Entries for Week Three: Sestinas

Four brave souls sent me sestinas. I salute you all. This is probably the hardest assignment I've given in three seasons and it's certainly the lowest turnout. The good news for the sestina authors is that they have an unusually good chance to escape so early in the season.

Do I need to make next week easy to get everyone back with the program? Is it time for the dreaded "What's your favorite word?" I shall ponder this. Votes for this week are due in my email by 11 US EST tomorrow. Nighty night.

Vince Thruster:

The Metrosexual

He walks the Midtown streets all afternoon
in search of his favorite spa, Fondue.
He's never been, of course, but his friends say,
it's great, perfect, like Jeanne d'Arc at Rouen.
When he's finished, they'll paint the town bright red---
five cosmos for the metrosexual.

Do not weep for the metrosexual
for he won't be alone this afternoon.
His girlfriend, named Ilsa---hair short and red---
will keep him company, share some fondue
with him and, like the English at Rouen,
she'll make his body burn more than he'll say.

Ilsa is very good to him, friends say,
as she picks out his metrosexual
wardrobe---stylish as the French of Rouen
in his black pants on a hot afternoon
and tight button-downs that stick like fondue
in colors like slate grey, cranberry red.

He thinks he'd like Ilsa to dye him red
to match his one true love and all will say,
"I bet those gaybos eat lots of fondue."
That doesn't phase the metrosexual,
no, not even on summer afternoons
in the city. He dreams he's in Rouen

and his Ilsa is Joan on fire, Rouen
filled with sympathetic townfolk, the red
banners hot-waving a French afternoon.
He couldn't care less what the rednecks say
because he knows that "metrosexual"
is not a bad word like "fist" or "fondue."

Not that there's anything wrong with fondue,
per se, not like being burned in Rouen.
I mean, why be a metrosexual
if you do not enjoy your cosmos red
and stemmed, your back waxed smooth, and, one might say,
a roll in the hay on a hot afternoon?

I do hate the metrosexual, red
hair and all (but not fondue) you could say
it's self-hate, in Rouen, this afternoon.

Sailor Moon:

As the day draws near, I can almost smell the cloves
Hard to believe it is nearly November
Everyone anticipates the turkey
Except maybe the grocery store clerks
We will gather round to celebrate the pilgrimage
There is nothing better than gathering with family

The time is set, the place secured, invited is the family
The list is started lest we forget the cloves
We must prepare for those who make the pilgrimage
It is only week one of November
Hiring has started for additional grocery store clerks
And all of this is done for the turkey

And who or what is the turkey?
Is it someone in the family?
Or maybe the grocery store clerks?
It surely is not the cloves
Nor is it the month of November
Maybe it is the pilgrimage

For we all travel from west and east on this pilgrimage
To gather round the turkey
Once in this cool month of November
To be with the rest of the family
To spice up our food with cloves
And to harrass the grocery store clerks

For the grocery store clerks
Want to go on their own pilgrimage
And to fill their homes with the smells of cloves
To carve their own turkey
To be with their own family
Instead they must work nonstop the month of November

But I digress, it is week three of November
And the stores have the schedules set for the grocery store clerks
I have to set the beds for the family
For they are about to set forth on their pilgrimage
I have yet to buy the turkey
Or even the cloves

This month of November no longer smells sweet as cloves
Everyone including the grocery store clerks are sick of turkey
And all is sad as the family has returned from their pilgrimage

Leather Tuscadero:

Two Monologues: One Shakespearean and One Internal

Woke and yawned and scratched and stretched and pissed. Damn.
It was bright and hot and sticky and it was just before noon.
Stumbled into the kitchen. Burnt some toast. Peeled an orange.
Watched some show about on History about the Teapot Dome.
Empty couch meant no Lazlo.
Again, we're out of Cheetos.

Showered quick and scrounged for change. Cheetos
aren't cheap. Is this shirt clean? Ugh. Definitely not. Damn,
need some quarters for laundry. Quarters. Quarters? Maybe Lazlo
has some. Score! Hmm..Cheetos or laundry? Definitely Cheetos. Noon
is a strange time for TV. It's all stuff about the Teapot Dome
and funny-looking news hosts. That guy's tan is orange.

Climbed into the hatchback Corolla. Orange
and brown rust on the hood, like that cheese from Cheetos
on my fingers. Maybe I can use that Teapot Dome
thing for a paper this semester. Damn!
No gas. Walking to the store. 7-11 is busy around noon.
Businessmen buying old hot dogs. Women get coffee. And Lazlo?

"Wait. You're not him. I thought you were my roommate, Lazlo."
He has that same t-shirt. Did his undergad at Syracuse. Go Orange!
Grab some of those little cakes and coffee, half price 'till noon.
Maybe one of them herbal teas in a long can. Can't forget Cheetos.
Three-sixty, three-sixty-five. Three-sixty-eight. Damn
Take out the long can. I don't need the tea. Tea. Tea. Teapot Dome

Now it's going to be in my head all day. Teapot Dome. Teapot Dome.
Back to the apartment to catch a ride to class with Lazlo.
And now it's raining. That's just perfect. Thanks a million. Damn
it, no Lazlo. Probably washing his old Gremlin with the orange
flames up the sides and the compartment that dispenses Cheetos
like he's fuckin' Garth or something. He better be here by noon.

