Tuesday, September 29, 2009


Notes from Bogotá

There's a fever in the air.

Edward the bunny rabbit took a trample through the lovely locks.

It doesn't say what happened to Edward after that, but my only guess is that he grew rich on peanut futures.

It's approximately 10.34 in the AM. There's a large military vehicle parked in the col de sac and the children are getting nervous. We've been in the house for over nine days and we're running out of potable water.

That was back before the Rainbow Coalition saved our lives. Jesse Jackson parachuted in and read a long poem that made the tank go away. It was a beautiful account of how beer distribution may save the planet from poverty.

The neighborhood is swarming with vampires ever since he came. We believe that Sean Penn, armed with a Beretta and a copy of The Falcon and the Snowman let the word out that our neighborhood is ripe with HIV/AIDS-free blood. There was a story on Nightline and Sean Penn visited us the following day. He and his fellow Hollywood vampires are sapping the life out of us. They Swiss Army knives and bamboo chutes to do the job correctly. It's amazing I'm still alive.

Tomorrow the sun falls from the sky. We didn't believe it at first, but FOX first reported it, then CNN picked up the feed, Lefty journalists refuted it, my uncle blogged about it, and now we are all quite certain the sun will be falling from the sky around noon tomorrow.

We drove around in my Impala, throwing cheeseburgers at elderly people. 132nd is ripe with elderly people walking themselves and playing chess in the rain. Wallop – right to the face. I shoot a "V" sign and smile gamily. The old people continue what their doing, their pride still intact, because they know that one day we'll be old and robots of the future will be throwing liverwurst at us.

But, wait, this is all a dream.

We're currently seeking shelter from Barbitol, a synthetic human from the year 3459. He's confused and thinks we're a family of Italian immigrants that enslave American in the year 2934. We've tried to reason with it; we even viewed the movie Terminator together, but it's no use. Tomorrow I'll die because of some treasonous Mediterranean from the future.

With one day to live, I should write my memoirs:

1976: Born to June and Thomas Paulsen

1982: Ate first Big Mac

1988: Bought one of those hats with the fabric that hangs down in the back that totally looks queer now.

1993: Got laid

2001: Got laid again

2006: Lived off Hotpockets for three weeks, died at the hands of a synthetic human from the future.

I'm surprised I could fit that all in one lifetime.

I feel blessed.

Alan Funt. Jr.

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