The First of Many Deaths for Richard the Ninth

         Richard the Ninth believed with every fiber of his being that he heard an airplane land in his bedroom last night. He awoke to find no airplane, no passengers, no signs of landing damage, and no complimentary pack of peanuts. The only bit of evidence which vouched on his behalf was an open window. Fearing that his beliefs amounted to little more than fantastical dreams, he set to fabricating a fallen airplane from the collected items in his bedroom. His pillows became fluffy wheels, his pants made up the seats, and his immense set of collectible figurines from the GoWallCo Company became the passengers of the illy landed plane. Richard the Ninth decided that he must act as the pilot. Posing as a pilot proved to be the greatest challenge for Richard the Ninth was never allowed to drive a golf ball let alone pilot an aircraft. He set to work teaching himself the controls of his homemade flight deck. Within the hour, he was taking off from the carpeted runway, maneuvering in and out of bed sheet clouds, and instructing the passengers to observe San Giacomo's Water Mine, the largest sanctified mine in all of Australia.
          As he approached his final destination, Richard the Ninth realized his great error in never including the landing process in his self-made, self-taught course for new pilots. He turned to his co-pilot hoping for help, but found only a pair of tube socks with marked-on eyes. Richard the Ninth cursed his folly as his plane careened down to the ground nose first, landing in the Lapidian Sea fifteen miles from the Coast of Magonia. And there he spent his final rest, in the cockpit of his self-made plane with a host of dead passengers. No one ever found them. No one ever thought to look. Eventually, Richard the Ninth grew hungry, drifted from the destroyed remnant of plane, floated to the kitchen, and with the grace of a great spirit made a divine peanut butter sandwich.

Endangered Species

The giant face-eating checkered chair monkey.




The natomian flame-topped hedgecat.



The tiny six-toed albino camerahog.

Freedom Rings

People love free things. The price is low and the dividends are high. Hugs cost a person nothing but give them the soaring sensations of comfort and belonging. Complimentary hand soap gets high marks with people because it keeps them clean and healthy. Some people say there is no such thing as a free lunch. But can you imagine if someone gave you one? How cool would that be? Sitting in a restaurant or a train station or in a stranger's kitchenette and they give you your very own lunch, absolutely free, no strings attached. The sky should rain with kittens on such a day.

What people love more than free things are more free things. A free pack of peanuts would be lonely without a second pack of peanuts or a third. Or a free soda and a tee-shirt. And a car, give me the car, too. Now how am I going to carry all of this home? I definitely need a free backpack now. From that well of the one free item there must spring eternal a cornucopia of swag.

When people get those free things, it follows that the free things must be perfect. This shirt is a large, but I wear a medium, give me a medium. There is no medium, then give me another shirt. Or how about your shirt, give me your shirt. Wait, all of the free shirts are the same. This is discrimination. Give me another shirt. Do you have small? Yeah, I saw the free peanuts, but I had part of my stomach removed. I've been having problems paying my rent, so if you have any free... rent payments back there... do you?

And so it goes. Free is the best. One is never enough. This free thing had better be absolutely perfect because I paid good money for it. Now give me a shirt, your wallet, your keys, pictures of your family, your right eyeball, a free lunch, a box of them peanuts, this table, a lock of that girl's hair, and -- hey -- how about a hug? Do you have it in a small?

Crunchy Eyes

I winked at her five times, adding a sixth for good graces. She yawned. Asked me to pass the granola. Passed over for rolled oats, waxy raisins, and indigestible flaxseeds, I ceased the winks, pointed my eyes down and away. The night lumbered on.

With sixty minutes between us and the winks, my eyes dry went for the blink. She mistook it a wink, yawned. Pass the granola. Another twenty past, the same eye down, yawn, granola gimme gimme. What Pavlovian eyes you have my dear.

She getting fattened on the crunch of hippie manna, I surrendered. Taped them both open for both our sakes. No need to pass the granola with the wink when never blinking can be seen. The scotch tape held too short, the gaff tape held too long. The duct tape help just right.

Funny looking face she told me I had. All to quickly my vanity took hold and anger filled up. She could never tell though because my face was frozen. Eyes open. Brow lifted. Surprised, shocked, slightly concerned were all I would ever be. For the sake of her and our granola.

And so we sat. Never blinking nor winking nor yawning nor eating until twelve days passed. On the twelfth day my eyes withered away. The tape remained. She saw my eyes gone first, stifled a laugh, yawned, asked me to pass the granola.

Family Portraits

When using the latest imaging technology, I input my wife's name and this happened.


With the same process I input my name and this happened.


Following suit with the rest of the world, technology conspires against me.

Over Eggs This Morning

Teamwork is for people who are not smart enough to do it themselves.

Collaboration is a genial way for people to steal your ideas.

Friendship makes it easier for your enemies to get your home address.

The Salvation Army is a cult aimed toward the expansion of the industrial military complex and the exultation of Santa Claus.

Flowers take away our air and kill bunnies.

Bunnies are responsible for overpopulation.

Marriage is a long way to get a free breakfast that you pay for a dozen times over.

