My
Short Fiction 
My
Short Fiction
The following is my first real shot at humor writing in the style of the great humorist, S.J. Perelman. If you're not familiar with Perelman's work, then I highly recommend that you get yourself familiarized---and quick! Ten minutes before the world blows up, you don't want to find yourself in the awkward position of being in the company of friends who are discussing Perelman's works. Imagine if the last thought rattling around in your head were, "Who's S.J. Perelman?" Just spare yourself the embarrassment . . . I'm not too sure how successful my attempt was, but you're free to judge for yourself.
The
Nasal Academy:
An
Address before the Students and Faculty
of
Gadsden State Community College
The person with such an infectious disease must
wear torn clothes, let his hair be unkempt, cover the lower part of his face and
cry out, “Unclean! Unclean!”
¾from
Leviticus
13:45
I can only imagine the same sort of free-spirited giddiness and curiosity taking place during a man’s aborning affinity to a pointed object, such as a rapier, nine-inch-nail, or railroad tie. How insistent must one’s subconscious urges be that one is driven to penetrate any one facial orifice with any one of the aforementioned objects? Oftentimes I loll in the shade of a fallen sycamore and bend my thoughts upon the matter, but quite honestly I have exhausted all fruits of rational deliberation. My intuition, on the other hand, tells me that the moment in which a man first inserts a nine-inch-nail into his nostril is glowing with caprice, confusion, and possibly insanity. Certainly there must have been some ghastly mistake. Perhaps the poor fellow, whom we shall call Cal, somehow mistook the nail for his nasal decongestant, rammed it up his schnozzle and, confused as to how to operate the spray mechanism, assumed that in order for the soothing vapor to permeate his nasal cavity, a household hammer must gently be tapped upon the head of the nail until the nail can physically proceed no farther. Well, if Cal was seeking a way to clear his passage, he certainly chanced upon one of peerless potency. Afterwards Cal probably realized his folly (one would hope), but since the instrument did, in fact, eliminate all traces of his congestion, he did what so many others living under the ideology of capitalism would do: he patented the instrument and its use and sold the idea to Schneigenbönn & Gonzales, a now defunct pharmaceutical outfit whose name is no longer carried upon the breath of medicos, owing to the hush-hush maneuvers of the FDA. As for Cal, he mysteriously ended up somewhere in Alaska just north of the Arctic Circle, manning a cafeteria on a small naval base.
Very possibly another scenario can be drummed into service to explain a man’s whimsical desires to use a keen instrument in ways contrary to its conventional purposes:
Through a pair of high-powered binoculars I see Cal as an outpatient sitting in a tidy little medical room, awaiting the results of his x-ray. At length the doctor, who is breathing hard nearby, resurfaces from the sea of transparencies and remarks, “Well, Mr. Cuta, everything appears to be working in tiptop, very shipshape fashion.” And then as he further thumbs through Cal’s results and steps off the stationary bicycle he adds, “Oh, one more thing, Mr. Cuta. If you don’t mind my incessant meddling, I noticed that your nasal cavity exhibits remarkable potential. Its magnitude is¾quite unprecedented. In fact you could probably insert a, oh, I don’t know, nine-inch-nail into one of your nostrils without any bodily harm and, within months, work your way up to railroad ties. Traveling carnivals and the FOX Network pay people such as yourself thousands—and,” he says, lowering his voice, “the ladies love it. Of course, Mr. Cuta, it is in my professional opinion that you do not pursue such nonsense—” The doctor can try as he may, but the seed has already begun to germinate in the warm moist bed of soil in Cal’s brain, the original catalyst of his visit to the doctor.
So for this reason and more, dear students, I wish to make public a growing organization whose ninety-three members advocate the safe and humane treatment of noses and everything that that entails, including the flesh and cartilage that constitute the dermis of the valuable organ, as well as the olfactory glands and so forth tucked safely away¾until recently, of course. Until recently no human being has dared disturb the brittle and consecrated bond between a man and his nose. Treating it respectfully has always been part and parcel of the entire assemblage of values this nation¾nay, this world¾has compromised for more and more outrageous entertainment. That is why we the Benevolent Brothers of the Legion for the Protection and Proper Maintenance of the Human Nose Action Agency, or BBLPPMHNAA, scorn all misuse and misconduct with the nose and all for which it stands. For too long men have ridden roughshod over their own noses, carelessly excavating its hidden halls with instruments quite unbefitting of the task. I say it is high time for an end to all this madness and mayhem. And if people cannot deter their wanton ways willingly, then I suggest the U.S. government¾or perhaps even the U.N.¾must intervene and wrest control on behalf of noses worldwide. After all, si vis pacem, para bellum. Write your Congressperson today to convey your disgust of this abominable practice that has claimed the useful services of over four thousand noses in 1998 alone. Because of our fanciful desires, our emergency rooms are flooded with fools suffering from anosmesia, sinusitis, rhinitis, epistaxis, phantosmia, parosima, rhinorrhea, deviated septum, whiskey nose, and irreparable damage to the vibrissa. Dear students, how many noses must be lost before we open our eyes? But please¾do not get me started on eyes. (allow time for laughter) Thank you and goodnight, and may you all rest peacefully within the downy womb of Hope.