It's his goddamned turn to drive and he knows class is at noon.
And I've still got the thing about the Teapot Dome
in my head and a bag full of Cheetos
that I'm definitely not sharing with... Lazlo!
Rounding the corner with Paula with the orange
hair and we have four minutes to get to class. Shit! I mean, damn!

Almost noon now and I'm crammed in the back seat of this damn Gremlin
with the Teapot Dome in my head and Paula with the orange hair
and a bag full of Cheetos that I probably will share with Lazlo, after all.

Chummy:

Gardening

The spade sticks slightly in the black
Earth. Each time she pulls, the gardener,
Surprised it hesitates before release,
Grips hard the haft and jerks it free.
She wonders aloud to her just bit apple
Whether it was as sweet before the fall.

Bending to work, she still ponders the fall.
That fruit's taste unknown before this black
Time for none had ever eaten apple.
It must have soured in her mouth, a gardener
Then, a full formed body no longer free
To roam paradise, forever no release

From labors. Perhaps not. Release
May have come in that sweet bite. And in that fall
Into herself she was there made free
To choose. For she had no choice till that black
Beast had tricked her. And ere a gardener,
She was a simple child told "no apple."

She lays down her spade and bites her apple.
She watches her child romp by, tumble and release
A scream such as she gave when the gardener
Hard pushed her out and into the fall
To her father's hands, where she left the black
Meconium of her first movement. Free.

She cries a bitter cry although free
From harm and mum coaxes her with the apple.
She wonders that in one so small such black
Emotions so quick well up and then release
To such a simple pleasure. The fall
Is upon her. To her spade the gardener

Returns. And in a steady rythm, the gardener
Churns up the dirt to loose and lift free
The pomme de terre she picks before the fall
Suffers a freeze. Her child sucks the apple
Seeds from the core and winces at the release
Of bitterness. She spits them out all black.

Still, this time for the gardener is not black.
Though not free in labor, she finds release
In the fall of her child and the bite of an apple.

Ballmaster Crazy pays his debt to society. (How's your sestina coming?)

Assignment for Week Three: Doozy

I know what you're thinking. You're thinking: "I really wish I was writing more bizarre closed form poetry." Well, lucky you. This week, you're going to write sestinas. A sestina is a 39-line poem with some fairly specific requirements. Click here to learn all about them. Here's a description for the more algebraic among you. Here are some examples.

Now that you've learned all about sestinas, you know that they involve six key line-ending words that are repeated in a very specific way. So as to un-gum your creative juice conduits, please choose your six line-ending words as follows:

• A flavor or color.
• A specific period of time (e.g. a season, a month, a day part, etc.)
• A food.
• A noun referring to a person (e.g. roofer, Dr. J, concierge, etc.)
• An historical reference, preferably obscure.
• The sixth word can be any damn thing you like.

So, for example, your ending words could be "minty," "teatime," "Yoohoo®," "Jello Biafra," "Utrecht," and "smorgasbord." In the first stanza, you don't need to use the words in the same order that I listed the requirements. Your sestina should have a title.

Season One: Haiku. Season Two: Limerick. Season Three: Sestina. It's a natural progression, if you think about it. Now go out and have fun, you crazy kids!

Week Two Tribal Council

Part One.
Part Two.
Part Three.

Apologies for the audio quality on Part Three. Apparently part of the plastic bag holding a loaf of bread got between the phone and the charging contact on its base last night, so my battery was running low. This will all be a thing of the past when I get picked up by the Game Show Channel.

Week Two, Vote Two

We've got a three-way tie. Here's how this is going to work. Everyone* votes again, by email, for either Leather Tuscadero, The Metrosexual, or Vince Thruster. You still can't vote for yourself. The polls are open until everyone votes in the runoff or noon tomorrow (Friday, September 24), whichever comes first.

(*A close reading of the rules would suggest that only castaways who didn't initially vote for one of the runoff candidates get to vote in the runoff. If we played it that way this week, it would mean that some of the runoff candidates would get to vote in the runoff and others wouldn't. That doesn't seem right to me, so I'm calling an audible. Everyone gets to vote again.)

Entries for Week Two

...wherein you were asked to document the un-hingeing of a corporate CEO in front of the crowd at the firm's annual meeting.

Votes are due by email to me by 11 p.m. US EST. Please remember that the cute little poll over on the right panel is just for giggles. Your official vote and official scathing comments for Tribal Council need to be emailed with super secret ID passwords and all that.

Enjoy!

The Metrosexual:

Welcome everyone, it's good to see you all. Mickey Mouse sure has a lot of support, ha ha! As you know, when my grandfather Walt died, he left me in charge of this company. Even though I was much more interested in continuing my work with PETA, I was under intense pressure from my family. I also wanted to show that girls can "do it" too, so I took the job as the first female CEO of Disney Enterprises.

Although I have been with the company for only a year, some dramatic changes have taken place during my tenure. I'm sorry to say the changes have not been good ones. Basically, we've been taken to the cleaners by Pixar. Share prices are down, and major layoffs are imminent. Some of my higher ups have tried to whitewash the whole thing, but I won't gloss over it anymore. The secret is out.

