Hopkins! Eyes front!
Now that I have your full attention, what can you tell me about the Gulf of Tonkin resolution as it pertains to the transformation of executive power under the Johnson administration?
Sincerely,
Mr. Ballard, 8th grade American History, circa 1996
Dear Mr. Ballard:
Here are some more things that are said on my home movies:
I’m a jazz-r-cise witch.
Look in the mirror.
Hold still.
I’m going to make your eyes look like a clown.
You’re not being cooperative.
The Palestinians said, for now, they were willing to go along with limited self-rule. Provided a state of their own was not ignored.
Do you want to wear a hat? Do you want to wear the glitter hat?
Don’t rub your face.
Come here a minute.
Yes.
No.
They tried to attack me as I got to the door.
The other one was kind of like what you are.
Buy crispy, harvest-fresh Iceberg lettuce.
Well, you didn’t listen to me last time.
Enjoy the show.
Aren’t you a little old for this?
See that light?
I don’t want to hear your life story.
That was very selfish of you.
Get that out.
You don’t need that.
I see you.
On my way to where the air is clean. (How to get to sesame street, the whole song).
It’s such a big word, I can’t read it.
That’s not a word.
They’re both the same size.
I’m gonna sail the ocean blue.
Go get another.
It’s ok.
You can do it.
Green is the color of spring.
Can you do some exercises?
Want to go eat?
Let me take you out to dinner, just the two of us.
We don’t have a VCR, so it won’t really matter.
Turn that thing off for awhile.
It’s kinda goofy looking at the top.
I’m being as sweet as I can.
Can we take a little rest, I’m kind of tired.
So go on, I won’t say no more.
Boo!
I hope so.
When you’re a little bit older.
It’s not as heavy as I thought it would be.
There’s my dad.
I have a bird.
Can I see those hairs on your chest yet?
What are you doing? I thought you’d be working?
Here’s my medal.
--Slavery Hopkins
Monday, January 8, 2007
Sunday, December 24, 2006
Dear Slavery,
My boyfriend says he becomes less fertile the less funny I am. What can I do to become more funny for him? Maybe you can provide an example of a good joke that would make a man secrete reproductive material.
Sincerely,
Not Funny In Bed Or Anywhere
Dear Not Funny in Bed or Anywhere,
I drew you a picture.
--Slavery Hopkins
Saturday, December 23, 2006
Dear Slavery,
I'm still hung up on the girl I broke up with over three months ago. I see her rarely, but when I do, it ruins whatever good mood I may have been in and I spend the next several hours making stupid decisions and annoying my friends. How do I forget this girl?
Thanks,
I'm Wearing a Shirt She Gave Me
Dear I'm Wearing a Shirt She Gave Me,
ACT ONE SCENE ONE
At rise: A barren desert. Mlagam lies down in the sand, and Jabali sits nearby. They are both emaciated, filthy and almost naked.
(Jabali stands up and directly addresses the audience.)
Jabali: A lot of people will tell you that it doesn’t feel very hot in the desert because it’s a dry heat, but, I don’t know, it’s always seemed pretty hot to me.
(Jabali sits near Mlagam and begins speaking to him.)
Jabali: Think about this: (points down) here is Azebu. (points stage left) That way is Baz-Baz. (points stage right) That way is Uzanga. (points upstage) That’s Dezembi. (points downstage) And that’s Malanjiajumbuz. Do you think there’s anything odd about that?
(no answer)
Jabali: They all have Z’s in them. Don’t you think that’s an unusual coincidence? So many Z’s all so close together--perhaps they’re the cause of all our misfortune. They’re putting everyone to sleep. But if they were collected and disposed of, maybe their removal might cause people to wake up to our situation.
(Pause)
It would explain all the sand too.
Mlagam: I’m not asleep.
Jabali: No, not you. It’s just other people that are.
(Pause)
Jabali: Z’s–all the way at the end of the line. Something’s got to be last, I guess. If you chopped off Z then Y would be last. What if you made the alphabet a circle, though, or a square, or just a big blob or anything? You’d still have all the letters. You could still talk. You could still write. And nothing would have to be last. You couldn’t do that with numbers, but you could do it with the alphabet.
Mlagam: No way to learn it.
