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

Advertisements

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

To Tile or Not to Tile – Letter 12

Mack,

I questioned even writing this letter because I’ll be up there so soon, but I can’t help being so excited. In three short weeks my masterpiece,“Two Businessmen High-Five While Bruce Lee Flying Kicks Out of the Explosion,” will be revealed to the world and will hopefully overshadow your most-likely-painfully-boring Shakespeare wedding. I’ll be honest, that video you sent me brought tears to my eyes when I thought about how much I’ll be sleeping through it. By my calculations, it should be about 95%. Don’t take it too personally though, I can sleep through anything since Dr. Frank cured my insomnia.

Frank’s miracle cure for me was threatening to shoot himself in the head if I didn’t get to sleep and fast. It only took a couple weeks of him telling me that I’d be the reason he was dead before I could shut my eyes and dream for a couple hours. The man is a genius, bottom line. I owe that man an unending amount of gratitude.

As for Steve Jr., I’ve already taken the liberty of calling “Oregon Adventures” and scheduling a “ManQuest” for a week before your wedding. The pamphlet says its a guided tour of the Ochoco National Forest, until the guides hand out pocket knives to your group and toss you out of a canoe and leave you to fend for yourself for the next 4 days. This seems like the perfect way to “man-up” Steve Jr. I’d also be killing two birds with one stone, as I’ve decided to officially make this your bachelor party. What an awesome time, right!? You, me, Steve Jr. and Pop, fighting for our lives, breaking the necks of rabbits with our bare-hands, developing our own culture and social hierarchy through knife fights! The only way we could make it more manly is if Han Solo came along on the ManQuest!

So get your testosterone ready, Mack. WE’RE GOING ON A MANQUEST!

Manfully yours,
Steve

To Tile or Not to Tile – Letter 10

Mack,

I literally thought Mom died when I told her you were alive! How would that have been for depressing irony? She only passed out thankfully, and is more than excited to attend your wedding. Dad reacted by punching me in the stomach but was pretty excited after that.

Sucks about your legs. Maybe Joanne would be more interested in marrying you if you got some sweet looking crutches. Are there any orangutans in any of Shakespeare’s plays? I can’t say I’m very familiar with his stuff. Maybe you could play it off as an art school interpretation of Hamlet. Or maybe one of his plays with less people dying. Just an idea. I’ll talk to a couple of my connections in the tile scene about finding a good surgeon that can maybe help you. As you would have probably guessed, I know quite a few powerful people. Maybe they can even do something about your manliness being overly boyish. I’m sure that once we take care of that problem Joanne will stop jonesing for a Coke-fix and start jonesing for a Mack-fix.

Steve Jr. has been doing well. He of course is taking interest in the family business, but some of the stuff he does makes me second-guess wanting to hand the business of to him when I retire. Just the other day he painted a tile with daisies or some shit on it. I tell you, he’s like the Fredo Corleone of our family. Hopefully things won’t come to me having to shoot him in a boat, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to let him ruin the empire I’ve built with my bare hands.

So, as mentioned before, I’ll be sending some doctors your way within the next couple of days. Let me know what they tell you. Stay strong, brother. Your fiance will be over-aggressively groping you in no time.

-Steve

To Tile or Not to Tile – Letter 9

Steve,

Thank you so, so, so much for carrying my wriggling body out of Gaston’s office. You saved my life. Also, thank you for your concern about my partial paralysis due to taking those paralysis darts to the leg. To answer your question, no, I am not out of the wheelchair yet. The doctor said that the poison inside of the darts was curare, which happens to be common for arrow poisons originating in South America. I guess Gaston learned something from his time spent in the rain forest besides “when those bugs bite you, it’s gonna cause some serious shit.” Remember when he told us he was vomiting and coughing up blood for weeks after we sent him down there on a bogus tiling offer? HA! Oh, how we laughed at that.

