Go fuck myself?

I barely know myself!

MODERN BRIT

Handmade in small batchesby incompetent jerks

No. 3

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1

JAM SESH

The strings peel off my guitar like a peel peels off an overripe banana. It’s clear I rocked that chord. My axe is totally shredded.

Shredded. A word once so foreign to me now rolls from my mind’s tongue as smoothly as a thousand sweet nothings to a million bedded groupies. I guess that’s what comes from being a full-on rock star. You get to shred forever. With no consequences.

That’s just the price you pay I guess. And I’m going Dutch.

My bandmates are all super dead from the hardcore chord I just played. Before I played that chord, they were alive. Now, they’re definitely dead.

It’s a shame, really. Our drummer Chodey... Dude had a heart like a diesel engine and a liver like a diesel liver. He calls out to me.

“Bro, fuck yeah,” Chodey says through a mouth full of Oakley sunglasses. I high five him so hard we both bleed. Then I check his pulse.

Just as I thought. Dead.

I pack what’s left of my guitar into what’s left of my guitar case, and toss it into what’s left of my dodge Camaro. Then I drive out of that hot, sweaty basement, pillow-soft wheels rolling sweetly over my very dead bandmates as they shout protests my way.

As I hit pavement, the Camaro peels out.

Peels out like the peel peels out on an overripe banana.

2

FROM THE DESK OF MAYOR DAVIS

Dear Citizens,

As mayor of this beautiful town, I am compelled to confess to you a dark secret. I am a fraud. I have purposely misled the citizens of this town for my own personal gain and I would like to offer my most sincere apology to any and all residents I have wronged.

Eight years ago, as a candidate for mayor, I made a claim that was not true. I, John Davis, was not a citizen of Pound Town.

In actuality, I had never been to Pound Town. My first time ever in Pound Town was during the election. I know in my campaign I referenced the summers I spent in Pound Town, how my college education was rooted in Pound Town. I even dreamt up my family’s fictitious house on Lake Pound. I am sorry.

The truth is, I know nothing about Pound Town or the people who frequent it.

Don’t get me wrong. I’ve always admired Pound Town. Since I was a young boy I had been dying to go Pound Town. I begged everyone I could to take me to Pound Town. I planned trips to Pound Town and did reports about Pound Town. I ate, slept, and dreamt Pound Town.

But I have disgraced you and this fine city. Despite my love for Pound Town, I know now that I will always truly be an outsider.

As such, I am hereby announcing my resignation as mayor of Pound Town, after which I plan on returning to my home in Fuck City.

Sincerely,

John Davis

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ZOO TALK WITH WALTER

Hello animal lovers! My name is Walter and I work at the zoo. I’m here to answer your animal questions with facts and opinions I’ve accumulated over years of working with, around and on animals. Let’s get to today’s question!

Dear Walter,

My uncle was just bitten by a snake with red, black and yellow

rings. Is there any way to tell if this snake is poisonous? He’s

been foaming at the mouth and shaking violently for about 15

minutes now. Please respond ASAP

-Michael, Age 17

Dear Michael,

This is a letter I’ve been meaning to answer for some time now. Snakes aren’t poisonous at all. Many of them are venomous, however. Hope this helps!

-Walter

LITERARY CRITICISM

“The Cossacks” by Leo Tolstoy

Pretty good, but he didn’t even talk about the American Dream.

4

A QUICK REMINDER BEFORE OURRAINFOREST EXPEDITION BEGINS

Gentlemen, welcome to the annual Millionaires Club Rainforest Expedition. Before we begin, I’d like to run through a few quick reminders to avoid problems we’ve encountered in the past.

The jungle is a dangerous place that can be tamed by no man and no amount of money. No, Charles, not even by $4.5 million. It is important to defer to the proper authority. At times we will be travelling dangerous waters on canoe-type vessels. Please do not try to commandeer these vessels or convince their captains to “let you have a quick go of it.” Yes, Edmund, I understand that you were captain of the Yale rowing team. I will remind you of what happened last year when you fell into the water and were bitten by dozens of tiny little water bugs.

Please refrain from catching a fish and immediately tossing it overboard, announcing that you “Thirst always for the bigger fish.” Remember that this is a strictly non-hunting trip and none of you have licenses. To that point, please do not attempt to catch and slaughter any black caiman crocodiles. A rumor has developed within the Millionaires Club that their blubber is expensive and delicious. In fact, as a crocodile the black caiman does not have blubber. It is also protected under Brazilian law and I can only say that you are all lucky that you haven’t succeeded in even slightly hurting one. Yes, Donaldson, I know you got pretty close one time. We all know that.

Please refrain from putting black spider monkeys on your head.

During this trip we’ll be exploring ancient caverns, and proper safety gear is required. I hope you’ll all learn from Francis, who last year was caused great discomfort after being hit on the head by a rock while wearing only a fedora. Yes, Adolphus,

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a fedora just like the one you are wearing. What, Edmund? Edmund, I can clearly see that you are wearing not a fedora but a black spider monkey.

I feel like I make this announcement every year but please do not ask the group to stop hiking for a spontaneous wine tasting. We will have scheduled wine tastings every night at the resort. Also, please do not bring any baguettes. This has been a problem in the past. No, Henry, it’s not because they “won’t fit through crevasses.” Henry, please just eat that baguette now.

Please do not attempt to participate in a “spirit journey,” especially one that, Adolphus, if you’ll remember, leaves you running through town screaming “Viva consumer culture” and “You can’t kill me, I’m a rich boy.”