Jabali: Oh, yeah. Nevermind. We should consider the children. They are the future, after all. The shrill, incontinent future. Yes, children are very important. Phone books, too.
(Pause)
The things that really bugs me about starving to death are the little inconveniences. For example, it’s very difficult for me to drink water out of my hands now, because the water just goes between the spaces between my fingers. I thought of a new way to do it, more like this, (he places his palms together as in prayer and then relaxes his hands to make a bowl between them) the little hole between your thumbs is like a spout. Still, the other way was better.
(pause)
And another thing–it’s impossible to form a good comedy duo around here. Everyone knows that all the great comedy duos have one fat guy and one skinny guy. The fat guy–he’s the one who’s really funny. We live in a country full of straight men.
Mlagam: You’re funny.
Jabali: Yes, but it’s very difficult for me. It’s a great strain. I’d much rather be the straight man. Other places must have the opposite problem. If a sort of exchange program could be initiated, imagine all the terrific comedy duos that could be created. That would be really fantastic. Imagine how much funnier just walking around might be–daily life, you know.
Mlagam: Contrast is comic. Uniformity is tragic.
Jabali: Here the humor is too dry. There the humor is too broad. That’s a joke. Didn’t you understand it? You’ve never been a big laugher, so I won’t take it personally. Please tell me, though. Did you understand?
Mlagam: Yeah.
Jabali: Good, good. I hate to waste jokes. There are only so many good ones around, after all, and a man never knows when he’ll run out.
(Pause)
Jabali: I wonder what is must be like to be very fat. I suppose it could be a bit like having a very low level of extra-sensory perception. Feeling things that are remote from one another, all at the same time. I fear my emaciation has robbed me of the ability to generalize in that way. (feels some sand) I’ve become more of a pointillist. You know, if a person could get so fat that some part of them poured down drains and wrapped around trees, then they would be omnipotent in a way. That’s something like what God is, only invisible. And good. Don’t you think?
Mlagam: (looks around and thinks about it without getting up) I don’t see anything. You could be right.
Jabali: I’m sure I am. So that means they’re getting more and more like God and we’re getting more and more like, well, nothing, I guess.
(Ni-Shan enters carrying a large plastic container filled with water. Zwafra and Wev arrive with him.)
Jabali: Well, if it isn’t the Bonny Prince. How fares your verdant kingdom? Do the honied melons burgeon with ripeness? Do the vendors deal briskly and jollily on the village square? Do you sup the sweet milks of a thousand goats?
(Ni-Shan sets down the container.)
Ni-Shan: No, not especially. No.
Jabali: Well, then what is the score?
Ni-Shan: It’s as I told you yesterday: tomorrow we will be eating the least useful person. That must either be you or Mlagam. I hate to put it to you that way, really I do. I’m sure that, being a reasonable person, you understand that it isn’t out of spite. Not even a little bit.
Jabali: Oh, yeah. Now I remember.
Mlagam: I contribute.
Jabali: It’s just ten o’clock, and it’s Saturday. Plus, I have big plans for the afternoon. If there’s a god, I’ve decided to become a minister. If not, I’ll be an... astronaut. I hope that there is one, a god I mean. Really, I do. To be an astronaut you’ve got to go through a lot. There are these big machines that shake you and spin you around in a circle. To be a minister you wear a hat, you eat a cracker, and it’s done. You get to watch TV for the rest of the day.
Ni-Shan: You know, that’s a good point. I’m not sure I’ve ever thought about it quite in those terms. I hope you’ll make some progress on that front. I think that you will.
Jabali: I want some water.
Ni-Shan: Help yourself. We can always get more.
(Jabali, Ni-Shan, Zwafra, and Wev sit around the container and begin to drink. Jabali uses his technique described above, which does, in fact, work better than the alternative. Mlagam stays where he is.)
Ni-Shan: Actually, there was one thing you could do this afternoon.
Jabali: Here we go again. Time goes by so quickly. You turn around and the day is over.
Ni-Shan: I was talking to a man in Baz-Baz. He used to work for my father. He said we could come into the refugee camp if we found the seven pieces of his missing amulet.
Jabali: I don’t know. Me and Mlagam had other plans, like I said. Anyway, as soon as we got in the camp, we’d probably all find ourselves working for you again.