Unfortunately, now the joke’s on me. Curare contains tubocurarine chloride, which is now only used in the United States as part of the lethal injection procedure. The doctor’s say I may never walk again.

Joanne is at a crossroads regarding our wedding. As I mentioned before, being a big player in the Oregon Shakespeare Festival, she wants it to be Shakespeare themed. However, my current inability to walk is limiting my character choice very heavily. She said that Richard III was portrayed as disabled, but that she “would not want to marry that brash and unlikeable man.”

Oh, she is also at a crossroads thanks to Gaston Clutterbuck giving her cocaine. She has been jonesing for a fix, just like back in the old days before she kicked the habit. I must say that while I enjoy her taking her shirt off, I usually like to limit that and the crotch grabbing to both the bedroom and only my crotch, respectively. When she smacks up some blow, this simple goal of mine becomes harder to achieve.

But, enough about me. I’m so happy to hear that I’ve earned your respect! While my legs may be on the fritz, at least for the time being, your respect has become my wings. I can not WAIT to see your amazing latest masterpiece of tile-work, “Two Businessmen High-Five While Bruce Lee Flying Kicks Out of the Explosion.” My wedding just got a whole lot better!

Joanne still wants to marry me, but I am a bit worried that she’ll change her mind any day now. You’ve always been good with the ladies; got any advice? When she’s off the drugs and when I could walk, we were perfect together. But now, when she delves into her recently-acquired secret stash of cocaine, she mocks me, and calls me “Professor Limp Dick of the Asshole Squad.” I hate to sound like your teenage son instead of your brother (by the way, how is Steve Jr. doing?), but I could really use some help on how to get her clean and win her heart once again.

I’ve also sent Mom and Dad’s invitation in this letter. As you mentioned, please hand-deliver it to them. I hope they are still not disgusted at my lack of success and years of debauchery, and that they will attend the wedding (as well as be happy to hear that I am alive).

I’ll be talking to you soon, brother. I’m so happy I once again have your respect.

– Mack

P.S. Thank you for your comment about Joanne’s hotness. I certainly agree she looked great in that Leia costume. I also hope your new-found respect for me includes not seducing my fiance.

To Tile or Not to Tile – Letter 8

Mack,

SUCCESS! I can not thank you enough for your assistance in our little “adventure.” I could not have done it without you. Not only because of your uncanny ability to pick locks (I won’t ask how you learned to do it so well), but for taking those paralysis darts to the leg. Like the filthy, stealing rat he is, Gaston took a page out of my own book and booby-trapped his office. Luckily for us (more so for me, though), I was able to re-steal my sketch from Gaston’s portfolio while you wriggled on the ground like a deer stuck in a bear trap. I, of course, displayed my astonishing strength by carrying you back into the car.

So, are you out of the wheelchair yet?

I feel a little bad about your fiance showing Clutterbuck her boobs, though. Who knew Gaston could have predicted her special weakness (if you forgot, its cocaine!)? Still, she did a fantastic job and hopefully she didn’t start the habit again.

Mack, I am a man of my word. Now that this ordeal is over, I will be your best man. You’ve earned your respect back from me and its the least I could do. However, since I’m so generous, I’ll be giving you MORE! I’ll reveal my recently-re-procured masterpiece “Two Businessmen High-Five While Bruce Lee Flying Kicks Out of the Explosion” AT YOUR WEDDING! I know, its quite an honor, but you ARE my brother and you DID help me steal it. Oh, what a party this will be.

If you wish to send Mom and Dad’s invitation here, I’ll hand-deliver it to them. I can’t wait to see the look on their face when they find out you’re not dead! If I had to guess, it would probably be a mixture of astonishment, confusion and disgust. I’ll try to get some camera-phone pictures.

So again, Mack, thank you so much.

Your Brother,
Steve

P.S. – MY GOD did Joanne looking bangin’ in that Princess Leia costume. I sure would love to play with her Thermo-detonators. That is, if she wasn’t your fiance and all.