And get multiple puzzles. Mix up all the pieces together. Include some small pieces of cement as well. Maybe some birdseed. Get it nice and thick like a good stew.

If your host (read: opponent) starts asking questions counter with one of your own. Ask him where that scotch tape you requested is. Demand he produce it immediately! I don’t care if you have other patients today, I need that tape!

Then use it to stick three or four puzzle pieces to his face. Right there while he’s talking. And you should really be taking off your shirt now, too. Announce to the others your precaution of locking all exits and welding shut the windows. It’s time for a goddamn Scientology party in here! From this point on we’re all family now! We’re related! We love each other! I need to borrow some money!

Back in your room, head right to the corner and start heaving. Dry heaving. Except it’s fake. You’re not sick. You just want them to believe you’re sick. Sneak a handful of puzzle pieces up near your mouth and pretend to wretch them all over the floor and curtains. Make a big show of it.

Their cameras are good, they’ll see it. They’ll buy it. This has to work! What would Dad say?

He’d say, “God bless you, boy. You’re alright. I’ve made bigger mistakes.”

Start printing up the T-Shirts.

It’s why the midwest is full of aspiring and working Magicians.

And although America allows everyone the chance to become King, it also demands that you do nothing of significance with your power. Absolutely nothing. This explains the proliferation of short-haired professional cake decorators. Reminding others of your position over them is the only end worth pursuing.

You are “A Class” and they know you are “A Class” and you know that they know that you are “A Class.”

And that is all.

The balls never reach their pins. There’s never any conclusion, never any satisfaction. Just endless rolling, rolling, rolling. And us citizens, ugh, we hear it everywhere we go. It’s always with us. A terrible aural stink.

As we approach the holiday the sounds get louder. We just have to speak louder during our annual long distance phone calls to Aunt Marge. Some people let their babies sleep in the basement all month.

But that’s about it. We’re not changing much. Just smile, wash thoroughly and carry on. And you can bet this year’s parade marchers will still be wearing their chainsaw shoes.

The power of pride and all that.

“I’ve been having a lot of issues with shoelaces this Summer.”

At an emergency meeting of the Society’s board last week, they responded to this crisis by voting in a small, cement deer statue as Prime Minister and further resolved to stop acknowledging the existence of each others’ tongues.

I hope they get this all sorted out as I still have fifty buffet tickets from last year they claimed they’d honor provided I limit my usage of the breading stations. Which I will as I never travel without at least half a loaf of split-top bread in my thigh pockets anyway.

As long as they don’t skimp on the butter packets, I’ll be unrecognizable by the time the night’s over. I’ll be fully Sweedish.

The default human orientation is total warfare, all the time, always. Every ounce of energy spent clawing forever towards the great prize: a pile of shiny rocks. Instinct tells you to slaughter any and all who may stand in your way.

You, as a weakling, are acutely aware of this. Your focus is not on breaking this cycle or elevating human relations above it. Your focus is not even on mere survival. You, because of your shortcomings, wish all the more to destroy your opponent. You want him to suffer. But how?

I heard the above when I dialed up that number the library runs that plays recorded stories for latchkey kids.

And with the orphanages empty, State Troopers go through each room, leaving a little jar of hair under each child’s pillow. It makes up for the Governor’s outlawing of balloons last fall (his signature legislation).

“I want you to feel my presence and find yourself improved. I want you to picture my chair rotating in circles as you read this. I want you to realize I am the compass point. And I want you to do something about these horseflies.”

You can even jump it over the Fortune 500 CEO of your choice provided he’s been driven mad by money fumes and doesn’t mind it when you call him ‘Slim’.

You can even become President and jump it over the White House, where it will be immediately neutralized by secret service sharp shooters on the roof, who, despite their well intentions, somehow missed the official announcement of your jump and mistook you for an angry turtle.