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 Why we writeBy: Mark Morgan on 4/25/2002; 8:45 AM When my Aunt Kelly was diagnosed with cancer, I wrote a journal entry that made my mother and my sister both cry. I did my share of crying before, during, and after writing it. I just held back tears rereading it, an interesting experience when one is at work. I was so moved by events that week and the support I got from a loved one that I asked her to marry me. Why do we write? I've written many times, here and elsewhere, that I do not think anything I've every written has ever changed anyone's mind about anything. I wrote over at Nitpicker central about religion a lot, but I don't think I changed anyone's view of religion one iota. I remind myself of that when I get too swelled a head. So why do we write? I write to let people know they are not alone. I write to let me know I am not alone. I write to keep myself from the insanity that comes from not writing, when the demons stir in the darkness and I am alone against them. This week's I, Cringley: "Chase Cringely was my son. He died this week after 74 days of life, a victim of Sudden Infant Death Syndrome (SIDS). He literally stopped breathing lying in my lap while I did e-mail. There was no sound, no struggle. I just looked down and he was no longer alive. I have no idea whether he had been dead for one minute or 10, but we were unable to revive him. He was never sick, he just died, and now there is a void in our lives that we can never fill. As good a reason as any, I think. Why do you write?
 RE: Why we writeBy: Rachelle King on 4/25/2002; 1:41 PM Writing for some people comes very naturally. They know just where to place the words. How to display the images they want to convey. For me, writing is a struggle. It’s part of the positive things I do to keep myself sane. I do it to educate people. To show them another side to life. Another realm, another existence. It has always been a struggle for me, but I keep getting back on that bicycle. It’s something I have to work at everyday. I live in a world in which no value is placed on the written word. Your value is determined by what you can say, how loud you can say it, what kind of job you have, what kind of car you have… This isn’t just my particular low-income community. This influence is drifting in the suburbs, clouding up the beams from a streetlight, blocking traffic in the city. It seeps into oceans from storm drains and ends up swimming next to you in the clearest, cleanest water you ever saw. To think clearly in such an obstructive, obtrusive world, is to achieve some form of sanity. Sanity I crave like that first succulent drop of water in my mouth after it has assimilated into the deserts I walk in. I write to know myself, to work out complications in my head, and to show others how alike we all really are. For the heart that bleeds but has not a voice to cry with. For the eye that speaks but has not the hands for writing it. For the hope of solidarity, the progression of understanding, and the penetration of love.
 RE: Why we writeBy: Evan on 4/25/2002; 2:04 PM People seem to have an inherent need to express their feelings. Imagine that deep seated feelings that one bottles up are like holding in going to the bathroom. The longer it is kept inside you the worse you feel and the better the release feels. By releasing one's feelings one can gain the impression that others understand what one is going through and through the release and the empathy of one's peers start to feel better (regardless of whether the feelings were pleasant or unpleasant).
 RE: Why we writeBy: ScottN on 4/25/2002; 2:50 PM Many years ago, I wrote an elegy to a cat. She died as I was holding her. Maybe one day I'll post it.
