The letters from the publishers came sooner than expected...first one, then another, then five or six replies on the same day. Regrettably, none of the publishers acknowledged my spark of genius. Some of their responses are printed here:
Dear Writer: Your obsession with your theme is troubling. Please do not write any more stories. Please do not write back to us. Ever. We are busy here.
You scare us.
Dear Sir: Although I chuckled when I read your cute little gags, that was all you composed... cute little gags. We cannot support our fine printing company by publishing cute little gags. Please find a different hobby. Have you considered scrapbooking?
You need help. Please find it. See the attached list of phone numbers for services in your area.
Dear Sir: Cease and desist. Please see the enclosed restraining order.
I need only quote Truman Capote: "Your writing isn't writing at all. It's typing." Please do not send us any more of your insipid, vacuous, egotistic chicken scratch. Shame on you.
Gentle Writer: The most enthralling and well-written part of your writing is the address you printed on the envelope. Please run away from writing and all writing-related endeavors. You will thank us later, as will your family and friends and your pets (if you have them).
I don't care about your writing or you, for that matter, though I suspect your grandiose temperament will misconstrue these words as complimentary.
Your writing gave me and my associates terrible headaches; we are still recovering. I even had to take sick time. HR is not happy.
Your writing isn't funny. I'm actually not sure what it is. I will use it to line my my parakeet cage.
If you must write, might I suggest keeping a journal? And please do not share the contents with anyone. It can be your own little secret journal, ok?
Where did I go wrong, I wondered. How had my brilliance unravelled? Here is my story:
Was it the meatloaf I had enjoyed for dinner? Or perhaps it was the McMillan and Wife reruns I had watched earlier. Whatever the reason, while sleeping that night, I found myself in a vivid, epic dream, the kind you have when recovering from a wisdom tooth extraction. I forget many details, but I know it involved Robitussin and elves (the short kind, not the Lord of the Rings kind). I awoke suddenly as a voice in the dream (it sounded like Burl Ives) said, "Manicotti? Again?" I sat up in the dark, bent 90 degrees at the waist. I was hyperventilating and sweaty, like the time I ate dinner with Loretta Falseto, a dimunitive Portuguese woman with precipitous breasts and a lint moustache.
I flicked on the nightstand light. I frantically pulled out the drawer, seeking my 3 x 5 cards which I kept in my nightstand for such occasions. The drawer crashed to the floor. I found the cards and began scribbling on each one. In my unrestrained excitement, some of the cards flew out of my hands like I was performing a Vegas card trick. My brain was ripe like a soft persimmon losing hold of its branch. I needed to record the images and words spinning around in my head before they were lost forever. Something about the dream had triggered a cascade of unexpected but most welcome brilliance. Eventually, without realizing how or when, I succumbed to sleep's embrace.
I awoke at 9 AM exhausted and headachey. For migraineurs like myself, disrupted sleep can be lethal, a sure migraine trigger (like going to Cirque de Soleil on a hot Saturday afternoon). I cracked my neck by moving it like Stevie Wonder does when he sings, and my spine made a sound like breakfast cereal. I stuck my thumb into my right eye and pushed hard. That always helps. Suddenly, though, the 3 by 5 cards caught my attention. They were scattered over my bedspread. I gathered them. Oh, yes, I remembered. The cards! I read each one...
S'mores
I scratched my head. S'mores? I closed my eyes and ventured into the fogginess of my recent dream. In a moment, all became clear, like finding Waldo. The snowmen! Picture several snowmen sitting around a campfire. They are smiling and telling campfire stories. One of the snowmen plays a guitar. They roast marshmallows over the fire. The marshmallow sticks, however, are about 30 feet long, thereby keeping the snowmen a safe distance from the fire's heat.
I laughed hard. I read the next card:
The NHA
The NHA? I tap the card against my forehead. No Helium Allowed? No, that's not it. National Hairdryer Association? That's it! The National Hairdryer Association. Imagine a snowman driving a pick-up truck. The snowman is wearing a hunter's plaid, wool jacket. His stick elbow is jutting out the window. There are several hairdryers on a rack on the back window. The bumper sticker on the rear bumper says: National Hairdryer Association. Support a snowman's right to bear hairdryers.
I was now giddy. My headache was nearly gone, thanks be to God. Another card stated:
Belly of the ship
I recalled this image immediately. A human man and a snowman are shoveling coal into a furnace on a ship. The furnace emits an orange glow. The snowman says to the human: "It's hot in here!"
From another:
barbecue
Ahh...A snowman sits on his front porch in a rocking chair. He is reading the newspaper. He has charcoal briquets lining his mid-section (his "buttons"). The humans next store are barbecuing. A man is walking away from the barbecue and says to his wife, "Don't worry, honey, I'll be right back with more coals." He is holding a blow torch. The snowman is peering over his newspaper. He looks worried.
And from other cards:
abdominal bloating
The jackel
Certs, Tic Tacs and Listerine
Don't peel the carrot
I'd like to buy a vowel
Metamucil
Igloo Repair
I stared long and hard at these cards. I was clueless. I left my bed, shaved my face smooth, showered, then ate two eggs over medium. I popped some bright orange Advil and drank some strong, black coffee, thereby chasing away the migraine remnants. The meaning of the few mystery cards remained elusive. Never mind, I thought. I typed up the gags and mailed them, along with the 3 by 5 cards, to hundreds of publishers. On each envelope I drew a picture of snowmen doing various human things, like drinking water, ironing and holding up "We're number one!" signs at ballgames.
This was my key to early retirement. My rewards would come soon enough. I only had to wait for the replies...
This was my key to early retirement. My rewards would come soon enough. I only had to wait for the replies...