Ni-Shan: While I can’t make you do it, and I’d never want it said that I was an intrusive person or that I was a demanding person, I thought you might want to help out. And perhaps this will sweeten the deal.
(Ni-Shan grabs up a handful of sand, and gives it to Jabali. Jabali weighs it in appraisal and sets it down near him.)
Jabali: (to Mlagam) Well, you make a persuasive offer, and it might be nice to have a zany adventure. Sort of like on that show.
Mlagam: Are the seven pieces still attached?
Jabali: I doubt it–you know what show I mean, though. It used to be on FOX. I think it came on after "Parker Lewis Can’t Lose."
Mlagam: "In Living Color"?
Jabali: No, it was a sitcom– (turns to Zwafra) hey, do you ever think about how we all know a lot about television shows, and we know what television is, but we’ve never actually had any televisions or actually seen one?
Zwafra: I’m sorry, what did you say?
Jabali: I said why are you still going out with this (points to Ni-Shan) guy and not me? I’m like twice as funny. Ok, hold on. Check this out. I’ve been practicing learning to juggle. People told me it was all in the wrist, but it turns out that isn’t true.
(Jabali stands up and backs away from the container. He picks up one handful of sand in one hand, then another handful of sand in the other hand, then a third handful of sand in the first hand. He tries to juggle these, which doesn’t work in the slightest, and continues making the motions long after he has dropped all the sand.)
Zwafra: Great.
Jabali: Well, I’m getting better at it. And it makes a bold philosophical statement–if you understand that sort of thing, at least. So, is a sense of humor just not that important to you in terms of mate selection?
(Zwafra starts to answer but Jabali cuts her off.)
And why would it be, anyway? You can’t kill a deer with a joke. You can’t dig a well with a joke. So why do you people keep putting it so high on the list? What would you get out of it?
Zwafra: Ni-Shan is funny too.
Jabali: No he’s not, come on!
Ni-Shan: I’d like to think that I have my moments of humorousness. Not really the laugh-out-loud kind, I suppose. I told a joke in Baz-Baz earlier, though now I can’t seem to remember it.
Zwafra: Don’t worry about it sweetheart.
Jabali: If you really wanted to improve things, you’d all learn to juggle too. That’s why nobody important wants to help us–you people aren’t entertaining enough. Do you understand what I mean? We’re too hard to empathize with. Otherwise, help would come pouring in. We need to stand out more. It’s like if there was a disease that gave you big green welts. Nobody would notice if green people got it. Bloody people don’t get attention if they’re already red.
Ni-Shan: But, you see, there aren’t any green people. Do you, don’t you feel that that sort of hampers your argument a bit?
Mlagam: I saw a purple man one time. He had a birth defect.
Jabali: I mean, we just need to be easier to care about somehow. Become more endearing. There’s probably a joke that’s funny enough to solve this whole problem for all of us. The only problem is that I’m suspicious it’s only funny in a language I’ve never heard before.
Ni-Shan: Again, that’s quite possible. I really can’t say. I hate to make a pest of myself, but if you wanted to go ahead and start looking for those pieces of the amulet, the ones that I mentioned before. They won’t find themselves, you know.
(Zwafra laughs.)
Jabali: Fine, did he say where any of them are?
(Jabali stands.)
Ni-Shan: I don’t think so. No, in fact, I distinctly remember he was, I guess you could call him evasive on that point. And that is a shame, I admit. A real shame. I’m not being very helpful. So, in the spirit of reciprocation and equivocation, I won’t become upset with you if you can’t find them. I mean, that seems only fair. I certainly appreciate all the help, any of the help, that you two provide. Does that seem fair to you?
Jabali: (to Mlagam) Do you want some water before we go?
Mlagam: No.
(Mlagam stand up slowly and unsteadily.)
Jabali: Let’s start with Uzanga.
(Jabali and Mlagam exit stage right.)
Ni-Shan: I think I’ll go pray for awhile. I’ll be back soon.
(Ni-Shan exits stage left.)
Wev: Do you think it’s true what he said?
Zwafra: Who?
Wev: Jabali.
Zwafra: What did he say?
Wev: That the reason no one cares about helping us is because we’re not interesting enough.