 RE: Why we writeBy: lindsay on 4/26/2002; 1:15 PM Right now, most of my writing is for school, but every once in a while, i spit out something interesting and meaningful. My essay about god, that was real life. That really happened. It helped express my feelings and thoughts. I sent it to the person i was talking about and hoped that she would see my side of the story. she replied saying that it brought her to tears reading it. I'm never that good with words unless it's planned. I have to think about everything before i write it. This reply is thought out before i wrote it here. That's why I write. Lindsay
 RE: Why we writeBy: Richard Davidson on 5/23/2002; 6:32 PM Dear Mt. Rushmore: I am writing to tell you about an experience I had. Several years ago, I was on a mountain slightly taller than you. (No offense) I had a few undertakers with me, but that's not why we lost the frisbee. Ever since then, I've wandered the land, without knowing why. It has occured to me that plumbing is futile. On that note, I would like to explain the nature of poverty. Some people eat ham sandwiches, and some people look for rice paddies in Montana. Neither will ever find my asparagus, and neither will you. Oh, sure, I know what you're saying. What possible use could a mountain have for green, leafy vegetables. Well, that just proves that you're full of it. I never voted for any of the Presidents depicted so mercilessly on your craven shores, and never will again, either. As for Bob, he can just forget the fifty bucks. And that's why we write. Sincerely, Albert Goldonovich III Somewhere in Vermont, I think
RE: Why we writeBy: Richard Davidson on 5/27/2002; 9:01 PM Dear Mountain Vole: Though you are a rare and extinguished species, I still don't see any reason we can't have lunch together. I have verified the location of Albert Goldonovich III's asparagus, but I will need some help, as I am very much less than mobile. If you can speak goat, we will be needing the milk, and if you speak chipmunk, just feel free to go nuts. I sincerely hope you have gotten over your cold, and give my love to Barbara and that talking squid as well. If you meet me under Jefferson's left nostril, we can have some wine, and talk about stealing the asparagus. There's a pretentious little winery on the North road with a small gap in the cellar window. I recommend the Chardonnay. All my love, Mt. Rushmore ps if you can bring crackers, I think I may still have some of that cheese
 RE: Why we writeBy: Chie Theresa Fujioka on 5/28/2002; 3:33 AM Eirtk! Why mark do you mention this just as I am assigned a Why I...? paper in English which I wrote about writing. bad timing indeed. Me write... because it is the only way I can speak
RE: Why we writeBy: Richard Davidson on 5/29/2002; 11:05 PM Dear General Electric Toastmaster 7000: I am tired of writing sound, well thought out letters to inanimate objects, only to get no reply, and worse still, no toast. I decided I'd end this charade once and for all by switching to Bagels, which are fine raw, provided there's plenty of cream cheese. The Bagel was invented in 1694, by a Franciscan Monk with a fine haircut, and too much time on his hands. His brother was one of the sailors aboard the S.S. Frommage, which spread a plague from here to Amsterdam. Over seven people were stricken, and appropriately, burnt at the stake for Herecy, especially Harold. His ghost still haunts the monkey house at the San Diego Zoo. Monkeys, of course, evolved from tiny fish, if you believe that guy who hangs out in the hallway, and used to be able to fly. Oscar Dudley, a fictional scientist I invented for no other reason than to support my ludicrous claims, has written over 7,512 books on the subject, although he may be a little biased since I developed the buxom blonde character who hangs on his every word. Here's what he has to say in Chapter 905 of Brim Bramble Brumble -the Musings of a Maladjusted Old Fool: Father Mulligan couldn't believe the shapeliness of her young leg as it disappeared up her wool skirt. "The hell with flying monkeys," he screamed into a pillow, "I'm going to run away with her forever, never stopping longer than it takes to boil a mattress!" His mind erased several math equations from the chalkboard, leaving only a stick of gum, and twelve thumbtacks. Mata Hari O'Connely was a strange girl. She was 27, but still in grammar school. Father Mulligan had often wondered how she got that Volkswagon in the cellar, but had moved on to Russian poetry, and the different shades of transmission maintenance found in countries starting with the letter "B." As you can see, Dudley is a very poor writer, who had rickets until he was 30, and then moved on to Schizophrenia, and occasionally dabbled with Gangrene. It was the mosquitoes that finally killed him though, having plotted for 13 or 15 generations for the chance to off this surly mammalian abuser of adjectives. I explained all this in my last letter, which I left wadded up under the counter. Anything you can do to rectify this situation would be barely appreciated, and angrily tolerated, as is the custom in most sweatshops. Yours sincerely, as the moon may follow the cakesetters Alfred P. Monahan Notary Public Proud winner of the Harvey Award for Cleanliness
RE: Why we writeBy: ScottN on 5/30/2002; 12:05 PM Dear Herr Richard Davidson, Zo. Ve haf zeen jur writinks und ve sink zat ju haf von varped zenze of yumor, ja? Zo. Please to haf jur zecretary call mein zecretary und mach der appointment! Zinzerely, Herr Doktor Sigmund Freud --- Seriously, you have one warped sense of humor, Richard... I LIKE IT!!!!
