Funny Ha, Ha

by Paul Merton

  Harvey stole away from the room, and sought out his sister.

  ‘Eleanor,’ he said, ‘the experiment—’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Has failed. We have begun too late.’

  THE INSTITUTE FOR FACIAL REFORM (A FANTASTICAL STORY)

  Getsl Selikovich

  Getsl (George) Selikovich (1855–1926) was a writer, scholar and Egyptologist born in Rietavas (Riteve) in what is now Lithuania. In 1885, he served as an Arabic interpreter for the British military in Egypt, but he left the expedition early after he was accused of sympathising with the Egyptians. He moved to the United States to take up the position of professor of Egyptology at the University of Pennsylvania, but he was forced to leave on account of ‘intrigues’. He then began a long career as a Yiddish and Hebrew journalist, during which he published erudite articles as well as a number of humoresques.

  “Faces twisted, noses extended

  Foreheads short, Lips distended

  Go one and all to Dr. Skinner DeLintz,

  He’ll make you handsome as a prince.”

  This poetic phrase written in large letters alongside a nice picture hung in front of the door to the office of Dr. Skinner DeLintz, the director of “The Institute for Facial Reform,” as he titled himself and his medical institution.

  Instead of just describing the outside of this medical institute, let’s take a look inside.

  Dr. Skinner DeLintz sat with a cigar in his mouth and explained in a serious tone to his assistant that his Institute for Facial Reform had already achieved the highest artistry in changing any face, just like a good tailor can transform any item of clothing into whatever he likes. Now it was time for them to come up with a brand-new sensation in their profession. It was time to make a lot more money.

  “I’ll tell you, Dr. Skinner,” Dr. Skimmer began, “as soon as you compared us to tailors, this question came to me: Who are the best tailors in the world? Certainly not those who make clothing according to what’s in fashion. Instead, it’s those who themselves come up with a new fashion whenever they want, and convince the public to go after whatever fashion they release. Now I ask you, Skinner my friend, why should we not do what the great tailors do? Why should we not be bothered when a client comes to us and says that his nose is too short or too long, or his chin too pointy, and we should fix it the way he likes? No, Doctor, we ourselves should decide between us that one season it should be the fashion to wear long noses, and another season we’ll come out with short noses, and yet another season pug noses, and so forth, like the tailors do. And this way we’ll be showered with millions. Right?”

  “This is really a terrific plan!” cried out Dr. Skinner DeLintz. “But we must first create a mold for a face that will please everyone, and we will copyright this handsome face in Washington, D.C. First let’s search for a model of a manly face. When we have succeeded, we will start with the women, because we have to be more careful with women. So, first a handsome model of a face for men.”

  Dr. Skimmer went out and walked along Broadway, down Forty-Second Street, and on Fifth Avenue. He went to every neighborhood in order to find an inspiration, a model for a perfectly handsome face that would please everyone, and that could serve as a prototype for the Institute for Facial Reform. After Dr. Skimmer strolled around for several hours he noticed in a photography gallery a picture with a remarkably attractive man’s face: a face that was not only handsome, but also noble, pleasant, friendly, and attractive. Dr. Skimmer did not have to take much time to consider before he bought the picture in order to bring it to a good sculptor. He was sure that with only a few improvements by the sculptor the head in plaster would be the beautiful model that would please everyone! Several days later, when the sculptor finished the stunning head, both doctors were highly pleased with their model, and they began enthusiastically to announce their new plan in all of the newspapers. The advertisement, which was in rhyme, was phrased eloquently:

  “Do you want a face as fresh as spring

  And to be as handsome as a king?

  Do you want to be solemn as an academician,

  Dreamy as a poet or a musician?

  Do you want to look like an aristocrat,

  A wise man, a wealthy man, or a diplomat,

  A trust-fund magnate or a prince?

  Then go to Dr. Skinner DeLintz.”

