Subpoenaed by
Valerie Bertinellie's Lawyer

by A Candy-Colored Clown They Call the Sandman

I turned on the TV this morning to find Jenny Jones filleting a cocker- spaniel while humming the theme song from Hogan's Heroes. My nurse, Camilia, wheeled in my bowl of Cap'n Crunch soaked in cream of chopped- liver soup. As I ate, a muscle spasm in my pancreas synchronized with the metronomic tick of the clock on my nightstand. In between the clock and the water glass is where my friend Charlie the lint particle resides. Today, Charlie alerted me to the fact that soon the musical artist formerly known as Prince will be found wandering naked alongside the New Jersey Turnpike singing, "Hot Dogs-Armour Hot Dogs, what kind of kids eat Armour Hot Dogs? Fat kids, skinny kids..."

I received a registered letter from Valerie Bertinelli's lawyer today informing me that I am being subpoenaed to appear before a federal magistrate as a result of allegations that I covertly collected hair, blood, and urine samples from Bertinelli and other 'One Day At A Time' cast members 14 years ago. I will categorically deny any involvement. My airtight alibi places me at a small bar in New Orleans during Mardi Gras, eating a vinegar and mayonnaise sandwich. My attorney, who has the head of Luke Perry, and the body of an unidentifiable marsupial, is not in the office when I call, but his attractive, yet unstable secretary, Psoriasis, who believes she is Sally Field from 'The Flying Nun' days, said he will call me later. In the meantime, I will eat all of the polyurethane chess pieces in front of me, except for the bishops.

As I stroll down the hospital corridor toward the vending area, the corpse of Fred Gwynne, fully attired as Herman Munster, approaches and asks me for a quarter. Speechless and experiencing full body shudders, I back against the wall. Mr. Gwynne just shrugs and ambled down the hallway, muttering in Dustin Hoffman's voice from 'Rain Man', "These DEFINITELY aren't my underwear." I slowly regain composure and continue toward the candy machine. I put my money in for a Zagnut Bar, and as I reach for it, a slime-covered, pus-oozing greenish hand with five-inch fingernails grabs a firm hold of my arm from within the machine and begins trying to pull me inside. I scream and try to pull myself free, when suddenly the hand lets go and I fly backwards, right into the arms of the ever-present Camilia. I turn around and look into her eyes, which are always projecting 'I Dream of Jeannie' reruns, and notice that Larry Hagman is sodomizing a horse. I begin twitching violently until Camilia administers my medication.

Charlie instructed me this afternoon to shave off all of my body hair so as to decrease wind resistance. The doctors weren't thrilled with this decision, but I must admit, it is easier to move around. Munching on Grape Nuts and gefilte fish, an idea struck me: If I could prove to the doctors that a small portion of my appendix was accidentally buried along with the remains of Beach Boy Dennis Wilson, then maybe I could get a three-day pass to visit his grave-site. I mused over this scheme as I approached the toilet seat, where I noticed, much to my horror, a pubic hair belonging to Saturday Night Live alumnus Larraine Newman. Charlie was correct again--the conspiracy has even extended into my bathroom. Panicking, I run out of my room toward the elevator where I am stopped by a rabid, foaming-at-the-mouth Mister Rogers. He asks me if I can say "diverticulosis". "Diverticulosis," I say, backing up toward the elevator. "That's a funny word," he said. "I like it when you say that." I jammed the "down" button at the elevator, but it appeared that I was trapped for awhile. Suddenly, Mister Rogers clutched at his stomach and grimaced, and much like the scene in 'Alien', a slimy, reptilian creatured emerged, amidst a spray of blood, intestines, and purple cotton sweater. As Mister Rogers collapsed to the floor twitching, the creature lunged toward me, but I ducked, and it flew into the wall and slid to the ground. I bent over the expiring one-foot long entity, and noticed that it had the tear-streaked, makeup-smeared face of Tammy Faye Baker, and the body of a seahorse. I gave it a dollar so it would shut up, and returned to my room.

In preparation for this evening's ping-pong tournament, I have grafted apple- sized chunks of flesh from my buttocks onto my elbows. This eliminates the need for costly protective padding. I decide to take a bath to wash away some of the loose skin and blood. While sitting in the tub relaxing, a geyser of Campbell's Chicken and Stars Soup begins erupting from the faucet. I attempt to turn it off, but the torrent intensifies and threatens to drown me. I scream at the top of my lungs, and fortunately Camilia shows up with my medication and all is well again.

"A CANDY-COLORED CLOWN THEY CALL THE SANDMAN"

9/13/97


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