RE: Why we writeBy: Richard Davidson on 6/1/2002; 10:09 AM Dear Mr. N: We have been studying you for some time now, and have decided you are a dangerous addition to the human race. We would like to cordially ask you to cease and desist all similar activity for 90 days, the lifespan of a Tick, or the length of a severe tennis match, which ever comes first. Should you find value in spotted tulips, we will simply have to pluck out your eyebrows, one by one. Using aluminum ladders in this fashion, you have abused your right to be found in small ponds. We are all eager for your next correspondence, which we will rip into tiny pieces, and serve in Sunday's jello. Sincerely, Alfred P. Womplestocking Anti Sigmund Freud Imitator's Society Wondering How People Feel About Their Mothers Since 1927
RE: Why we writeBy: ScottN on 6/6/2002; 4:36 PM I like jello!
RE: Why we writeBy: Chie Theresa Fujioka on 6/7/2002; 7:00 PM hehe... last night, I was trying to help my valedictorian bf with his speech which he had procrastinated until the night before. So I asked if it was going to be moral or something. He said he wanted it amoral, which I, of course, got confused with immoral. But he came up with a speech... hearing it from him you'd laugh and laugh, but it goes like this: I like jello. I know its wrong. But I like it. I LIKE it! (evil grin) im still curious as to what he'll say today
RE: Why we writeBy: ScottN on 6/8/2002; 11:22 AM From a Dilbert Strip Alice creates a bullet chart for the PHB to show: PHB: Can you get rid of the first two points?
RE: Why we writeBy: Evan on 6/8/2002; 5:13 PM I seriously considered sending an essay along with my college applications about jello (or was it pudding, hmmmmm). I like jello too, although one I've accidently sucked it up my nose and then it hurts.
RE: Why we writeBy: Richard Davidson on 6/11/2002; 8:19 PM Dear General Foods: I just love your Jell-o. It is one of the finest products ever made. I like it in all flavors; I like when there's little marshmallows in it; I'll even eat it with the little pieces of fruit suspended in it. I like the way it wiggles. I like the way it jiggles. My kid sees that and giggles. But it always leaves me with one question: What the hell is it? Sincerely, Some Really Bored Guy, Jr.
RE: Why we writeBy: Richard Davidson on 6/12/2002; 6:59 PM Dr. Mr. Bored Guy, Jr: Please don't write to our company any more. Frankly, you make the people in marketing very nervous. One executive, who shall remain nameless, (and no it wasn't Egbort C. Evinrude, VP of Producing Meaningless Chatter,) even went so far as to take off in his fishing boat, never to be heard from again. We wish to emphasize that it wasn't Mr. Evinrude, who doesn't fish. Well, sometimes he does, but it wasn't him. He does have a great fishing boat though; God knows I spent enough summers drinking beer on the lake he stole from those farmers. It was a beauty, and we never tired of his stories, some bordering on psychotic, and murdering toads for no reason at all. Anyway, he wasn't the one who went crazy, and gutted the entire floorwaxing department, and he certainly doesn't owe me six million dollars, so it's obvious I would have no reason to kill him. You may recall a dog by the name of Flopsie. You've been wondering where the dog is, haven't you? HAVEN'T YOU???? I thought so. Now listen to me carefully, Mr. Bored Guy, Jr.: If you want Flopsie to live; if you don't want the lovable pooch to endure GREAT PAIN, you'll cease and desist writing letters to my company for the rest of measurable time. We're not corrupt at General Foods, and yes, I really do work there, and am not some loony responding to your letter on a whim. If you go to the East parking lot, you will see my space, right next to the Flaming Golden Chariot, but you can't do that because I have filed seven hundred and thirty two restraining orders forbidding you to come within seventeen feet, eight inches of anything even remotely connected to General Foods. Which brings me to my last point: You'll have to give up Jell-O, a wonderful, tasty product that we have been proud of for over a thousand years. You are now forbidden to possess, caress, or even DREAM ABOUT Jell-O, or so help me, we'll shave your entire body, and send you to wander through the Andes until you find God. As for your poetry, you freak, don't quit your day job. Thank you, and please go away, Sir Albert Iguana 6 Norsby-Whistle, Director of Public Relations and Panic
