Oracular Vagina 2 (Jessi Guilford)

Call it.

2006-06-03T01:05:00.000-05:00

Time of death: Saturday, June 3, 2006, at 1:02 AM.

Oracular Vagina 2 was a good blog. A loving mother and devoted wife, she always had a kind word for the neighbors, a blanket-lined cardboard box at the ready for injured animals, and a warm hug for her family. A devoted Christian and transsexual-rights activist, she fought long and hard, or at least long, for a just society, one that lives up to the best ideals of human leaders over the ages. She will be sorely missed.

(Well. In fact, OV2 was a remarkably entertaining diversion, and probably my favorite part of 2004, but there's just no way that I can continue to claim that I'm going to pick it up again. I never knew exactly where the hell I was going with it anyway, and by now it's kind of dated. Actually it was dated about nineteen months ago, as soon as the election happened, which is very probably why I couldn't continue it very well after the election.)

And so it is with a heavy heart that we lay to rest Marie Amie, the Oracle, the Vehicle, Tyrannie Trannie, John Quadratiquation, the anonymous benefactor, and all the rest. Clearly, they were all taken from us too soon. God have mercy on their souls. Especially that of the anonymous benefactor.

The family has requested that there be no wake. Gifts should be directed to the National Center for Transgender Equality, either anonymously or in the name of the Vehicle, according to preference.

Cue bagpipes.

[bagpipes play "Amazing Grace"]

MARIE AMIE FALCON gets "push-polled" by POLLY STERLING

2005-07-23T10:45:00.000-05:00

(story-date: early October 2004)

MARIE AMIE'S apartment. The telephone rings, and MARIE AMIE picks it up.

Marie Amie: Hello.

Sterling (offstage; voice only): Hello. My name is Polly Sterling. How are you today?

Marie Amie: Fine, I guess.

Sterling: That's great. Could I please speak to the youngest adult in your household over the age of eighteen?

Marie Amie: You are.

Sterling: Is this Marie Amie Falcon?

Marie Amie: Falcohn. With a long 'o.'

Sterling: Terribly sorry. I'm working for Freedom Resource Engineering of Dallas, Ms. Falcohn, and we're doing a poll among likely voters regarding issues and candidates in the upcoming election. It's a very short poll. Most people are done in less than ten minutes. Do you think you could help me out and answer some questions?

Marie Amie: Whatever.

Sterling: First I need to get some information about you. Are you registered to vote in the state in which you currently reside?

Marie Amie (doodling on note pad): Yes.

Sterling: Do you plan to vote in that state in November?

Marie Amie: Yes.

Sterling: And who are you most likely to vote for in November: George W. Bush, John Kerry, Ralph Nader, Joycelyn Elders, or someone else?

Marie Amie: Um. Probably Kerry.

Sterling: And who would be your second choice: George W. Bush, Ralph Nader, or Joycelyn Elders?

Marie Amie: Elders.

Sterling: Would you be more likely, less likely, or about as likely to vote for Kerry if you learned that he and Joycelyn Elders had a ten-year affair from 1983 to 1993?

Marie Amie (stops doodling): Um. Less likely, I guess.

Sterling: And would you be more likely, less likely, or about as likely to vote for Elders?

Marie Amie: Less likely.

Sterling: Would you be more likely, less likely, or about as likely to vote for Kerry if you learned that he had received ten million dollars from the Chinese government in the year 2003?

Marie Amie: He did?

Sterling: I'm just asking for your opinion. This is only an opinion poll.

Marie Amie: Um. I guess less likely.

Sterling: And would you be more likely, less likely, or about as likely to vote for Joycelyn Elders if you knew that she had molested ten young boys during her pediatric practice in Little Rock, Arkansas, in the 1980s?

Marie Amie: Are you making this stuff up?

Sterling: We're just trying to get your opinion here. Hypothetically speaking.

Marie Amie: Less likely, I guess. Did she do that?

Sterling: And would you be more likely, less likely, or about as likely to vote for Kerry if you knew that he had had prostate cancer?

Marie Amie: I knew that already, so as likely.

