Cheaply Made Dreamland by j. lucow

During my yearly physical, I told the doctor about a problem with my ears. If I switch ears when I’m calling someone on the telephone, the pitch of the ringing tone sounds higher in my left ear than in my right. My doctor said this is the way sound travels.

“When a car goes speeding past you,” he explained, “the pitch gets lower as the car moves further away.  Simple physics.”

After jotting down some quick figures, my doctor calculated the distance between my left and right ears must be 67 yards. This would allow for the pitch differential.

I told him that can’t be correct since I can buy a hat off the rack without any special fees.

He said he wasn’t wrong and he pointed to a diploma from an expensive school and then to his lunch.  I took my urine sample and left to find another doctor, but my head wouldn’t fit through the door.  The doctor laughed while he ate his sandwich.  It’s a good thing I only need to go through this kind of embarrassment once a year.

Ever get the feeling that you’re being watched?  Imagine, for a moment, you were right.  Imagine that you were under constant surveillance.   Every move, every action recorded.  Hypothetically, mind you.

Imagine bodily fluid samples, hair follicles and skin cells were being taken from you without your notice.  What if someone was recording your thoughts?  Your fears?  Your dreams?

What if someone was recording all of this for the last ten years?  They aren’t, of course.  That would be silly.  Don’t you think?

Now imagine all of this supposed “data” was collected and compressed onto a computer so small it could fit in your pocket.

Imagine that the person who was responsible for protecting this tiny computer kept it in his coat for safe keeping.

Further, imagine this person left his coat on the train this morning by mistake.

That would be ridiculous, wouldn’t it?  All that time and effort wasted?  And the fate of the world now uncertain?

All hypothetical.  There’s no way this could ever take place!

So again, if all this hypothetically did happen, would you mind repeating everything that’s happened to you for the last ten years?

Please?

Hypothetically?

I don’t think there’s such a thing as Gentleman’s Suit Paste™….is there?  I must have been dreaming.  Even if you could squeeze a proper suit out of a tiny tube, I imagine it would be well wrinkled and you’d have to take it to the dry cleaners anyway.  No real time savings there.  I suppose the same holds true for Sweater Gel for Ladies™.  I need to watch what I eat before bed.
I wish I could go back to dreaming about that rooster who built a time machine.  He was a bastard.  Ha!

Association Press, London-  Reginald Elquist may be responsible for the greatest literary discovery of the last four hundred years.  While examining archives at the Youth Registry Services of England, Elquist came across an old file labeled: SHAKESPEARE, W.  Tucked in with a baptismal certificate and distillation records that date back to the 1500‘s was a note written by a child’s hand:

Dear Mother- Swimming with Ted.  Be back for supper.  Will.

Though little information is available to authenticate the work,  Edgar Frammel of the Institute for Historical Accuracy defends the letter as indicative of Shakespeare’s early period.

“The tone is wistful and filled with abandon.  Unlike his later historical plays, this work is akin to the early sonnets.  It is concerned with creating a history of it’s own.”

However important the find is, this early penning of The Bard cannot escape the sting of plagiarism.  Hubert Cunnington of The Queen’s Royal Library points to the youthful correspondence of Christopher Marlowe as the origin of “The Note To Mother”.

Mum- Bobbie and me went swimming.  Be back for supper.  Chris.

“Marlowe reveals an early attention to detail and clarity. We know what happened and have a keen insight into what he wanted.  I have every suspicion that Shakespeare turned up at the same lake and Marlowe told him about the note.  Shakespeare most likely snuck in the back door after swimming and put the note on the table before his mother noticed.”

Cunnington refuses to comment on Frammel’s analysis, calling his research “as historically relevant as a bucket of old toss.”

Bathing records for the period are currently being analyzed.

Now there’s a new style of songwriting that everyone can enjoy.  Simplonging!  No more awkward sing-alongs or annoying lyrics to remember.  This works at all tempos and with nearly every style of music (be wary of the polka, as always).

The concept is simple:  take the first line of a song and repeat.  With each repetition, decrease one note in the scale.  In the following example, we will use the ragtime classic Hello, My Baby in the key of C minor.

Hello, my baby (C)
Hello, my baby (Bb)
Hello, my baby (Ab)
Hello, my baby (G)
Hello, my baby (F)
Hello, my baby (Eb)
Hello, my baby (D)

And so on.  Continue down the scale until the note is inaudible and painful to sing.
Now, roll down those windows and get to simplonging!

Norwegian farming is once again making international headlines.
On a small plot of land, Dagfinn Halskar-Gundersen has been successfully producing pure telefupine for the last six months.

