Anyway,
I decided to find out if I could do anything constructive with cafeteria
food. I smuggled out bits and pieces for a week -- bread sticks for
bones; tomatoes for eyes; liver for a ... well, for a liver; and various
casseroles for flesh. I don't have to worry about hair, because it's
growing some already. One problem remained -- I needed a brain. Yeah,
and my monster did, too.
You
think a brain would be easy to find on a college campus, but it isn't.
I mean, even the ones that aren't being used are kind of essential to
their hosts. And even during midterms, we don't have many suicides.
I
gave up for awhile and let my creation sit on the radiator while I tried
to find a brain for it. I couldn't bring myself to kill a squirrel,
and nothing else seemed accessible.
Well,
then the improbable happened (I can't say "impossible" about
something that occurred, eh?). I had this dram that I wished upon a
star for my creation to come to life. Next thing I knew, I woke up to
find a blue fairy flying around the food guy.
"What
are you doing?" I asked.
"I'm
making your dream come true," she replied in a pleased-as-punch
voice.
"Oh,
yeah?" I questioned. "What about all those dreams I've had
about David Bowie? Weren't they good enough?"
"Sorry,"
she replied. "He's had several dreams that he didn't even know
you. We decided not to mess with it."
"Oh,
great. So now you think you can just come dancing in here and make a
pile of slop come to life?"
She
got huffy. "Well, like it or not, I already did. You can't do anything
about it."
I
wired out. "You brought that ... creature to life? I didn't even
get a chance to fit it for a brain yet!"
But
as I reached for the little blue troublemaker, she vanished. "Damn,"
I remarked wittily.
It's
been a couple of weeks now and the pile of reincarnated food is doing
fine. I named it "Murph" because that's the only thing it
ever says. I did underestimate its intelligence, though. It's at least
as smart as the average college student, and I've taught it how to read
so it can study for me (something seems a little odd about that, but
I'll find out if it works at my next exam). As you can see, I've taught
it to write, even in my handwriting. Eventually, Murph will do all my
work for me. I can even rent it out when I don't need it.
All
I have to do in the meantime is keep it from the room inspectors. I
have an excuse worked out in case someone bursts in unannounced; I'll
say he's my blind date. I have dressed him in a plaid sports jacket
and polyester pants to make this more believable.
Well,
that's it for now. If you want to read a serious letter, turn to the
next sheet.
Copyright
1988 by Alyce Wilson