May 10, 2007

Sir or Madam,

Enclosed is my winning ticket in the “Beefstakes ‘84.” I would like to request that in lieu of my “GE Microwave Oven,” I would like to be awarded in “3 oz. jars of Hickory Farms Mustard” equivalent to the value of the oven. We do not have electricity, but are generally very hungry. If that cannot be arranged, please enclose a portion of a “New Dodge Caravan.” Even if you just send the tires, the countess believes that if we could just make it down the long hill and away from our crumbling estate, we’ll be that much closer to a better life in America. Every little bit helps.

Please excuse the lateness of my redemption. We happened upon a long-forgotten Red Cross cache of “Original Beef Sticks” while digging for Stalin’s gold.

Thank you,

Count Alonzo

Plovdiv, Bulgaria

[tags]Zach Ayers Beefstakes[/tags]

An excerpt from Robot Boy’s autobiography:

In 1966, I had received a letter from the draft board informing me that I was going to Vietnam. I had been very content at MIT, counting the stars in the sky and deducing the feasibility of God. The US Government, however, saw use for me elsewhere – in the rice paddies of Southeast Asia. Alas, I was not a senator’s son’s robot nor did I have the vaccinations necessary to enter Canada. With no other option, I was immediately dispatched to a top secret Air Force base and flown under cover of darkness across the Pacific Ocean.

While en route, I received a phone call from President Johnson via my internal military band com-link. He said “Hey Robot Boy, you’re the only Goddam chance we’ve got out there against Communism. I want you to assassinate Ho Chi Minh. You do this and I’ll get you that female robot you’ve been asking for. Johnson out.” I will admit that the President’s offer was hard to refuse, but how would I gain access, let alone kill Ho Chi Minh? It had then occurred to me that Johnson believed that I was a killing machine rather than a counting machine. Little did he know, until this 26 hour flight, I had never left Cambridge. Before I could discuss this mistake with my military attaché, I was tossed off the back of the C-130 without a parachute. I was officially in “the shit.” Eight seconds later, I was captured.

My North Vietnamese captors took an immediate fondness of me, finding great use in my reflective aluminum frame to cook chicken. They were surprised to find that I could speak their language, but were incised when, after inserting a few hundred hao into my data slot, I would not sing their tribal songs. I had been mistaken for a jukebox. As a last-ditch effort, I recited pi to a million places to no avail. I was immediately moved to the American POW camp. This is where I met the beautiful Trung Nhi, sipping spring water from a lily. I suddenly found myself torn between completing my assassination mission and finding out about love. But that, as they say, is another story.

[tags]zach ayers robot boy vietnam[/tags]

I met Zach while shopping for trauma beans. He’s a nice man. Zach will write for ineedtostopsoon dot com every Wednesday from this day forth. Take it away…

< ------------------------------------------------------>

Oprah, Thou Maketh God So Horny
By Zach Ayers

Don’t be alarmed, Oprah Winfrey. This is a divine vision and I bring you tidings of great joy. I am your lord God and I seriously want to make out all over you. We should totally kick it at my pad. I got some Remy Martin and this oversized soaking tub here and the cable guy totally hooked me up with free Cinemax. Ooooh girl, we’d totally jiggy it…up?

Christ, Oprah, that’s not me. I can’t pretend to be something I’m not. I may be omnipotent, but I am powerless to your beauty. For real. Sigh…I don’t even know how to do this thing called love. I know you can’t say anything right now, and that’s fine. For years I’ve just been watching you sleep, watching you shower, watching you peel bananas…you’re intimidating, do you know that? Of course you do. I feel like you’ve always had men pining for you. All I can say is that I am God and that has to count for something. I do have a lot to offer.

First, I’m a nice guy. You know sunsets? That was my idea. I’m not the mean guy people say I am. I really enjoy the human race. They’re good people and I do everything I can to help them out. Though I will admit that I dropped the ball with Hitler. I really thought that he was just being sarcastic. And I couldn’t even understand what Mao was talking about. When do I have the time to learn Chinese? Ugh…you don’t even understand. Freud tells me that I am purposely neglectful because I never knew my mother. I don’t know. I’m really trying to be nicer. The hypnotherapy helps.

Also, I’ve got a good sense of humor. My late night talk show up here in Heaven did pretty well. I mean, I couldn’t beat Genghis Kahn’s cooking program for ratings, but my demographics for 16th to 18th century are way better. I wish you could have seen the monologue I did about evolution. It was something like, “So if I created Man in my own image and Charles Darwin thinks Man came from monkeys, than that must mean I used to be a monkey! Just thinking about it makes me go ape shit!” Holy hell, everyone was roaring. I tried to get Darwin on the show the next night, but there were apparently some scheduling conflicts. I just wanted to show that there were no hard feelings. It’s hard to shed this “Angry God” persona that humans pin on me. If only they knew that I bought the “Friends” box set the day it came out. And wow did I cry when you gave that helpless lymphoma kid a dog! I want you to know the real me, Oprah.

Lastly, I’m a demon in the sack. I’m not kidding. I mean, I created the vagina. Don’t even think I don’t know where that “G” spot is, because I totally know…Oh, who am I kidding? I don’t know where the “G” spot is. Why do I feel like I need to lie to you, Oprah? We have to be honest with each other. I’m just going to say it – I’m a virgin. I’ve never told anyone that. I feel stupid. It took me, seriously, five millennia to realize that I actually could have sex. By that point I had talked such a big game to Thomas Jefferson that I couldn’t just…you know. It’s my fault. I built myself up. I can’t even watch that Steve Carrel movie, even though that Hindu Elephant God (I’m so bad with names!) says it’s a riot. I hope this isn’t intimidating. Damn, I probably scared you away. I don’t know. I just think that you’d be gentle. And I really want you to be the first. I’ve seen you in bed with Stedman and I even watched during that tryst you had with Roger Ebert, but it honestly doesn’t bother me. It’s not like I killed their mothers solely because of that. Does this virgin thing bother you? I kind of hope it makes you want me more. I’ll admit that I masturbated once way back when, but Thor walked in on me and it was totally awkward and I’ve just felt so guilty about it since then. I’m really, really horny, Oprah. Fuck, I’m horny.

Am I rambling? I feel like I’m rambling.

Anywho, I should probably wrap this up. I know you have things to do, and so do I. I’ve been dodging the Dali Lama’s calls for months and I should probably get to that. I just don’t have the motivation to work anymore. I think I just need something to come home to other than my unicorn. It’d be really great if you died tomorrow and showed up at my doorstep. I could stage something really cool, like a bolt of lightning or a cheetah attack. Would you do that for your God? I’m just going to leave this note on your bedside. Let me know your answer by just circling “yes” or “no.”

[tags]trauma beans oprah winfrey god dali lama zach ayers[/tags]