RE: Why we writeBy: Richard Davidson on 6/12/2002; 7:12 PM Dear Mr. Norsby-Whistle: I am writing on behalf of my client, one Some Really Bored Guy, Jr, who, due to your harrassment and strange behavior, has taken to believing he's a chicken. Our company has hired six million, seven hundred thousand, five hundred and twenty three doctors, who have come up with absolutely nothing, and a chef to make nice omellettes from the eggs. His specialty is Italian Sausage, but we don't like that, so he'll be moving back to Switzerland in about fourteen years. His mother isn't happy about that, but she's been dead for a long time, and we don't expect that to change any time soon. Getting back to the subject of Mr. Bored Guy, Jr, we expect you to be in our office by July 15th, 2165, or you will be served with an insulting Writ that will hurt your feelings, and make you feel inadequate. Believe me, I've written these Writs before, and a Writ written by me is one witty writ. If you can say that three times fast, we will drop all objectionable and questionably ethical actions that we have planned with some of the most evil people in the history of law. This, of course, would serve your best interests, but we doubt if you can do it, so get ready for some real surprises. I don't want to give anything away, but it does involve flaming skunks. Meet me at the alleged courthouse on 6th and Main, and I will fill you in on some excellent ways of picking up women, and we can discuss this case over cinammon rolls and steaming hot beer. I'll be the guy in the black trenchcoat, surrounded by 12 or 13 identically dressed men with guns. I will be the only one wearing a carnation. Of course, I'm not hard to spot, as I am 8'7", and have two heads. The face with the moustache will be me. Sincerely, John Digby Digby, Digby, Digby, Digby, Digby, Digby, Digby, Digby, Digby, Digby, Digby, Digby, Digby, Digby, Digby, Digby, Digby, Digby, Digby, Digby, Digby, Digby, Digby, Digby, Digby, Digby, Digby, Digby, Digby, Digby, Digby, & Quail, Attorneys at Law Shirts pressed after 7:00 pm
RE: Why we writeBy: Richard Davidson on 6/12/2002; 8:21 PM Dear Mr. Digby: It seems this correspondence has arrived at my mailbox by mistake. This is not the offices of General Foods, but rather the offices of Bob's Taxidermy, which is in no way related to General Foods. I think the mistake may stem from the fact that you typed a semicolon after the word "Cheese," which, in my mind just couldn't be right. If you would be kind enough to pay strict attention to your punctuation in the future, I think it could prevent this sort of mishap, which would be a great relief to my cousin Saladfork, who is extremely paranoid, and slightly out of shape. I thank you in advance for sending me a check for $67.50 for costs incurred when the enclosed razor blades destroyed my favorite document shredder. When mailing sharp razor blades coated with poison, one should affix the proper warning label, per US Postal code 176.314, which I will share with you in piglatin. "Enway ippingshay azorbladerays oatedcay ithway oisonpay, unway ustmay oozeyay ostalPay abellay unsixtytwofourteenway; angerDay: envelopay entsay orfay uhthay urposepay ofay ommittingcay urdermay." What could be more clear? I think you will find this, and a steady diet of walnuts, figs, and pears will make you a more robust Lawyer, and a better lover to boot. I hope this helps, and if it doesn't, frankly I never cared for you Harvard types anyway. I sincerely hope you get dysentary, which is no picnic, unless you're dining with my nephew, Idiot, who is a real late bloomer. Sincerely, John P. Thighwiggle CPA Bob's Taxidermy and Sewage