Yes, the secret is out. Victoria's Secret, shall we say? I know what you're thinking: It'll all come out in the wash. Well, it did, didn't it! The secret came out in the wash. Oh yeah, last time I did the wash, what did I see but three pairs of women's underwear! And they weren't mine. Oh no, waaaay too big. See, not only can vegetarianism save the plight of defenseless animals, it also maintains a trim figure. I can't believe that two-timing pig. And to think, I was going to sell my shares of Fredrick's of Hollywood based on his recommendation. Stocks on that company have gone way up!

I don't let on right away. Let him sweat it out. And then today I come home from work, and I see the underwear in the wash, only this time the waistbands are a little frayed, a little stretched out. He's got quite a nerve bringing that girl's unmentionables over here, mixed in with his own skid-marked Hanes. And this time, with a bra to boot! No wonder he's been acting so weird lately. Like buying our daughter Emma her Halloween costume six months early. And she didn't even want to be The Little Mermaid this year. "Daddy, I don't want to be Ariel, bring that wig back to the store!" she says. Long red wig, it was too big for her anyway. He was all excited to give it to her, but he said he'd take it back. And now, six months later, he still hasn't taken it back.

And I've been finding little sequins in the sheets, so help me. At first I thought I was seeing things, going crazy. He said they were Emma's art supplies, but why on earth would she be doing an art project in our bed?

That floozy, what is she, some kind of showgirl or something? I can't take it anymore, I'm going to confront him tonight. The evidence is all there...the panties, the bra, sequins from who knows what kind of dress...and that wig...and that new tube of lipstick he bought me, even though he knows I don't wear red, too harlot-like...and the late nights...OH MY GOD, MY HUSBAND IS A DRAG QUEEN!!!

Sailor Mercury:

As you can see from the comparison between the last quarter 2003 and first quarter 2004 earnings, the company is beating Wall Street's projections by 15%.

*COUGH* excuse me a moment while I catch my breath here. I am standing up here, looking at all of your innocent faces and my conscious is screaming at me. The CFO has been funneling money from the company's profits to fund his "other life". Several other high ranking officials are guilty of insider trading. Our prestigious accountants are cooking the books. I know all of this is going on right under my nose and yet I'm standing here and lying to all of you.

*sob*

All I ever wanted as a kid was my own company. I hired my buddies in elementary school and launched a multi-level lemonade stand. I started up a neighborhood newspaper in 5th grade that generated thousands in profits. In middle school I direct sold Atari games, Converse sneakers, and parachute pants. And yet I stand here before you, a complete failure as a human being. My wife left me two years ago for the neighborhood butcher. My kids hate me and won't talk to me anymore. The FBI has been investigating the office and raided my house. I have nothing left. Nothing except my beach house in Santa Barbara, the lodge in Colorado, the penthouse in New York, the Rolls, the Mclaren.....

*sob, sob* I don't expect you to feel sorry for me, or to even understand. Don't make the same mistakes I did. Get out of the rat race. Spend time with your family. Hell, live in a cardboard box if you have to. I'm a good man, I am a good man.....

Aeon Flux:

Thank you, thank you, ladies and gentlemen of the board, shareholders, my friends,

Greed is good.

Greed is what shaped this country into the power it is today. It is what lifted us from a ragtag bunch of puritans who had been forced out of every civilized country in Europe for trying to tell other people how to live, to a mighty superpower with enough weapons to be able to tell other people how to live.

Here at Almalgamated Widgets, we follow this philosophy. America needs our widgets. So, if we have to trick and lie to people to get them to buy our widgets, we are only doing that for their own good. Remember, what is good for Amalgamated Widgets is good for America.

You greedy bastards have put your hard-earned savings into the right place. We can make more money with your money. We have proven it.

Competitors who envy our success, have entered the widget market and tried to usurp our dominant position. How do we respond to this competition? We're gonna grab 'em by the nose, and kick 'em in the ass. We're gonna kick the hell out of them all the time. No bastard ever got rich by dying for his company. The way to get rich is to make the other poor dumb bastard die for his company.

Oh, fuck it. Let's have pie.

Vince Thruster:

Remarks of Richard Smalls, CEO of Brokenwood and Steele
Marriot Marquis, New York City
September 23, 2004


". . . and as I look out at you fine people, I can see your faith and devotion and high moral character."

(cheers)

"You all know what it takes to succeed, what it takes to become successful. Many of you have had obstacles to overcome . . . the Lord knows I have. And I know we can make this company successful again."

(more cheers during long pause)

"Now, I know what you're thinking . . . Dick, you're taking us in the wrong direction, and you're stealing our MONEY. But that's just not true. I have given 18 months of my life to turning this company around. I left a seductive . . . I mean, LUCRATIVE position at B.J. Wholesalers to come to work here. To lead you to the proverbial promised land. And what do I get? Besides a couple handjobs from that intern Nadine and some meth from that copy-room guy, I haven't gotten much of anything. Free, anyway.

