Team Deathray – Letter 10

Dear Scott,

HOLY HEMP MOCCASINS!!! WE WON! WE ACTUALLY WON! It’s two days after our dominant win over the “Beer Dudes” and I’m stillmore excited than I was when Phish announced they’d be playing extra-long, extra-meandering solos on their upcoming tour. Sure, they put “Team Deathrye: League Champions” on our trophy, but I’m not ashamed to be named after the most lethal loaf of bread anyone has ever tried to put corned beef on. We put such a hurting on the “Beer Dudes” I literally thought they were going to die from embarrassment!

Scott, I really want to thank you for showing me how good winning a piece of plastic that’s painted gold can feel. I’d have to compare the feeling to dropping 4-5 hits of acid without all the visions of Joan of Arc murdering an infinite line of Oscar the Grouches. As much as I enjoyed that fuzzy-green genocide, winning keeps you elated and still allows you to enjoy normal, everyday pleasures – like recognizing things. Just today I arm wrestled my buddy Scrawny-Joe, beat my mother at a rousing game of Bloody Knuckles and WRECKED my grandpa in a two mile run! I’ve never been on such a high!

The Book of Kyle has taught me much, especially much about shunning. Since breezing through this easy 985 page read, I’ve been shunning dudes like you wouldn’t believe. I shunned my cousin Smiley for wanting to relax after a jog; YOU DON’T RELAX AFTER A JOG, YOU WORK ON YOUR PECS AND DELTOIDS! Through my study of the Book of Kyle, I’m going to become the most efficient, jacked hippie since, well, you.

Thanks again for being such an inspiration, Scott. It appears we’ve both learned something from each other, huh? I’m super-jazzed to have you as a brother-in-law. You can create religions for me whenever you want, okay buddy?

Licking Victory,

Team Deathray – Letter 9


Listen man. I know that you’re worried about my new lifestyle change, but the truth of the matter is that it’s all good. Before you took me under your wing, I used to be angry and omnivorous, ALL THE TIME. Now that I work out my aggression with a mortar and pestle, I am nothing but peaceful. Plus, I learned to make great Pulse Chutney and Khichdi. Is there anything a mung bean can’t do?!?

I am just a man of extremes, and for that I would apologize, except that I don’t feel it is necessary to do so. For instance, you know how your belief that Kyle, the all-knowing being that presides over all living things, was simply a faith loosely embodied by a presence and without the confines of organization?


I took a bunch of PCP the other day and created this chapbook.

It outlines much of what I believe to be your personal beliefs. See that? Because I am COMMITTED to everything I do, you now have yourself an actual religion. Now you can totally SHUN people for not following it properly (there’s a whole chapter on shunning).

As for the reason I am changing, I must say that at first it was about the volleyball (and my wife continuing to love me). But I am happy this way now, Phil. There are so many simple joys in life that I just overlooked beforehand. I like to think that this is the ideal me.

However, if you expect me to give up competition, you are QUITE MISTAKEN. In fact, one could assess that my habit of going to extremes is due to an underlying belief that everything in life is a competition, and therefore an ultimate state of perfection in each field should be striven towards at all times.

Just look at me now: I don’t like most foods anymore, I take recreational drugs as frequently as possible, and I just wrote the Kyle Bible. I am so much more PERFECT than I thought I was when Sunny and I first moved to New Jersey!

And to top it all off, next week is the championship Volleyball game! Holy smokes I am so excited I could just grab a hackey sack and do a Stepping Ducking Paradox Blender into a Barfly Swirl, you know?

Since I can tell from your letter that you are not so into giving people drugs without their consent in order to ensure our victory, I am going to have to use a bit of “tolerance” that I learned from you, and do it the old fashioned way. And, by that I of course mean by assuming our group mind will function flawlessly and the TROPHY WILL BE MINE!

So, I’m turning the tables a bit. I have learned from you, and I am asking you and your clan to learn a little bit from me. If you are as tolerant as you’ve made me believe you all were, you will tolerate my competitive spirit so fully that we all will be flyin’ high as a free bird atop a rainbow of dreams, and we will WIN THE TOURNAMENT!

Let’s try this out at the next few family drum circles, man. Then, next week, let’s rock out that championship. Team Deathray, go!

Licking frogs,

– Scott

Team Deathray – Letter 8


Hey man, um, listen. I’m, like, super excited about that whole lifestyle change of yours and everything, and I’m really glad things are working out really well with my sister. It’s just, you started to become a lot like us and then you were a lot like us but then you started to become so much like us that you were us and then you, like, transcended us to the point in which you weren’t like us anymore. You know? The clan is all about your acceptance of our lifestyle and even your dabbling in it is cool; you’re always welcome to the hacky sack games, drum circles and “science” experiments. But do you remember when you were an ultra-competitive ‘roided-out shit bag? Well, replace “roided” with “trippy drugs’d” and you’re pretty much right back where you started.

We’ve been winning a lot of our games without the assistance of Performance Deteriorating Drugs (at least ones that the opponent is taking), so I’m not so sure we should be giving these people the trips of their lives without their consent in order to win a couple NON-COMPETITIVE volleyball games. Drugs are to be taken for recreation or to bring oneself closer to that all-knowing being that presides over all living things. Some call him “God” – I call him “Kyle.” It feels less intimidating when you’re talking to someone named Kyle. But whatever you call him, he most certainly does NOT wish for us to be cheating/trying very hard at volleyball.