RE: Why we writeBy: Richard Davidson on 6/12/2002; 9:42 PM Dear Mr. Peabody: I am wholly unaccustomed to writing to cartoon dogs from the 1960's, but nevertheless feel the propensity to send you this highly informative note. I think I have found that Sherman kid, and I have little doubt he is working mischief to the detriment of all. It appears the freckle faced little savage has gotten ahold of your way way back machine, and is now in the process of rewriting history in such a way that has the Ethiopian Army invading Italy in 1936, which really screws with the progress of an otherwise totally respectable world war, and forever changes the flavor of pasta as we know it. I enjoyed your instructional sex films, though I must say, they've put me off it for the time being. That being said, say "Hi" to the missus for me, and congratulations to you both on the litter of pups. I hope none of them end up needing glasses, of course. My dog doesn't wear glasses, or speak, or travel in time, but you should see him catch a frisbee! He's a genetic mutant, due to nuclear experimentation by the Czechs in my apartment complex, and those seventeen pairs of eyes sure do come in handy, as you may well imagine. Thank you for twelve decades of laughs, thrills, and yes, even tears, from your many contributions to Television, Radio, Broadway, and Applied Sciences. If more cartoon dogs from the 1960's were like you, we would have acheived world peace exactly three hours, ten minutes, eleven and two tenths seconds ago. And I appreciate your frequent use of the word "evidently," which was refreshing until the film I mentioned above. Keep up the good work, and "arf arf." Sincerely, Quamaline P. Buttworthy, Laundry Detective Third Precinct (Insert Town Here)
RE: Why we writeBy: Richard Davidson on 6/12/2002; 10:15 PM Dear Captain Kirk: I have always resented your ears, and your cavalier attitude towards women. Many of the green women you kissed, and then threw aside would have made perfect wives for me, especially after I had their brains replaced with small microwave ovens. For many years I've looked for a way to get even with you, and now I have found it. As Julius Caeser, Napoleon, Hitler, and Gremulax 7 have done before me, I will become the mightiest conquerer in history, known far and wide for my reign of terror and practical jokes. There is no way you can stop me, unless of course you have Scotty, Uhura, Chekkov and those Dingos steal the thought control device I have worked on since the last time the Yankees won the series, which was before Equatron the Merciless became the commissioner, and sent all those pitchers into that black hole, but I'm sure you won't think of that, so there is little doubt my plan will work. Incidentally, the thought control device won't work unless you time the Fictional Vortex to the exact frequency of the Miscellaneou Technobabble Simulation Chamber. You probably won't think of that, unless of course, you actually read this letter, and we all know what the odds of that are, don't we, you sickening human? Finally, and in closing, I would like you to appreciate that I cheated in most of those Poker games, especially the one where the pot included the five headed she-devil of Nabulex 4. Yours truly, Leonard "Spock" Nimoy Former First Officer Sworn Deadly Enemy