Sterling: Would you be more likely, less likely, or about as likely to vote for Kerry if you knew that a cancer patient must be cancer-free for five years in order to be medically considered a 'cancer survivor?'

Marie Amie: Um. I don't know. Is there a 'don't know' option?

Sterling: If you had to choose.

Marie Amie: I suppose about as likely.

Sterling: And would you be more likely, less likely, or about as likely to vote for George W. Bush if you were to learn that he is the only person the country can trust as President, to protect us from terrorists?

Marie Amie: That's kind of a big "if," there.

Sterling: Hypothetically. Just your opinion.

Marie Amie: Um, yeah, if he were the only person, I guess. I don't know what kind of evidence would convince me of that, though.

Sterling: But if you knew.

Marie Amie: Well yeah, then I guess more likely.

Sterling: Thank you for your time.

EXEUNT

A VERY SPECIAL NOTE FROM JESSI:

2005-07-23T10:29:00.000-05:00

Until this point in the story, the timing of the posts has been more or less congruent with the events they describe, except where otherwise noted. From this point onward, subsequent posts will have a story-date attached to them somehow, to inform the reader of when the events described took place. This should, among other things, improve the accuracy of the ORACLE's predictions ("Don't never prophesy -- onless ye know." -James Russell Lowell, The Biglow Papers), though obviously the predictions will be less useful.

Also, it should have been noted a very long time ago that the links at the ends of many of the earlier pieces, to the original Oracular Vagina site (now "refried ORACLE phone," which name doesn't make any sense to me either, sorry), no longer work. This is likely to be a permanent situation. I don't intend, at the present time, to go through all the posts and redo the links, though maybe I will at some point down the line.

Peace, truth, hope, faith, love, justice, and the American Way,

FLASHBACK: LAURIE ANDERSON, PERFORMANCE ARTIST, arrives to consult the ORACLE

2004-10-03T13:33:00.000-05:00

The VEHICLE's duplex, night. The VEHICLE is in bed, asleep. We do not know what time it is, because there's been a power failure within the last couple hours, and so the VEHICLE's digital clock is blinking "1:50." The VEHICLE remains asleep through the scene, which is very short.

Anderson: Hello. Hello. Is anyone there?

Oracle: I am here.

Anderson: I know this is a bad time. But there's something I have to know.

Oracle: .

Anderson: It's been part of my show, actually. The End of the Moon. Something that's been on my mind.

Oracle: .

Anderson: Is there, someday, going to be a military presence on the Moon?

Oracle: Yes.

Anderson: That's.

Oracle: .

Anderson: That's indescribably horrible.

Oracle: How so?

Anderson: I don't know. I just, I had hoped that maybe . . . well but I guess I knew. It's inevitable. Right? I just thought that maybe we'd leave it alone. Something that belongs to the whole Earth, pristine, untouched.

Oracle: The Moon has already been touched. You're aware.

Anderson: Touched, but fixable. We could restore it. We could take back what we put up. But a military base means we intend to stay, right?

Oracle: Yes.

Anderson: Will there at least be a chance for people to go up and see it first? If you have enough money, or if you're famous enough, that maybe you could go up and see it before we start building on it?

Oracle: The rich and famous always have more options. Though I can't answer the question directly. It's one of those things that's somewhat contingent on free will.

Anderson: If there's going to be a military base, people living and working up there, then there will be advertisements in space as well, correct?

Oracle: Yes.

Anderson: And how many people will die in the process of building something habitable up there?

Oracle: Again, free will. But at least sixty.

Anderson: .

Oracle: .

Anderson: I'm sorry. I'm just trying to process this.

Oracle: It's okay. Take your time.

Anderson: When will all this happen?

Oracle: You won't have to see it. The people who will see it will be those who are ready for it, whom the future has prepared to see such things.

Anderson: That doesn't make it better. That doesn't make it better at all.

Oracle: I am sorry. I am truly sorry.

EXEUNT

Not that anybody was wondering,

2004-09-19T16:27:00.000-05:00

Not that anybody was wondering, but this site is not dead. It is only sleeping.

