Jason Speaks

Illustration Friday’s word this week is “Moon.” My entry is entitled “Shoot the Moon”. I may wind up editting it, I did it all in one sitting, late at night while on vacation. Yawn, its time for bed.

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    Do you want to know what I don’t trust?
    The moon, that’s what I don’t trust.
    Have you ever worried about what’s going on up there? The way it hangs over us every night, just looking down at us. That’s the biggest clue right there. Of course, the government doesn’t want us to think about that, that’s why they staged those lunar landings back in the 60s.
    Now don’t worry, buddy, I’m not one of those guys who think they filmed the moon landings in some movie studio in Burbank. That’s ridiculous. Nobody in Hollywood knows how to keep their mouth shut. They’re all commies anyway, if they’d filmed the moon landing there, the word would have been out the next day.
    They filmed it in Canada.
    ‘Course they did? They work cheap up there, I tell you, the average Canadian’d kill his mother for a five dollars American. Besides, even if they talked, and got somebody on the phone and told ‘em they were filming the moon landing in some Canadian movie studio, who’d believe them? They’re Canadian for Crissakes! Foreigners ain’t got any say in American politics.
    So they filmed the moon landing up in Canada, and nobody knew the difference, because whose gonna try and call the government out?
    I know what you’re gonna say: What about the astronauts? How’d they get the astronauts to play along? They didn’t. They didn’t film the astronauts. That’s why in all the old films from the moon landing, they had those huge helmets covering their faces, and when they talked, their voices were all full of static, like they had a bad connection. You couldn’t tell who the hell they were. The real astronauts never went anywhere near the moon landing. They hired actors.
    Neil Armstrong. I bet you any amount of money you’ll never guess who they hired to play Neil Armstrong. Go on, guess, you’ll never get it, not in a million years.
    Cary Grant. They shipped Cary Grant up to Canada to play Neil Armstrong in the moon landing. That’s why he didn’t do much work around then. The government hushed him up. They had blackmail on him, you see. The government’s got blackmail on all those big Hollywood stars, they can make ‘em do whatever they want.
    Take the Kennedy assassination. I bet you think it was Kennedy that got assassinated in Texas. It wasn’t. You’ll never guess it in a million years. It was Eddie Fisher. They were worried about safety for Kennedy, so they got Eddie Fisher to go around pretending he was Kennedy. So, when they assassinated Eddie Fisher, Kennedy went to go live in a bunker and run the government and that’s what he’s been doing ever since.
     Its this big bunker up in Canada. Oh sure, all the big name American politicians really live in Canada. In fact, America bought Canada back in the fifties. It cost them $280 and a case of beer. Eisenhower bought it because he was having an affair with Elizabeth Taylor and wanted to have someplace they could go where they wouldn’t be spotted. Besides, ol’ Ike was smart, he knew that someday they might need someplace to film the moon landing.
     Why? Well that’s obvious isn’t it? Ike couldn’t risk anybody landing on the moon, because of all the nuclear waste. They’d been testing A-bombs on the moon for years, and if anybody landed up there, BLAM there went our tactical advantage. You see, it was all about tactical advantage for Ike – that and Elizabeth Taylor.
    So, they government had to hire somebody to pretend to be Elizabeth Taylor while Ike was up with her in Canada – so they hired Judy Garland. Elizabeth Taylor wasn’t really Elizabeth Taylor – Judy Garland was. It wasn’t even Judy Garland, either, what Ike didn’t know is that Truman had replaced her with Maxine Andrews in 1945. Her voice had started to go, and Harry figured it would be too damaging to American morale to lose a popular singing star like that, so he had her replaced.
    The politicians are doing that all the time. Nobody in Hollywood is who they say they are. The same with the government. They’re all just figureheads. The real power is all up in Canada. You think the president of the United States is really George Bush. Think again. I got two words for you: Tom Hanks. George Bush wasn’t photogenic enough, so they sent him up to Canada. Tom Hanks has been running things, ever since, only he’s not really running things, since its really Kennedy up in a bunker in Canada.
   You gotta open your eyes, buddy. Look around you! If you can’t trust the moon, then who can you trust.

Illustration Friday has spoken, this week’s work is poem, and so I have written one. Here it is:

The World’s Worst Poem

I’ve been a writer all my life,
From childhood ‘till I took a wife
And one thing that has caused me strife
Is that no word rhymes with “purple.”

You could write all day and all night
From sunset until dawn’s first light
You could work and curse, swear and fight
But there’s nothing that rhymes with “month.”

I met a guru in Pakistan
He’d gone from Rome to Khazikstan,
Wherever he went, this great man
Still couldn’t find a rhyme for “orange.”

This is the moral of my tale:
You can try, but to no avail,
To rhyme some words you’ll always fail,
Tho’ they pay you in gold and silver.

