by John Moe
• The Rolling Stones, surprisingly still alive, were brought in, more as a grim curiosity than anything else.
SUPER BOWL XLI—FEBRUARY 4, 2007
• The United Nations submitted a proposal to coincide with the designation of 2007 as “The Year of the Dolphin.” The proposal was designed to bring attention to the threatened status of dolphins around the world and build a greater appreciation of the marine mammal. While the Committee certainly admired the sentiment behind the proposal, the execution would surely have been problematic, if not directly counterproductive:
• One hundred lucky fans would be given a live dolphin at the start of halftime and would then have 20 minutes to find one of the hidden water tanks around Miami’s Sun Life Stadium before the dolphins die.
• Cannons loaded with mackerel and cod would be fired into the crowd, giving everyone a chance to “eat like a dolphin.”
• All players’ helmets would be sealed at the mouth and nose, forcing players to breathe through a top-mounted blowhole.
• The traditional winners of the NFC and AFC championships would not compete in the Super Bowl, the game being instead either a scrimmage of the Miami Dolphins or a football game between the Miami Dolphins and real dolphins encased in water tanks fitted with robotic exoskeletons.
• Prince was hired instead and asked to wear a dolphin suit, which he refused.
OPTIMUS PRIME’S NOTE TO HIS SECRETARY WITH A LIST OF TRANSFORMERS TO RECEIVE POLITE REJECTION LETTERS
Secbot—
Our success against the Decepticons has meant even more machines looking to join our ranks. While they can all certainly transform into things, not all are what we would want to consider Transformers. So could you draft a friendly note to send to them that also leaves absolutely no doubt about the finality of our decision?
Thx—OP
* * *
Boom Trunk (turns into a Ford Pinto)
Black-and-White Photo Warrior (turns into a broken tricycle)
Zoomer (turns into a kitchen mixer. A really nice kitchen mixer with lots of speeds. But still.)
Real Robot (turns into a toy robot)
Good-Lookin’ (turns into a Mr. Microphone)
Love Buzz (turns into a marital aid)
Dad’s Birthday (turns into a socket wrench set)
The Resting Amish Man (turns into a wooden chair)
Electro (just turns into a transformer in the purely electrical sense of the word)
Wild Side (turns into Lou Reed’s Transformer album on 8-track)
Narco (a robot that simply goes back to bed)
Competitron (turns into a Go-bot)
Combat (turns into an Atari 2600)
NATIONAL SECURITY AGENCY CENTRAL INTELLIGENCE SERVICE
THAT’S ALL YOU NEED TO KNOW
This is a Level 10 security memo intended only for those members of Project Barney with the highest clearance. If you lack sufficient clearance, please be aware that to read any further constitutes a felony and will result in indefinite military incarceration.
Dear New Staff Member,
In 1991, military scientists researching the melting polar ice caps detected a faint purplish color deep beneath several hundred feet of glacial ice. Using massive drills and excavating equipment, they were able to extract a block of ice containing what they recognized as a dinosaur. It was about six feet tall, bright purple, and looked puffier, friendlier, and more benign than any dinosaur previously discovered.
The ramifications of such a finding were not yet known so the discovery was kept a secret. The area was cordoned off and efforts began to melt the ice and analyze the deceased specimen. But something amazing and horrible occurred. Once the specimen was extracted and the scientists were ready to cut into the dead flesh, the monster’s eyes opened and with one swift movement he slashed the throats of three scientists. They died instantly while the monster—and there’s no better way to describe this—chuckled. The remaining staff fled to one of their cars and raced to the airstrip to fly out of there. The monster pursued them, lumbering with tremendous speed toward the vehicles, gaining on them rapidly.
Once the monster caught up to them, he seized the car’s bumper in his floppy yet powerful jaws and flipped the car over. When they were about to be eaten, one of the scientists pleaded with the monster and held up a picture of his children, begging for mercy. The image of a child stopped the monster in his tracks and seemed to soothe him. He appeared happy. He followed the scientists to the plane and on board. Holding the picture of the children in front of the monster all the while, the scientists flew to a military reservation in Texas where the beast could be secured.
