by Jay Begler
The Direct Cause of Sydney Maxine’s Death
Sydney Maxine was depressed. Sheila, the woman that he loved, had left him. Since he first saw Goodwin’s email wish that he die a horrible death, Maxine lived with a daily gut wrenching fear that Goodwin’s “Death Wish,” the term used by the press, would come true. He became agoraphobic and, inexplicably, angoraphobic at the same time. The unfortunate consequence of these dual phobias was that he would just sit around his house wearing flannel shirts, since he could no longer wear his beautiful angora sweaters. Worst of all, the stress flowing from Goodwin’s email had led to an odd form of a bi-polar disease. Maxine would shift from being Hyper-Humoresque to Hypo-Humoresque. As a result, he would spontaneously blurt out very funny jokes, but due to his Hypo-Humoresque condition, not get them. Nothing seemed to help him out of his funk.
It was his mother, Sandy Maxine, who suggested that maybe they should do something fun together, perhaps some weight reduction followed by window shopping. The prospect of spending quality time with his mother brightened Sydney’s mood. He agreed to venture out of his house for the first time since receiving Goodwin’s original email and to rendezvous with his mother at the Jiffy Lipo center, which was strategically located next to Vogue. Virtually all Jiffy Lipo centers were located next to clothing stores because it enabled Jiffy to promote its services with the slogans: “Alter yourself, not your pants.” And “Drop before you shop!”
“Let’s go to Jiffy Lipo first. No sense lugging these extra pounds around,” his mother, who always prioritized, remarked. “Besides, I’ve always wanted to be a size four.”
“Me, too,” thought Sydney wistfully.
They were escorted into separate rooms. “See you in a couple of minutes, mother.”
“Don’t overdo it, Sydney,” she cautioned.
“No worries, Mother.” Sydney replied, though over doing it was exactly his plan. He had been binge eating since Sheila left him and was determined to also get down to a size four.
The technician asked, “What will it be?”
“The Maxi-Package please,” Maxine replied. This was an overall body delipidation with a built in program to remove one hundred percent of a person’s lipids. Jiffy initially promoted this option with the slogan, “Use our Maxi-Package and you will have less fat than a spoonful of diet cottage cheese.” When it was discovered that many residents of Grace Harbor already had less body fat than a spoonful of diet cottage cheese, the slogan was changed to “Use our Maxi Package and you will have less fat than a billiard ball.” The new slogan accounted for a 10 percent increase in business.
Adjusting a bunch of knobs and levers, the technician said, “Okay, Mr. Maxine. I just need a couple of minutes to set things up and we’ll be ready to go. Want to listen to any music?”
“Yes. Do you have the CD from the Big Chill, specifically the track for “You Make Me Feel Like A Natural Woman?”
“Sure thing. Want to smoke?”
“Yes, Virginia Slims?”
The Final Moments of Sydney Maxine’s Life
Lying within the cavity of the Jiffy Lipo device, with his head phones on, Sydney Maxine was puffing on his Virginia Slims, listening to Carole King sing “You Make Me Feel Like a Natural Woman” and shedding pounds at the same time. He was trending towards a size four. Maxine had to admit that he was feeling better, even a tad happy. His mother was absolutely right for suggesting this little outing. Sydney thought, “A mother’s wisdom.”
Less than an instant later, he found himself floating above the Jiffy Lipo reception area. This terrified him, not because he realized immediately that he was having a near death experience, but because he was afraid of heights. From his elevated position, Maxine saw that his mother was pacing, something she did often when she was worried. The pacing helped to calm her and burn calories at the same time. Sometimes, she would even look for something to worry about as a way of spurring her on to pace and therefore lose weight.
