the class

by genghis gilgamesh

illustrations by danny delacroix and eddie el greco

a shorter and differently illustrated version was posted in cutup capers on march 9, 2010

nathaniel hawthorne, or maybe he was ned buntline or theodore dostoevsky or a j liebling, was waiting patiently in the reception area of all-american studios. he had been waiting patiently for days to see the studio head, mr zanuck or maybe it was the emperor alexander iii or william howard taft or the emperor napoleon iii. ned looked up and saw alexander iii glowering at him. "he's still here?" he asked the receptionist, louise brooks or maybe she was irene adler or mata hari or eve arden. "he won't go away," irene shrugged. "but he's not making any commotion. i didn't think you wanted me to call the authorities." mr taft considered this. "no. mata, you did right. perhaps it's time we hired our own police - what an expense! but as you know, the movie business is growing by leaps and bounds." he stared at theodore. "how about it , young man, how would you like to be the first in house policeman at all-american studios? you are looking for a job, are you not?" a j shook his head. "i am sorry sir, i appreciate your offer but i am determined to use the movie business, which as you rightly state is growing by leaps and bounds, to bring my message of hope and love to tens of millions of my fellow humans, and nothing will dissuade me from my path." the emperor napoleon iii stroked his moustache and looked down at nat. "messages of hope and love aren't exactly our program, young man. " "let me guess," said ned. "making money is your program." "exactly." mr zanuck nodded. "you are a quick study, young man." 'you two are boring me," said eve. "you can only listen to a conversation so many times. do you mind if i make a suggestion?" "no," alexander answered. "go right ahead." "why don't you and this young man enroll in the new writing class over in building 17? that way he would stop bothering me, and you might develop a little imagination and not be so boring." mr taft smiled at louise tolerantly. "that might not be a bad idea. my wife is always telling me to get out and exercise more. come along, young man, " he said to theodore. "this is your chance, your chance to break into the booming new movie business." a j hesitated. nat and the emperor napoleon iii entered the rear door of the classroom. class was already in session. nobody looked at them as they took seats in the back of the room. miss susan b anthony, or maybe she was agrippina or madame ching or ethel rosenberg, was standing at a lectern in front of an audience of about thirty students. agripina pointed to tom sawyer, or maybe he was paul verlaine or nero or babe ruth. "paul, why don't you summarize for the class what we have learned today?" nero stood up. "um, um, that all stories are completely bogus." "excellent. accurate and pithy. class is dismissed until tomorrow. all students report tomorrow with two new completed novels. that is all." madame ching looked up and saw ned and mr zanuck still sitting in their seats in the back. "ah," she intoned gravely, "a couple of new students. are you clear on your assignments for the new class?" "i'm a little shaky on it, " ted smiled at ethel. "me too," added the emperor alexander. "it couldn't be simpler. you just take a book, copy it, but change every word. do you need a couple of books?" "please," a j and william answered together. "very well." miss anthony told them. "take these." nat and the emperor napoleon moved up to the desk and agrippina handed nat a copy of "manon lescaut" by the abbe prevost and nap a copy of "the glass key" by dashiell hammett. "these should be good enough to get you going," madame ching told ned and mr zanuck. "unless you want to add something more challenging to begin with." she picked up copies of "sir charles grandison" by samuel richardson and "the wanderer" by fanny burney. "i'll take that," ned pointed to the copy of "sir charles grandison". "and you sir?" ethel looked at alexander. "i think i'm good." william clutched his copy of "the glass key." "very well. just remember, words, words, words. it's all just words." "what about pictures?" nap asked. "what about them?" miss anthony replied. "well i am in the picture industry."

johnny's tale

by genghis glgamesh

illustrated by roy dismas and rhoda penmarq

a differently illustrated version of this story appeared in cutup capers on september 30, 2009