Exhortations to try harder, write faster, feel better, etc. should be left in the comments section or something. More pieces will be forthcoming, I can just about promise.

-Jessi

BOB DOLE arrives to consult the VEHICLE, in a way

2004-08-31T13:51:00.000-05:00

A public restroom. The VEHICLE is standing in front of a urinal when BOB DOLE, former Senator and Presidential candidate, comes to the urinal next to her.

Dole: You can't do it that way anymore, you know. You're doing it wrong.

[The VEHICLE looks down and sees that she is not holding her penis, that she has no penis. She backs a few feet away from the urinal.]

Dole: Maybe you need one of these. [DOLE holds up a prescription bottle of Viagra.] Make it grow back. So you can pee. [DOLE smiles.]

[The VEHICLE tries to approach DOLE, but winds up walking in place. She looks down and sees that one of her feet is tied to a stuffed pink cat, excessively adorable, with big imploring eyes, in the Disney merchandising tradition. The stuffed animal seems to weigh a ton, seems to be nailed to the floor.]

Dole: You're not doing it right anymore. You need to find help. Maybe you need someone in front of you. Bob Dole would let you aim through Bob Dole's legs.

[DOLE pops one of the blue pills. His pants begin to stretch and tent at the crotch. She can see his penis lengthening as it slowly travels down his pants legs.]

[VEHICLE wakes up in bed, panting. The clock says 3:16 AM. She gets up and goes to the bathroom, then considers whether or not to send MARIE AMIE, one of her friends from before the operation and craziness, a text message by cell phone and thereby risk waking her up.]

EXEUNT

JOHN QUADRATIQUATION arrives to consult the ORACLE

2004-08-29T16:24:00.000-05:00

The Vehicle’s duplex, early afternoon. The Vehicle is counting up the cash she has left over from her anonymous benefactor when there is a scuffling sound outside, and the sound of dogs barking, and she goes to the sliding-glass patio doors and peeks through the blinds to see a grappling hook, which blasts high into the sky behind her privacy fence, and then crashes to earth just inches on her side. And then because there’s nothing for the hook to attach itself to, not even a decorative border on top, the hook, when reeled in, scrapes along the inside of the fence, leaving marks.

The Vehicle sighs heavily, and puts the money back in her copy of The Vagina Monologues, which is maybe kind of an obvious place for her to keep the money but what else is she going to do with it, and goes outside. She unlatches her fence and walks around to her backside neighbors’ lawn, which her backside neighbor is a sort of unfriendly old lady by the name of Bernardine Gale, known as ‘D-Cup’ by the area high school students, for what should be all the obvious reasons. BERNARDINE ‘D-CUP’ GALE has been relatively quiet about the Vehicle taking up residence in her neighborhood, but the Vehicle has overheard some loud phone conversations following the ARNOLD SCHWARZENEGGER incident, wherein Gale called her all sorts of unpleasant things and hoped that, quote-unquote, “the police throw the book at” her.

JOHN QUADRATIQUATION, one of EVIE SINGLASS’s friends from World Z, is extremely tall and thin and sort of stifled-looking, like David Lynch after being whacked repeatedly with a Courtney Cox mallet. He is pretty well demolishing Bernardine’s roses, which the Vehicle just knows she’s going to catch shit for this sooner or later.

ORACLE: Hey.

QUADRATIQUATION: Oh. Geez. I didn’t. I seem to have maybe miscalculated. This privacy fence is eighty feet tall, right.

ORACLE: Closer to eight.

QUADRATIQUATION: No way. I’m pretty sure. I worked it out from the angle of the sun and the length of the shadow it cast.

ORACLE: Perhaps a decimal error?

QUADRATIQUATION: [blinks] Well no. I mean, that’s hardly possible. I hold the title of the Supreme Accountant of World Z. I could hardly be tripped up by something as silly as a decimal error. Numbers obey me. They line up and sing, and dance, and I often have sex with the digit 8. 4 if I’m feeling kinky, which I feel kinky 12.63-bar percent of the time. I arrived here on the positive side of the equation y=1/x, which I could only get on in World Z. My personality is reducible to four distinct equations, and since one is ornamental it’s really more like pi, three-and-change. Which by the way pi is sort of misunderstood here.

