The Worst Disease Ever – Letter 11

Dr. Chiribada,

Things are really great here in Tijuana. The weather is consistently beachy and the locals are extremely accepting of out-of-towners as long as you’re willing to spend money. My wife and Penelope are getting used to our new lavish lifestyle as well as their sharing of me.

OH SHIT! I absolutely forgot to tell you what happened. You’ll have to forgive me, it’s been a hectic two weeks as you can probably tell. Let me explain:

After your last letter’s pep-talk, I decided that it was do-or-be-a-bird-dude for me, so that very day I got myself a bus ticket and high-tailed it to the Smithsonian. I left my wife a note explaining the whole situation and told her that if she really loved me she would support my robbing the Smithsonian and seeing Penelope. She admitted that after reading the note she burned all my belongings in a huge bonfire on the front lawn. However, everything has worked out just as I had suspected.

So I sauntered into the Smithsonian during regular hours and located the Fonz’s jacket among some classic television memorabilia. There was one chumpish looking security guard standing in the corner who I was pretty sure I could take if necessary. So I grabbed the jacket, set off the alarm, threw it on and WHAM!

Haha, you like that dramatic pause, huh?

I turned into a full-blown birdman. Think Big Bird if he joined a non-violent biker gang. I was as astonished as I’m sure you are right now. After giving myself time to think about it, I suppose I was born to be a birdman. If you can believe it, flying is pretty fucking cool.

Everyone in the museum reacted how most people who just saw someone steal a priceless piece of Americana and turn into a birdman react – the screamed their heads off and ran away. As a newly turned winged-beast/felon, I of course grabbed some more exhibits like Archie Bunker’s recliner, “Jeannie’s” super-sexy costume, and Lassie’s taxidermed body, among other things. I flew all the way home, grabbed my wife and Penelope and headed South.

Oddly enough, there’s an enormous demand for American TV set pieces in the Mexican black market. I made myself a hefty amount of dinero and bought myself a small villa on the hill.

Dr. Chiribada, thank you. Thank you so much. If it weren’t for your suggestion, I’d just be some loser slowly turning into a bird while cheating on his wife. And now… now I’m a super-rich bird-man with two chicks. TWO CHICKS, MAN!

Good luck with all of your future anthropomorphizational endeavors.

Respectfully,
Steve Chirpinsberg

The Worst Disease Ever – Letter 6

Steve,

First off, that clearly drunk, clearly cross-dressing dude was hot. And there’s no shame in wanting a piece of that. I don’t discriminate: hot lady, hot man, hot cross dressing lady/man — it’s all good.

But, back to the topic at hand: Ms. Penelope Pogwater. Now, I had no intention on making this crazy bender something that would cause you to CHEAT ON YOUR WIFE. I was only hoping for some crazy fun, some macho one-eyebrow-raising, and some harmless flirting. You’ve got to play it cool, like Arthur Fonzerelli. Do you think he was having sex with all those girls he was with? NO. He was just necking a bit, and keeping Mrs. C proud. You overstepped your boundary here, Steve.

That being said, all hope’s not lost. What I need you to do is STOP having weird furry sex with Penelope! That’s only going to further your transformation into a bird. If you begin to develop real feelings for Penelope, your body is going to go into bird-overload, knowing that this is the only way to keep her.

Next step is to tell your wife the truth: tell her that the “tests” your doctor recommended was a bender. Tell her your Avian Anthropomorphism is getting worse. Tell her that she needs to help you steal Fonzie’s jacket from the Smithsonian museum.

Then, once she says “yes,” and “I love you, Steve” and “that Dr. Chiribada sounds like one sexlicious beast of a man,” you go take Fonzie’s jacket (and tell her that she’s right about me). I believe that once you have his jacket on you, your feathering will reverse itself. But you’re going to have to really…REALLY act like The Fonz. I want you non-stop watching reruns of Happy Days (I prefer past season 1, but before the infamous jumping-of-the-shark). Learn his mannerisms and take his teachings to heart.

When you get that leather jacket on your back, you may feel a jolt. That jolt is your body beginning to reject the feathers. Then, right then and there, your feathers should explode off your body. It won’t be a pretty sight (think pillow-fight on speed), and it may sting a little bit; but, luckily for you, the explosion of feathers may act like a smoke bomb: shielding you from the police and allowing your escape from the museum without criminal charges pressed against you.

Plus, the heist has an added benefit of being very macho, and that should do nothing but help your situation.

If this doesn’t work, I’m afraid your problem may be chronic and irreversible. In which case, you’ll be lucky if your wife doesn’t kill you and serve you grilled atop a bed of garlic sauteed spinach after you tell her you cheated on her.

Best of luck.

– Dr. William Chiribada III

The Worst Disease Ever – Letter 5

Dr. Chiribada,

In the words of the late, great Frankie Valli and The Four Seasons, “OH WHAT A NIGHT!”

My evening-out-turned-2-day-love-bender seems to have really done the trick for me. Sure, I’m still slowly becoming the a real-life version of Foghorn Leghorn, but after having met Ms. Penelope Pogwater, that may not be such a terrible thing. The things that happened once we left you to your hitting on that clearly drunk, clearly cross-dressing dude would make you slightly uncomfortable. But, since you’re a professional and you probably need to know about it for your research, I’ll tell you anyway.

Penelope walked into O’Malley’s at about the same time we finished our third set of shots of “Satan’s Knee Puss.” Maybe it was the Windex in the shots doing their thing to me, but I KNEW that I had to talk to her. I strutted over to her with more confidence than I’ve had in forever. We chatted, I bought her a couple of drinks. As I’m reaching for her hand to test the waters, my shirt-sleeve button gets caught on her bracelet and this young hottie I’ve been working the magic on gets a face full of down.

“This is it,” I thought, “this is where she freaks out, calls me a weird bird-freak-guy and runs.” But she didn’t. In fact, she grabbed my hand, called me a weird bird-freak-guy, and dragged me out the bar door to her place. From there we started our two day love-making, tequila-guzzling, sesame seed-gourging festival that ended when I realized that I HAVE A FAMILY HOLY SHIT!

So apparently there’s this group of people called furries. I think its a bit odd, but they like to dress up as animals and have sex in their costumes. Penelope is one of these people. I’m just as perplexed with it as you are right now.

I got home and told my wife I spent the last couple days having tests done and here I am, writing you, telling you that I cheated on my wife who won’t have sex with me because I’m a birdman with someone who won’t stop having sex with me because I’m a birdman. By the way, the symptoms haven’t reversed. Suggestions? Advice?

I look forward to you solving this terrible problem for me, Doctor. Thank you.

-Steve