RE: Why we writeBy: Richard Davidson on 6/12/2002; 10:50 PM Dear Mr. Davidson: When we first heard about your idea for a book of funny letters, we thought it such a bad idea that we fired seven temps just for spite. Several members of upper management have been suffering from depression lately, and although I realize that's not your problem, I would ask that you refrain from judging them, especially Mr. Phinster, whose wife turned out to be an Oceangoing Ocelot. Our Sr. Editor, Mr. Adjective, translated your submission into seven hundred and sixty four languages; six hundred and seven living; and one hundred fifty seven dead. It may come as a bit of a shock to you to know that three of the dead language translations were somewhat funny, and the other seven hundred and sixty one translations left us all with a similar feeling to those hangovers you get when you drink turpentine all night, and dive out of a moving semi while your clothes and teeth are on fire. Needless to say, we burned your manuscript, invoking the names of all the ancient gods, except for Kremlon, who we were never fond of. An army of lawyers is on their way to your house, with court-ordered authorization to delete all word processing software from your computer, and to seize all pencils, pens and typewriters from the premises, in a consolidated campaign to stop you from writing again. Being under the jurisdiction of all preferred or derogatory state, national and local guidelines, the exotemporaneous validation of any and all existing claims shall be hereuntoforth beswoggled for any remaining extrapolation under previous and future rulings by this and any court, except that one in Amsterdam with the tacky Orange and Green upholstery, for the excessive and demonically incomprehensible use of meandering and painfully regurgitated run on sentences. We have filed this brief with the US Gealogical Society, The Association of Free Cosmic Unity, The Writer's Guild, and Parents Without Partners. We feel the language contained within this brief is both self explanatory, and inherently unnecessary. Should any confoundings on your part be notwithstanding, all subjigations of said documents shall be immediately forgotten, and promptly denied by anybody who works in my department, including but not disgusting hourly workers, salaried employees, and any mistresses I may have living in nearby hotels. Thank you for understanding our need to maintain the smug superiority of those in our position, and for humbly accepting defeat like the self serving toad you are. Sincerely, Gregory Rebecca Tinfoil Vice President of Propoganda and Looting World Wide Publishing If we think it'll make money, we'll publish it in French and German
RE: Why we writeBy: ScottN on 6/22/2002; 12:20 AM Dear Mr. Davidson, Please consider this notice that you are being sued for [pinky to mouth] ONE BILLION DOLLARS by our client, Mr. N. As a regular reader of VoU, he was subjected to several of your silly letters at once, and collapsed into giggling hysterical fits, causing him sever emotional distress. If you would prefer not to pay [pinky to mouth] ONE BILLION DOLLARS, then you can swim in a vat of lime JELL-O(tm) for an hour, while juggling six live flaming pigeons. At the same time, you must sing the theme from The Brady Bunch, interleaved with the Barney Song. Once finished with that, you shall climb a tree, and shout to the world, "Say it now and say it loud, I'm a cow, and I'm proud!" After that, we shall see about dropping the suit. Thank you for your effort. Sincerely, Howie Cheatham Dewey, Cheatham and Howe, Attorneys at Law
RE: Why we writeBy: ScottN on 6/13/2002; 11:15 AM Off topic... Does anyone remember what the drunk test was from "The Man With Two Brains"?
RE: Why we writeBy: Richard Davidson on 6/13/2002; 7:59 PM I think you had to juggle kittens. By the way, I don't see how that's off topic.
RE: Why we writeBy: ScottN on 6/15/2002; 2:44 AM Well, I really wanted to have my lawyers make you take that drunk test... :-P I thought you just had to juggle balls while hopping from foot to foot, while singing the [I CAN'T REMEMBER THE TITLE] song.