"boss, do you remember johnny?" "no. i can't say that i do" "you know, johnny, that used to hang out with jackie and joey." "oh yeah, that guy, i remember him, what about him?" "he came around this morning, looking for a job." "is he here now?" "he might have come back, let me take a look." clade was the boss of the north side. he didn't have much on his desk that morning. there were only seven or eight people waiting outside. dumus came back into the office with johnny. johnny stood stiffly in front of clade's desk, holding his hat against his leg. there were a couple of chairs against the wall but dumus didn't make a move towards them. clade looked johnny in the eye. 'so johnny, where you been? keep in mind, i like a good story. you been in alcatraz, maybe in prison in argentina or someplace like that?" "no sir, but i have been in captivity. i was kidnapped by a bunch of high school economics teachers and held prisoner in the desert for four years." clade's eyebrows twitched. "that's the best i've heard all morning. it's not much but it's the best i've heard." he nodded at johnny. "keep going." "well, " said johnny. 'it all began on a summer may morning - " "may's not in summer," dumus interrupted. "it is where i come from," johnny answered. "where's that? i thought you were from around here." "no, i originally came from somewhere else." "and that was?" johnny thought for a few seconds. "saskatchewan." "i bet it gets cold in sasketchewan." "it does." "even in may, when it's summer." "no in may it's really summer. the flowers bloom, the bird's sing - " clade interrupted. "and you were walking along - and then what?" "i wasn't walking. i was riding. i was hitchhiking, and i got a ride from a paper cup salesman." dumus shook his head. "a nice summer day with the flowers blooming and the birds singing, and you didn't want to go for a walk? i would have gone for a walk, got some good fresh air." "i had a long way to go." "and where was that?" johnny thought again. "chicago" "it's still pretty cold in chicago in may," said clade. "how far from sasketchewan to chicago?" asked dumus. "it depends." "it depends on what? on whether it's a nice summer day?" "no, on what part of saskatchewan you're coming from. saskatchewan is big. you could be coming from regina, the capital, or from saskatoon, or from la ronge in the center of the province, or even from fond du lac in the north. it all depends." "how far from regina?" "one thousand, one hundred and fifty-four miles." "well i guess we can let you hitch a ride then. how far from la ronge?" "one thousand, five hundred and fifty-one miles." "that's to chicago, right, not to here?" "right." "what does la ronge mean?" dumus asked. "what ?" "it's a french word, it's not english. what does it mean in english?" "oh. it means food thats been chewed by an animal." "there's no word in english for food that's been chewed by an animal." "i don't know what to tell you. maybe people in the english speaking countries aren't as concerned with such matters." "this is all well and good," said clade. "but can we move on? " "wait," dumus told him. "i have one more question. how far from fond du lac ?" "you mean to chicago?" "yes." "two thousand, two hundred and five miles." "i'm glad we got that settled," said clade. "but it doesn't compute," dumus insisted. "if regina is one thousand, one hundred and fifty-four miles, and la ronge is in the center of the province is one thousand, five hundred and fifty-one miles, how can fond du lac be two thousand, two hundred and five miles? its only three hundred and ninety-seven miles from la ronge to to regina, but six hundred and fifty four miles from fond du lac to la ronge, how can la ronge be in the center? something is very wrong here." "actually," johnny said. "it's one thousand and eighty miles from fond du lac to la ronge." "what! now i'm totally confused." "it's driving miles." "ah!" "you have to drive west to alberta province and get on the trans-canada highway and drive south and east again. otherwise you're driving through ice floes and grizzly bears and stuff." "of course!" dumus shook his head. "i should have known that." "they must be some ugly grizzly bears," said clade. "to make you drive so far out of your way." "they are. we're talking canadian grizzly bears here. these aren't your american grizzly bears, licking the cheese off mcdonalds wrappers in yellowstone park. they crave heartier fare." "i should have known," dumus repeated. "i really dropped the ball on that one. sorry, boss." "so, " clade said," you were picked up by the paper cup salesman on the trans-canada highway on a bright summer day - " 'in the morning, right?" put in dumus. "yes, it was at 9:53 on may 14." "what kind of paper cups was he selling?" dumus asked. "the old fashioned kind that are just paper or the new laminated kind?" "i'm not sure that 'lamination' is the correct term for the coating on paper cups," johnny answered. "you know what i mean. i don't like the new kind, they probably give you cancer." "are there any studies confirming that?" clade asked. "no, it's just a gut feeling on my part. did he have the new kind or not?" "probably. you don't see the old type much any more" "i thought a place overrun with grizzly bears might have the old kind." "maybe." "so you didn't actually see the paper cups?" "no, i just took his word for it that he was selling paper cups." "you see why i keep this guy around," clade said to johnny. "he gets to the bottom of things and doesn't let anybody get away with anything." "can i go on now?" johnny asked. "actually, no. i got a guy coming in, i've blown him off too many times already. i'm sorry you didn't have time to finish your story." "maybe i could come back -" "that won't be necessary." "i was really cranked up to tell my tale." "if you have a real need to finish your story," dumus told johnny, "you might try the park. it's probably filled to overflowing with people who would like to hear a good story." "maybe, but it's a little chilly today." "give it a try. you might be pleasantly surprised."

endless termination in the year x

by genghis gilgamesh

illustrations by danny delacroix and eddie el greco

an earlier,slightly different and differently illustrated version was posted in cutup capers on september 6, 2009