Whence Conquistadors

--From the New Rochelle Raconteur April 18, 2002--

        The rise of performance master and musical guru, P. Conifer MacIntosh has led many of us, not including me, to abandon all hope for a reunion of the once-popular song stylists, New Rochelle Conquistadors. Perhaps the world dictates where individuals go through biorhythms and control who they collaborate with via the weather. I attribute Mr. MacIntosh's lack of cooperation on his enormous talent and excessive hubris that should make us all proud. The rest of the Conquistadors wait in the wings, humming their harmony parts and dry-cleaning their chalecos.

        The true victims are the fans. This became most apparent during a concert in the latter part of the twentieth century. A highlight of the Conquistadors' shows has always been a twenty-five minute clogging section accompanied by only a pan flute and an occasional tambor. On this gruesome night one of the Conquistadors, who asked not to be named, clogged so aggressively that a portion of his heel shattered, blinding several observers in the front row. Rather than halting the show, the other Conquistadors clogged even harder to maintain their masculine sound. Soon, all of their poorly-crafted heels were decimated by the stomping, leaving three rows of sightless Conquistador fanatics.

        Perhaps Mr. McIntosh has outgrown the Conquistadors. Some say he has referred to all Spanish music as "salsa-fied dreck." He was once overheard denouncing all clog dancing "Spanish, Irish, or otherwise." Could this be self-loathing at the rise of a genre brought about by his own genius or an extended period of mourning for the dozens of punctured eyeballs from that fateful night? Either way, Mr. McIntosh refuses to budge. Until then, the New Rochelle Conquistadors remain a relic of the past that many of us, except for me, hope to see resurrected, buffed, and placed on the mantle of great, shiny music.

Except for Richard the Ninth

        The last time Richard the Ninth talked to a woman, she asked him to remove his trousers, scrutinized several parts of his body, and refused to prescribe him penicillin. Growing impatient, Richard the Ninth removed himself from her office and sat in the hallway for several hours. However, his trousers remained in the office. Due to a malfunctioning heating system, the propensity for cold in vinyl floor tiles, and a weak immune system, Richard the Ninth eventually found himself with a minor respiratory infection. He returned to the office to find another man under physical scrutiny and an even nicer pair of trousers than his own laying nearby. Richard the Ninth left the office shortly thereafter with a love note prescribing penicillin and another man’s trousers.

        Watching Richard the Ninth swim is considered a felony in most states. So much embarrassment cannot and will not be tolerated. For those attempting to do so, permanent blinding can be expected as well as an immediate evacuation of ingested materials. Please do not misunderstand. As intolerable as it may be, it is not the physique of Richard the Ninth that leads to such discomfort, but rather his form as a swimmer. Such butchery of the sport should be placed in a bottle and immediately smashed.

      Richard the Ninth loathes eating any food that could have belonged to someone else. He roams the aisles of stores, asking every item on the shelves whether they have been touched, eyed, prodded, groped, or price checked by any other curious shoppers. The food rarely responds. A dark day came for Richard the Ninth when he sought to outsmart the system by going into the fabled back of the store to ask for a box of his favorite cereal, a fibrous, flavorless concoction made in the Netherlands, only to find the store employees grabbing boxes and cartons and jugs and fruit from larger boxes and crates. His mind reeled at the realization that the food on the shelves of this market was touched, eyed, prodded, groped, and possibly price checked dozens of times before it ever reached his mouth. His illusion of virginal food shattered, Richard the Ninth immediately ran home. He thought maybe of fasting in protest. Instead, he opted for a more constructive route and began a small farm. He expects his first harvest in the next ten to fifteen weeks. The crop includes boxes of his favorite cereal and several jugs of Tang.

Feminine Ending

Dear Kitchenette,

      It has come to my attention that you have harbored ill feelings towards me for the last several years.  You taunt me as I pass on the street with my friends, Fridge and Stove, whispering and snickering with your Hotplate and Cooler.  You have emptied my cupboards at night while I sleep, leaving the mess for me to clean up.  And for the longest time I could not understand why.  Until today.

      I am better than you, Kitchenette.  The four little letters at the end of your name tell me so.  You are smaller, less useful, and altogether cheaper than me.  I bring value to a home, you belong in cheap hotels throughout the midwest.  Families spend time with me everyday, they are forced to use you on road trips through Arizona.  Scientists spend their every waking minutes making me better, while sociologists questions the necessity of you.

      Deal with it, Kitchenette.  You are inferior.  You have a feminine ending.  God created me first, a God named G.E.  You are but a gimmick created in my image.  Bow before me, Kitchenette, and quit dumping everything out of my cupboards or I will knock over your single barstool.  

                              Firmly stated from on high,

                             

                                Kitchen

The Nearer Side of Richard the Ninth

           Many believe that Richard the Ninth was not born, but exploded into the gentle grasp of a waiting obstetrician who still had his first baseman's mitt from his days playing with the Emerald Hills Mustangs. After a thorough cleansing and several slaps to the backside, the baby immediately soiled himself merely out of post-natal spite and pre-adolescent angst. This angst lasted through the next thirty years until a chance meeting with a woman of more than usual amounts of spunk, frivolity, and chinchilla pelts taught Richard the Ninth the meaning of the word “pragmatomaton” and left him with a crooked grin tattooed on his chest. She left without a word shortly thereafter. It took poor Richard the Ninth twelve ponderous years before he deduced that she had made the word up on the spot, taken his wallet, and never intended to get a tattoo of her own to compliment his. The angst returned, the tattoo remained.