"You see, we haven't always been so . . . so scrupulous. There have been indiscretions, sure. But those days are long behind us. The cocaine-fueled board meetings, the favors we've taken with our secretaries, the torched warehouses . . . that's all in the past. That's ancient history. As I was telling my wife the other day, spending $20,000 on drugs and hookers for clients is not something we can do if we want to keep this company solvent. No, sir.

"Do you people even KNOW what it takes to run a company? It takes guts. It takes endless hours and an iron liver . . . er, constitution. When you have half a dozen angry clients pounding at your door, you can't just KILL them. You have to get them drunk and make sure they find their way to the crack whore while your photographer is still in position. This ALSO works well with politicians, but that's another story.

"Kids coming out of business schools today might have some ambition, some binge-drinking experience, and knowledge of office politics. But the first time they encounter, say, a staff meeting where the Jim Beam and the 12-inch strap-on make their first appearance . . . well, let's just say they're NOT prepared.

"From day one, I've been your guy. I've been the one that you could turn to when the stock went in the shitter and you needed someone to assfuck our competition. Literally. Paying off regulators? I was your guy. Sending one of the VPs to Chinatown to score some heroin from that one-legged gangster named Hong? I was your guy. Pimping my daughter to that Algerian conglomerate who wanted to bail us out? No problem. I mean, I EARN my $12 million a year . . . ANY WAY I CAN.

"Remember, folks. When it comes to propping up the bottom line, I'm your man."

The Giant MacAskill:

...And with market numbers at an all time high, we can look forward to record profits this year.

[...]

Profits...So that's what our lives have become. The search for more and more money. Shoving dollar after dollar into our fat bloated corpulent pockets. When will we be satisfied? When will enough be enough? Isn't there more to life than money? Isn't there anything in life more important than money?

{Random Board Member: No}

Ah. Well. Okay then.

Audrey and Judy Landers:

Since my tenure as CEO at ComputerCo, we have seen profits rise by about twelve percent. That translates into roughly a dividend gain of seven dollars per share and...
...
...
Sorry. Let me get away from my prepared speech for a minute and get something off my chest. For a woman to succeed so overwhelmingly in this male dominated industry is my greatest personal victory. I have worked for years against prejudice and stereotypes. I cannot tell you how many meetings I have attended where it was assumed that I was the secretary. You men need to figure it out.. and fast. Like now. And the fact that I don't have a husband doesn't mean I'm a lesbian! It is just so hard to find attractive men. And how is this possibly the case? I look out at you all now and I see so few women. It's all men. And none of them are attractive. Ok, there's Alan there, he's kinda attractive. But he's too damn shy to ask a girl out. What the hell's up with that Alan? Cat got your tongue? Again? And how did so many of you find women to marry? Who would marry you and why? Al Wright has 5 children. Five! Who sleeps with Al? Why is he having sex and I am not? Don't tell me I am not attractive. I know I am. Half you bastards are just staring at my tits! You're doing it now. I see you. Don't you think I see that? Sometimes I just get mad about it... you know... my eyes are up HERE. Sometimes I hope that it vmeans you MIGHT be attracted to me... I think maybe this time when Kevin Vincent looks at my breasts he might be able to muster up enough courage to say 'hey, would you like to go to dinner?' But no! ...I am willing to overlook the size of his nose or those silly suits he wears. But no... not even an offer.
...
...
Well my point really is that this industry it just a boy's club and I am sick of it. It's not about my breasts or my ass or my inability to get a date even though I am surrounded by men. This industry is guilty, but it is not alone. Our society sees women as objects, not as CEOs. We are desired for our bodies and our ability to cook rather than our prowess at business or programming skills. I put make up on every morning, try to look half way descent, and for what? Does it help me close the Ray-Fine deal? Does anyone even notice? Can anyone tell when I am flirting and when I get serious? Apparently not! Parker, when I am staring at you it doesn't mean I am mad at you, it means I am INTERESTED. How much of a signal do I need to throw at you? I wore that short skirt one day... the red one... yea, I can tell you know which one I mean... well you all seemed to think I was making a power statement with it... look here boys and listen up. I just need to get laid! It has been over six years since someone other than my butterfly vibe has done the job right. How complicated can it be?...
...
...
Ok, so my real point is respect. Sure, maybe our profits are up by twelve percent. Maybe that means a couple million for me once I vest. Where is the respect people? You seem to respect these! But how about the rest of me? Until I get a real date with a real man, I am done here. I am so done here.

Leather Tuscadero:

Remarks of Mr. J. Thompson Shuttlesworth
CEO of LongWinter Space Heating Inc.
Annual Shareholder's Meeting
12 January 2004
Omni Chicago Hotel

"And in the first quarter, we saw a small drop-off similar to the one we saw around the same time last year. And the year before. And the year before that. And pretty much as long as we've had a company. You can see it here on the overhead in orange. Bill, would you advance to the next slide? Just click on the.... there you go. Thanks. This seems to be a seasonal thing. Apparently people don't see a big need for space heaters in the summer.

"And ..." [Mr. Shuttlesworth pauses for a few seconds and looks back at the Powerpoint projection displayed behind him. He takes a long sip of water.] "... this surprises some of you, apparently. I know it does, because every June my secretary is flooded with calls and my inbox just fills up with emails. And it lasts straight through August. Shareholders on the phone, all damn day, just absolutely stunned that people aren't buying space heaters. In the middle of summer.

