My Spleen Itches
by A Candy-Colored Clown They Call the SandmanMy spleen itches. Don't ask me how I know it's my spleen, I can just tell. Perhaps if I could find an object long enough to insert into my throat and probe down towards my intestines, I could scratch it. But I have many important things to do first.
First on my list is visiting my friend Charlie. Charlie is a piece of lint living next to my water glass on my nightstand. Lately he has been depressed. Of course, you wouldn't know he was depressed by looking at him, but he tells me things that nobody else knows. For instance, did you know that Newt Gingrich has a secret obsession with Ethel Merman's feet? Or that retsyn, the additive used in the popular Certs candy, actually contains a DNA blueprint for a mutant strain of the Ebola virus. Of course, Charlie can't trust just anybody with this information-that's why he tells me. I can keep secrets. I have lots of secrets. In fact, I shouldn't even be telling you any of this, but my time on this planet may be limited-severely limited, based on some recent information given to me by Charlie. It's important that you know what I know, so that you can spread the word before it's too late.
You see, Charlie is depressed because there are men in "high places" who are attempting to collect every lint particle in the world and use them for their own devious purposes. Charlie is a little vague about their exact motives, but I know it has something to do with chemical weaponry and Richard Gere.
I like to "kill two birds with one stone" whenever I can. I hate double work. That's why tonight I will spread Tartar Control Colgate Toothpaste on my corn-on-the-cob. I will over-feed my goldfish, so they will die now instead of later. I will complain about my cable TV service during the same phone call I make to order it. I will sell my new car back to the dealer right after I buy it, to save myself a trip.
I stroll outside amidst the flora and fauna of the hospital grounds. I feel lucky to be alive. I will celebrate this morning with a heaping bowl of Cocoa Wheats and Manishewitz Borscht. As I stare at a caterpillar on the limb of a weeping willow, I wonder why Charlie commanded me to rip out all my fingernails and lay them out in a giant "V" on my coffee table. I think Dr. Williams wondered this, too. When he asked me why I did it, I responded that I was just "taking orders". After I was bandaged up at the infirmary, the pretty nurse, Camilia, whose eyeballs are constantly projecting "I Dream of Jeanie" reruns, kept a close watch over me. I know she is watching me from the lobby window, so I will not do anything considered out of the ordinary. I walk over to the huge oak next to the Japanese garden, and find a loose slab of bark, which I tear off and begin munching on. Charlie warned me that much of the hospital staff is on the payroll of the secret, lint-collecting organization which he calls the "Dust-Busters". Camilia approaches at a quick trot, and gently pulls the bark out of my mouth. I know she means well, but I still can't trust her. She steers me back toward the main building and into my room.
Today, I saw an interview on TV with Kathleen Turner and I am very frightened by her fake accent. I am riddled with anxiety as a result, and I am confined to my room after trying to make love to Ficus tree in the lobby. Camilia brings me scrambled eggs with spider larvae. After breakfast, I consult further with Charlie. It seems that an international conspiracy to manufacture and distribute inflatable Spiro Agnew dolls is underway. Charlie is concerned that this may be a diversionary tactic by the Dust-Busters. I assure Charlie that I will do whatever he commands to assuage his fears. I will report back to you later after undergoing further tests. Please ask Dennis Miller to shave his beard in the meantime. It is distracting.
Had enough yet? The Sandman has more. Read on...
[Writers] [Birdhouse]