           One odd day of no significance, some time after his forty-third birthday, Richard the Ninth developed a strong attachment — some would say affection – for a pair of loafers. He found an entrancing beauty in them due to their lack of pennies, though later used this deficiency against them. He was heard proclaimed, to the groaning of millions, “They had no cents. They made no sense." From that day forward, Richard the Ninth went barefoot.

           Richard the Ninth never held a throne or a crown, much less a position of authority in life. However, he did appropriate the number Nine as his own, trademarked it, and removed it from the public domain to be kept under his indefatigable control. Baseball players seethed, never again seeing an end to their games. School children bristled at never again earning above eighty-eight percent or correctly identifying the sum of four and five. Astronomers roared in disapproval for though they had already nullified Pluto, they could no longer name any celestial body after Neptune a planet -- not even Leptidion. Yoko Ono never sang again. And Tommy Tune stayed forever in his freakishly long bed. "Richard the Ninth will pay," he tapped between his sheets.

Richard the Ninth Goes On

       Richard the Ninth, a gem among pearls, had little sympathy for the lonely third guy. The one who stood perpendicular to his friend and the friend's girlfriend as they carried on with conversation and little consideration for the case of Lonely Third's observation, discomfort, and passive voyeurism. Richard the Ninth hoped never to be one of these Lonely Thirds and, so, avoided most all people, especially those with significant others. Furthermore, he observed very little, sought comfort everywhere, and became aggressively voyeuristic.

       While the early days of Richard the Ninth brought great shame to his family, as his productive capacity amounted to no more than filthy onesies, sporadic slobber, and constant attacks of silent mewling, he had reached an age where he brought only limited amounts of shame to his family. However, on the occasion of his fifteenth birthday, he sought a model of a boat shaped like a blue whale -- in his estimation, the deadliest whaling vessel of all. Not finding his birthday wish requited, Richard the Ninth fell into a vicious row with his mother, which led to combative conversation and the threat of a return to the devious activities of his infant life. An hour or so later, his threats proved fruitless and the rebellion dwindled as Richard the Ninth found himself parched, constipated, and thoroughly incapable of pure infantilism. Still sour, he ran away from home for seventy-three minutes.

        Richard the Ninth once wrestled a tiger into submission, hoping to find spiritual enlightenment. The battle lasted a quarter of an hour and brought great crowds from the world over. One man was heard to exclaim, "Not since the last time have I seen such a thing." A triumphant Richard the Ninth emerged some time later with his weakened arms raised to the heavens in exultation. Now, he thought through gasps of air, I will find an enlightenment of my spirit. It was not so. Instead, Richard the Ninth discovered a mouthful of synthetic fiber filling, faux fur in places unmentionable, and a lifetime ban from Coleman's Toy Shoppe. As an additional insult to his injuries, Mr. Coleman pinned a note to the pants of Richard the Ninth with strict instructions that the note was only to be removed by his mother. Richard the Ninth laughed knowing full well that his mother had not been able to reach his pants for several years.

         Believing himself immortal, Richard the Ninth drank a whole gallon of skim milk without taking a single breath. This led to a tumble, copious spilled milk, and a mild concussion. Through the new crack in his head, Richard the Ninth's blood began to co-mingle with the spilled milk, creating a stream of pink liquid across the kitchen floor. Once he came to and observed this, Richard the Ninth deduced that he had pink blood, which explained little to him outside of his predilection for pink frosted donuts and his assumption that he was a superbeing placed on earth to frighten all other beings into submission. The latter idea was reinforced when Richard the Ninth passes out a second time and awoke in his own bed, proof positive that he had powers of unconscious teleportation.

The Earliest Days of Richard the Ninth

         Having an exceedingly tall mother, Richard the Ninth was not born, but rather dropped from a great height.  He dangled for a time before a passerby noticed him, pointed, and proclaimed, "You've a baby 'tween your knees."  As skeptical as she was vertical, his mother ignored the proclaimer and continued on her way.  Later, while removing her shoes for bed, Richard the Ninth was discovered by his mother, cradled in a web of her shoelaces.  She was doubly surprised.  First, that she had been with child.  Second, that she had not worn loafers.  After a swift disentanglement, she named him Richard the Ninth and then set him in one of her shoes to sleep.  He obliged.

        Richard the Ninth found his early days an awful burden, terribly dull, and overwhelmingly tedious as his companions consisted mainly of crying babies.  They had no sense but to cry when they were hungry, when they had spoilage, and when they craved attention, the latter being most common.  Even as an infant, he found pride in never crying, screaming, whining, hollering, retching, cooing, or howling.  Often he even went days without blinking for fear of the noise.  Solitude and silence suited him best.  Richard the Ninth was presumed dead one hundred forty-seven times before his first birthday.