Fun Patrol

Letters to Monsters

by Justin Teerlinck

 

 

Letter, Captain Ahab to Moby Dick

Dear Moby Dick,

Arrrr, I be writin’ this here letter to you because I’m about the take the 4th step in my 12-step program, WA or Whaleholics Anony­mous.  All them years I been huntin’ ya down like a dog when I really been huntin’ for me own lost heart.  After years on the grog and on the sea I gave ‘em both up for a life on the land.  Now for the last ten years I been an inmate at Bell Hill Recovery Center, at their Whaleholics Program.  The blasted smart founders put the program so far inland that an old sea dog like me can’t never feel a rustlin’ in his sea legs again to take him wanderin’ to some port town.

‘Twas three score year ago that Ahab first heard o’ the big Dick.  It was in a port town somewheres in the Americas.  I was at some bar fluffin’ out my mutton chops, makin’ eyes at  a wench. All of a sudden come in a skipper off a boat called The HMS Peristalsis, one of Her Majesty’s fleet.   He come in on two peg legs, said a great occupational therapist helped him out after some big Dick ate ‘em off as he tried to kick it to death.  What Dick that was—Mr. Moby—was YOU.

Right there then you had your hooks in me.  Up ‘till my stay at the Hill I been giving you chase relentless as my very soul started to fade.  All them times I come so close.  I had my harpoon inside you several times, but each time I felt a little more dead inside.  Seein’ your agony I guess gave old Ahab a false sense of pride, boostin’ up me own fragile ego.

Well Moby, a darn good therapist set me right on some things.  Set me right, showed me the error of my ways far bet­ter n’religion could.  Instead of just tellin’ me I’m goin’ to hell, he told me I had Paranoid Personality Disorder, and an out of control case of whaleholism.  He give me the following questions.  Would you please answer ‘em however you think and send ‘em to me therapist?  It would help out the recovery of an old sea dog and I’d be in your debt.

 

*   Have you ever neglected obligations to friends or family in order to go whaling?

*   Has your hygiene been ignored so that you can sharpen more harpoons?

*   Do you fantasize about being covered in blubber?  How often?

*   Do you become enraged at the sight of flippers?

*   Have you ever taken a whale watching tour and brought a harpoon instead of a camera?

*   Have you ever threatened or harassed whale-preserva­tion groups or their members?

*   When giant squid and whales fight, do you always wish the squid would win?

*   Do you refer to whales as “bounty”, “sea rats” or “worthless blubber muffins?”

*   Has thinking about whales or whaling made it difficult to concentrate in school?

 

Hey, thanks for helpin’ me out on this.  There be a paraf­fin-coated, stamped return envelope so ye need not be wor­ryin’ ‘bout gettin’ it wet.  Well, I wrote ya this letter and I’m still sittin’ here on my 4th step like it be some desert island with no boat.  The step, it’s about makin’ amends to them you’ve wronged.  I guess all I can say is if I had to do it all over again, I’d be out there tryin’ to preserve ya rather than murder ya.  For what little it may be worth, I be sorry I stuck ya with my harpoon so many times.  I hope you scarred up well and don’t hold a hateful heart for old Ahab, who’ll soon be shovin’ off from life to be nothin’ but bones and dust anyway.

Yours sincerely,

Ahab

Letter, Moby Dick to Captain Ahab

 

Dear Ahab,

You worthless, bottom-feeding sea muscle.  Now that I have your return address I’m going to grow several sets of legs so I can run to your little rat-trap treatment center and spit acid in your face.

And if I can’t grow legs I will shimmy, slither and roll from Duluth harbor all the way to your dismal hole so I can person­ally dig your grave with my scarred fluke and wrap you in the cerement of my rage.

Do you think you just poked me a few times with your harpoon and now I’m all better?  Really?  You hunted me for decades, you piss-stained, hawser-hauling, sailing-boat fuck.  My entire goddamn pod and I had to go into the Sea Monster Identity Protection Program (SMIPP) because of you.  For years I had to put on a steel helmet and fake periscope and pre­tend to be a nuclear submarine.  And the Russians nearly tor­pedoed me!