Zwafra: I don’t know. There’s no use worrying about it, I guess.
Wev: Do you think they would find us pretty at all?
Zwafra: Would who find us pretty?
Wev: Anybody. A man like Brad Pitt or George Clooney and more normal people too.
Zwafra: It’s hard to know. I don’t think so, though. I mean, it’s beautiful to be skinny, but we’re too skinny. We’re not very clean. We have worms.
Wev: And the thing that makes it so frustrating is that we could be pretty if only someone would give us some stuff to be pretty with. But no one cares in the first place because we’re not pretty to start with.
Zwafra: All it would really take would be soap, foundation, and some food. Maybe some eyeliner too. But not too much food.
Wev: Right. You know, men look best in times of plenty, but women look best nearer the edge of catastrophe–not right in it, though.
Zwafra: That’s because we’re more stoic. It emphasizes that stoicism.
Wev: Yes. It couldn’t be anything else.
Zwafra: I only eat a lot when I’m depressed.
Wev: Me too, but the only thing that depresses me anymore is not having any food.
--Slavery Hopkins
I'm still hung up on the girl I broke up with over three months ago. I see her rarely, but when I do, it ruins whatever good mood I may have been in and I spend the next several hours making stupid decisions and annoying my friends. How do I forget this girl?
Thanks,
I'm Wearing a Shirt She Gave Me
Dear I'm Wearing a Shirt She Gave Me,
ACT ONE SCENE ONE
At rise: A barren desert. Mlagam lies down in the sand, and Jabali sits nearby. They are both emaciated, filthy and almost naked.
(Jabali stands up and directly addresses the audience.)
Jabali: A lot of people will tell you that it doesn’t feel very hot in the desert because it’s a dry heat, but, I don’t know, it’s always seemed pretty hot to me.
(Jabali sits near Mlagam and begins speaking to him.)
Jabali: Think about this: (points down) here is Azebu. (points stage left) That way is Baz-Baz. (points stage right) That way is Uzanga. (points upstage) That’s Dezembi. (points downstage) And that’s Malanjiajumbuz. Do you think there’s anything odd about that?
(no answer)
Jabali: They all have Z’s in them. Don’t you think that’s an unusual coincidence? So many Z’s all so close together--perhaps they’re the cause of all our misfortune. They’re putting everyone to sleep. But if they were collected and disposed of, maybe their removal might cause people to wake up to our situation.
(Pause)
It would explain all the sand too.
Mlagam: I’m not asleep.
Jabali: No, not you. It’s just other people that are.
(Pause)
Jabali: Z’s–all the way at the end of the line. Something’s got to be last, I guess. If you chopped off Z then Y would be last. What if you made the alphabet a circle, though, or a square, or just a big blob or anything? You’d still have all the letters. You could still talk. You could still write. And nothing would have to be last. You couldn’t do that with numbers, but you could do it with the alphabet.
Mlagam: No way to learn it.
Jabali: Oh, yeah. Nevermind. We should consider the children. They are the future, after all. The shrill, incontinent future. Yes, children are very important. Phone books, too.
(Pause)
The things that really bugs me about starving to death are the little inconveniences. For example, it’s very difficult for me to drink water out of my hands now, because the water just goes between the spaces between my fingers. I thought of a new way to do it, more like this, (he places his palms together as in prayer and then relaxes his hands to make a bowl between them) the little hole between your thumbs is like a spout. Still, the other way was better.
(pause)
And another thing–it’s impossible to form a good comedy duo around here. Everyone knows that all the great comedy duos have one fat guy and one skinny guy. The fat guy–he’s the one who’s really funny. We live in a country full of straight men.
Mlagam: You’re funny.
Jabali: Yes, but it’s very difficult for me. It’s a great strain. I’d much rather be the straight man. Other places must have the opposite problem. If a sort of exchange program could be initiated, imagine all the terrific comedy duos that could be created. That would be really fantastic. Imagine how much funnier just walking around might be–daily life, you know.
Mlagam: Contrast is comic. Uniformity is tragic.
Jabali: Here the humor is too dry. There the humor is too broad. That’s a joke. Didn’t you understand it? You’ve never been a big laugher, so I won’t take it personally. Please tell me, though. Did you understand?
Mlagam: Yeah.