From this vantage point he saw something that shocked him. His mother had a rather large bald spot. “I’ll have to donate some hair plugs for a transplant,” he thought. But before he could ask Siri, “Where is the nearest hair plug center?” he was in a tunnel of exceptionally bright light. This also upset him because he was only wearing SPF20 sun block. As he contemplated this mistake and the consequential wrinkles that might follow, he noticed a large neon sign blinking on and off approaching and then passing him by. It said, ‘MY WHOLE LIFE.” His only thought at the moment was, “How Museum of Modern Art like.” An instant later, Maxine was standing in front of two gigantic gates with the words PEARLY GATES over the words “By invitation only.” A man in a long flowing white robe, which Maxine guessed correctly, was designed by Donatello Versace, gestured for him to come forward, but to first take off his shoes, empty his pockets and walk through a metal detector. Maxine, thankful that he wore stylish socks, approached the man. Maxine did not know what prompted his question: “Why do they call them the Pearly Gates?”
“Pearly made a big donation,” was the response.
The man in the white robe, looked at a laptop and said, “Now Sydney you’ve been a wonderful person and so we’ve arranged for your next life to be extremely happy.”
“You mean I’m going back as Laura Wingfield, from the Glass Menagerie?”
“No. I’m sorry. There’s a very long waiting list for that one. But, I think you are going to like what you’ve been assigned. You’re going back as a pair of her Manolos.”
“Thank God!”
“You can do that in person.”
Post Mortem
The new size four Sandy Maxine couldn’t understand what was taking Sydney so long. He was in his Lipo Removal Salon a good half hour. Finally, out of growing concern, even though there were never any reports of injuries arising from using the Jiffy Lipo device, she entered Sydney’s Lipo Salon. He was not there, or so she thought.
“Have you seen my son, the doctor?” While Sydney was not actually a doctor, Sandy rationalized that since he “cured” marriages, the word “doctor” was appropriate. The technician and his supervisor, both stupefied, could only point to the puddles of lipids on the floor. A woman wiser than her 85 years, Sandy knew instantly that something was horribly wrong and yelled, “Where is my Sydney?” She was also more possessive than her 85 years. All that the Jiffy Lipo employees could do was to point at the gleaming puddles of lipids.
Sandy didn’t know what to do or say, but finally managed to use the words made famous by Mrs. Dumpty upon learning the fate of her poor son, Humpty, who certainly would have changed his name if he didn’t go to pieces. “Well, put him back together again.” Sadly, the only thing solid that was left of Sydney was the patch of skin below a dragon shield tattoo that carried the words “Siempre Fideles.”
Within 24 hours of this horrific event, finger pointing (not Sydney’s of course) and lawsuits began. Sandy Maxine sued the Red Cottage Company, the parent of Jiffy Lipo. Jiffy Lipo blamed the technician for failing to take a lipid reading of Sydney Maxine prior to his death. Had this been done, they claimed, the technician would have discovered that Sydney Maxine was a physiological anomaly because every single atom in his body, his skin, organs, bones, eyes, hair, and even nails and teeth, virtually everything, were comprised entirely of lipids.
The technician pointed back at the management of his company because the manual they had given him did not contain instructions regarding pre-lipid screening. The publisher of the manual, who the employee sued, asserted that its author never wrote a section on pre-lipid screening. In the end, there were more suits than in Brooks Brothers.
In the court of public opinion, however, all fingers were pointing at Goodwin. Typical headlines with various uncomplimentary photos of Goodwin, next to a very nice photo of Sydney Maxine in his marine uniform, abounding with medals, included: “HIS WISHES CAME TRUE.” “WHY, GOODWIN? WHY?” “WAR HERO WISHED TO DEATH.”
Goodwin realized that these headlin
es and the litany of attacks upon him by TV blamers were the nails in his public relations coffin. If these were the nails, however, the upcoming and more or less impromptu televised state funeral for Sydney Maxine in Washington, D.C. followed by a televised burial at Arlington National Cemetery would be the rivets.
The Impromptu Funeral
Invitation
Sandy Maxine and The Sheila request the honor of your presence at the Funeral of Colonel Sydney Maxine, USMC
Viewing of Colonel Maxine’s casket
Capital Rotunda
All Day Thursday, October 12th
Funeral Mass
Washington National Cathedral,
Friday, October 13th at 10 a.m.
Processional
American Express Way (formerly Pennsylvania Avenue) at 11:30 a.m.