Well, here it is pals and gals, the first of my Illustration Friday posts. The word this week was “discovery” and my story is about what happens when you notice a little lump…

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     I first noticed the lump one morning as I was brushing my teeth. I know that when you discover something like that, you should report it to your doctor immediately, but I was running late for work and it didn’t seem all that important.
     The lump was about a foot and a half in diameter and an almost perfect sphere, except that it was attached to the side of my head. It was bright purple in color – well lavender, really – with long silky hairs that might have been covering a large eye directly in its center. I didn’t really examine it all that closely – like I said, I was late for work.
     At work, I think people noticed the lump. Marjorie, our admin assistant, looked like she was going to say something, but she didn’t. I stopped over at Frank’s cube for a few minutes to talk about our fantasy football league, he looked a little worried, but I guess he thought it would have been impolite to say anything.
     During my lunch break I slaughtered all the puny humans that resided in our company’s primitive office building with my telekinesis. I had a meeting scheduled right after lunch, but nobody showed up, as usual. It had probably been cancelled and everybody just forgot to tell me. I spent the rest of the afternoon playing solitaire.
     The whole thing with the lump had been kind of depressing me, so I figured I needed a change, so after work, instead of taking the bus like I usually did, I levitated home – on the way, I destroyed City Hall, which was good because I’d been promising myself I’d get more exercise. I made a note to see about joining a gym tomorrow.
     It was Thursday and I usually watch “Starsky and Hutch” on Thursday nights, but that night the show had been pre-empted. They kept showing news footage of me destroying City Hall. When I saw myself on TV, the lump on my head looked a lot bigger than it had that morning – that worried me a little bit, but I figured it wasn’t really that important. After all, if it had been something bad, I wouldn’t be feeling well, and I felt fine, actually better than I had in a long time. I shut off the TV, offered up the evening prayer to Bl’Ar’ateth the Flame God, and went to bed.
     I woke up early the next morning. Actually, it was the screams that had woken me up. Apparently, during the night, I had gotten up and ritualistically slaughtered almost everyone in my apartment building, leaving the survivors to die a slow and painful death surrounded by the corpses of their fellows. This wasn’t a big deal, I was always a light sleeper. Also, I had grown a third arm coming out of my stomach.
     I went to work, but the building I worked at wasn’t there any more, so I figured that meant I had the day off. I was going to call Susan, in Human Resources, just to be on the safe side, but I remembered I had killed her yesterday. So I went to the zoo instead.
     At the zoo, I recorded all the species of plants and animals on this planet that might possibly be a threat to my race. This would come in handy when the mother ships landed on this pitiful planet. Suddenly I felt a keen sense of regret that I had killed my boss yesterday – he was always trying to get me to think ahead like that.
     I fought the National Guard that afternoon, it was kind of boring. The lump itched a little bit, but I figured that was just its eye getting ready to open, I wasn’t really all that worried about it.
     The next day, I destroyed the White House, forced the president to kiss my feet (they had turned into tentacles, actually) and swear an oath of fealty to the invasion force of Altair VII. Then I went on television demanding the immediate surrender of all Earth’s governments.
     I’m eating more aluminum than I used to. Occasionally sparks of lightning leap from my fingers. Whenever the eye on the lump opens, I feel myself in communion with ancient primal deities anxious to get a toe-hold in this dimension. Also, I’m afraid I might need glasses.
     I know its probably nothing, but I’m still a little bit worried about the lump. I should probably get it looked at…one of these days.

There is a site, and I will name it by name, it is called “Illustration Friday” (http://www.illustrationfriday.com/). Every week they post a new word onto their web-site, and artists can post links to illustrations which they have done based on that word. Its a fun way for artists to stay in practice, and to make contacts and get their work out and about.

Illustration Friday has categories for different styles of artwork. They have a category for colored pencils, they have a category for watercolor, they even have a category for silk screens. They do not have a category for writing. I have not spoken with the people who run the site, but my guess — and I stress that it is just a guess — is that just because writing is not a form of “illustration,” they feel that it doesn’t belong on a site called “Illustration Friday.” I feel that this is a shamefully narrowminded position to take. I can’t draw worth a damn, but I’m a pretty decent writer, should I be discriminated against?

 The last time I looked, we were living in America, and living in America means being FREE! Right before Patrick Henry was killed during the Revolutionary War, he had just burst in upon the British Colonial Congress which was meeting that day in Virginia. To show his disdain for his colonial overlords, he leapt up upon the conference table, dropped his pants and began reciting the pledge of allegiance. He did this to ensure that future generations would be entitled to the freedoms which he was denied. That is why, I am proud to say that any man, woman or child can enter the Capital building at any time of the day or night, drop their pants, and recite the pledge of allegiance! Actually, a quick search on Wikipedia has revealed that you can’t do this, and if you did, it would qualify as a Federal Offense and you would go to prison. Furthermore. apparently, Patrick Henry wasn’t killed during the Revolutionary War and never dropped his pants at the British. It sounds like something he might have done, though, and that’s what Freedom really means to me!

So, I for one am bucking this whiny narrow-minded “we only want illustrations for our illustration web site” attitude of the Illustration Friday people. When they pulbish their word of the week, instead of doing an illustration, I am going to do a short piece of writing based on the word. I am going to post it here. If the Illustration Friday people won’t post a link to it, then my wife, who is actually an illustrator and participates in Illustration Friday, will post a link to my writing on her web site. Take that you British upstarts!

 Or, in the words of Patrick Henry, “Neener! Neener! Neener!”

 Watch this space…