"I've got one of the emails here, actually. It's from Grace Milton. Some of you know Grace, don't you? She was at the shareholder's picnic last spring, and brought those lovely cookies. You all know Grace. Grace, stand up, take a bow. Let her hear it, folks. Well, this one's from Grace. She sent it to me this past summer. I'll read it to you.

"'Mr. Shuttlesworth,' she said. 'You owe me an explanation. We invested our retirement fund in LongWinter Heating last January and have seen nothing but steady losses since then. How do you explain this? What are you assholes doing down there with my money?' Remember that one, Grace? Grace sends a lot of these. Ha-ha."

"In the summer, we lay off workers and we cut prices. We do this every summer. Because, as I mentioned before, sales dip around this time every year. And we lose a few points. And we get them back tenfold every November. Every goddamned November. For fifty-three fucking years, people. But you still call. And write. Some of you even show up personally at my office while I'm trying to eat lunch. Some of you, very few, but some, even ate half of my egg-salad sandwich that one time. Ha-ha. Yes. Good times."

"Anyway, I'm going to let you good people in on a little secret. It's hot in the summer. Some of you knew that one, didn't you? Well, some of you obviously didn't, so I'll repeat it. It's hot in the summer. It's hot in the godforsaken summer. When it's hot, people don't need space heaters, do they? I swear to Christ... [inaudible mumble.] If you're buying our shares in the winter, you're a moron. If you're selling in the summer, you're a moron. Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you people?"

[Someone in the audience coughs. Mr. Shuttlesworth looks back at theprojection screen. He refills his water glass and takes a long sip.]

"And...uh, as I was saying before, this seems to be a seasonal trend that is offset annually by early winter gains in sales and..."

Popeil's Pocket Fisherman:

"Having covered 'Statistical Management Tactics That Appear Less Frightening Than The Really Scary Tactics That We Were Using Last Year' and 'Forward-Thinking Political Causes That Don't Alienate, Embarrass, Ridicule, or Make Any Actual Statement' in less than the six hours we had allotted (thank you, Sonya, for the fast-action Power Points), I think we're ready for a break. You'll find organic coffee and scones in the back of the room... feel free to step outside and over the curb and past the parking lot and around to the loading dock to smoke. When we reconvene we'll get started on these packets that you see in front of you. I apologize for the inconsistency in design; I thought that hand-writing each one with watercolors would be more personal and more meaningful than just, you know, typing them. In fact, I want to talk to you about instituting a No Type policy (Sonya? Could you write this down?). I feel-- and my share-a-pist agrees with me-- that my reliance on computers has really crippled my potential as an Administrative Support Professional. And, truthfully, as a man. I wanted to wait until Casual Yet Still Ultimately Pretty Professional Except For Susan Friday, but now is as good a time as any: I'm done with computers, Team Members. I mean, I know I'm sort of using one right now for the Power Points, and I've got this Blackberry in my pocket and a laptop... on my lap, but that's all circumstantial. Think about all the times you've stood in front of the Lexmark and prayed and cried and begged that the paper wouldn't get lodged behind the cartridge again? Who's with me? Joyce? And the email! Don't even get me started! Whatever sadist bastard invented "bcc" is a TOOL of the SATAN. My twelve year old sits at home on the phone, quietly lurking behind the 'three-way-calling' while one friend tries to get another friend to talk about her. 'YOU'RE BLIND COPIED RIGHT NOW!' I scream. 'WHO RAISED YOU???' She just covers the mouthpiece, huddled on the floor, glaring. Like Jim in Payroll. I don't know much anymore, people, but one thing I do know: tonight is the LAST night that my CPU chuckles to itself as it chews on my Financial Recap disk. Tonight is the LAST night that my wife claims that internet porn stole her husband. Tonight... I WILL WATCH TV WITH MY FAMILY. So let's take that break. And everyone see Barb to order colored pencils."

Chummy:

Bernard: The DOC has renewed its contract with Northrop. Accordingly, we anticipate orders to remain as they have for the past three years. We are also aware that GE is unhappy with its current vendor and we are . . .

Unknown: Mr. Bernard. Mr. Bernard.

Bernard: What?

Unknown: Is something the matter?

Bernard: What?

Unknown: You've stopped speaking. Is the teleprompter not working?

Bernard: What? No. It's fine.

Unknown: Mr. Bernard.

Bernard: What?

Unknown: Please.

Bernard: What?

Unknown: Mr. Bernard, proceed.

Unknown: Mr. Bernard, please.

Bernard: My son woke me up last night.

I hadn't been sleeping well because he was late, so it wasn't hard to wake me. He was supposed to be home by 11. I kept waking up and looking at the clock and having terrible thoughts.

I woke to the noise of him shimmying up the porch post and clambering onto the roof. I peaked out. It was dark. Stars but no moon. I saw him pull himself through his bedroom window. He was just a shadow.

He had keys, but climbed up to his window anyway. It made me think of my brother.

He woke me up one night. I awoke when he climbed into bed with me. I was four the last time he had done that. He was 9. I woke up and asked why he was in my bed. "I just wanted to," he said. It made me really happy.