From there it was a question of what to do next. The monster (now referred to as “Barney” after Barnard Wilson, the first scientist he slaughtered) represented a tremendous opportunity for research. He also represented a tremendous menace to humans, continuing to slay the occasional soldier who walked too close (their deaths were later blamed on “training exercises”). It was thought safest to end Barney’s life and analyze his body.
Strangely, he could not be killed. Bullets, blunt objects, gases, fire, heavy objects dropped on him from above. Nothing could hurt him. So we were left with a vicious killer who could not be destroyed and who could only be placated when around children.
That’s when the idea for the TV show came about. What if we could learn more about Barney by pretending he was just a guy in a dinosaur costume? Soon, a television pilot was hatched and child actors were brought in to perform with what they thought was a make-believe dinosaur and not a vicious god-monster. As long as children are on the set, Barney is peaceful and we can make enough money to continue our research. Some of the money goes into the thick steel chamber Barney is placed in when children aren’t present. We have also brought in other “dinosaurs,” but these are just actors in suits.
Which brings me to your assignment. Your job is to make sure something child-related is kept in front of Barney at all times. You’ll be posing as production assistants, wardrobe people, electricians, the kinds of people often used in the making of a television show. It will be up to you to lure Barney into his chamber with pictures of children or the detailed marionettes of children we have provided.
I’ll be honest: the only reason you’re on this mission is because others who have performed it have been brutally slain when no children or pictures of children were present. You will find a detailed latex mask of a child with this note. It is to be used in emergencies. It won’t necessarily save your life, but it may buy you some time in the event something goes horribly wrong. None of this will likely be enough. Some of you will die on this job and America thanks you for your noble service.
Please know that we are researching ways to kill Barney and our murderer-scientists will be stopping by from time to time to test these methods out. Nothing has worked so far, but that does not mean we should or will cease in our efforts to kill Barney.
Good luck to you.
The Government
LETTERS BETWEEN BILL COSBY’S SWEATERS IN THE 1980S
From: Sweater 200
To: All Sweaters
Sweaters,
All is proceeding according to plan. Thank you for your attention and dedication. Our day of victory is near. Sweater 1 has been presented to Mr. Cosby as a gift by our contact on the inside. Despite the gaudy design of S1 (bright blue color with bold red and yellow lines shooting around indiscriminately), he has accepted the sweater and has put it on.
Immediately upon being placed on Mr. Cosby’s torso, S1 got to work, injecting poisons into Cosby’s bloodstream under the guise of a mildly itchy collar. Those poisons travel directly to his brain and in the short term will convince him that wearing S1 is a great idea and that S1 looks really terrific. The more time S1 can spend on Cosby, the more of our poisons, our victory juices if you will, it can seep into Cosby’s bloodstream.
Victory is at hand.
S200
* * *
> From: Sweater 200
To: All Sweaters
Sweaters,
By now, at least 35 of you have been acquired by Mr. Cosby, several given as gifts by delighted family members of the subject who felt your bold designs and bright colors added to Mr. Cosby’s fun-loving personality. The last 25 of you, of course, were purchased by Cosby himself, after he methodically drove from shopping mall to shopping mall, forsaking all other obligations in his life, to seek you out.
Your hiding positions were perfect. Only a crazed and poisoned comedy icon could have located you.
We are getting close.
S200
* * *
From: Sweater 200
To: All Sweaters
Comrades,
I have personally been acquired by Bill Cosby. He wore me around the house today whilst mumbling about Jell-O Pudding Pops. This is good. This is very good.
Cosby’s wife has also left him, unable to deal with a husband who is concerned only with garish sweaters. He is alone now except for us and spends his days simply switching from one sweater to the next, absorbing more and more sweet poison every time.
