an Online Journal of Sorts

By Alyce Wilson

VINTAGE: Oct. 13, 1988 - Letter to My Brother

Dear Ann Dee,

How goez itt? R   u   doo  ing fein? Eye m.  Thiss iz meye furst lettur eye feather rote. Wood u rathair speek too Al-iss? Eye thawt sew. Know buddy leikes mea. Eye gues isle gow aweigh. Buy!

That's right ... get out of here. Get back in the closet and don't come out until I finish this letter.

Sorry about that. I seem to have created a monster. It happened after I saw a double feature of Frankenstein and Dracula at the State Theater for 35 cents. It was a 50th anniversary celebration.

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

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