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Obviously, I’m having too much fun with THIS because Danny now screams, "No laughing", when I’m doubled over at the computer. My inner pragmatist is funnier than your inner pragmatist.
I thought about posting a note that it is a parody site, but then thought better of it. I mean, if you not only think Dewey is still alive, but alive and hawking Baby Einstein videos and scented candles…I don’t know, a parody label probably won’t help you much.
Dear Blue Bunny,
Are you a boy bunny or a girl bunny (I hope you don’t mind me asking, Mummy says it is rude to ask people if they are a boy or a girl caus’ you’re supposed to be able to tell, but sometimes I can’t).
I’m a little girl and my name is Debbie (NO not that Little Debbie-Mummy says eating that crap will make you sterile-I don’t know why that would be bad, I mean, she’s always after me to keep myself clean. Are you sterile Mr./Ms. Androgynous Corporate Bunny Logo? I hope so, Mummy says I’m not allowed to play with dirty people-I might get cooties.
Oh yeah, why I’m writing. Well you see, I’ve been enjoying your Chocolate Ice Cream in a half gallon for like…I dunno, like forever (ok, I’m only eight, but that’s a really long time when you’ve spent most of it locked in a basement closet by your crack-addled parents for the first five years. The nice lady from DSS that came and rescued me said it was one of the filthiest basement closets she’d ever seen and you know being in her line of work, she’d probably seen more than a few. My new Mummy is kind of anal about hygiene and is always cleaning (no wait, I think it’s called “cleansing”) her colon-do you know what a colon is Mr./Mrs. Androgynous Corporate Bunny logo? She won’t tell me. I hope it doesn’t have anything to do with crack. Do you think I should talk to Daddy about an “intervention?”
Sooo anyway, I really enjoy your chocolate ice cream, but the half gallons are hard to scoop from once you get about ¼ of the way down. My arm gets all covered in ice cream and as much as I tell mummy, “No really, it’s only chocolate”, I don’t think she believes me, and figures it is some type of holdover manifestation of the trauma of being locked in a basement closet with nothing but a razor and my own faeces to play with-for like years. OK, that’s not totally true, sometimes they would throw me uncooked hot dogs and bits of stale donuts, if I was good. One year for Christmas, they gave me a couple of limbs ripped from my older sister’s Barbie Doll. It wasn’t the same as playing with an intact Barbie, but once you smeared faces over the severed leg, it was easy to pretend it was a tree trunk. I had a family of imaginary squirrels living in it, but the ringworms were (I’m told) real. Do you have imaginary friends Mr./Mrs. Androgynous Corporate Bunny Logo? You’re a bunny right (I mean, they call you a bunny-that’s not a front and you’re actually a racoon or something, is it?) so you probably like things like lettuce and carrots. How did you get into the sugary-snack business anyway…if you don’t think I’m being too nosy asking. Mummy says I’m terribly impolite because I never learned proper etiquette locked in the basement closet playing with the severed limbs of Barbie dolls and my own faeces (well, there wasn’t anyone else’s). If I cannot figure out a tidy way to eat your ice cream, I’m going to have to stop because they’re already dosing me half-out of my mind with atypical antipsychotics (which might explain the cravings for ice cream)and are threatening to use shock therapy. Have you ever been involuntarily drugged by your parents with powerful psychiatric medications Mr./Mrs. Androgynous Corporate Bunny Logo? It sucks shit. It really does. I heard it can make you diabetic too. Does Blue Bunny have chocolate ice cream with artificial sweeteners that are safe for diabetics but won’t cause you to grow a head out your spleen or some other grotesque side effect? Maybe you guys should work on that-just in case. I’m one of your best customers, you know.
I guess I could always just switch to vanilla.
Love and Kisses,
Little Debbie (not that one) .
P.S. You know how on the carton it says “Fold this flap in first”? Well I know this was probably an oversight, but it says the same thing on the other end! Have you ever tried folding both flaps in at the same time on opposite ends? It’s hard!
I’m not really certain if this is funny or pathetic, but MSNBC just posted a “Breaking News” banner that author Sidney Sheldon died. Whoa, that’s right up there with Hemmingway splattering his brains all over the wall of his den in terms of losses to the literary world.
I tried reading one of Sheldon’s novels about thirty years ago. I don’t remember which one (is there much difference between them?) but I do remember that it was dreadfully written and slightly lewd, which wouldn’t have been a bad thing (it might have actually helped the novel) had it been less like the writing of a creepy old man. Well, it was the writing of a creepy old man. Sheldon was always old, even when he was young-and creepy. Oh, so creepy. The guy is responsible for The Patty Duke Show, and I Dream Of Genie, both solid examples of creepy old man territory.
The obit writer at AP seems to think Sheldon’s characters were empowered women, which is amusing as I always got a sort of misogynist vibe from him. Again, I wouldn’t necessarily hold that against an author (where would the world be without the writings of William S. Burroughs-that’s rhetorical, please don’t trouble yourselves attempting to answer it) however I keep returning to the idea of skill (I won’t even try to approach it with the word “talent”) which, at least from my albeit brief examination of his writing, does not appear to have been present in any discernable quantity.