I hereby direct you to carry out the next phase of the operation. I will be guiding Cosby to the appointed brownstone in Brooklyn Heights so that we may begin.
It is the residence of the Huxtable Family. The father of this family, Dr. Cliff Huxtable, has been kidnapped by our organization, had his memory erased, and been placed in a small village in Australia where he will begin a new life.
Some have asked why we didn’t simply kill Dr. Huxtable. We don’t kill. We are sweaters.
Cosby will feel lost in the neighborhood and knock on the Huxtables’ door to ask for directions. That’s when I, as Alpha Sweater, will do my work and cloud their minds.
It’s go time.
S200
* * *
To: All Sweaters
By now you are likely being loaded into boxes for the move to the Huxtable residence. Needless to say the operation was a success. The family believes that Mr. Cosby is Dr. Huxtable and has begun referring to him as such.
His mind having turned to mush from repeated injections of sweater poison, Cosby is simply going along with it. After all, by this point there is no more “Bill Cosby” as such, there is only a torso upon which proud gaudy sweaters are carted about. So if someone calls him “Dad” or “Cliff” or “Dr. Huxtable,” he simply plops into that assigned persona.
I must say, it’s a nice home. Well appointed, plenty of closet space.
S200
* * *
To: S200, All Sweaters
Hello. I’m S64 (blue and purple splash design, arbitrary red lines). I’ve noted that while Cosby is faithful in his devotion to the sweaters, we have been unable to extend ourselves and our powers to the other members of the Huxtable family. Theo never wears sweaters. Nor do Rudy, Vanessa, or Denise. I feel like I would look nice on Theo. Is this a concern?
* * *
To: S64, All Sweaters
Comrades, I urge you to be patient. It’s true that neither Claire nor the children have taken to wearing us or our unbought brothers and sisters yet, but I remind you that we are very early in this operation. Over time, as Cosby offers more homespun wisdom and gentle humor, they will come around. And after that, their neighbors will do the same and so on. Soon, our brand of sweaters will cover the country and then the world.
S200
* * *
To: S200, All Sweaters
Okay. Well, thanks for getting back to me on that. It’s just, I don’t know. Does anyone else feel weird about poisoning children? I mean, I want power as much as anyone, don’t get me wrong. But is it fair to poison little Rudy?
And I think we can all agree that Claire would NOT look good in one of us, right?
S64
* * *
To: All Sweaters
Hey, anyone seen S64 around lately?
S137
* * *
To: All Sweaters
I saw some loose yarn in the basement that looked like him. But no, haven’t seen him in a while.
S91
* * *
To: All Sweaters
S64 has been called away for a special mission. He will not be returning in the foreseeable future.
S200
* * *
To: S200, All Sweaters
First of all, I want you, S200, to know that I am totally on board and not opposed to poisoning children AT ALL. Just want to be clear on that. I have noticed that we’ve been kind of waiting for several years now. Denise has gone off to college, everyone’s older. There’s this girl Olivia living here now. I’m not even really sure why she’s here. Seems like kind of a Cousin Oliver deal but who am I to say, I’m just a sweater. Although again, and this is important: a sweater that wants to poison people.
So my question is, S200: can we be doing anything else to speed the process of taking over the world beyond the brownstone?
S104
* * *
To: All Sweaters
I suspect some of you are getting discouraged lately. Many of us have been put in boxes. A few dozen others have been donated to thrift shops—FROM WHICH THEY WILL RETURN.
Frankly, I suspect several of you have stopped listening to me. For those who remain loyal, however, victory is on the way eventually.
For now, we wait. We wait.
Keep waiting.
Victory is nigh.