RE: Why we writeBy: Richard Davidson on 6/20/2002; 11:54 PM I could never figure out how Doris Day got away with singing "Que Sera Sera" in so many movies. It wasn't all that great of a song, and you should be able to associate a song with one movie, but there you had it, "Que Sera Sera" in film after film. She made over 75,000 movies, and there were only 3 that didn't have that damn song in them. Her first film, "Vengeance of the Possum," was about a small rural town terrorized by a giant possum, whose mate had been crushed in a grain silo. It starred Telly Savalas, and George Kennedy as the Mayor, and the Ice Cream Man, respectively. The plot was thinner than day old onion skins, but first time director Giobelli Francasini had been poisoned by radiation, and developed super powers. This enabled him to fly, and he got some extraordinary camera shots, and some Captain's Wings from United Airlines. Her next feature, the first of thousands to feature her trademark song, was called "Vengeance of the Dwarves," and had the outlandish premise of a small rural town terrorized by giant dwarves, whose mates had been killed while fishing at the local pier. Miss Day sang her way through a sickening gorefest that wasn't duplicated again until "Friday the 13th Part XXIII: Jason Gets Disgusting." In the early 17th century, after making her first 346 films for RKO, Miss Day decided to screen test for the biggest film since 1523's "El Silencio," which was made over 400 years before sound. "Three Swords for the Goat Herder" was to be the biggest Hollywood extravaganza ever committed to celluloid. They had already cast Carey Grant, Lionel Barrymore, James Cagney, Jimmy Stewart, Edgar G. Robinson, Gary Cooper, Loretta Young, Lucille Ball, The Marx Brothers, Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall, Sidney Poitnier, Katherine Hepburn, Sir Laurence Olivier, Elvis, and the Three Stooges, and were looking for someone just right for the part of Gertrude, the Samoan Shaman Queen with a heart of gold. Miss Day sang "Que Sera Sera" thirty five times in that film, which went on to win every award a film can win, including the Oscar for Best Picture, the Nobel Peace Prize, and the Burma Shave jingle contest. The premier was such a big event, that Genghis Khan came back from the dead just to attend. His 100% goat fur cape drew oogs and ughs from the dazed crowd of paparrazzi, who openly swooned as he relieved them of their wallets and cameras at swordpoint. The Senate passed a bill forbidding Doris Day to make any more pictures where she sang "Que Sera Sera," but it didn't look like it could make it past the House. Three of the members of the House Drinking Committee were caught selling Billy Holiday records to the Soviets, which was no laughing matter in those days. It was feared that if the Soviets came anywhere near having soul, it would taint the advantage America had always held in the Rythmn and Blues department, thus depriving our great nation of all those Olympic gold medals for dancing that had always set us apart from the rest of the world. The situation on Capitol Hill became very tense, until Miss Day herself showed up, uninvited, and sang the dreaded tune, but not in the usual key. Her voice had been a little rough that morning, so she asked her Beagle, Jennifer, if she could transpose the song into a lower key. The dog knew nothing about music, and howled mournfully until Miss Day's musical coach, Lucianno Pavorotti, translated the howling into a request for the much needed key change. He obliged with enough time for everybody to sit down to a nice spaghetti lunch, with some tea and a side of sausage gravy. In the late 60's, Doris made a film about the relationship between Quantum Physics and Undewater Marine Life. "Fission of the Dolphins" was to be her finest effort, and she only sang "Que Sera Sera" 12 times, which was pretty good, especially since the film was a tense and moody drama. She brought life to the role of Dr. Evelyn Dung, the leader of a band of Paramilitary Marine Biologists, who are infiltrated by one of the world's most brilliant physicists, Dr. Horaldo Essence, 'played by Mickey Rooney. The film opened in markets around the world to reviews ranging from adoration to just plain spitefulness, and moviegoers from Singapore to Bugtussel were bashing each other over the head with metal bedpans made in Boston in 1786. Nations rose and fell during the seven hundred months it was number one at the box office, and several of the engineers who would go on to forge the first all plexiglass ticket booth were born during it's triumphant run. Doris wound up her career playing Granny on "The Beverly Hillbillies," until 1977, when she was replaced by a potted Fern. The show rapidly declined, until it was replaced with still shots of people with goiters, and the sound of fingernails being raked across a blackboard, which actually got better ratings than the last season. In the final episode, Jed Clampett, now played by popular singer and teen idol Leif Garrett, discovers Ellie May is a member of a far eastern cult, that practices witchcraft and has a desire to make stew out of Jethro. It was, by far, the funniest episode ever made, including that one where Mr. Drysdale thinks he's Henry the Iv, thanks to Granny's peyote button pie, which he has 83 helpings of. The part of Miss Hathaway was played by James Earl Jones, who later went on to play Jack Tripper on "Three's Company." Most critics and fans agree that if there's a hell, they most certainly play "Que Sera Sera" there fifty or sixty times a day, and most likely the donuts don't have any sprinkles. I think that alone is enough reason to live a good life. But just in case it's not, don't forget, your host will be Tiny Tim.