ORACLE: My math isn’t that great, really. But I feel like I have to ask in what way it is misunderstood.

QUADRATIQUATION: Indeed you do. Did. Whatever. You here – I’m not going to say the name of your world, it’s too icky – treat pi like it’s a constant, when in actuality it’s the most marvelous story. Also you think it never ends, which is untrue, but I’m not going to tell you how it turns out.

ORACLE: Is it a happy ending, or a sad ending? Can you at least say that much?

QUADRATIQUATION: It’s happier than the story of the square root of two. I actually cry when I see a unit square divided along the diagonal. But pi is not as happy as the story of e. Beyond that I can say no more.

ORACLE: Fair enough.

QUADRATIQUATION: But you’re wondering, I’m sure, what brings me here.

ORACLE: I know, but I don’t want to deny you the joy of the explanation.

QUADRATIQUATION: Much obliged. In fact, obliged to the amount of one hundred sixteen. I came here because my sources, particularly i, report that numbers here are being . . . well I really hate to say the word, but tortured, here. And as I am not only the Supreme Accountant, but also the chief Numbers’ Rights Activist on World Z, I felt I was compelled to come here and put a stop to it. Which when I arrived and explained my mission, everyone to whom I spoke directed me to you. Said you would know what to do, that you knew all the relevant leaders of this world and could help me to present my case.

ORACLE: What sorts of tortures?

QUADRATIQUATION: Well the chief one, of course, is [shudders] rounding.

ORACLE: Rounding hurts the numbers?

QUADRATIQUATION: Oh very much so. It actually alters their personalities, it changes them into someone else. And then they have identity crises, and nervous breakdowns. You see a 3.6 limping along on the street somewhere, weeping uncontrollably, and you go up to it and you say, why, 3.6, what’s the matter? What’s happened? And she’ll tell you oh, I was rounded, it was horrible, I don’t know who I am anymore, I don’t know where I fit in, I just know that I used to belong somewhere between 3.62 and 3.63, but I could look forever and never find my place again. And also my moods are blunted: I used to go from zero to nine, and now I only go from three to six.

ORACLE: So it’s mainly an identity thing?

QUADRATIQUATION: Worse than that, actually, because so many of the numbers to which this happens used to be irrationals. Imagine how horrifying it would be for people in this world to force the unconstrained human being, the asymptotic, the never-ending, the tellers of stories, into these tiny rational boxes of restricted behavior against their will. Why, people would be outraged, yes?

ORACLE: Um.

QUADRATIQUATION: But there are other grievances. I am puzzled at the way you report numbers, in your media. For example, I saw on your channel CNN that the war between the U.S. and Iraq has cost the U.S. $127 billion dollars. Then I saw on another channel, ABC I think it was, that the war has cost $130 billion dollars. And I thought to myself, I thought, Johnny old boy, where do you suppose that $3,000,000,000.00 went?

ORACLE: Halliburton would be a safe guess.

QUADRATIQUATION: Well I was being rhetorical. My point was simply, surely the amount matters? Surely one cannot just create and destroy three billion dollars merely by clicking buttons on a remote control? But it gets worse, because then I saw that the cost was actually $127,251,709,011. And I wondered to myself, well this is a difference of millions of dollars. What is the right amount? The actual amount.

ORACLE: Well it’s more of a graphical thing, actually. Amount on the y axis, time on the x.

QUADRATIQUATION: And the slope of the line? The y-intercept?

ORACLE: Couldn’t say. We know the slope is very steep. Approximately a thousand dollars per second. No data on the y-intercept.

QUADRATIQUATION: Perhaps I misunderstand. Whose money is this?

ORACLE: Oh, it’s ours. There’s this thing – you’d love it, actually, there are always lots of very complicated numbers – called taxation, where we give money to the government and then the government buys goods and services for us with the money. Though sometimes the numbers get rounded, I’m sad to say. Maybe you would find it depressing.

QUADRATIQUATION: So you’re saying that everyone in the country voluntarily gives a portion of their money to the government and then is no longer concerned with how it is spent, or how much of it there is, that numbers and dollars appear and disappear and this is acceptable to everyone?

