular cheeseburgers, because they have to make them special just for me. So now I just order them "as is" and wince when I lift up the bun to remove the pickles from each one. I detest pickles so much, I can't even bear to look at one longer than a second. Needless to say, pickles have no place in this list!

16. Hardee's Mushroom and Swiss Cheeseburger

I was eleven or twelve years old when Hardee's (known as Carl's Jr. on the West Coast) unveiled their Mushroom and Swiss Cheeseburger. There have been plenty of imitators since then, but I bear witness here today that Hardee's was the first; at least in the field of fast food. It was a stroke of genius. In so many aspects, their food was atrocious. But the combination of mushrooms, Swiss cheese and hamburger on a lightly toasted bun breathed new life into a fast-food franchise that, already at such a young age, I had cynically turned my back on.

17. Cauliflower covered with melted cheese

One of the only vegetables I don't mind eating--save for broccoli when I'm at some social function and they have one of those plastic trays with the dip and I'm looking for something to do with my hands because I'm bored with all the small talk--is cauliflower. The reason I liked cauliflower as a kid was because it was so bland and tasteless that it didn't interfere with the taste of the melted cheese. You may be noticing another dietary pattern here. As with butter in the examples of pop tarts and cinnamon rolls, certain foods like cauliflower were merely an excuse to eat melted cheese. That is to say, I could have eaten butter and melted cheese straight--yet, despite my ever-escalating eccentricity--even I knew that would be a trifle weird. Cauliflower, like pop tarts and cinnamon rolls, were simply a means to an end.

18. Cookie dough

When my mother made cookies, I could have given a shit less about the end product. It was the dough I was after. Many a time, she would leave a bowl of dough on the counter, go off and run an errand, and return to find half the lump missing. She used to tell me that I would get "worms" if I ate too much of it. I didn't really know what she meant by "worms" until we took our dog to the vet after she got heartworms. I swore off dough for about six months following that. Nowadays, I get my fix in the summer months with cookie dough ice cream. I remember feeling a sense of connectivity when I saw that ice cream companies were unveiling a cookie dough flavor, for I knew then that I was not the only one who had grown up enjoying its singular taste. There are many of us from all walks of life, all over the globe. Out of the closets and into the streets, I say. Although I should note here, once again, the consistency factor; for it was in this spirit that I also enjoyed a brief period of eating play-dough. A flavor I doubt that even Ben and Jerry, in all their corporate psychedelica, would deign to unveil.

19. Dairy Queen's Peanut Buster Parfait and/or Hot Fudge Brownie Delight

It was one or the other of these delightful delicacies for me when we visited the local Dairy Queen. And it was the hot fudge that piqued the interest of my taste buds. The ice cream, quite often, got in the way. A big blob of vanilla nothingness that one had to wade through with a small red plastic oar just to strike oil. Black gold. Texas tea. . .

20. Snickerdoodles

My mother used to make this type of cookie called a Snickerdoodle. I couldn't tell you what it was or even what it tasted like. I know it had some sort of sugary coating and it was soft and chewy. But that's about it. I just know that I loved them and couldn't get enough.

21. Crab Rangoon

This one almost didn't make the list. Remember, these are all foods that I ate while growing up in Missouri. I discovered crab rangoon when I was fifteen--one year before I left home and became a man. Had I waited just a little longer, crab rangoon would have found itself on The List of Twenty-Five Foods I Discovered As An Adult (due in November from Harper/Collins) Before I lost my crab rangoon virginity, the only thing I found halfway interesting about Chinese food was the fact that they made cookies that had little slips of paper in them. Crab rangoon, however, turned my whole conception of the Orient inside out. It expanded my mind. I became interested in Eastern thought. I started reading the Tao te Ching. My mind ran rampant with questions galore: What strange food was this; so crunchy, yet so pasty? Why do only some Chinese restaurants sell it? Is it only for the elite? How curious that, despite its name, I can taste no crab in this concoction. . .as indeed I could with. . .