Please do not even joke about the classic short story “The Most Dangerous Game.”

I’ll ask that for the duration of the trip you refrain from buying people’s land, attempting to buy people’s land, asking people if they know anyone who might be selling their land, mentioning that you know someone who is looking to buy land and that person is you, or casually saying that you sure do have a lot of money that would buy a lot of land. Please also do not ask anyone if they know where the nearest silent auction is.

This should go without saying but please don’t litter.

Finally, to answer a question many of you have asked me in the last fifteen minutes, no, we haven’t imported any polar bears for hunting purposes.

Alright, off we go! Fasten your seatbelts and hold onto your black spider monkeys. Goddamn it, gentlemen. Of course I meant hats.

6

TERMS FOR BEATLEMANIATHAT DIDN’T CATCH ON

• Beatlefever February 10, 1964, The New York Times

• Beatlehysteria April 19, 1964, The Chicago Sun Times

• Beatlesickness January 1965, Billboard Magazine

• Beatlemonium March 1, 1964, Washington Post

• The Beatle Crazies June 1964, Life Magazine

• Lennon–McCartney–Harrison–Starr Syndrome September 1965, Tiger Beat

• Beatlendemic February 11, 1964, The New York Times

• Beatlecosis February 12, 1964, The New York Times

• Nutso Wacko Coo–Coo Beatles Bonkers January 12, 1964, Time Magazine

• Coleoteramania March 1964, Scientific American

• Beatles Insanity Delusional Sickness (BIDS) December 9, 1963, The Boston Chronicle

• Lennonfluenza Spring 1964, New England Journal of Medicine

• Beatlepathy February 13, 1964, The New York Times

• Beatle–lor disorder February 14, 1964, The New York Times

• Hulkamania (minus Hulk Hogan plus the Beatles) December 21, 1963, The New Yorker

7

Callahan? Yeah, I’ve heard of him.

Word around town is he’s got himself

some vices.

Steel, with high-gloss finish.

Keeps ‘em down at his workshop.

BERT AND GORD

(Knock knock)(Bert opens the door)

BERT: Hey Gord what’s with the long face?GORD: Sandy kicked me to the curb. Can you believe it?BERT: Gord I believe hair gel is a government plot for hair deamination, so yeah I can believe it.GORD: Bert you are a great friend! Smells like cinnamon in here.BERT: Yeah I got up early this morning to start cooking this cinammon.GORD: Smells really great!BERT: Getting a jump start on the day has been one of the best changes I’ve made in my life.GORD: Yeah it seems like you really got a lot of that cinnamon boiled.

(Bert and Gord sit down)

BERT: Hey say Gord, why’d Sandy kick you out anyway? Let me guess, always remembering to rewind your comedy VHS tapes?GORD: Yeah! She loves watching them rewind first because she hates not being in on the joke.

8

MEETING MAYA ANGELOU

The first time I met Maya Angelou was outside a saloon in New Mexico, standing with her thumbs hooked through her belt loops and a plug of chaw between her teeth. I walked up and told her I was a big fan of hers. She tilted her head, fired tobacco juice from the corner of her mouth, and said, “Howdy.” I was stunned. This was Maya Angelou, the famous poet, and she was talking to me! The author of I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings was actually speaking with me!

I asked what she was in town for, assuming there was a poetry reading I hadn’t heard about. Without looking at me she said, “There’s a man needs killin’.” Amazing. There I was, talking to Maya Angelou as though we were old friends. Like anything though, this chance meeting had to end. While we had been chatting the rest of Angelou’s posse had arrived. She rode off with them toward the nearby mesa where her prey was rumored to be hiding. I bummed around town for a few hours hoping to see her return, but eventually got bored and wandered off.

Some years later I found myself in her company again. I was on a plane when I heard the voice of our pilot come over the intercom. I recognized the voice at once: Maya Angelou! Can you imagine? Here I am on a plane being piloted by the woman who wrote something as beautiful and heartbreaking as “When I Think About Myself” and no one else is even acknowledging it. I tried to talk to my seatmates about this, but they ignored me. I refused to let it bother me, choosing instead to enjoy being in the company of Maya Angelou, poet and pilot. And the flight? Perfect. Not even a bump.

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Then only a few weeks later I saw Maya again --- in my parents’ house! I was sitting on the couch when Maya Angelou walked into the room and started talking to me. I was so shocked I could barely think. I eventually managed to tell her how excited I was to see her again. She seemed agitated after I said that, asking me, “Don’t you recognize your own father?” This threw me. She continued, saying, “I spent two decades raising you in this very house, and now you don’t even recognize me. I’m your father. Please, just say my name. Just call me Dad!” That’s when I realized what was going on. Maya Angelou, Pulitzer Prize winner, was testing out a new poem on me.

I was blown away, and when she finished I barely managed to say, “Thank you, I thought that was great. I really did.” She sighed and left. I was disappointed in myself for not saying something substantive about the poem. I wish I could have done a better job of giving her notes, but I think it might be impossible to do something like that for one of your heroes.

The last time I saw Maya Angelou she was wearing a stunning beige and white feathered number. Things were different this time, our easy rapport was gone. We hardly spoke. Somehow, we both knew this would be the last time we ever saw each other again. We shared some bread I had with me, and, all too soon, she had to go. She shook out her neck, spread her wings, and with an incredibly loud “HONK!” she took to the sky. I still hope to see her again someday.

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