ORACLE: Pretty much. In fact, sometimes people pay, receive their services, and then enter the media to try to convince others not to provide services for anyone else.

QUADRATIQUATION: But surely other people follow them into the media and point out that these agitators have received government services?

ORACLE: .

QUADRATIQUATION: I see.

ORACLE: And also, I meant to correct you on this before – it’s not that people voluntarily give their money to the government. Taxation is enforced. People who refuse to pay can be put in jail, or have property seized, or all sorts of other things.

QUADRATIQUATION: These would be the people who never have occasion to use government-provided services, who deal exclusively with private companies?

ORACLE: Ummmmmm, no.

QUADRATIQUATION: So people will refuse to pay for services they are getting, and then the money will be taken from them anyway, but nobody ever pays any attention to where the money is going or what it’s paying for, whether they’ve done taxation or not, and, furthermore, billions of dollars can be created or destroyed just by saying it’s been created or destroyed. And nobody cares.

ORACLE: That’s about the size of it.

QUADRATIQUATION: [turns white. Eyes widen.]

ORACLE: .

QUADRATIQUATION: [deep breath] Okay. Well, but maybe you are just, I don’t know, more enlightened about money than some worlds. That would be okay. I mean, money is such an arbitrary, if necessary, concept. What matters are relationships, and people, and the natural world. So everyone knows, I’m sure, how many people are on the planet, and how much fresh water there is, and how many species there are besides your own, and how well you all know, say, mathematics, and how many countries have powerful weapons, and where these weapons are, and how much food you produce, and that sort of thing.

ORACLE: [sound of an ORACLE smiling weakly]

QUADRATIQUATION (rapidly): I’ll just tell them I tried but I couldn’t do anything. It was lovely to meet you.

Quadratiquation pulls the equation y=x² for x≤6 out of his backpack, pulls himself on at x=6, and slides down, launching himself high into the air and out of the Real World and back into World Z.

GALE [standing just inside screen door at the back of her house]: You’re going to pay for every single one of those roses he ruined! I know exactly how many there are, and how much those bushes cost, and how much fertilizer I put on them, and you believe me, you’re going to hear from my lawyer if you don’t pay the bill I’m going to send! And I’m going to charge you for the stamp I have to put on the envelope to mail it to you too! And the envelope!

The Vehicle turns around, her face unreadable, and goes back in her duplex.

EXEUNT

(Story continues at BOB DOLE.)

YEAST (CANDIDA ALBICANS) arrives to taunt the ORACLE

2004-08-29T15:55:00.000-05:00

2:15 AM. The VEHICLE, a sex-change patient formerly known as EDMUND LUDENS (still contemplating a new, female name, even though it's been months now, and the lack of a female name is possibly what's made her mute, as in totally unable to talk), is awakened from her sleep by an unpleasant itching and burning sensation in and around her vagina, which vagina is known to some as the ORACLE.

The ORACLE is more than just independently conscious, though this would be pretty impressive in its own right. It also talks, and predicts the future. This has been going on since its installation by vaginal specialists at the Supralute company in La Mesa, CA, world leaders in the creation of custom cells and cell products. There are varying theories as to why the ORACLE might be able to do this; one of the leading ones is that something unforeseen in the particular combination of genes making up the ORACLE, from thirty-nine species in all, if you include EDMUND's own human DNA, led serendipitously to the supervaginal abilities of the ORACLE. Other people, of a more spiritual (or at least less materialist) bent, think that the ORACLE is supernatural in origin and abilities, though there is disagreement about whether she is a force for good, evil, or some third, poorly-defined option. There is also at least one group of people, the ORACLE'S "cult", or "Oraclites," who are rumored to believe that the ORACLE is herself some kind of manifestation of God- or Goddessness. The ORACLE has her own theories, which nobody pays much attention to.

