This is a continuation of yesterdays post, The Memoir of Jasper Foie-Gras
Subject: Re: Re: This is all I have so far. I suck.
I still believe in the subject of this email. Until I have more confidence, I’d appreciate if we agreed to leave it untouched. I’ve addressed your notes below, and I’ve included a start to chapter 1.
To your first note about describing the dog more. I don’t think anyone gives a shit what the dog looked like if it was dead. They can surmise that because the dog was used as my baby bed, it was of ample size to accomodate a baby. If you want me to say it was brown, I will, but I think it’s stupid.
Your second note said that I shouldn’t refer to myself as an asshole because it will come out naturally as I tell the stories of my life. That’s honestly one of the most awesome compliments I’ve ever received. Thank-you for making my day
Note number 3. I’m serious, James, please don’t use the term “manuscript.” It sounds pompous, and my creativity dries up when I think I’m doing something important.
As far as “drawing things out,” I get it, books are supposed to be long and boring.
Here’s the begining of chapter 1. As I warned you, it starts off pretty lame.
It all started when Florencio convinced everyone he could make booze from eggs. Florencio also believed creaking doors were ghost farts and volcanos were Jesus’ orgasms. He was like a really stupid sorcerer. The whole tribe drank the opaque white home brew and all got botulism. For the next 6 days they took to the healing tent. On day 3, I was conceived. My humanness was created inside an egg that was poisoned by an egg. Everything else you read should make perfect sense.
When I was born, all 6 of the women in the tribe started lactating (they were very close) and each took turns nursing me. When they were done, they’d lie me back on the dog carcass. When I cried, a different woman would come feed me. Romulus and Remus were teet-fed by wolves, and they fuckin’ founded Rome. I had 6 moms, and at 52 years old, I’ve never owned a raincoat.
Given all that exposure to different breasts as a baby, it’s hilarious that I now live below a porno studio filled with fake tits. Maybe that’s irony, or justice, or poetic justice, or maybe just poetry. Whatever it is, it’s been the guiding force in my cautionary tale of a life.
I realize so far this memoir has been mostly about stuff that’s happened to me, but that’s what it’s like to be a baby and a kid; other people are in charge of making things miserable for you. I didn’t start making my own giant gaffes until I was 12. That’s when I escaped the tribe, stole a blue blazer from Jamesway, and tried to infiltrate Boy’s Town. I think I’ll write about that in chapter 5 or 6 depending on how long it takes me to regale you with pathetic tales of being home schooled by people who don’t believe in math. By the time I was 11 I was reading Being and Nothingness but had never seen money.
When I was 2, the tribe made me choose a mom. Some of the women campaigned for the job harder than others. The only one who didn’t try at all was my actual mom. The woman I chose was named Freda. I don’t know much about her because she died about 6 months later after eating Florencio’s homemade sausage. That’s when my real mom said “Fine, I’ll be his mom.”
Ok, James … I could write a lot more about the mom stuff. Let me know if I’m on the right track here. All that shit I just said is true.
Subject: Out of Office Reply
I will be on vacation until December 17th and only checking email sporadically. If you have any urgent matters, please contact April Higgins at A_Higgens@randomhouse.com
Subject: Fwd: Re: Re: Re: This is all I have so far. I suck.
James said If I had anything urgent I should email you. Can you read this garbage I wrote and let me know if you think it’s a good start for a memoir. It’s attached as a word document.
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