This time I was 13. It was late. He had keys but decided to come in my window, so he shimmied up the porch post, climbed onto the roof and came in my window. It was dark and I couldn't see him. He and Len had been out driving and they came upon a car accident. My brother was amazed at how much blood comes from the forehead. "It comes down in sheets."

That made me think of an article I had recently read. A photographer's first person account of being at the scene and becoming a casualty. A picture isn't worth a thousand words. That's a myth. No picture would do justice to his thousand words. I can't do justice to his words in a retelling, even were I to read his account to you here, now.

My recollection of it is reduced to a few images. A man, blood running from his back, sitting and looking at the scene in amazement. Two men dragging a boy who had lost part of his leg and the pool of blood and creamy liquid that formed below the stump. A man looking at an injured man and beating his head and chest lamenting "Is that you my brother? Is that you?" The helicopters flying away and then returning and firing down into the street.

I thought of my boy.

I don't know why my boy climbed in his window when he had keys.

I'm worried about him.

Mr. Whipple:

I would like to welcome all the new shareholders attending this years annual meeting. We in Whippletronics look forward to a strong showing in the next fiscal quarter. Based on the figures from the previous quarter, we see a growth in earnings of 23 percent of last years figures. I will make this analysis short as the time is approaching eleven and we have all.... oh my goodness its almost eleven!!! I have twenty minutes to write my MisterCrunchy assignment. If I don't get my assignment in on time I'll be stuck on that dreaded space station for another week!!

I have not even started to write!! Everyone sit down, I have not lost my mind. Well OK maybe I have, but I need to write this assignment in now eighteen minutes and I need your help. Everyone grab paper and write down ideas. Our time is short and MisterCrunchy is waiting. Don't just sit there and stare at me like I'm some sort of lunatic, we have work to get done!! Don't you people care about anything else except your stocks and quarterly reports? You can read the *&($ annual report on your own time!! Now we need to get this assignment written!! Don't you dare touch that phone and call security!! All the preparation for this senseless presentation made me neglect my assignment and now here I stand minutes before the deadline and you people will not help me!! Cold heartless beasts you all are!! You should all rot in hell!! What!!! Security Guards!! Who called Security?!?! No! Get your hands off of me. Why are your restraining me? I pay your salary.

Nooooooo!! Must write my assignment! Nooooooooo! MisterCrunchy is waiting!!!! You will all pay for this!! I promise you!!

Exhibition Game

Mr. Whipple asked that I post his entry from last week. He wasn't able to vote, but he stills seeks your critical input.

"In my room"

There's a world where I can eat as many burritos I want.
In my room, in my room
In this world I pass as much gas as I want.
In my room, in my room

Do my Nachos and my Cheese
Lie awake and pray that the gas pain will go away.
Do my crying and my sighing as I fart it all away.
Laugh at yesterday's Chile wading in my toilet.

Now it's dark and I'm still hungry
But I won't be afraid to run to the border.
In my room, in my room
In my room, in my room
In my room, in my room

Assignment for Week Two: Trading Has Halted

You're the CEO of a public company, in the middle of addressing your shareholders at the annual meeting, when suddenly it all just seems so meaningless. Unfortunately, you've just had some sort of epiphany--spiritual, moral, existential, or otherwise--and now you're off your prepared speech and into uncharted waters. Let's have a transcript of your comments. Pick it up a sentence or two before you come unglued and keep the whole thing under 1,000 words.

Week One Tribal Council: Part 1. Part 2.

Week One: El Safari de los Badmintoneros

...wherein our valiant competitors were asked to rewrite a Beach Boys' lyric to reflect Brian Wilson's lifelong love of badminton and tex-mex cooking.

Players' votes are due in my email by 9 p.m. US EST, Thursday, the 16th, which is tomorrow. I'll try to have the results posted by 11ish. Vote for the entry you think is most deserving of one of the few remaining escape pods which will transport the winning author off this space station of despair and mild embarrassment. As always, you are strongly encouraged to include editorial commentary with your votes, if for no other reason than it cuts down on the kazoo playing at Tribal Council. Furthermore, if your comments amuse me, there might be something in it fer ya.

Aeon Flux:

"Badminton"
(to the tune of "Barbara Ann")

Ah, ba ba ba ba Badminton
Ba ba ba ba Badminton

Oh Badminton, you are the one,
Badminton,
You got me rockin' and a-rollin'
Rockin' and a-reelin'
Badminton ba ba
Ba Badminton

Went to PE, lookin' for a buzz,
Played badminton, It took only once,
With Badminton, Badminton
You're the one
You got me rockin' and a-rollin'
(Oh! Oh!)
Rockin' and a-reelin'
Badminton ba ba
Ba ba ba ba black sheep

Ba ba ba ba Badminton
Ba ba ba ba Badminton

Badminton, You are the one,
Badminton,
You got me rockin' and a-rollin'
Rockin' and a-reelin'
Badminton
Ba Badminton

Tried Mary Jane,
Tried Reds and Blues
Tried Acid too,
But I knew they wouldn't do
Badminton, Badminton
You are the one
Badminton
You are the one
You got me rockin' and a-rollin'
Rockin' and a-reelin'
Badminton ba ba
Ba Badminton

Ba ba ba ba Badminton
Ba ba ba ba Badminton
Badminton
You are the one
Badminton
You got me rockin' and a-rollin'
Rockin' and a-reelin'
Badminton ba ba
Ba Badminton

Audrey and Judy Landers:

"Tortilla Rounds"
(to the tune of "I Get Around")

Round round tortilla
Tortilla round
Yeah

I'm getting bugged eatin salsa on the same old chip
I got to find a new place where the chillies are hip.