As Harold Bloom* once noted of Sheldon, “God, did his writing ever suck.”
*Well, I’m confident he would say it if asked.
I imagine the person who did a search for "bedbugs foam rubber mattress" at the old blog was probably looking for something a bit less literary than my short story, "Fair Season." I suppose if you thought about it, that would be obvious from the Google excerpt where I describe their "Nocturnal feastings" and employ other pretentious sounding descriptions-hardly the stuff of Health Department issued warnings. Maybe it was just too weird not to click.
Fair Season is unquestionably the most "experimental" (read, "weird") thing I’ve written. My husband says it reminds him a bit of Brian Moore’s short work, The Great Victorian Collection, and when I finally got around to reading it, I could see why-but come on, Brian Moore (May he rest in peace) never would have gone out on the limb of the crucifixion involving ears of corn. Stephen King, maybe (Didn’t know about Children of the Corn at that point either, so can’t credit King with the inspiration) but not Moore. Interesting aside-I have nearly every book Moore wrote, even the obscure ones that were never published in the US, but I’ve never seen the film of Cold Heaven. I suppose it’s because I’m afraid it will suck, as most novels turned to films do. Black Robe was ok-not horrible, but still nowhere close to the novel. Think about how many brilliant novels have been turned into God-awful films (The Sheltering Sky, and At Play in the Fields of the Lord, come to mind). Why set yourself up to be disappointed? Don’t believe it’s over-the-top strange? Here’s an excerpt:
"Mother quickly made the sign of the Cross and knelt before approaching the altar to light a candle for her dear dead brother, Thaddeus who died years ago in a corn picker accident. The votives had Our Lady in what appeared to be a cornhusk rather than a half shell. A parishioner informed us that the image was "Our Lady of the Cornhuskers" patron saint of the state fair and college football. "Hail Mary full of grace blessed be thy name among quarterbacks and women."
"But this is sacrilege! A heresy!" screamed my Mother.
"No." explained the old woman," It is cultural assimilation and this is Nebraska."
"Like our Lady of Guadalupe in Mexico?" I asked.
"Like our Lady of Santeria in Lincoln." Mother muttered silently beneath her breath while casting a glance about looking for pagan statues to confirm her suspicions.
I stared at the image of the Saviour crucified on large stalks of corn, his hands bleeding with a cob through each;
"Momma?" I asked tugging her sleeve" Momma, is he stuck?"
Shh child" she scolded but the old woman was laughing.
"No darling, he’s not stuck, he’s waiting to come back."
"Where will he take us?" I asked.
"Someplace beautiful" she replied.
"Like Seward?"
"Even more beautiful than Seward."
"Well, we have to go find my Father and my Sister now, if you see them will you tell them we are seeking them?"
"Of course." She reached in her pocket and pulled out a key chain with an ear of corn that read" I Got Redeemed At The Ag Palace Chapel."
"God go with you child." "
Now, I admit, I was in the hospital at the time I wrote Fair Season, and quite ill, and medicated to boot, but there’s only so much one can attribute to the effects of narcotics and honestly, I think at that point and time, Fair Season needed to get out of my system. I did very little revision on it, preferring it’s incomprehensible rambling style. Sure, it’s offensive, and I cannot honestly say that I’m trying to get at anything significant. I completely pooped out and tacked on a bullshit ending. I never liked the whole Illuminati thing, but I simply grew bored with it and rather than letting it simply end-without some sort of motive or resolution, I felt pressured to take the dystopian/sci-fi route and frankly, the story was worse for it. I resolve over and over to take the time to fix it-but I know it will never happen. I haven’t written fiction in over a year and a half-somehow, given current conditions it seems, frivolous. Not that my other writing has any redeeming value. I stopped writing fiction just as I was casting off the laboured over-written style and finally finding a comfortable approach that didn’t sound forced. Two (and ¾ of a third) novels later (and dozens of short stories) I turned my attention elsewhere. Will I ever do the revisions and further work they need? Probably not (unless someone would like to volunteer their services as an editor-I’m the sort of writer editors exist for). I’ve taken on so many other research oriented projects that even if I could find the time, it would be difficult to find the mood.
I haven’t even looked at my fiction writing for over a year. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to go back and re-read a bit of the completed novel (Up Corn, Down Horn) but I hesitate-I’ve matured quite a bit in five year’s time-will I cringe just to skim the passages? I recall one particularly awful chapter where I have a character driving the Interstate naming off the last seven exits to his destination for the Seven Hills of Rome-and then trying to attribute characteristics of place. Yeah, that’s not pretentious.
I’d like to think my skills have improved since then, but where I may have abandoned some bad tendencies, I’ve likely acquired others.
Still, I wish the person had left comments. If they were freaked out by it, amused, offended-it would be interesting to know-seeing how they weren’t exactly looking for such a weird-ass piece of writing but rather useful information about a bedbug infestation.
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