Monday, January 24, 2011

I Talked With A Star!

Water runs runs runs runs runs and
Look you’ve got the Grand Canyon.
Species evolve. Galaxies merge.
Crash! There goes a planet.
Kablooie! Some solar system just died
And we never even gave it a name.
It’s a miscarriage among millions
We do not mourn.
Even the laymen these days
look at the stars and know the bottom line:
Everything we ever cared about,
Everything we now care about,
Everything we will care about,
isn’t really that big of a deal.

Or so the homo sapiens brain-deep in science say.

But I was talking with a star last night
(Proper name Adhora, designation Epsilon Canis Majoris)
And he told me that hydrogen fusion was baloney,
And that really the love I have for my wife kept him twinkling.
I love you, my wife.
Let that star keep shining.

Saturday, January 22, 2011

Even More Love Advice

Dear Readers,

Here’s Even More Love Advice!

Dear Telemoonfa,

I’m ready to take my relationship with my girlfriend to the next level of commitment- I’m going to propose! But I don’t know how! I don’t want to do something cliché… How should I pop the question?

Excitedly,
Patrick O’brien

Dear Patrick,

There are literally hundreds of memorable ways to propose marriage. You are only limited by your imagination. Here are two off the top of my head:

1- Stuff the engagement ring inside a heart-shaped sausage. Feed it to your girlfriend. She’ll gag on the ring, and then you’ll do the Heimlich maneuver on her (which, by the way, is a smooth way to get cuddly) and she’ll spit out the ring. Then you’ll run across the room, pick up the ring, show it to her, and say, “Surprise!”

2- Take her on a walk down an alley in a shady part of town. Hire an actor to pretend to be a mugger. The actor/mugger will point a gun at you and your girlfriend and say, “Give me all your money.” You’ll give him a wad of cash. Then, the actor/mugger will say, “Give me more, I know you got more!” Then you’ll pull out the diamond ring and say, “Well, I was hoping to give this to my sweetheart later tonight, but…” and then the actor/mugger will say, “Oh, that’s so sweet” and he’ll start crying, and then you’ll say, “Why are you crying?” and then he’ll say, “I’m sorry man, I just can’t rob a couple who’s about to get married. That would be downright despicable. Do me a favor, since I already ruined the surprise, and I’m so sorry about that, why don’t you ask your lady right now?” Then you’ll get down on one knee, show her the ring, and say, “Will you marry me?” and then she’ll say yes and you’ll hug and kiss, and then the actor/mugger will say, “You know, I’m actually an ordained minister. I can marry you lovebirds right now!” And then you can do the ceremony right then and there! Bada bing bada boom, you’re married!

Good luck!

Sincerely,
Telemoonfa


Dear Telemoonfa,

I’m a vegetarian and my boyfriend Brad makes fun of me for it. I hate the idea of killing animals, but Brad seems to get pleasure out of shooting defenseless little birds and watching them bleed to death. He never shoots birds when I’m around, but I know he does it at least once a week with his hillbilly buddies. I know something small like this shouldn’t bother me, but it really does. I’ve told him that he can still be an omnivore, but I’ve asked him to respect my dietary lifestyle and to stop his hunting habit. In this day and age, no one needs to hunt. It’s cruel. I really like him, but should I break up with him?

Confusedly,
A leaf-eater

Dear Leaf-Eater

No, you shouldn’t break up with Brad. You should marry him. Hunting is cool. And so is eating meat. I’d like to give you a more in-depth response, but right now I’m gnawing on the forehead of a dove. Yum yum!

Sincerely,
Telemoonfa

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

More Love Advice

Dear Readers,

My last post was such a hit, and the emails asking for love advice just kept rolling in, and it just isn't right to withhold my wisdom any longer, so here we go with another round of fix-your-heart advice, Telemoonfa style!