My peppers and me are gettin real well known
Yeah the cringos all know us and they leave us alone.

Tortilla round
Tortilla round round round Tortilla round
Tortilla round round round oooo
Wah wa ooo
Wah wa ooo
Wah wa ooo

We always eat my salsa cause it's never been beat
And we've never make a mess with the chips we eat

All of the guys play badminton cause it woudn't be right
To eat all this good food and not have a fight.

Tortilla round
Tortilla round round round Tortilla round
Tortilla round round round oooo
Wah wa ooo
Wah wa ooo
Wah wa ooo

Chummy:

"Tex-Mexican"
(to the tune of California Girls)

Well guacomole's great
I really dig those green chunks
And the margaritas with their salty rims
they really knock me out when I'm with hunks

The burrito beats the pants off the boring taco
And those fajitas with their sizzling steak
They are muy muy bueno

I wish it all could be Tex-Mex
I wish it all could be Tex-Mex
I wish it all could be Tex-Mexican

The jalepeno's mighty hot
It sets my mouth aflame
But without it my huevos
Are just plain lame

I've been to a million Chili's
And I love the Mariachi sound
Yeah, but I can't wait to get back to Beantown
Back to the best darn frijoles around

I wish it all could be Tex-Mex
I wish it all could be Tex-Mex
I wish it all could be Tex-Mexican

The Giant MacAskill:

"Badminton, No"
(to the tune of Caroline, No)

Where did your racquet go?
Where is the sport I used to know?
How could you lose that cockshut-tllllle?
Oh, Badminton no

Who took that net away
I remember how you used to play
You'd never serve, when it wasn't your turn
Oh, Badminton yeay

Set up the posts
I want to hit the birdie and watch it fly
It's so sad to lose it makes me want to die
Oh, Badminton why

Could I ever find the birdie in the bushes
They're awful thick, and I can't see it
Isn't there another one in the box?
Oh, Badminton no

I LIKES ME SOME TACOOOOOOOOOS!!!

Kool-Aid Man:

"Wouldn't that be 'rice'?"
(to the tune of "Wouldn't It Be Nice?")

Wouldn't it be nice if cheese was over
all the tacos I could eat and more?
And wouldn't it be nice to bathe in salsa,
like the kind of food that I adore.
You know it's gonna make it so much better
when I can eat refrieds slathered in cheddar.

Wouldn't it be nice if chips and queso
showed up every time I had a meal?
And after having spent the day in bed
don't I deserve a cheap enchilada deal?

Happy times with nachos I've been spending,
I wish that every chip was never ending.
Wouldn't it be nice?

Maybe if I eat and eat and eat and pray,
I might just die.
Baby then there wouldn't be a single thing I'd have to try.
I could be buried.
and then I'd be happy.
Wouldn't it be nice?

You know it seems the more I talk about fajitas
It only makes it worse to live without fajitas
So I will eat fajitas.
Wouldn't it be nice?

Good night margarita,
Sleep tight margarita.

Good night margarita,
Sleep tight margarita.

Leather Tuscadero:

"Badminton is Cool"
(To the tune of "Be True to Your School")
(But not really, since the melody is clearly ruined quite a few times)
(With sincerest apologies to anyone who's ever had anything to do with
the Beach Boys)
(Except John Stamos. Screw that guy)

When some loud bastard tries to put badminton down
And says his serve is mighty
I smell him right away
To see if he's drunk or impaired
In some other way, perhaps, and then I ask
Ain't you heard of my serve?
It's number one in the county

Badminton is cool
Better than gymnastics
Badminton is cool now
Cause of the Olympics
Badminton is cool

I went to the screenprinters
And they made a special jacket
With "Shuttlecock" in big letters
And a birdie on the back
It looks real mean now
I look real cool
Holding that dainty little racquet

Badminton is cool
Didn't you hear me?
Badminton is cool now
Even though my wife left me
Badminton is cool

Come friday we'll be jacked up on
Performance enhancing drugs
Banned by most internationally-recognized
Badminton organizations of any repute
We're badminton thugs

Badminton is cool
Someone's got to think so
Badminton is cool now
Or we wouldn't have opponents
Badminton is cool

The Metrosexual:

"Loco Moe's"
(to the tune of "Kokomo")

Burritos and tacos, made by my friend Paco
Gazpacho, some nachos, there's a good muchacho
Tortilla, Maria, and a quesadilla, taco

Down an old dirt road, there's a place called Loco Moe's
That's where the local schmoes just get away from it all
Friendly atmosphere, a margarita or a beer
Will make you feel so good and help to erase your darkest fears

Down at Loco Moe's

Burritos and tacos, made by my friend Rocko and
Muchachos are macho eating hot gazpacho
Maria's sangria, makes me want to pee ah

