Sequence of sentiments

Dear diary,

Do you remember that one summer, back when the sun really used to shine? DJ Jazzy Jeff was playing records in the park, and we were all dancing, clad in our best, having a barbecue with our families. All our aunts and cousins were there, our own grandparents as well as the grandparents of other ethnic groups. Nobody else parties quite like our ethnic group does in the summertime. Come, sit down on the blanket with us, and eat some herring. We’re all shouting at the top of our lungs, having fun. “Mass hypnosis!” That’s the chorus that we keep chanting. Come, sit, eat some herring with us. We play volleyball with a net, using a big red beach ball. Ladies in swimsuits are posing stiffly. There is a car idling in the woods; people are sitting on top of it, to feel the vibrations of its motor. Basic summertime party stuff. Changing our chant to “Even so, come, Godot!” Then singing the hymn “Let Us Do the Jerk Dance.” Yes, party in the summer when it’s hot. Make sure to rub ice on your body, to help yourself cool down. Come over to the place where all the people are dancing, dressed to the nines, and do The Jerk; then do The Human Claw Maneuver. Those are two good dances to do. Strech your arms way up high. Dance and boogie all night until you’re raw, and you wake up sore with red marks from doing The Human Claw New Dance. Then join the rest of us in the forest to watch a few reruns of The Facts of Life (1979). Also zoom over to meet Chuck Woolery, who was there that summer.

2

Let’s go out to town, hit the block and scope for ladies. Let’s look for harlots. We’ll bring our housecats with us. We find a party that is pumping. Everybody is upside-down. The music is loud. DJ Jazzy Jeff is here again. He calls you by the true name of your spirit: Leinenkugel’s Jägermeister Goldschläger Smirnoff. Yeah, now we are truly partying. Making a noise like that of a lawnmower. “I wanna sell you my used car,” I explain to Jazzy Jeff. But you tug my sleeve and say: “It’s 11:30, Bry, let us keep searching around for what we have been seeking.” So we head downtown to see if there are more bars open or any parties in that area. We dine at a restaurant that has a Mexican name, which translates as “Big Taco Fine Mom Lady.” We hop on the dance floor and go back and forth like a yo-yo, and up and down like Satan roaming the earth. “Wake me up when it’s time to go,” I say to Jazzy Jeff, who decided to trail us on behalf of the government. Now the party is doubly jumping. The bass is throbbing, making me feel really happy. All the ladies are dancing, doing backspins and running away from the stress of their daily lives. Our whole gang has sopping wet hairstyles. We tease the fellas because their ladies all abandoned them to join our organization.

3

I hate people who don’t believe in science. I believe in science with my whole heart. My colleagues and I are the scientists of our dominion. We measure everything, make hypotheses, record our guesses in notebooks, track the data, and clean up the mess. Who tipped over my cup of acid? Now all the figures that I was penciling are smeared. How can I make my computations now? Blast it all. And who left my Bunsen burner burning? Why is the rodent wheel still spinning? Where are all the control-group rats? Why is there a tail on that human skeleton? Look at this petri dish: it is filthy. All the bacteria grew up; they’re now thriving, well-adjusted members of society.

4

What is slippery when wet and rather cozy, popping its head up out the manhole and playing superfast on the ukulele? Keep this riddle handy; do not lose it.

Where is the riddle I told you to keep? Damn, you lost it? OK.

5

You have only one dollar, but I have twenty-nine billion dollars. I made my fortune selling lemonade-flavored ice, because I am a yellow-eyed werewolf. My nametag says that I’m tame, but I bite anything I see. So, keep away from me: I’m dishonest. I’ll steal your bicycle and then lie, and watch you walk away with tears dripping from your face. No apology letter from me. I will accuse you of being a traitor, and then steal your last dollar from you. Gimme that. I’ll see you later in church.

Hashbrowns are not brownies with hash in them. I just learned that. You and your friends are studying to become sword swallowers in the circus. Good luck. You hear that sizzling sound? That’s some burgers on the grill. I’m getting ready to watch TV, because my show is on now. Here it is: A mysterious man wearing black gloves is tearing up an important document. When I say “my show,” I don’t mean simply that it’s a show I like to watch: I mean that I am the star actor. I’m the man with the black-gloved hands, who is tearing up your wife’s marriage certificate. My acting style is vicious. Between takes they keep me in a harness. Many viewers live vicariously through my character. The audience loves to hear me say my catchphrase to my enemies whenever I best them: “This is a free country, but not that free.”

In this episode, I am hunting down the thief who has been stealing all the prosthetic limbs. I’m wearing a pure metal suit, walking through storefronts to chase this guy, the screen is an explosion glittering with shards of broken glass, and there are people in the background partying and having a good time in the summer, signifying that my character leaves all paradigms destroyed: he shatters innocence. You must be kidding, if you suggested just now that I am a man who will back down from the challenge of stopping the progress of immorality.

6

Then, after being fired from the police force, my partner and I become bigtime party-ruiners, and we go around screwing up all good plans. We transform into underachievers. “I’m so thirsty for action,” I confess to my partner, at the beginning of the show, after our supervisor has relegated us to working in the office, just prior to firing us, “I could drink a whole sea of deeds.” Then I pour lotion over all the office supplies, which makes the boss finally let us go.

Today, we’re enjoying a chase scene. “I’m right behind you,” I announce into my walkie-talkie car-radio to the vehicle that is speeding in front of us, as my partner and I race after them at high speed, deftly crossing and recrossing over the double yellow lines of the road, to avoid hitting the men wearing two-person deer costumes, geese costumes, racoon costumes, turtle costumes, and other varieties of men sporting two-person wildlife outfits that come wandering out in the night.

“Why are we in such hot pursuit of this individual?” asks my partner from the passenger seat, between sips of his coffee.

“Because he’s the monster on the ‘Wanted’ poster who is looking at you, pointing his finger at you, with a scowl, saying: ‘I want YOU’.”

My partner gasps and chokes on his beverage when he hears this: he loses his grip on the white Styrofoam cup and spills the hot black coffee all over his lap. He unlocks his passenger side door and opens it while the car is still speeding down the road at over one hundred miles per hour. He unlatches his police boots and slips into some more comfortable streetwalking shoes.