Dear Telemoonfa,

I'm 25 and my Mom says it's time for me to get married, and I think so too, but I have a problem. I'm in love with a cartoon character. It's Velma from Scooby Doo. I know it sounds crazy, but there's something about her outfit, that orange sweatshirt, that mini-skirt, those glasses... and when she has a magnifying glass in her hand, all I can say is, YOWZA!!! But my love for her isn't only based on looks. I really appreciate her personality, she's smart, she's funny, she's kind. She would make the perfect wife. I've tried dating three-dimensial, live-action women, but none of them compare to Velma. I know it's sad, but sometimes I hang around castles or abandoned mansions at night, just hoping that Velma- the real Velma- will come to solve a mystery. Then she'll find me and try to pull my mask off, but I won't be wearing a mask, and then she'll bump into something and her glasses will fall off, and she'll crawl around, feeling for them, and I'll pick them up for her, and put them on her face, and then she'll she me, and we'll look into eachother's eyes, and then... oh, why do I get carried away with fantasies like this? It can never really happen, can it, Telemoonfa?

Hopefully,
an anonymous Velma-maniac

Dear Hopeful,

Realize that you are alone. You are the only person ever to have a crush on a cartoon character. And since your love-sickness is unique, therefore, my three-step love-cure for you is unique. First, find a girl that will marry you. Never mind how you feel about her. If you can't find a girl from the neighborhood, consider buying a Russian bride. Second, make the girl dress like Velma, all the time. Teach her to talk and act like Velma, as much as possible. Third- and this is the most important step- convince yourself that she actually is Velma. Spend ten minutes a day for the rest of your life looking in the mirror and saying, "I am married to Velma from Scooby Doo. I am married to Velma from Scooby Doo," over and over and over again. Just think, won't it be wonderful to be the only guy in the world to be actually married to a cartoon character?

Dear Telemoonfa,

Every day I see this one girl at the vending machine. It's at school. I don't even know her name, I never even talked to her, but she usually gets chips. Sometimes she gets like a soda. I always get CornNuts. Anyways, she's hot. It makes me feel messed up. What do I do?

Messed up,
Mike

Dear Mike,

You have a few options. Option # 1: Next time she buys chips, say, "Hey, you like chips because you're buying chips of course and maybe lunchtime together for us? Like chips together?!" And then laugh. Excessive laughter puts girls at ease. Option # 2: Memorize the sentence: "I have quarters if you want to use my quarters and you can have my quarters so you don't have to use your own quarters and so if please and lunch... lunch." Recite that sentence loudly the next time you see her. Option # 3: Find out what kind of guy she likes, and then change yourself to become that guy. Does she like skaters? Then buy a skateboard and lean up against the vending machine all cool like. Does she dig jocks? Go to school wearing a football helmet! Is she into artsy, introverted guys? Then get a little notebook and write bad poetry in it! Trust me, nothing establishes a solid foundation of romantic fulfillment more than pretending to be something you're not.

Sincerely,
Telemoonfa

Saturday, January 15, 2011

Love Advice

Dear Readers,

I know a lot of you out there are struggling... struggling with work... struggling with money... struggling with the modern-day hustle and bustle of our hubbub-ish society ... and I know a lot of you are struggling with what should be the most struggle-free thing in the whole world... that four-letter-word we all love to hear... LOVE.

And it makes me sad that some of you are sad... about love... and I don't want to brag, but when it comes to love... true, romantic love... I'm pretty much a rockstar.

So let me help you!

Want to turn your so-so marriage into a marriage that’s so-so dreamy?! Then write me!

Want to make that special someone finally notice you, but don’t know how to break the ice? Then write me!

Want to replace the “f” and “l” in “fling” with an “r,” (meaning that you’ll turn a fling into a relationship involving an engagement ring?) Then write me!

Just send an email to thisisfake@don'treallywritemeanemail.com! I’ll carefully read your emails with the tenderness of a Best Friend Forever at a sleepover, but with the detached objectivity of Adolf Eichmann! Then I’ll publish your email on Telemoonfa Time, along with my response. It’ll be fun!

Look, the emails have already started to flow in!