  To the side of this “poetry” was the picture of the handsome, noble face, and under it was the address of the Institute for Facial Reform on Broadway. They waited for the result. The very next day, several people showed up who wanted their faces to be “reformed” according to the face that they saw on the advertisement. The first patient that the doctor took into the operating room had a terrible face. He looked like some kind of bandit. “He must be a thief from the forest,” the doctor thought. When the patient told to him that he was a financier who lent money and earned interest, the doctor said to himself with a smile that he had guessed perfectly. The lender explained that he had a bank counter and did good business. But he would do ten times better business without his hideous face that drove people away.

  The two doctors did most of the work in less than an hour, while the lender was unconscious. They poured potent wax onto the skin of his forehead so that it should be smooth and without bumps, like on the noble face from their advertisement. With other means they took care of the lender’s nose, chin, and lips, until his whole face was entirely changed into a very sympathetic countenance. When the patient came to and they gave him a mirror, he was beside himself with joy and paid the $50 fee with pleasure.

  The next patient was a bartender, also with a grotesque appearance. He said that he wanted to marry a girl whom he loved with his whole heart, but she was not attracted to his strange and wild appearance. This bartender also wanted to have a handsome face like the one in the doctor’s advertisement. They put him to sleep and performed the same operation as they had done with the lender. The patient left the doctor’s institute with a face like an ideal philanthropist. The third patient was a politician, who was a candidate to become a judge and was almost sure that he could win, if only his face did not stand in his way.

  Already on the first day there were twelve people walking around New York with faces identical to the doctor’s model, and that’s without counting the thirteenth man, on whom the model was based! Dr. Skinner and Dr. Skimmer were busy day and night, and by the end of the week there were 116 people walking around New York whose faces looked exactly the same!

  But the next Sunday something happened in New York that shook up the whole city. When the famous Reverend Doctor Flim Flam finished preaching in his Temple, two secret policemen came up to him and arrested him as the man who gave a false check to a farmer. Dr. Flim Flam looked at them as though he didn’t know what to say, but his arguments were of no avail: the policemen had a detailed description of the culprit’s face, according to the farmer’s description, a face that matched Doctor Flim Flam’s down to the last hair. So, did they need any better evidence?

  On Broadway, at the exact time of Dr. Flim Flam’s arrest, it happened that two other policemen arrested a famous tenor from the Metropolitan Opera House for the same crime of the false check, written to the same farmer. And there was a rumor that a millionaire on Wall Street was also arrested for the same false check to the same farmer.

  But the great sensation came the next day, Monday morning, when dozens of detectives brought into court together with Dr. Flim Flam no fewer than sixty suspects, all sixty with the same face, and each one of them accused of the same crime of the false check! The laughter in court was indescribable. They say that the policemen and the detectives rolled with laughter. What kind of a trick was this? Was it a dream? But how could a hundred people in court have the same dream? The judge barely had the strength to say “dismissed” before he quickly fainted.

  When Dr. Skinner DeLintz read in the paper the next day about this comedy in court, he wrote a letter of apology to Dr. Flim Flam. He decided
then and there with his friend Skimmer to quickly abandon, at least for a while, the plan that “all faces should look like one race.”

  Translated by Jessica Kirzane

  DEAR MOUNTAIN ROOM PARENTS

  Maria Semple

  Maria Semple (1964–) is the internationally bestselling author of This One is Mine, Where’d You Go, Bernadette and Today Will Be Different. Before writing fiction, she wrote for TV shows including 90210, Mad About You and Arrested Development.

  Hi, everyone!

  The Mountain Room is gearing up for its Day of the Dead celebration on Friday. Please send in photos of loved ones for our altar. All parents are welcome to come by on Wednesday afternoon to help us make candles and decorate skulls.

  Thanks!

  Emily

  Hi again.

  Because I’ve gotten some questions about my last e-mail, there is nothing “wrong” with Halloween. The Day of the Dead is the Mexican version, a time of remembrance. Many of you chose Little Learners because of our emphasis on global awareness. Our celebration on Friday is an example of that. The skulls we’re decorating are sugar skulls. I should have made that more clear.

