No Cluttering Allowed
In the years surrounding my birth the Cold War was in full effect. Our nation was scared, and its people demanded that the government take whatever action was necessary in order to save us from certain destruction. You may be surprised to learn that our government responded by creating a Win the Cold War Contest. Each U.S. state, except Nevada because Nixon was mad at it, had one year to come up with their one single best idea to defeat the enemy. All ideas would be considered, regardless of how bizarre or extreme, as long as a one page, nicely typed supporting document was attached.
A year later forty nine states submitted their ideas. Each entry was thoughtfully pondered, scrutinized and debated by a team handpicked by the President himself. Later that afternoon the winning idea was announced and the prize was handed out. Within the next decade that legendary contest entry was well on its way to helping us win the Cold War.
But this isn’t a story about the winning idea. This is the story about the entry that came from the state from which I took my first breath. This state, whose name I am legally forbidden to mention (but I can say that it rhymes with Road Eye-land), was involved in freakish genetic research for decades. It was sick, sick stuff. But the most disgusting part was that they conducted their experiments on newborn children.
After years of investigative research I now have enough evidence to say conclusively that, as early as six hours-old, I was used without my consent in state-sanctioned genetic studies. I also believe that the results from the work performed on me was one of the handful of cases included in the one page, nicely typed supporting document to the state’s contest entry.
I can’t tell you what was done to me, nor can I tell you the idea that the state (rhymes with Rowed Highland) submitted. I can tell you that their idea was so stupid that it came in dead last. In fact, it was such a ridiculous idea that it came in 50th, which means it was behind Nevada. I can also tell you that I am abnormal. There is no cure, but there is one thing that helps, if only for a few minutes. It is Eclipse Naturally Flavored Coffee Syrup. For reasons not completely understood, when I mix this syrup with milk and drink it, I feel really really good.
That is my story.
– Ben
I thought you said Woody was patterned after you… This comic sure sounds like you. That’s all I’m sayin.
I’ll take the mic!!
Paul, Woody and I may have one or two things in common.
John, what’ll you give me for it in exchange?
I could sure use those paper towels if he doesn’t want ’em.