Jabali: Good, good. I hate to waste jokes. There are only so many good ones around, after all, and a man never knows when he’ll run out.
(Pause)
Jabali: I wonder what is must be like to be very fat. I suppose it could be a bit like having a very low level of extra-sensory perception. Feeling things that are remote from one another, all at the same time. I fear my emaciation has robbed me of the ability to generalize in that way. (feels some sand) I’ve become more of a pointillist. You know, if a person could get so fat that some part of them poured down drains and wrapped around trees, then they would be omnipotent in a way. That’s something like what God is, only invisible. And good. Don’t you think?
Mlagam: (looks around and thinks about it without getting up) I don’t see anything. You could be right.
Jabali: I’m sure I am. So that means they’re getting more and more like God and we’re getting more and more like, well, nothing, I guess.
(Ni-Shan enters carrying a large plastic container filled with water. Zwafra and Wev arrive with him.)
Jabali: Well, if it isn’t the Bonny Prince. How fares your verdant kingdom? Do the honied melons burgeon with ripeness? Do the vendors deal briskly and jollily on the village square? Do you sup the sweet milks of a thousand goats?
(Ni-Shan sets down the container.)
Ni-Shan: No, not especially. No.
Jabali: Well, then what is the score?
Ni-Shan: It’s as I told you yesterday: tomorrow we will be eating the least useful person. That must either be you or Mlagam. I hate to put it to you that way, really I do. I’m sure that, being a reasonable person, you understand that it isn’t out of spite. Not even a little bit.
Jabali: Oh, yeah. Now I remember.
Mlagam: I contribute.
Jabali: It’s just ten o’clock, and it’s Saturday. Plus, I have big plans for the afternoon. If there’s a god, I’ve decided to become a minister. If not, I’ll be an... astronaut. I hope that there is one, a god I mean. Really, I do. To be an astronaut you’ve got to go through a lot. There are these big machines that shake you and spin you around in a circle. To be a minister you wear a hat, you eat a cracker, and it’s done. You get to watch TV for the rest of the day.
Ni-Shan: You know, that’s a good point. I’m not sure I’ve ever thought about it quite in those terms. I hope you’ll make some progress on that front. I think that you will.
Jabali: I want some water.
Ni-Shan: Help yourself. We can always get more.
(Jabali, Ni-Shan, Zwafra, and Wev sit around the container and begin to drink. Jabali uses his technique described above, which does, in fact, work better than the alternative. Mlagam stays where he is.)
Ni-Shan: Actually, there was one thing you could do this afternoon.
Jabali: Here we go again. Time goes by so quickly. You turn around and the day is over.
Ni-Shan: I was talking to a man in Baz-Baz. He used to work for my father. He said we could come into the refugee camp if we found the seven pieces of his missing amulet.
Jabali: I don’t know. Me and Mlagam had other plans, like I said. Anyway, as soon as we got in the camp, we’d probably all find ourselves working for you again.
Ni-Shan: While I can’t make you do it, and I’d never want it said that I was an intrusive person or that I was a demanding person, I thought you might want to help out. And perhaps this will sweeten the deal.
(Ni-Shan grabs up a handful of sand, and gives it to Jabali. Jabali weighs it in appraisal and sets it down near him.)
Jabali: (to Mlagam) Well, you make a persuasive offer, and it might be nice to have a zany adventure. Sort of like on that show.
Mlagam: Are the seven pieces still attached?
Jabali: I doubt it–you know what show I mean, though. It used to be on FOX. I think it came on after "Parker Lewis Can’t Lose."
Mlagam: "In Living Color"?
Jabali: No, it was a sitcom– (turns to Zwafra) hey, do you ever think about how we all know a lot about television shows, and we know what television is, but we’ve never actually had any televisions or actually seen one?
Zwafra: I’m sorry, what did you say?
Jabali: I said why are you still going out with this (points to Ni-Shan) guy and not me? I’m like twice as funny. Ok, hold on. Check this out. I’ve been practicing learning to juggle. People told me it was all in the wrist, but it turns out that isn’t true.
(Jabali stands up and backs away from the container. He picks up one handful of sand in one hand, then another handful of sand in the other hand, then a third handful of sand in the first hand. He tries to juggle these, which doesn’t work in the slightest, and continues making the motions long after he has dropped all the sand.)