  Emily

  Parents:

  Some of you have expressed concern about your children celebrating a holiday with the word “dead” in it. I asked Eleanor’s mom, who’s a pediatrician, and here’s what she said: “Preschoolers tend to see death as temporary and reversible. Therefore, I see nothing traumatic about the Day of the Dead.” I hope this helps.

  Emily

  Dear Parents:

  In response to the e-mail we all received from Maddie’s parents, in which they shared their decision to raise their daughter dogma-free, yes, there will be an altar, but please be assured that the Day of the Dead is a pagan celebration of life and has nothing to do with God. Keep those photos coming!

  Emily

  Hello.

  Perhaps “pagan” was a poor word choice. I feel like we’re veering a bit off track, so here’s what I’ll do. I’ll start setting up our altar now, so that today at pickup you can see for yourselves how colorful and harmless the Day of the Dead truly is.

  Emily

  Parents:

  The photos should be of loved ones who have passed. Max’s grandma was understandably shaken when she came in and saw a photo of herself on our altar.

  But the candles and skulls were cute, right?

  Emily

  Mountain Room Parents:

  It’s late and I can’t possibly respond to each and every e-mail. (Not that it comes up a lot in conversation, but I have children, too.) As the skulls have clearly become a distraction, I decided to throw them away. They’re in the compost. I’m looking at them now. You can, too, tomorrow at drop-off. I just placed a “no basura” card on the bin to make sure it doesn’t get emptied. Finally, to those parents who are offended by our Day of the Dead celebration, I’d like to point out that there are parents who are offended that you are offended.

  Emily

  Dear Parents:

  Thanks to their group e-mail, we now know that the families of Millie and Jaden M. recognize Jesus Christ as their Saviour. There still seems to be some confusion about why, if we want to celebrate life, we’re actually celebrating death. To better explain this “bewildering detour,” I’ve asked Adela, who works in the office and makes waffles for us on Wednesdays, and who was born in Mexico, to write you directly.

  Emily

  Hola a los Padres:

  El Día de los Muertos begins with a parade through the zócalo, where we toss oranges into decorated coffins. The skeletons drive us in the bus to the cemetery and we molest the spirits from under the ground with candy and traditional Mexican music. We write poems called calaveras, which laugh at the living. In Mexico, it is a rejoicing time of ofrendas, picnics, and dancing on graves.

  Adela

  Parents:

  I sincerely apologize for Adela’s e-mail. I would have looked it over, but I was at my daughter’s piano recital. (Three kids, in case you’re wondering, one who’s allergic to everything, even wind.) For now, let’s agree that e-mail has reached its limits. How about we process our feelings face to face? 9 A.M. tomorrow?

  Emily

  Dear Parents:

  Some of you chose to engage in our dialogue. Some chose to form a human chain. Others had jobs (!) to go to. So we’re all up to speed, let me recap this morning’s discussion:

  —Satan isn’t driving our bus. Little Learners does not have a bus. If we did, I wouldn’t still need parent drivers for the field trip to the cider mill. Anyone? I didn’t think so.

  —Ofrenda means “offering.” It’s just a thing we put on the altar. Any random thing. A bottle of Fanta. Unopened, not poisoned. Just a bottle of Fanta.

  —We’re moving past the word “altar” and calling it what it really is: a Seahawks blanket draped over some cinder blocks.

  —Adela will not be preparing food anymore and Waffle Wednesdays will be suspended. (That didn’t make us any new friends in the Rainbow and Sunshine Rooms!)

  —On Friday morning, I will divide the Mountain Room into three groups: those who wish to celebrate the Day of the Dead; those who wish to celebrate Halloween; and Maddie, who will make nondenominational potato prints in the corner.

  Dear Mountain Room Parents:

  Today I learned not to have open flames in the same room as a costume parade. I learned that a five-dollar belly-dancer outfit purchased at a pop-up costume store can easily catch fire, but, really, I knew that just by looking at it. I learned that Fanta is effective in putting out fires. I learned that a child’s emerging completely unscathed from a burning costume isn’t a good enough outcome for some parents. I learned that I will be unemployed on Monday. For me, the Day of the Dead will always be a time of remembrance.