Down at Loco Moe's

We'll drink up fast and then we'll throw up slow
That's where the yahoos go way down to Loco Moe's
(Bring the Tums so I won't get the runs)

After a long day, we'll hang out and say Ole!
We'll get drunk and we'll see who has the money and who's gonna pay
Pass the salsa please, Esteban you're such a tease
You say you want a good tip so get me more of those tortilla chips

Way down at Loco Moe's

Seista, fiesta, end of the semesta, see
The students, they're boozin', trying to be schmoozin'
My mother, her brother, fighting with each other

Down at Loco Moe's

The crowd is loud and someone broke a toe
Maybe we shouldn't go way down to Loco Moe's
(When will I learn I'm apt to get heartburn)

Only time will tell, if Moe's place does really well
Or if he'll have to sell and get away from it all
Bankruptcy would be hell
Paco and Rocko ate up all the nachos and
The grilling is chilling, the flan dessert is spilling
It's closing, I'm dozing, the dishwasher is hosing

Down at Loco Moe's

The day is done and now we've got to go
By now you've got to know, it's fun at Loco Moe's...

Princess Leah:

"Cocinera, No"
(to the tune of "Caroline, No")
Irving Music, Inc. BMI
Princess Leah/Brian Wilson/Tony Asher

Where did your fajitas go
Where are the tamales I used to know
How could you lose that recipe book
Oh, Cocinera no

Who took that book away
I remember how you used to say
You'd never change the menu, but that's not true
Oh, Cocinera tu

Stole my mojo,

and my mole too
I want to vamos
There’ll be no mas puerco
Oh, Caroline porque

Could I ever find in your casita
The homemade food you used to make
I don’t think you’ll ever

Make me some pico de gallo and tomatillo salsa
Oh, Cocinera no

Sailor Mercury:

"Burrito"
(to the tune of "Kokomo")

Tortilla, cheese ooo I wanna make you
Pico de gallo come on tomato
Fajita, frijoles why don't we go
Burrito

Off to Texas please
There's a place called Burrito
That's where you wanna go to get away from it all

Burritos across the land
Margarita melting in your hand
We'll be falling in love
To the rhythm of a Mariachi band
Down in Burrito

Salsa, rice ooo I wanna make you
Guacamole, onions come on pretty mama
Jalepenos, cilantro baby want some of these oh

Ooo I wanna make you a burrito
We'll make them fast
And then we'll eat them slow
That's where we wanna go
Way down to Burrito

Tamales, that Mexican mystique

We'll put out to see
And we'll perfect our baking
By and by we'll defy with a little bit of seasoning

Afternoon delight
Tequila and steamy nights
That hungry look in your eye
Give me a Tex-Mex high
Way down in Burrito

Enchiladas, flautas ooo I wanna make you
Chile con queso come on pretty mama
Tacos, tortas I know you want some oh

Ooo I wanna make you a burrito
We'll make them fast
And then we'll eat them slow
That's where we wanna go
Way down to Burrito

Vince Thruster:

"Wouldn't It Be Nice"

Wouldn't it be nice if we were loaded,
Smackin' birdies the whole day long
Countin' our points with shots of tequila
No foreign judge to score it wrong

And you know it would even be that much better
If we had some post-match tacos together

Wouldn't it be nice if we could wake up
Amongst our raquets and our clothes
The shuttlecock's been taken care of
As for the chalupa, God only knows

Drunken times together we've been spending
I wish that every rally was neverending
Wouldn't it be nice

Maybe if we drink and eat and shag and play it might come true
Baby then there wouldn't be a single thing we wouldn't do
We could play naked
Covered in salsa

Wouldn't it be nice

You know it seems the more we attack the netting
It only makes it worse for our bedding
But let's not forget about it
Wouldn't it be nice

Oops

It's been brought to my attention that Rosh Hashana starts tonight and might preclude some players from participating this week. Actually, I knew it was Rosh Hashana, but didn't know people might not be able to vote during the holiday. I've already got a good number of entries and my weekend is booked, so I'm not going to change the schedule. Week One will proceed as planned with as many players as can play. I hope there are no hard feelings and I look forward to seeing everyone's entries for Week Two.

The Management

See!

The Auto Correct feature: Bad for forging 30-year-old memos. Bad for Reverse Survivor entries.

(In Word: Tools - AutoCorrect, then deselect "Replace text as you type" on the AutoCorrect tab, and all the available entries under "Replace as you type" on the AutoFormat as you type" tab.)

Assignment One: El Safari de Badminton

There's no doubt that surfing and hot rods are cool, but do you really think Brian Wilson spent much time cruising in his 'Cuda or running the weekend warriors off his favorite locals-only break? Give us lyrics for one Beach Boys song of your choosing, modified to reflect Brian Wilson's true (ahem) passions, badminton and/or tex-mex cooking.

Ahooga! Reverse Survivor Season Three starts Friday. T minus 36 and counting or something like that. We've got some old familiar faces and plenty of newbies. I've already written an entire season worth of assignments while waiting for my tires, so I'm free to spend my time dreaming up cruel twists and rocking the kazoo. Buckle up.