Zwafra: Great.
Jabali: Well, I’m getting better at it. And it makes a bold philosophical statement–if you understand that sort of thing, at least. So, is a sense of humor just not that important to you in terms of mate selection?
(Zwafra starts to answer but Jabali cuts her off.)
And why would it be, anyway? You can’t kill a deer with a joke. You can’t dig a well with a joke. So why do you people keep putting it so high on the list? What would you get out of it?
Zwafra: Ni-Shan is funny too.
Jabali: No he’s not, come on!
Ni-Shan: I’d like to think that I have my moments of humorousness. Not really the laugh-out-loud kind, I suppose. I told a joke in Baz-Baz earlier, though now I can’t seem to remember it.
Zwafra: Don’t worry about it sweetheart.
Jabali: If you really wanted to improve things, you’d all learn to juggle too. That’s why nobody important wants to help us–you people aren’t entertaining enough. Do you understand what I mean? We’re too hard to empathize with. Otherwise, help would come pouring in. We need to stand out more. It’s like if there was a disease that gave you big green welts. Nobody would notice if green people got it. Bloody people don’t get attention if they’re already red.
Ni-Shan: But, you see, there aren’t any green people. Do you, don’t you feel that that sort of hampers your argument a bit?
Mlagam: I saw a purple man one time. He had a birth defect.
Jabali: I mean, we just need to be easier to care about somehow. Become more endearing. There’s probably a joke that’s funny enough to solve this whole problem for all of us. The only problem is that I’m suspicious it’s only funny in a language I’ve never heard before.
Ni-Shan: Again, that’s quite possible. I really can’t say. I hate to make a pest of myself, but if you wanted to go ahead and start looking for those pieces of the amulet, the ones that I mentioned before. They won’t find themselves, you know.
(Zwafra laughs.)
Jabali: Fine, did he say where any of them are?
(Jabali stands.)
Ni-Shan: I don’t think so. No, in fact, I distinctly remember he was, I guess you could call him evasive on that point. And that is a shame, I admit. A real shame. I’m not being very helpful. So, in the spirit of reciprocation and equivocation, I won’t become upset with you if you can’t find them. I mean, that seems only fair. I certainly appreciate all the help, any of the help, that you two provide. Does that seem fair to you?
Jabali: (to Mlagam) Do you want some water before we go?
Mlagam: No.
(Mlagam stand up slowly and unsteadily.)
Jabali: Let’s start with Uzanga.
(Jabali and Mlagam exit stage right.)
Ni-Shan: I think I’ll go pray for awhile. I’ll be back soon.
(Ni-Shan exits stage left.)
Wev: Do you think it’s true what he said?
Zwafra: Who?
Wev: Jabali.
Zwafra: What did he say?
Wev: That the reason no one cares about helping us is because we’re not interesting enough.
Zwafra: I don’t know. There’s no use worrying about it, I guess.
Wev: Do you think they would find us pretty at all?
Zwafra: Would who find us pretty?
Wev: Anybody. A man like Brad Pitt or George Clooney and more normal people too.
Zwafra: It’s hard to know. I don’t think so, though. I mean, it’s beautiful to be skinny, but we’re too skinny. We’re not very clean. We have worms.
Wev: And the thing that makes it so frustrating is that we could be pretty if only someone would give us some stuff to be pretty with. But no one cares in the first place because we’re not pretty to start with.
Zwafra: All it would really take would be soap, foundation, and some food. Maybe some eyeliner too. But not too much food.
Wev: Right. You know, men look best in times of plenty, but women look best nearer the edge of catastrophe–not right in it, though.
Zwafra: That’s because we’re more stoic. It emphasizes that stoicism.
Wev: Yes. It couldn’t be anything else.
Zwafra: I only eat a lot when I’m depressed.
Wev: Me too, but the only thing that depresses me anymore is not having any food.
--Slavery Hopkins
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
Dear Slavery,
I'm worried about my growing addiction to cocaine and hookers. It's
gotten to the point where I'm embezzling funds from charity
organizations to finance my habits. What can I do to stop?
Matthew Alex Clevy
Dear Matthew Alex Clevy,
(There seems to be a theme developing with these questions.)