22. Crab legs!

I was twelve years old and was spending the summer with my father in Texas, who was supervising the construction of a Western Auto store in Houston. One day, following work, he and a co-worker picked me up from the motel and we drove to a place called The Heritage Restaurant. I remember on the sign outside reading the word "smorgasbord". I asked my father what "smorgasbord" meant and he told me that it was a buffet. That made me happy, because I knew what a buffet was. I love buffets. I know, I know--it's lower-class and red state of me to say so, but still--I love buffets. In fact, I would count buffets as one of the top twenty-five in this list, but the very nature of a buffet prevents it from being compartmentalized in such a limiting manner. That is to say, if a plate of food is Jesus the Son, then the buffet is God the Father. The enjoyment I receive from both, of course, is the Holy Spirit. Yet this particular buffet table sported something that I had never seen before at a Western Sizzlin' or a Golden Corral or a Ryan's Steakhouse--dead crab body parts! My healthy curiosity got the better of me and I went back to our booth with an absurdly large pile. My father, in a rare instance of paternal patience, showed me how to use the nutcracker/plier thing, extract the meat, and dip it into the lemon/butter sauce. The taste? Well, to rework a recent metaphor, if the crab is God the Father and the meat is his Son, Jesus Christ, then I had just had my First Communion! Zowie! Wowie! But the drag was, it took so damned long to get to the meat. Especially when one is mechanically inept, like myself. So today, if you gave me a fork and a tub of crab meat, I would go to town. But getting it from the crab legs themselves? No. I am much older now and life is too short.

23. Long John Silver's Fish and Hushpuppies

There was something beyond the food at Long John Silver's that appealed to me. Don't get me wrong, the food was (and still is) excellent. But there was also an adventurous element that appealed to a young boy's imagination. It was the gestalt of the dining experience. I don't see too many Long John Silver restaurants anymore, but the ones I have seen in adulthood (most recently, the one near Vallejo, California) have been converted to look like any other fast-food franchise. They've lost their individuality, to be sure. But back in the day--oh, back in the day!--a kid could be the king of the high seas! The restaurants looked like pirate ships! The people at the register even wore pirate hats! My family would get a seat near the plate glass windows and, unlike the grownups, I didn't see cars and trucks buzzing by on South Limit Avenue. No, I was on the ocean, braving the waves, consorting with the sordid and vulgar pirates that manned the rickety ship. I ate voraciously to give myself strength, because I knew that at any moment, I might have to draw my sword to defend the skull and crossbones that flapped overhead. Yummy hushpuppies. The scrumptious breaded fish. And those addicting little fried crispy things scattered all over the styrofoam plate. Years later, LJS introduced chicken into their menu. I was older. Time to put away childish things. No more fish for me. It was a box of ten chicken pieces and some honey mustard to go--and a baseball game on TV back at a lonesome apartment.

24. Cornbread and pinto beans cooked in a pot with a hambone

One of the other rare meals in which my mother excelled. Exactly as the title suggests: you put a bunch of pinto beans in a boiling pot with a grisly hambone, let it simmer for awhile, and then serve them on a plate with a huge chunk of cornbread. Why did I love this so much? Well, let's see--if you mash up the the beans and mix it with the crumbly cornbread, you get a thick, colorless paste! You see, although I deplore socialism for humans, I quite like it for articles of food. If only everything edible could be stripped of its individuality and rendered into a thick, colorless paste, how happy my stomach would be!

And, finally, before I announce the last one, let me just say that this list is by no means comprehensive. There were many qualified foodstuffs from my past that, for the sake of space, had to be omitted. That being said, the last one on this list is:

25. Pussy

Ha! Ha! Just joking. No, I wouldn't discover that food until I was seventeen! But seriously, the last one on the list is:

25. String cheese

One of the most interesting toys every invented is the Russian matroshki, or nesting doll. That is, the doll within a doll within a doll. I've been fascinated with the concepts of macrocosm and microcosm ever since I was a child. I could literally meditate on a matroshki for hours, even to this very day. Can the layers of larger dolls extend into infinity? Can the smaller dolls become infinitesimal--going from atomic to the subatomic? Can matter be dismantled ad infinitum? The matroshki seeks to, at least on a subconscious level, pose this existential question. On the dietary plane, the same can be said for string cheese. How many strands of string cheese can one peel away until nothing remains of the original portion? I spent many an afternoon in front of the television, coming up with a myriad of answers to that question.