Now I’m going to take that harpoon and use it to write my memoirs with your blood and bile, you degenerate, senior citi­zen, demented sea monkey pop-eyed fart face.  You want to know what I’m going to call it?  HOW I SPENT MY LIFE BEING CHASED BY SOME FRENZIED FUCK AND HOW I SAT ON HIM AND FUCKED HIM UP PERMANENTLY.

You thought I was a dick back in the day?  You ain’t seen nothin’.

On my way,

Moby Dick

Letter to the Incredible Hulk

Dear Incredible Hulk,

I'm just dropping a line to say "hey." It seems like you could use a friend right now. A pal. A comrade. A confidant. You know, lately things have been a bit rough, and at times I feel as though I can sense your anger getting the better of you. At my last party, my guests suspected your mercurial nature when you ate your wine glass and then projected a stream of wine, broken glass and blood into their faces. That was the first sign that something was "not quite right" with you. And I hope you don't take it personally if I mention the fact that when you stormed out into the street in tattered clothing and started tossing cars around, well...people noticed and it made them a bit uneasy.

Since we are friends, and you're not sitting across from me growling, allow me to be blunt: you need better fitting clothes. That is right. I understand that tight-fitting, bicep-revealing shirts are "in" with the metrosexual crowd, but you have to realize that standards of good taste always prevail over the latest fads and fancies of the unwashed masses. And let me humbly suggest Stetson cologne, Brute 33, Old Spice, Borax Bleach or some other appropriately manly scent to help you regain your ph balance, not to mention your dignity. Stetson, it’s what a cowboy wears when a cowboy sweats.

But enough about that! I have something more serious to discuss than fashion. Your recent behavior has, I think, outed you as a "rageaholic." That is a type of -holic that beats up stuff in order to release tension and frustration, which leads to social isolation, guilt and withdrawal from friends and activi­ties. If depression is "anger turned inward" than rage is "anger turned everywhere else." How does that make you feel, Incredible Hulk? Angry? Yeah, I thought so.

You know, there is a way to release the anger and move beyond it. Have you ever read The Power of Now, by Ekhardt Tolle? Tolle wrote that the you you think you are is not the real you. It is merely the sum of your thoughts about who you are. You have crafted an identity as the "incredible" Hulk—but that simply reinforces your ego, which is not the real you. What about the Vulnerable Hulk, the Hurting Inside Hulk, and the Loving Hulk? That last one, that is the Hulk I would like to know better. If you look even further you will reach a state of No Hulk. That is the beautiful image of pure reflected con­sciousness without the pollution of mind. If you want to expe­rience pure consciousness, The Power of Now Complete Workshop and DVD Series is available NOW for only $199 plus shipping and handling. This deluxe package includes seven DVDs, the book The Power of Now, a workbook, a free counsel­ing session with a trained student of Ekhardt Tolle, as well as a CD of soothing dolphin meditations. Hulk: what are you wait­ing for? For godsakes pick up whatever phone you haven't yet smashed and dial that number!

Breaking furniture when you don't get your way is a reac­tion of your pain-body, as it attempts to feed itself by generat­ing more drama and negative energy. Let me say, Hulk, your pain-body is very strong indeed. It will take a bit more mind­fulness to reduce its power over you, and the ensuing bills from insurance companies for wanton property damage. Think of how much energy you would have without your rage. You could plant a flower, feed a baby pony or admire a rainbow.

Anyhoo Hulk, I am only telling you these things out of love, friendship and the desire to see you see yourself as the Happy Hulk. I think you will get there. No, I KNOW it!

Namaste,

J. Moreau Teerlinck

Letter to Count Chocula

February 12, 2011

 

Dear Count Chocula,

We regret to inform you that we have taken your ideas under advisement and we are not interested in developing Funky Bone Crunch, Marsh Marrow Tissue Teasers or Captain Skin Flakes.  We tested some of these concepts on focus groups and found that audiences responded poorly when there was any conceptual relationship between human organs and food.  Thank you for your interest in General Mills Products but rest assured that we do not intend to buy patents or obtain rights to any of your proposals.

Thank you,

 

Dick Uklenik

Vice President of Marketing Division

General Mills