Here are five things you can name your band:
1. The Amber Waves of Pain
2. The Funk Nazis
3. Night of the Living Fred
4. Mark and the Beasts
5. Sharon Sarin and the Agents.
--Slavery Hopkins
I'm worried about my growing addiction to cocaine and hookers. It's
gotten to the point where I'm embezzling funds from charity
organizations to finance my habits. What can I do to stop?
Matthew Alex Clevy
Dear Matthew Alex Clevy,
(There seems to be a theme developing with these questions.)
Here are five things you can name your band:
1. The Amber Waves of Pain
2. The Funk Nazis
3. Night of the Living Fred
4. Mark and the Beasts
5. Sharon Sarin and the Agents.
--Slavery Hopkins
Sunday, December 17, 2006
Dear Slavery Hopkins,
I recently started snorting cocaine on Friday nights. Will this help me get laid with the chicks?
Thanks,
Stoned and Dethroned in Los Angeles
Dear Stoned and Dethroned in Los Angeles,
A true story: A woman stood on the side of the street and watched the house she was born in being demolished. As one of the workmen passed her, she turned to him and said, "That was the house I was born in." And the workman said, "Well, that must have been a long time ago."
--Slavery Hopkins
I recently started snorting cocaine on Friday nights. Will this help me get laid with the chicks?
Thanks,
Stoned and Dethroned in Los Angeles
Dear Stoned and Dethroned in Los Angeles,
A true story: A woman stood on the side of the street and watched the house she was born in being demolished. As one of the workmen passed her, she turned to him and said, "That was the house I was born in." And the workman said, "Well, that must have been a long time ago."
--Slavery Hopkins
Friday, December 15, 2006
Dear Slavery,
I new in this country and student at institution for astrophysics. Semester almost over. I wait after class today for teaching evaluation sheets to be done and then I take the sheets up to the main office in the building along with pencil box to turn them in for Mister Tupas and secretary says give me the box but I think it is teacher's pencils and I hold onto box of pencils and don't give it to her and she say that the pencils belong to department and I say well maybe I better ask Mister Tupas first she say no, just give the pencils to me but i don't give her them and then I throw teaching evaluations down in chair and walk out with box of pencils and Mister Tupas is not in office. I am not familiar with pencil box procedures and think the pencils might be Mister Tupas pencils. The department closed down an hour ago and I still with box.
Concerned,
Gooja Pupe Dong
Dear Gooja Pupe Dong,
Here are some things that are said on my family's 1991 Mari Gras Home Movies:
How are you?
Happy Mardi Gras
Here we are.
How’s it going?
We’d better be careful what we say.
Can it be erased?
It can be erased.
You get ready to catch it.
Strike Two.
What do you call it?
We’ve got him dead to rights this time.
Ball one.
I can do better than that.
Foul ball.
That was a warm-up.
Throw it to Granddaddy.
He was, like, eight weeks early or something like that.
How long does the reel on that last?
Two hours.
Please.
Are we supposed to do something?
Here’s yours.
There’s yours.
I don’t do anything until the read dot comes on.
The lens cap’s on.
When did you get that?
They’ll never perform when you want ‘em to.
When did you show up.
Turn that thing off.
That looks pretty.
This sink is still screwed up.
I got the knob screwed off and I couldn’t get it back on.
There’s a screwdriver up underneath there.
I wonder where this goes.
This is gonna be so boring.
He’s trying to call someone.
Two out of three.
Tell him to give me my shoe.
Alabama trails by four at halftime.
Don’t breath on me.
Don’t waste film.
The box had 36 in it.
He got caught in somebody’s political nest–I don’t think they really did anything.
Think it’s too early.
You can’t light your own candles.
Happy birthday to you. (Whole song.)
You’ve got to stay awake.
Bless her heart.
She’s getting some hair now.
She’s busy with this other one.
I walked in a store and it was all easter dresses, all puffy and frilly, so I had to go way in the back to find something more comfortable.
The blue goes with the red stripe.
Let me keep this straight.
I had to write people these nondescript notes that said, "thank you for your lovely gift. I don’t know what the hell it was, but I’m sure I enjoyed it."
Those are cute, mama, thank you.
A little bit big, maybe, but better than small.