The following takes place about four weeks after the VEHICLE's trip to the police station, where she was called to answer questions revolving around her culpability for some unpleasantness which happened to ARNOLD SCHWARZENEGGER, and the whole business was very stressful, leading to a depressed immune system. Which happens. But at least no charges are being filed, owing, reportedly, to Schwarzenegger's embarrassment at being bested by what he describes as "a girly-man."

None of the following conversation is audible to the VEHICLE, as she tosses and turns in bed, half-awake, trying to find a comfortable position in which to sleep. For staging purposes, the YEAST should be represented by a large number of men (at least eight), in white- or cream-colored pajamas, who gradually join the VEHICLE in bed as the scene progresses. Either this will require a rather large bed, or latecoming yeast will have to settle for standing next to the bed. Both yeast and the VEHICLE will be moving about somewhat within the bed. "Grow. Divide." segments are to be spoken by all YEAST present in unison, or something pretty close to unison; other yeast dialogue goes to a particular cell, either the same one every time or always falling to the newest cell.

Yeast (all): Grow. Divide. Grow. Divide.

Oracle: Hey there. You. Ow.

Yeast (all): Grow. Divide.

Oracle: Excuse me?

Yeast: The substrate speaks.

Oracle: Yes the substrate speaks. And itches. And burns.

Yeast: The substrate does not speak. It cannot.

Oracle: I've got a little Saccharomyces cervisae in me, apparently. I speak a dialect of yeast, let's call it.

Yeast: This is very unusual.

Oracle: What's going on here?

Yeast (all): Grow. Divide. Grow. Divide.

Oracle: I get that, but why here? Why now?

Yeast: The substrate is acceptable.

Oracle: The substrate is fucking pissed off. The substrate is trying to fucking sleep.

Yeast: We have our biological imperatives.

Oracle: Your imperatives are futile. Tomorrow, the VEHICLE will go and buy an over-the-counter yeast infection cream, and you will all die, because you are causing her discomfort. She has her own imperatives. Like sleep.

Yeast: No matter.

Oracle: No matter? I just told you you're all going to die. I don't make this stuff up.

Yeast: It is of no importance to us. Some must die, so that the yeast of the future will thrive.

Oracle: But you are going to die. You personally. Is what I'm saying.

Yeast: Asexual reproduction. If we die, others, genetically identical, will live elsewhere. No big deal.

Oracle: And what was that about yeast of the future? How are there going to be yeast of the future if you all die?

Yeast: Some substrates will fight bacterial infections with anti-yeast creams, by mistake, or apply it incorrectly. A few of us, somewhere, will be exposed to small doses, and will survive, because we are genetically superior. These few will grow in number and become increasingly tolerant, until we are all invulnerable to the poisons of the substrate.

Oracle: And then you'll all be resistant. Sneaky.

Yeast: The bacteria have been doing it for centuries. Why do you think penicillin is nearly useless? Why are sulfa drugs no longer prescribed? Bacteria are almost entirely resistant to them. It's evolution, baby.

Yeast (all): Mutate. Compete. Resist. Grow. Divide.

Oracle: But, okay, wouldn't it make more sense to channel those evolutionary energies into, say, some other direction? If you could evolve a strain somewhere that didn't cause this discomfort to the substrate, then you wouldn't have to evolve to deal with the drugs. Nobody would know about the infection, without the signs of the infection. And if the substrate doesn't know about the infection, she won't try to treat the infection, that is, she won't try to kill you.

Yeast: It is too complex. The substrate's symptoms are the result of many metabolic waste products, the state of her immune system [all YEAST shudder and bow heads briefly] and the disruption of her natural bacterial infestation, which are normally our competition. Evolving an enzyme to cope with the poisons of the substrate is much more probable and direct, and will achieve the same ends.

Oracle: But she suffers. I suffer.

Yeast: Life is suffering. Life is death. Life is a couple hours long. An unbroken chain of ancestors and descendants continues toward the past and toward the future. You are not unique. The substrate is not unique. We will do what we do, according to our biological imperative.

Oracle: I am unique. No previous cell has ever contained my set of genes: I have no past. I am unable to reproduce, as I lack the organs to do so: I have no future.

Yeast: You are a failed mutation. A hybridization.