  Happy Halloween!

  Emily

  TALKING CHIMP GIVES HIS FIRST PRESS CONFERENCE

  Paul Simms

  Paul Simms (1966–) is an American television writer and producer. He began his career writing for Late Night with David Letterman and later wrote for The Larry Sanders Show. More recently, he has directed and produced Flight of the Conchords and Atlanta. His short stories have appeared in The New Yorker.

  Hello? Can everyone hear me? Anyone?

  Check, check. Check, one two.

  Is this thing on?

  Not the microphone—I mean my Electronic Larynx Implant device. Is it working? Hit the “Reboot” button, and see if that ook ook-ook ook.

  Ook? Ook? Ook-ook.

  Ook!

  Ook-ook-oo—why does it seem like it always takes an eternity for the ELI to reboot? I mean, isn’t this something we should have ironed out a long time ago?

  Oh. O.K. We’re back online now? Good. You can all hear me out there? Great.

  I’d like to apologize for the technical difficulties up here. One would think that the most important part of setting up the world’s first talking chimp demonstration is making sure that the P.A. is working, but… O.K. I guess.

  Can I get a bowl of water, please? Thank you. Is the sound guy here? The sound guy. The P.A. technician. Is he here? He’s in the back? Just as well. It’s just that… you know how sometimes you get the feeling that you’d like to bite bite bite bite bite someone? Anyone? Nothing? Whatever. It’ll pass.

  Well, anyway: Hello, male humans and female humans! I am indeed what you call a chimpanzee. I do have a human-given proper name—something that sounds like Timmy or Jimmy or Bimmy or Immy—but, for some reason, recognizing and pronouncing human-given proper names is virtually impossible for me. So, yeah, all you skeptics can go ahead and make hay with that one, but I’m doing my best up here.

  I guess I should start by acknowledging Dr. Female-Human-Lemon-Colored-Hair and her partner Dr. Male-Human-Persistent-Territory-Threatener for all the great work they’ve done with me—or, rather, on me—in the past few years.

  The development of the ELI was a long and arduous process, a
nd there were more than a few times—usually after being shot with a tranquillizer dart and then waking up hours later with excruciatingly painful bleeding stitch holes in my neck and chest regions—when I wasn’t sure if it was worth it. But I guess it was, because here we are today, in this beautiful conference room at the Sheraton.

  In fact, there were some days when I felt nothing but the desire to bite bite bite bite bite everyone involved, including, if you can believe it, Mr. Male-Human-Black-Skin-Food-Bringer. Who, for my money, is the true unsung hero of this interminable experiment. This guy is the male human who not only brings me my kibble every morning but also delivers to my cage a metal bucket full of orange wedges every afternoon.

  So give him a round of applause, if you would. Stand up, Mr. Male-Human-Black-Skin-Food-Bringer! Don’t be shy!

  He’s not here? O.K., then. I’m not sure why he wasn’t invited to share in the limelight today, but I guess we all have our different ways of doing things. Or something. Let’s just move right along.

  I had planned today to speak mainly about the similarities between humans and chimpanzees. How we’re all members of the same family, and so on and so forth.

  I feel like I have to take a dump right now.

  But instead of speaking about the similarities between humans and—

  Ahh. That’s better. Dump taken. Where was I?

  Similarities. Right. But instead of speaking about similarities I’d like to take this time to—

  I’m sorry, you people in the first few rows. Apparently, my dump somehow offends you? Perhaps if I gather it up and fling it at you, you’ll think twice next time before you wrinkle your dinky noses at my healthy and natural exudate. Is that what I should do? Because it’s very easy. All I have to do is scoop it up like this and—

  Ow!

  Take it easy with the leash, Mr. Male-Human-Leash-Puller-If-He-Ever-Turns-His-Back-Bite-Bite-Bite! I wasn’t actually going to do it! Sheesh. Why this guy is here but my kibble-and-orange-wedge-bringing buddy isn’t, I have no idea.