Dear Telemoonfa,

My hunky guy and I have been seeing each other since like 4ever, like almost 3 months, and I thought everything was dreamy, like he gave me a super-sparkly handbag with a bunny on it and that means he knows bunnies are my special love thing, you know? Well, yesterday he was like, "We need to talk," all serious, and I was like, "I love talking, my honey-bunny” and he's all, "No, this is serious, Amanda." and I knew he really was for really serious because he called me Amanda, not Mandy-Candy, then he said and I quote "that he was ready for a break." Ready for a break?! What does that mean? And now he hasn't even called or texted or Facebooked or twittered or NUTHING! He said he went scuba-diving and his cell phone doesn’t work underwater. Is that true? What's happening to my life?! Help!

Freaking-out-edly,
Mandy-Candy

Dear Mandy-Candy,

Sorry, but your honey bunny doesn’t love you anymore. But stop freaking out! There still might be a way to remove his heart from his chest and keep it sealed tightly in that bunny purse you like so much. The only solution is to keep calling him. Don’t let up. If you haven’t called in a few minutes, call again. If he blocks your phone number, use somebody else’s phone. If he changes his number, track him down. Go to his house at night. Break his windows. He may run, but that’s only because he wants to see how far you’ll go to prove your devotion. If you can’t find him, consider hiring a private detective. Remember, it’s not stalking if you’re really in love. Trust me, many healthy, long-lasting relationships all began when somebody just couldn’t let go.

Sincerely,
Telemoonfa

Dear Telemoonfa,

I’ve always had a hard time with the concept of truly being in love. I’m not sure if I really love my wife, or if I’ve merely gotten comfortable with her. She’s a familiar face, and she’s alright for company, you know what I mean? Well, the other night we were having dinner, and for no reason I looked deep into her eyes, really really deeply, and all of a sudden I got this warm tingly feeling in my head. It started in my brain, and then it went out into my hair and my ears. I touched my ears, and they were so hot I had to let go. And then I looked deeper and deeper into my wife’s eyes, and I stated salivating like crazy! I mean, the drool filled my mouth and started dripping over my bottom lip, so I had to get a napkin out and soak it up, but in a few seconds the napkin was saturated, so I got a dishrag that was hanging from the oven handle and used that, but then that got saturated, too! So then I got a big fluffy bath towel and swaddled my face with it, until the drooling stopped. And the whole time my wife was just staring and staring, with a strange, witchy kind of look I had never seen before. Am I in love?

Drooling for a Diagnosis,
Earl

Dear Earl,

Congratulations! You’re describing the exact physiological reactions associated with the state of being in love! Give your wife an extra kiss tonight and tell her that you finally really know ;)

Sincerely,
Telemoonfa

Well, those emails were great. I'm glad I could help make the world a more loving place. Keep 'em coming lovebugs!

Sincerely,
Telemoonfa

Tuesday, January 11, 2011

The Middle Aged Woman Writes a Mailing Address

Nibbles the pen cap, taps it,
Draws a swirl, a butterfly,
A second swirl, more expansive.
Her mother's voice on the other end of the phone
Grows duller, cozier. "How about that?"
and "That's too bad," and "Yeah."

The art museum is a world away.
The theater is a world away.
Nice restaurants with charming people
And sensible portions are a world away.

The middle aged woman raises an
Iceberg arm to run her sausage fingers
Through her hair. The rest of the iceberg,
Hidden by sweat pants the color of fried chicken
And a t-shirt featuring kittens,
Crushes the couch beneath her.

Her mother's voice on the other end of the phone
Goes on and on, joining the tranquilizing
Voices of a daytime talk show.
The woman doodles another butterfly-
She was always good at drawing butterflies-
And cries.

Saturday, January 1, 2011

Mummies for the New Millennium

they chew
holographic fuzzy bubblegum
in the dark chasms of their mouths
and rub their backs
against the underbelly of clouds.
They blow pleasure bubbles
and breathe out rippling moans.

I dallied in foreign paths. I
climbed Jacob's Ladder 2.0
the mummies were chewing, chewing,
chewing, like alligators chewing piglets.
They put their faces toward me,
shifted their mouths in size and terror,
and spit out their darts of lizard spit.

Rejoice! Though wounded, I retreat
to the safe austerity of the ancients.
I retrieve their scrolls from clay pots
break open the brown, fertile earth
plant seeds
bake whole wheat bread.