I’m sorry.
I’ll take a piece home, and then nobody will know if I got the baby or not.
We’ve had a homing device implanted in it.
Isn’t it fun going in the toy department.
She goes with that pink cadillac.
Poke her eyes out.
Do they make this life size?
She knows what she likes.
Midge had freckles.
I think the government ought to issue one to every family.
I’m just getting ready for my trip to Florida.
Excuse me bartender, would you hand me a beer out of a refridgerator.
This is the best I’ve had in ten years. What year is it? 1991? Yep, about ten years.
Where’s your tongue?
Let me see your tongue?
She doesn’t know who this one is. She says she will get out more photographs and see.
Do you remember?
Thank you.
Goodbye, write if you get work.
He’s a sculptor.
Is this sausage?
Please turn that thing off.
No developing charge.
Are you alright?
--Slavery Hopkins
I new in this country and student at institution for astrophysics. Semester almost over. I wait after class today for teaching evaluation sheets to be done and then I take the sheets up to the main office in the building along with pencil box to turn them in for Mister Tupas and secretary says give me the box but I think it is teacher's pencils and I hold onto box of pencils and don't give it to her and she say that the pencils belong to department and I say well maybe I better ask Mister Tupas first she say no, just give the pencils to me but i don't give her them and then I throw teaching evaluations down in chair and walk out with box of pencils and Mister Tupas is not in office. I am not familiar with pencil box procedures and think the pencils might be Mister Tupas pencils. The department closed down an hour ago and I still with box.
Concerned,
Gooja Pupe Dong
Dear Gooja Pupe Dong,
Here are some things that are said on my family's 1991 Mari Gras Home Movies:
How are you?
Happy Mardi Gras
Here we are.
How’s it going?
We’d better be careful what we say.
Can it be erased?
It can be erased.
You get ready to catch it.
Strike Two.
What do you call it?
We’ve got him dead to rights this time.
Ball one.
I can do better than that.
Foul ball.
That was a warm-up.
Throw it to Granddaddy.
He was, like, eight weeks early or something like that.
How long does the reel on that last?
Two hours.
Please.
Are we supposed to do something?
Here’s yours.
There’s yours.
I don’t do anything until the read dot comes on.
The lens cap’s on.
When did you get that?
They’ll never perform when you want ‘em to.
When did you show up.
Turn that thing off.
That looks pretty.
This sink is still screwed up.
I got the knob screwed off and I couldn’t get it back on.
There’s a screwdriver up underneath there.
I wonder where this goes.
This is gonna be so boring.
He’s trying to call someone.
Two out of three.
Tell him to give me my shoe.
Alabama trails by four at halftime.
Don’t breath on me.
Don’t waste film.
The box had 36 in it.
He got caught in somebody’s political nest–I don’t think they really did anything.
Think it’s too early.
You can’t light your own candles.
Happy birthday to you. (Whole song.)
You’ve got to stay awake.
Bless her heart.
She’s getting some hair now.
She’s busy with this other one.
I walked in a store and it was all easter dresses, all puffy and frilly, so I had to go way in the back to find something more comfortable.
The blue goes with the red stripe.
Let me keep this straight.
I had to write people these nondescript notes that said, "thank you for your lovely gift. I don’t know what the hell it was, but I’m sure I enjoyed it."
Those are cute, mama, thank you.
A little bit big, maybe, but better than small.
I’m sorry.
I’ll take a piece home, and then nobody will know if I got the baby or not.
We’ve had a homing device implanted in it.
Isn’t it fun going in the toy department.
She goes with that pink cadillac.
Poke her eyes out.
Do they make this life size?
She knows what she likes.
Midge had freckles.
I think the government ought to issue one to every family.
I’m just getting ready for my trip to Florida.
Excuse me bartender, would you hand me a beer out of a refridgerator.
This is the best I’ve had in ten years. What year is it? 1991? Yep, about ten years.
Where’s your tongue?
Let me see your tongue?
She doesn’t know who this one is. She says she will get out more photographs and see.
Do you remember?
Thank you.
Goodbye, write if you get work.
He’s a sculptor.
Is this sausage?
Please turn that thing off.
No developing charge.
Are you alright?
--Slavery Hopkins
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)