Mr. Anonymous's Wonderful Franchise

May I borrow your face?

May I wear it over mine like a mask?

May I masquerade with your wardrobe,

and shake hands with your favorite clients?

May I borrow a piece of your voice,

and store it in a bottle,

and drink it in,

and vomit out your words like they were mine to begin with?

May I?

Could I?

Can I?

Will I?

Mumbai Mud Fight

Forget about all of that, we've a game to play.

Smear some mud on my face, and I'll smear some on yours.

See? We're even.

You and I,

Me and You.

The eunuch down the street and the slumlord over our heads.

Just like before, before the days of movie cameras,

And reporters breathing down our necks,

Fake sheiks, and real ones too.

Back when only a few people knew my face, and fewer cared.

So let's cover our faces with mud,

And see if the cameras notice the floods,

The chickens flocking to the tops of their coops

The people flocking more and more to our metal tent homes

And the milk jugs and plastic backs flocking about our feet.

Funny, as you dunk the gray water on my head,

It makes me think of the spotlights on the stage

Red curtains instead of corrugated walls

Silk instead of patches

Jewels instead of the mud

I'm about to smear on your laughing face.

Strictly Business.

Your cat sent me a memo.

Yeah, he said something about tuna. What? Oh, yes, he wants the low-fat kind. Scruffles? Okay, well, yes. Apparently Scruffles is on a diet. Well, of course sir, it must be all the robins. They can be rather fattening you know.

Wait, what? Sir, I know I'm your personal assistant and all, but isn't an errand for your cat a little out of my job description? Oh sorry, sir. Of course I want to keep my job. It won't happen again sir.

Oh yes sir, I already have a pen and paper. 4789 Fairway? But, sir, that's the other side of town! Augh, yes sir. I'll go. Tell your cat he's welcome to send me memos at any time.

CLICK.

Dear Mr. U. B. Spider

Dear Mr. U. B. Spider,

I regret to inform you, but your career as 858 Dockling Lane's household spider has come to an end. In light of the current economy and the needs of the household, I can no longer afford the expenses of time and space to keep you employed as the ugly brown spider in your office inside my guitar case.

Normally I would hand you a pink slip notifying you of your employment termination, but unfortunately the household has run out of pink slips and has yet to order more. In lieu of the traditional pink slip, my Vice President of Human Resources offered the suggestion of beating you with a shoe until your early death. Please brace yourself, as I've heard that shoe beatings can be rather hard on your family.

Sincerely,

Melody Jacobs

President of Human/Arachnid Resources,

858 Dockling Lane Inc.