Artmistice Day
[This is what happens when I read books by Neal Stephenson and Mark
Leyner:]
My grandfather reached out, grabbed me by the collar, and pulled me into
the U.S.O. over twenty years before I was born. That's how much clout
the Signal Corps had in WWII. Nonetheless, I was cool with it: if
anyone could boost the troops' morale, I could with the act I had
developed while reading posthumously published fragments by Ralph
Ellison.
It relied upon three faithful stereotypes: 1) the ham from Alabama, 2)
the stinky cheese from Wisconsin, and 3) the strawberry shortcake from
Ohio. As with any military offensive, the act was carefully planned: I
would recruit a representative for each of the gift packages received
during a staged mail call. Afterwards, the outfit would brandish the
gift and participate in a photo interview with Stars and Stripes the
next morning.
My most influential performance took place before the Battle of Midway,
and was considered a key factor in its success. I insisted that all
ranks be treated to a "luau" of roast pork, white rice, and coconut ice
cream served in pineapple halves. Pitchers of ice cold beer
overflowed.
Once the crowd was lubricated, I went on stage and announced mail call.
First, I gave the name of a corporal who came on stage. Other members
of his unit hauled out a crate which was revealed to contain a gigantic
smoked ham, supposedly from his aunt. As he and I bugged out our eyes,
his superior officer came out dressed as a samurai, and with his sword
lopped off a piece of the ham, lanced it in midair, and presented it to
me. After tasting the succulent morsel, I asked the corporal to deliver
a message to his aunt, whereupon I picked him up, kissed him, and
swished him around on the stage. The crowd went wild, as did the Stars
and Stripes reporter the next morning when I repeated the performance
for the camera.
Then I announced the name of a private for the Wisconsin segment. When
the cheese package was opened, I donned a green face, staggered around,
and draped myself over a brass rail brought on stage by two sailors.
There was chuckling and polite applause all around. The next day, I
posed with the unit and truly relished every bite.
The shortcake scene called for a nurse, who offered me a dainty bit at
the end of a long fork. As I quivered between the point of shyness and
desire, she grabbed me and bent me backward for a big sloppy kiss.
During rehearsal, I said she could either drop me to the floor or stand
me back up and dust off my shoulder. She chose the latter, and I duly
performed my Ray Bolger knee wobbles and then did a Bert Lahr fall on my
back, kicking my feet once in the air. As the MPs dragged me off, I
gave a contorted grin and flashed my thumbs up. Such was the uproar
that nearly a quarter hour passed before the next act could appear.
After the remaining acts of the show, I reappeared and asked for
everyone to calm down for a moment and fill their glasses. Then I
invoked, in the most serious terms, to honor the dead, and to remember
and toast the reason we're here: to Peace, Liberty, and Prosperity! As
we drank the toast, red, white, and blue fireworks went off, and the
band played the National Anthem. I repeated the performance for each
shift, and stoked everyone as intended.
Afterwards, I continued to leverage my success until I succumbed to
various laboratory-grown tropical diseases. By that time, however,
General Patton himself heard of my Pacific operations and demanded my
appearance in the European Theater. I revived and went immediately, and
within days took Lorraine by storm.
December 31, 2024.
The Circular File