The Cap'n and I are sitting here on the couch like we like to do post-surf, gazing at the lady hostess/announcer of the Olympics and commenting admiringly on her courage, she who dares to flaunt convention by wearing what is either the floor pad for a Volvo or a felt moving blanket provided by U-Haul. You go, girl, snap, etc. Mrs. The Cap'n is out of town, but before heading to the airport she rose at the crack o' dawn to prepare for her menfolk an exquisite strawberry bundt cake with her nuanced paws. Thank you Mrs. The Cap'n. The cake's really good with these pretzels and this tomato soup!
Corny, I've been away, researching my latest book--
Leaving the Body-- for Team Shredder Press, but I wanted to tell you
that I didn't really complete the Master Cleanse. Instead, I inadvertently stumbled on something I've dubbed "The JUNIOR Cleanse," and it worked out okay, so I just wanted to let you know you have options. I felt rilly good on the cleanse for 4 days, but as you know I have a little bit of an issue with mental illness and the brain chemistry, so when I started raging and weeping and hearing voices on Night 4, I kinda thought I better eat something. Sadly, the M.C. coincided with a grim period of Not Even Having Any Money To Eat, Neither a Farthing Nor Wooden Drachma (everything's okay now--I blame myself. I mean, I AM 46 yrs old and you'd think I could budget a little better at this point, but anyhoo . . .)
Anyway, I made it through the night but the next day at my gardening job for a fellow teacher, she offered me a Trader Joe's Mushroom and Cheese and Bacon Quiche, and thus was the Junior Cleanse born. Technically, it looks like this:
The Junior CleanseFollow instructions for the Master Cleanse, until such point as you begin hallucinating or tempted to kill everyone you see except for The Cap'n and Mrs. The Cap'n. If you DO start descending into madness, immediately take the following steps and you'll be right as rain:
Noon: Trader Ho's Personal Quiche
3 p.m.: 1/2 bottle Grade B Vermont syrup, swilled directly from bottle
5 p.m.: 1 carne asada burrito w/guacamole and 3 rolled carne asada tacos
6:30 pm: Allow yourself to weep and accuse others of whatever. If you feel the urge to write poetry, indulge. Your body's still adjusting to the change. It wants to thank you, but can't remember how.
8 p.m.: 1 xtra large tub of double-butter popcorn with Eileen at
King Kong, along with Family Size Coke that, when drained by you, will provide suitable receptacle for Eileen to pee in when movie turns out to be so good that she can't leave.
Midnight: Take your pills as usual, go to bed. In the morning you will awaken feeling fit and calm and ready to resume your regular diet of Cokes and cheese bricks the size of a car battery.
I love you, Corny and Grea C. Hair and Mountain Man, even though I feel shy because I've been out of touch/my body researching the new book, as mentioned above. I also want to express my deepest gratitude to Mr. and Mrs. The Cap'n. They're one o' the kindest, most compassionate couples known to man, as well as hilarious--in the style of Mr. and Mrs. Corny and Mr. and Mrs. Grea C. Hair--and they have kept me afloat as I wandered through that dark night that some have called The Valley of The Broadcasting Molars. If I may mix metaphors. I'm happy to be your Kramer, Mr. & Mrs. The Cap'n!