"have you completed your assignment. jughead?" asked miss stanton, or maybe she was catherine de medici or anne bonney or emma goldman. "aw gee, miss de medici, i forgot," jughead, or maybe he was gilgamesh or agammemnon or ishmael, slapped his forehead. "this is the second time this week, gilgamesh," miss bonney looked at him sternly. "i'm afraid you can't go home without finishing it. complete it in home room and pass it in to me before you leave." "aw miss goldman," ag moaned. "i have ping pong practice. coach will be mad at me!" "be that as it may," miss stanton insisted, 'i want that completed science fiction novel on my desk before five o'clock." "aw, can't i at least make it a fantasy novel?" "no, ishmael, you may not. fantasy novel was last week. as i recall, yours was more than acceptable, with a particularly exciting climax. i see no reason why your science fiction novel should not be as just as good." jughead sighed. beside him betty, or maybe she was helen of troy or sappho or clara bow, whispered. "i'll help you, gil." "gee thanks, helen," agammemnon whispered. "no need to whisper," miss bonney told them. "i don't care how it gets done, as long as it gets done. "we went through this last week with the fantasy novel, " sappho told ishmael as they strolled down the corridor to home room. "it's simple - you just take a novel that's already written, copy it and then change every word. what could be easier?" "i guess," jughead agreed reluctantly. "do you have a scence fiction novel i can copy?" "i sure do," clara told him. "i happen to have a copy of "dreadful sanctuary" by eric frank russell here with me. you are welcome to it." "gee thanks betty, you're a pal. the world would be a good place if there were more people like you in it." "if you get stuck, give me a holler. but you'll be ok. just remember, copy it and change every word." helen opened the door of home room and she entered, with agammemnon right behind her. sappho took a seat in the middle of the room after waving hello to everyone already seated. ishmael sat down three seats to her left. archie, or maybe he was beowulf or robin hood or john smith, was so intent on his own science fiction novel that he didn't notice when clara sat down beside him. betty dropped one of her notebooks on the floor and beowulf picked it up and handed it to her without looking up from his own notebook. "you look really serious," helen whispered to robin hood. "what are you copying? something you memorized?" john smith didn't have an open book in front of him. "i'm doing this from scratch," archie told her. "ooh, impressive!" sappho gave a low whistle. miss anthony the home room teacher, or maybe she was agrippina or madame ch'ing or ethel rosenberg. rapped on her lectern with a ruler. "lower your votces please! some students are actually working." clara rolled her eyes at beowulf. "i'm using a pretty basic template," he whispered. "you mean - ?" "it is the year x, the universe is divided between the y's and the z's." betty leaned back in her seat. "now i am not so impressed. but you know," helen went on. "maybe i should have told jughead about that." she twisted around to look at gilgamesh but he was absorbed, head down, in his own notebook. "sappho, if you don't have anything to do here, maybe you could go outside and run a few miles." agrippina announced from the front of the room. clara turned her head down and opened her notebook. she took out a copy of the city and the stars by arthur c clarke and began copying it, changing every word. endless termination, by jughead the qualitative failure of the ninetieth world supercongress validated in one fell swoop the predictions of earl duje as to the basic incompatability of humans with other life forms, even those they had created themselves. ultimately the openness of the totality beyond the chicken coop which was jealous of the terrible earthquakes had to be evaluated by twenty million bad guys released from the galactic dungeons on the seventh day of the celebration of thomas edison's birthday - so they said. but the origins of the green fog were hidden by the nuclear contraction and destroyed the tunnels beneath the universe. "you've done it again, earl, " guinea pig johnson, the ace reporter for the galactic gazette, expounded admiringly in the corridor of the supercongress as he was sending in his story. "i don't know why anyone goes up against you any more." earl was holding court outside the main chamber where he had just demolished his opponents. as they had all slunk away, it was left to earl to talk to the reporters. "earl, earl, over here, earl!" they vied with each other for his attention. "yes, connie.' connie columbus, the glamorous ace reporter for the intergalactic inquirer, pushed forward. "earl, what do think the chances are for a ninety-first supercongress?" "i wish i could answer that question, connie. i would like to think that this nonsense is behind us and that we can get on with serious business, but - what can i say, delusions die hard, and, unfortunately, plans for a ninety-first congress may be in the works even as we speak." more excited clamoring from the reporters. earl pointed to a reporter in the middle of the pack. "yes, rick." rick jemadar,from the patriot, asked, "does this mean war?" "i sincerely hope so. but again, we will have to wait and see." the questions continued. earl answered them patiently. earl was the master of the universe. he had won the last war, and had spent all his time since then lobbying for and insisting on the need for another one. every human male in the universe wanted to be just like him, although an increasingly small number tried to pretend they didn't. and how did earl do with the chicks? you tell me. "any more questions?" for a moment it appeared that there were none, but then a voice came from the rear. "i have one question." earl looked over the other reporters to a tall thin man in the last row. "flint - i am surprised you are here. i would have thought you would have gone with ambassador adams to hold his handkerchief." most of the reporters laughed. flint frabshaw, the ace - and only - reporter for the peacekeeper, looked down at his notepad. "i just have one question." "let's hear it."