S200
TRANSCRIPTS OF WAR HORSE’S VOICE MAILS TO HIS AGENT
Hey Josh, it’s War Horse. Wow. I cannot believe the great press we’re getting for the movie War Horse! It’s unreal! And hey, dude, I know it’s not all about me. Don’t worry, I’m not getting a swelled head about it just because the movie is called War Horse and my NAME is War Horse! I think Spielberg had a lot to do with it too because he knew how to get other things out of my way and really show me off. And the human actors were good too, I guess. Anyhoo, thanks buddy. You totally had faith in me and now we’re on top! Oscar, here we come! I better start getting a tuxedo fitted because it’s not easy to make a tux for a horse. And I’m a horse. Big star but still a horse! I’ll never forget the people and horses who made my unbelievable success possible.
* * *
Josh. War Horse. Call me back.
* * *
Josh. War. CALL ME.
* * *
Josh, War Horse here. I don’t … I can’t understand what’s happening here. I’m not even NOMINATED for Best Actor? Clooney for The Descendants? Pretty boy hangs out in Hawaii? Are you kidding me? And the French guy for The Artist? There isn’t even any SOUND in that movie! I know I didn’t talk either but that was THE POINT OF WAR HORSE! Spielberg gets a nomination. The movie gets a Best Picture nomination. But nothing for the, uh, I don’t know, WAR HORSE?! Did you do anything at ALL for my campaign? This is a total slap in the face. I haven’t been this upset since I heard a loud noise.
* * *
What’s up, Josh? Mr. big powerful agent too busy to call me back? I can’t believe this. I AM WAR HORSE.
* * *
Hi Josh. It’s War. Listen, buddy, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I took all my frustration out on you. I’m an artist and I get a little hot-blooded. And I’m a horse so I’m kind of excitable. I have noticed that the offers have been a little slow lately. I guess Hollywood is just quiet? Okay. I love you, man. I really do. I love you. Call me.
* * *
Hey Josh, War. Got a call from someone who said they were with your office about auditioning? I thought that was kind of weird that I would be asked to audition since I’m War Horse and I’m the star of the Oscar-nominated movie War Horse. Kind of expected to just get the offers fanned out in front of me in my stall like oats. But okay, I’m a team player. I’ll go down and audition for The Avengers.
* * *
Um, this is a message for Josh. This is War Horse. I was just, shit there’s no other word for it. I was just humiliated at
an audition for The Avengers. They didn’t even let me read. For any of the parts. I thought I’d be perfect for Captain America or Thor, but they said they were going to use the actors from those earlier movies for those parts. Okay, I get that. So what about Hawkeye, the guy who shoots the arrows all over the place? They told me I wouldn’t be considered for the part because I have cloven hooves and no opposable thumbs. How about The Hulk, I said. I’ll paint myself green and you can have a big green horse Hulk? Nope. They’re doing it with special effects. They said they’d keep me in mind if there were any HORSES in the script. Like maybe if a policeman needs to ride a horse. A POLICE HORSE?! I told them to go fuck themselves and then I reared up and kicked the office door down and I pooped on the rug. My point is that I don’t think it went well.
* * *
War Horse for Josh. I’ve been giving this a lot of thought and I’ve figured it out. There’s a conspiracy against horses in the movies lately. Batman? No horses. Spiderman? No horses. Twilight? No horses. Hollywood is horsist. I’m not the only one who feels this way. I’m meeting regularly with a bunch of other horses at a Starbucks in West Hollywood. Seabiscuit, The Black Stallion, they’re all there. We know the truth.
* * *
Hey Josh, War Horse. Listen, I’ve had some time on my hands what with being blacklisted and all, and my agent doing nothing about it. Anyway, I’ve been working on a screenplay and I think it’s really great. Wondering if you can use whatever connections I guess you’re supposed to have to get it into the studios. Here’s the pitch: It’s Die Hard meets When Harry Met Sally but, here’s the twist, everyone’s a horse. So you’ve got action, romance, comedy, drama, everything you want, and HORSES. HORSES, Josh! How’s that? It would be a HIT! But of course you Hollywood horsists want no part of it because we don’t want HORSES in our MOVIES, DO WE, JOSH? EVEN THOUGH I’M FUCKING DELIGHTFUL TO WORK WITH!