Scott, I’m really starting to think that the only reason you began to accept our lifestyle was so you can get us to play harder for you by understanding us better. Like the Vince Lombardi of sports that no one should care about. I’m guessing that once you figured out that “try hard” is not in a true hippie’s vocabulary (on a side note, neither is “scrub thoroughly”) you decided to use our one competitive advantage – our resistance to mind-altering drugs – against the opponent. I really hope this isn’t true because I really like you and Henry but some signs have been popping up. Just for example, you CELEBRATED during hackey sack. COME ON MAN, YOU KNOW NO ONE DOES THAT!

Before I head over to the farmer’s market, I just want to let you know that we all love you and are still pushing for you to change for real. I sent over some glazed soybeans for you to enjoy so, uh… enjoy!


Team Deathray – Letter 7

Phil Man,

Bro, that Anti-Insulting of Animals rally was GREAT! There was a time when I called protesters “shit-for-brains un-American scum.” But now, through our yoga, organic lifestyle, and recreational drug usage, I see the value in it. I really think that we blew a few minds yesterday, man. Standing still while holding signs and peacefully allowing everyone to go about their daily lives with no interruptions had to make a difference. I like the way you put it: “we will be the lonely man eating a cheese sandwich alone at a diner. We will not disturb you, but you will not be able to take your mind off of us. We will infiltrate your consciousness.” So true man. So true.

And even more true after you drop a few tabs of acid and just let the colors of the wind sweetly caress your music. Know what I mean?

This past week of hippie training has reduced my want to punch people so much so that I barely think about it anymore. Even Henry has noticed that ever since I created him by jamming a bunch of toothpicks into a lonely apple on that crazy night (oh man…so much blood and sour cream!) that I have made vast improvements. Henry frequently talks to me on my drug-induced “trips,” and I must say that he really knows how to put things.

As for Sunny, my beautiful wife, your lovely sister, I must say that I finally UNDERSTAND where she’s coming from now. She’s always spoke highly of author and pioneer of New Journalism, Tom Wolfe. But now I actually listened to her advice, and in a mere 3 days I have read both The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test and The Kandy-Kolored Tangerine-Flake Streamline Baby. The colorful language, the frequent use of onomatopoeia designed to stimulate the senses…I NEVER would have picked up these books before unless it were to throw them in the fire (which I have done several times in the past, and which is why this is her 6th or so copy of each).

So, this new lifestyle, and the way that you say I am close to achieving a state of complete Utopia full of love and Grateful Dead records, is now giving me a new goal we must achieve.

I believe that our Volleyball games would be made ALL THE BETTER if we conducted our own little “acid test” during them. Let’s bring a large container full of a delicious sugary beverage that is laced to the MAX with acid. Then we will offer our opponents some drinks. Since we are now used to the way these psychedelic drugs affect our conscious minds, we will play well while the opposing teams may themselves freak out, run away, open containers of sour cream and ask butchers for buckets of blood to cleanse their soul. This would give us a win by default. It is a new strategy I have adopted to allow us victory in this recreational beach volleyball league that I still care about winning very much.

I noticed at our last game that since I am now beginning to smell like “the clan,” your family and I seem to have a better “group mind” which allows us to properly succeed at Volleyball games! I believe that soon both our desires will be met: I will be a smelly hippie just like my wife and your family, and I will be able to place the league trophy on my nightstand and kiss it goodnight before bed at the end of each day.

So ready the acid, Philip. We’re gonna make drug users out of innocent people!

Free love,

– Scott

Team Deathray – Letter 6

Dear Scott,

First things first, my man: “Pie Fest ’98” was THE Pie Fest. It topped all other Pie Fests before it and has yet to be replicated, so if anything you should be honored that I let you wear that shirt. I sent it over as a sign that you are very much welcome in the clan. That is, as long as you refrain from TOO many more violent outbursts towards other members of my family.

I’m happy you finally noticed my family’s ability to not care about the extremely hurtful things that so easily spout out of your mouth. It’s partially because my family grew up in a very loving, accepting and understanding household where we call each other Raphanus on a fairly consistent basis and it’s partially because we’re usually stoned stupid on whatever mind-bending drug we can get our hands on. Remember that back pack full of frogs we brought a couple weeks ago that we told you were for little Sheena’s biology homework? Well, we told a little fib. We had actually smuggled them across the border to escape an evil dictatorship in South America. In exchange for the rescue, they let us lick the hallucinogenic slime off of their bodies. AND LICK WE DID! How’s that for the barter system, buddy?

Now that you’ve had a couple days to come down from the trip and regain complete control of all of your senses, what did you think of your first LSD experience? When I saw you running screaming at my door covered in blood and sour cream (non-vegan sour cream, CHEATER) I thought maybe it wasn’t going too well. But once we smoked you up you started to relax and just talk to the ceiling fan for 4 hours, so maybe you enjoyed it a bit. I bet it had a lot to say! HAHA! Henry seemed nice, too. From what I could tell he was just kind of an apple with a bunch of toothpicks sticking out, but he didn’t do anything to cramp my vibe, so he can hang whenever.

You’re getting close, Scott. When I meditate on your situation I can see you grasping for that elusive pair of homemade sandals. Just inches out of your reach, they dangle their straps and brush against your outstretched fingers. You don’t grab them though, Scott. You must push onward toward your goal. Tomorrow we will be going to the Anti-Insulting of Animals rally bearing our “NO, YOU ARE THE DUMB DOG,” signs. We’ll show those people who make fun of our unable-to-protest-for-themselves friends that we mean business. See you at the crack of 1pm!