A fine crystalline powder produced by composting old rotary telephones, telefupine is a scientific and agricultural marvel.  Once mixed with ordinary tap water and ingested, it allows the consumer to recite the telephone numbers of every household within a three miles radius.  Halskar-Gundersen estimates that one metric ton of mature rotary telephones can yield nine grams of quality telefupine.

When asked how reciting telephone numbers can benefit the world, Halskar-Gundersen gestures to an unused notepad in his study.

“I haven’t written down a phone number in seven weeks.  That is a substantial savings in terms of notepads.”

Plans are underway to begin composting 8-track players by next autumn.  Dagfinn hopes the resulting supply of octobalt will keep him in telepathtic contact with Englebert Humperdink indefinitely.

Chimeny sat alone in a large room, half decorated to resemble the congo.  The other half remained a cold, sterile laboratory.  Given a choice,  the chimpanzee sat on a white chair next to a white table against a white wall.  It was the best vantage point to appreciate the fake trees, faux vines and stuffed birds on the other side of the room.   Leaf covered speakers oozed sounds of the wild.  When Paula flipped the light switch in the viewing booth, Chimeny turned slowly to look at us.  It was a look I remembered giving my own parents many years ago.

“Do you believe this?  I don’t.  I’m fifteen.”

My mother and father bought me a train set when I was creeping into puberty.   I wanted to drive cars and they gave me an H-O scale nightmare.  Chimeny might as well have been wearing a conductor’s hat.  His brow raised slightly in a “get on with it” way.

Paula entered the lab with two bananas and a garbage pail.  Chimeny took one of the bananas and sat on a papier-mâché stump.  He ate it slowly and then dropped the peel on the floor in front of him.  Paula scribbled in her notebook.  She offered him the second banana and slid the trash bin closer.  He ignored her, got up and sat back on the white chair.  He picked at his feet until she walked out of the room.

Paula came into the viewing booth, looking as if she had just returned from a horrible date.

“He won’t throw the peel in the trash.  A lot of people are going to be upset.”

I got my test results back from the doctor this afternoon.  Apparently there’s only a seven percent chance that I’m being followed by a retired Air Force pilot named Jared Niff.  I don’t agree.  I showed my doctor the threatening letters I’ve received and the sixty caller ID records that read: NIFF, J from midnight to three in the morning.  He took my temperature.  Normal.  He said it’s probably nothing and not to worry about it.  He handed me a small tube.

“If Jared shows up, apply this ointment to him.”

Also, he said my B-12 levels are a bit low.   I told him there must be some mistake.  I’ve never had a problem with my B-12 levels before.  He said maybe Jared did something to them and then he stuck out his tongue at me.  What a childish thing for a doctor to do, I thought.  I screamed into his stethoscope.  He wouldn’t give me a butterscotch disc on the way out.

There was a new guy in the office today.  He had a nervous / excited feel about him.  I figured I’d let him get himself situated and comfortable before starting a conversation.  I thought for sure he was a new salesman.  He took an apple from the fridge and the petty cash box.  He put both into his briefcase, smiled and then left.  For lunch, I supposed.
Then I realized I’m self employed, work at home and have no employees.
Do I ever have a handful of questions for him when he gets back from lunch.

World domination is much harder than you’d think!  Building the robotic metal suit was easy enough, but it gets very sweaty in there.  The worst is the helmet.  It’s starting to smell like a gym locker after spending an hour or two blowing up tanks and mountains.  Also, I dropped a sandwich in it which I think ended up down by the foot.  That’s really going to be unpleasant come August.  If anyone has the number for that iron gentleman, I’d appreciate it.

Inspired by the old Yiddish saying, Only someone with enormous balls should consider bowling, I set out to find my life’s true calling.

My wife stopped me half way out the door and said, “Oh, no you don’t.  No true calling searching for you tonight.”

We went to the market for sponges and a cleaning abrasive instead.

Memo To Mechanical Room:

Please check the connection to the saliva gland.  We’ve had major drool with a 4 inch diameter on a white shirt, thank you.  We are out in public, remember.  Yes, I do understand that many systems run on automatic during rest cycles and yes, it is apparent that maintenance has more than it’s hands full, given lunch was Mexican again today.

Be advised that The Host will be traveling for another full day and power naps are being used to conserve vital memory threads regarding the location of luggage, times/dosages of medication, etc.  In terms of excess spittal, it is recommended that the jaw remain locked until further notice.

When all systems go back online we will be pretending to read a newspaper.  If the auditory team picks up the slightest giggle, we will be sending emergency instructions to the legs immediately.

Also, we’ve received notification from various departments that intercourse has been canceled for this evening.  Please comply with any after hours requests from the right hand.

Regards,

Brain

P.S.  Thank you for the Sudoku puzzle book, everyone!