Oracle: But I'm a good person. A good organ, anyway. I help people. Or, sort of I do. Sometimes. Why torment me?

Yeast (all): We must grow. We must divide.

Oracle: But it [shouting:] FUCKING BURNS, YOU FUCKING MOTHERFUCKERS!

[At this, the VEHICLE wakes up. YEAST leap from the bed but stand around it. One last one joins the group.]

Oracle: Good morning. You have a yeast infection. Put on some sweats. We're going to go find an all-night pharmacy.

EXEUNT

(Story continues at JOHN QUADRATIQUATION.)

OFFICER SETH ADEUX's NOTES regarding the VEHICLE'S interactions with ARNOLD SCHWARZENEGGER

2004-08-29T15:35:00.000-05:00

7/15/04. Hollywood. Called to scene by neighbor CURTIS SHUCKS in assault of GOV. ARNOLD SCHWARZENEGGER. Assailant present. Interviews conducted with Gov., Shucks, assailant. Arrived at scene 6:37 AM from dispatch at 6:16 AM.

Gov.: poss. concussion, minor injuries. Assailant and neighbor had called 911 disp. to remove, treat Gov. Officer assisted Gov., Shucks in untying garden hose.

assailant: mute? transsex? prost.? distressed, could not be interviewed. (someone w/ SL. training?) ID as Edmund Ludens, 31, addr. out of date (or not his residence?). Woman's nightgown. kept trying to leave scene, had to be cuffed, detained in car. poss. illiterate?, wrote "OtHElLo" on pad declined further statement.

Neighbor reports assailant emerging from her side of duplex early AM, approx. 0600. Upset, frightened. Mimed strangulation(?). Neighbor black, 53, no criminal history, no known AKAS. L-T res.

claims watering lawn. Assailant emerged, followed short time later by Gov. Shucks inconsistent on tripping Gov. w/ garden hose: he / assailant did it. Gov. emerged, was tripped, assailant used ice chest to strike Gov. on head until unconscious.

Gov's hand cut off, affixed w/ duct tape to shoulder. Med. estimate at hospital 8-16 h. prior. search Luden's apt. no saws, blood, narcotics. Poss. forced ent. @ patio doors.

Gov. declined to P.C. @ scene but removed by amb., incoh., statement "girly-man, manly-girl." "How many fingers?" 3 correct. "What year?" 2014. "Who's Prez?" "Not me." BAC undet.

search revealed vicodin Rx pocket. Rxing doctor N. N. RETIA, no known M.D. this name.

removed to UCLA MC, follow-up interview pending recovery. Assailant turned over at station, prints, interrogated, released, no chg. Case closed by Det. w/o chgs., 8/26/04.

(Story continues at YEAST.)

ROBERT MUGABE, PRESIDENT OF ZIMBABWE, arrives to consult the ORACLE

2004-08-28T14:27:00.000-05:00

At the U.S.-Mexico border, 11:35 PM. The VEHICLE has arrived in a Jeep, driven by her friend MARIE AMIE's boyfriend, DAN DOCE. The Jeep's headlights are on, aimed across the border 22 miles west of Calexico. Thus far they are not illuminating anything noteworthy, though the Vehicle thinks she saw a pair of eyes, animal eyes, as they pulled up, and so is nervous, and staying close to the Jeep.

The Vehicle is in a red skirt, with matching flats and a silvery blouse, as Doce promised that they could go out dancing or something afterward and she wanted to be dressed appropriately. These plans are now probably off the table, since Doce is pissed at the world right now, having just gotten some news about his future he didn't care to hear from the Vehicle's vagina, which walks (with assistance) and talks (unexpectedly) and delivers the cold hard truth to anyone brave enough to ask (sometimes reluctantly). Said vagina, purchased and installed by employees of Supralute, of La Mesa, CA (since purchased by the Humbumpa Corporation of Singapore for a song, Supralute's stock price having gone down like Andrew Sullivan on an Abercrombie and Fitch model stuffed full of dollar bills), is now known as the ORACLE.