Burial
Arlington National Cemetery at 3pm
Underwritten by generous grants from: Ford Motor Company (“Have you driven a Ford Lately®”); American Express (“Don’t leave home without it®”) and Jenny Craig (Have you called Jenny Yet?®) (See our special “The dangers of Jiffy Lipo”) and Nike®
Continuous Television Coverage: ABC, NBC, CBS, FOX, CNN, HGTV, The Food Channel, The Golf Channel, CNBC, HSN, MTV. Aljazeera Television and Other Foreign Language Channels: See your local listings.
Goodwin had to admit it. The invitation to Sydney Maxine’s nationally televised funeral, sent to him via registered mail, was a brilliant public relations tactic by the Two Sheilas. If he accepted the invitation, the mourners would probably lynch him. If he declined or didn’t respond, stories would run to the effect that he didn’t even have the decency to attend the funeral of the man he had wished dead. Had his public relations battle with the Two Sheilas been a close one, Goodwin might have faced a difficult dilemma. His choice, however, was quite easy. He was so unpopular at this point that the consequences of not attending the funeral didn’t really matter. He muttered to himself as he tossed the invitation into his garbage can, “How much deader can I be?”
Goodwin knew that it was more than a coincidence that Ford, American Express, Jennie Craig, and Nike were underwriting Maxine’s very public funeral. These companies were also the primary sponsors of Divorcing With The Stars whose series premier was to be Goodwin’s televised divorce proceeding. They were also the sponsors of what was regarded as a perfect lead in show for the trial, a program called, The Making of Sydney Maxine’s Funeral.
The major expenses for the funeral were underwritten by various corporate sponsors. Under DOMM’S Rent America program, payments were made for the Capitol Rotunda, $900,000 per day, $250,000 for the Washington National Cathedral, $150,000, for the exclusive use of “American Express Way (finally renamed for $50,000,000 under DOMM’s renaming program,) and $190,000 for the “Platinum Funeral Package” which covered a motorcycle police escort for the coffin and cortege, 2000 mounted policeman, and a clean-up crew after the horses.. The original price for the package was actually $220,000, but DOMM had issued Groupons.
The Marine Corps Band and Choir, funeral coach pulled by horses, Arlington National Cemetery, and Marine Honor Guard were absorbed by each sponsor as part of the overall advertising budgets for the trial. The only other major expense was borne entirely by Nike. It agreed to pay a handsome royalty to Sandy Maxine for being allowed to put a little Nike “swoosh” symbol on Sydney Maxine’s casket, his uniform and on the side of the funeral wagon. Since it was very important to Sandy that her son’s funeral be very dignified, she said that she would only accept the royalty if the swoosh symbol were placed in a discrete place on the coffin and not too large. “Over six inches, and we’ll have to re-negotiate,” her agent said.
The evening before the funeral, tens of thousands visitors lined up outside of the Capitol Rotunda to pay their respects to “America’s Fallen Hero,” a name created by the network for Maxine. In light of the manner in which Maxine had died, a question arose as to whether or not his coffin should be opened or closed. Sandy Maxine finally decided that the coffin should remain open, but since Maxine no longer existed in a physical form, they should use the next best thing, namely a wax like replica of him.
None other than the famed Madame Tussauds, hired after a hasty exchange of emails, worked on a crash basis, prepared Sydney’s replica within 24 hours and sent “him” via FedEx next day delivery. The work of Madame Tussauds was free in exchange for the placement of a decal on the side of the coffin and exclusive worldwide rights to display other replicas of Sydney, except at the Rotunda’s gift shop where, under a deal cut by Sandy, replicas of Sydney of varying sizes were being sold. Replica rights as to the Two Sheilas was said to be “in discussions.”
When news of Nike and now Madame Tussauds coffin decals traveled over the Internet, hundreds of other companies lined up to pay lucrative fees for similar placement plugs. In the end, there were so many decals on Maxine’s coffin that it began to resemble a NASCAR race car. Sometime later, NASCAR paid a royalty to have a Sydney Maxine decal placed on its cars.