RE: Why we writeBy: Mark Morgan on 6/21/2002; 9:07 AM Okay, Richard, I give; why are you hiding all your writing over here in the Cauldron?
RE: Why we writeBy: Richard Davidson on 6/21/2002; 11:06 PM I don't know what category to put any of this crap in. How'd you like the one about Doris Day? When I typed the first line, I had something completely different in mind, but it just sort of went where it did. That's been happening lately. Too many fictional characters living in my head, I guess. Some of those guys are messy, especially the water buffalo. Anyway, I'll put them where ever you want, or you can put them wherever you want, or we can just delete them all, and save Mankind from such bizarre foolishness. Wasn't that a master stroke, doing the letter about the book of funny letters? I almost broke my arm patting myself on the back, even though the grammatical and spelling errors should've given me pause. "I'll play anything ya want. Or if you want, I won't play at all." -George Harrison to Paul McCartney in "Let it Be."
RE: Why we writeBy: Richard Davidson on 6/21/2002; 11:22 PM Dear Mark: I would like to call to your attention the shabby maintenance of this site. Just yesterday, I saw a huge cockroach scurry across the kitchen floor, and there are rumors of rats. Evan slipped on some spilt tea, and there hasn't been nearly enough soap in the men's room. The camera in the third stall has become too easy to spot, and some of the club regulars have become suspicious. I told you not to let Chuck Berry's contractor install the plumbing, but as usual you disregarded my pleas, and took it upon yourself to fire that chef. In the mean time, let's work on tightening up some of the writing, which has begun to fall from my screen like snowflakes in a soft November breeze. I recommend Polident, which will keep all the letters neatly in place. Some of the employees have become a little obnoxious too. That girl who works in the lobby has taken to killing me in cold blood every time I walk by. I'm getting tired of that, and so is my undertaker. He can't afford to keep reviving me, and it's quite the strain on the sheep, as well. Please see if you can get all of this in order before the site inspectors get here in September of 2137. I can already feel their foul, hot breath on the back of my neck, and I think it's what's causing this rash. I'll check back with you in about five minutes, or a couple of weeks, depending on whether or not I get that pony. Sincerely, and with all the regards that are forthcoming, Richard Davidson Teamster and expert fisherman
RE: Why we writeBy: Mark Morgan on 6/22/2002; 9:21 AM I know--very little has happened here since I rolled out the Cauldron. The 'bots were left unattended in the kitchen and the radiation count after the "event" is still so high the Opposition Party has actually started to complain about it. Purgings are at an all-time low, and the lions aren't even bothering to let anyone even think they have a chance of making it out. My time is becoming increasingly challenged and my time management skills are not coping. I have had some thoughts about what to do about it and anyone who wants to offer to help around here, I would gleefully accept. The backend software, Conversant, was designed specifically for collaboration between people in a group. I will continue to devote my time and my creativity to this place, and the |authors| continue to trickle in and make life always more interesting. I just have all these ideas about how this place could be just fantastic. With some help that would happen sooner rather than later. In the meantime, I'll try to break this place out of its holding pattern.
RE: Why we writeBy: Richard Davidson on 6/22/2002; 3:04 PM Mark, my complaints were all tongue in cheek, not allegorical. (I really don't do that, you know. And Tolkien didn't either!) I don't have any problems with this forum. All internet forums are a little slow right now, because it's SUMMER! YAY SUMMER! Woo Hoo! What category should we put those letters in? Are they essays? Because if they are, I sure got ripped off in high school. Are they fiction? I mean, obviously they are fictional, but are they fiction? I know they aren't poetry, and they couldn't possibly be recipes. Oh wait, there's no category here for recipes, is there? No, I didn't think so. And that's ANOTHER problem with this site...
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