The only tangible remains of Maxine himself, his small patch of “Sempra Fideles” tattooed skin, was encased in Lucite and placed on the top of his casket. A photograph of him, in full battle gear, with his fellow soldiers in front of a tank, with the notation below it, “Liberators of Kuwait” was placed next to the Lucite. Behind the casket a large whitish candle, created by Mary’s Little Red Cottage Candles out of Sydney’s Lipids, burned brightly. (Sandy found it in her heart to forgive the company after receiving a substantial cash settlement) A little boy who said to his mother, as they passed the casket, “smells like a barbeque here,” was told to be still by his mother. At the boy’s insistence, however, she purchased a replica candle at the Rotunda’s gift store situated at the exit to the Rotunda.
Moments after the Lucite was shown on television, enterprising types began to make copies and sell them as paper weights, key chains, and generally as memorabilia. Sadly, Maxine’s actual Lucite encased tattoo, scheduled to go to the Smithsonian, was either misplaced or stolen somewhere between the rotunda and Arlington cemetery. A diligent search that employed the FBI and Lucite sniffing dogs proved unsuccessful and it was never found. Four decades later, the Lucite was sold as a “decorative paperweight” for $12 on eBay to a buyer who did not know its historical significance.
Goodwin, his friends and a packed house at the Persona Non Grata bar watched the pre-funeral events. He thought that the bar’s atmosphere was not unlike that of a sports bar, but in this case the “fans” were primarily rooting against the Two Sheilas. Around eight p.m., when the television viewing audience was at its peak, the Two Sheilas were escorted to the front of the long line of mourners and up to the casket. Copious boos erupted from the patrons with spontaneous chants of “evil twins, evil twins.”
Each Sheila, dressed immaculately in matching couturier dresses, knelt by the casket, genuflected, and prayed. When Goodwin saw this he shouted to the patrons, “Can you believe this shit? Not only are they Jewish, but damn atheists.”
The Two Sheilas later vigorously denied that they had genuflected. They explained via a spokesperson that what they were doing was the “Jewish version of genuflecting,” namely moving their hands to make the shape of the Star of David, “Jflecting.” The PR firm that concocted this story had chosen Jflecting over “Jewnuflecting” because the latter sounded like an offensive action against Jews and because Jflecting seemed hipper, almost like a new form of exercise. It was later reported that in one very elderly congregation in Florida, congregants had tried Jflecting, but because of the circuitous nature of the movement of their arms to make the Star of David, many sustained rotator cuff injuries.
After their moment of prayer, the Two Sheilas were escorted to Sandy Maxine who sat adjacent to her son’s casket. She was sobbing uncontrollably, but turned off her tears spigot for a moment to admire their perfect dresses, as did many onlookers. “Perhaps” she said, “you can wear those lovely dresses sometime in the f
uture at a happier event.” Off camera and away from Sandy Maxine, the Two Sheilas chortled because they knew that they would never wear the same dress twice.
“Do you have any bitterness towards your estranged husband in light of what happened?” a reporter asked.
They replied in unison, “Well not bitterness so much as deep and unmitigated disappointment by his behavior. We will never know if our husband can somehow be blamed for the tragic death of this wonderful man who was a healer and a war hero. But at least he could have had the common decency to attend the funeral. We had to pull some strings to get him an invitation. As everyone expected, he didn’t even respond, nor he send his regrets.” The reporter shook his head in disgust as did, no doubt, millions of Americans who were glued to their television sets. Goodwin and his fellow patrons were also shaking their heads, but for totally different reasons.
The following day, Sydney Maxine’s coffin was taken from the rotunda and placed in a horse drawn wagon, which a spokesperson for Ford said proudly, was a predecessor to the Model T. The carriage moved slowly down the streets of Washington, D.C. Ford did not neglect to pitch to the public that use of its horse drawn wagon was its way of helping the environment. “I know,” a vice president of Ford said, “that Sydney Maxine would have been happy to know that his was the first truly green funeral in America,” to which Goodwin retorted to his fellow Low Lifes, reconvened at the bar to watch the funeral, “I wonder how happy he would be if he knew he was dead.”