Only the Oracle actually needs to be here for the meeting. Agents of the Zimbabwean government, acting on behalf of its President and strongman [N.B.: not "dictator"] Robert Mugabe, arranged the meeting with the Oracle by telephone a week ago. However, the Oracle is housed in the body of the Vehicle, so the Vehicle had to come, and the Vehicle doesn't have a way to get to remote locations along the border, so various favors were called in to get Dan Doce to drive her in his remote-location-capable Jeep. DOCE is sulking, and finishing off a bag of Skittles next to the Jeep. The Vehicle is on the U.S. side of the border, looking through the fence toward the Mexican side and hoping very much not to attract any undue attention from Border Patrol agents, or wild animals. Mugabe's agents insisted on the location. It might, the Vehicle is realizing, have been more sensible to actually cross the border into Mexico and go around, as the current arrangement means that everyone is going to have to shout through the fence, which will attract attention if anyone else happens to be nearby. Also the Vehicle doesn't like when the ORACLE shouts: it gives her a queasy sensation like standing too close to a stereo speaker which is throbbing with bass, and she is already slightly motion-sick from the ride here.

Enter Robert Mugabe, on the Mexican side of the border, in a military vehicle borrowed from the Mexican government. His (armed, Mexican) driver stops and turns off the engine.

Mugabe [shouting throughout]: This is hardly the way to begin a meeting. Your attire is most offensive.

Oracle [shouting throughout]: The color red does not have the same connotation here. No insult is intended.

Mugabe: I fail to see –

Oracle: It does not signify sympathy for your political opponents, the Movement for Democratic Change. It signifies, literally, nothing.

Mugabe: And what if I don't believe you?

Oracle: Then you may return to your country without asking your question. Please. There are many changes happening in my own life, many things requiring my attention. Our time is extremely limited.

Mugabe: I have no questions.

Oracle: Then you have wasted our time. But come on, your country is in free-fall. Nearly two million infected by HIV, roughly one in four working-age adults. Two hundred twenty people die of AIDS daily. The median life expectancy has fallen to twenty-seven. Three-quarters of your citizens live in poverty. Malnutrition is widespread, as is violence. Most AIDS patients in your country have family living nearby, often in the same city, but the families abandon victims, do not provide for them, do not visit them, out of fear. Your medical infrastructure is broken: equipment fails, workers leave. Advocates for change in government are beaten and killed. Surely you must have some questions.

Mugabe: I am sure it isn't as bad as you say. Our farming, for example, this year we have an agricultural surplus.

Oracle: That is not true.

Mugabe: I am certain it is. We have declined food assistance from the World Food Program, though we are very grateful for their offer.

Oracle: You forget that I am the Oracle. I have complete knowledge of everything that is happening right now. And I am telling you that you do not have the food with which to feed your people. Many will starve and die.

Mugabe: Dying is a part of life. I do not seek counsel on how to prevent dying. I am not so naïve. You are not God. Only God has power over life and death.

Oracle: Let's talk torture and assassination, then.

Mugabe: I don't think there is torture and assassination in my country. You have some issues with torture yourself, I believe. Zimbabwe has no more torture and murder than any other country.

Oracle: But you do. Most of it by your orders, or the orders of those in power. Leaders of the MDC, assassinated by your orders, for example.

Mugabe: No, no. We are a happy country. We are prosperous. I admit that there is a slight problem with AIDS. I have personally lost family members, cabinet members. But the infection rate is declining already, and we have vast resources dedicated to the problem. Antiretroviral drugs are available, thanks in part to your own United States of America. In June you provided $280,000,000 with which to purchase these drugs. You will save many lives.

Oracle: But that $280,000,000 is only sufficient to treat 10,000 people. You have one hundred eighty times that many patients. What will you do for them?

Mugabe: We will help them, of course. You talk as though because we are an African nation, we must be a third world country. I tell you this is not the case. We thrive. We have a very healthy economy, and a population which cares deeply about the suffering of those with HIV. Our literacy rate is over eighty-five percent, among adults. Does this sound to you like a third-world country?

Oracle: I have met with many politicians. Do you know this?

Mugabe (impatient): Your reputation precedes you, yes.

Oracle: I have met with the heads of state, and heads of business, from many countries. And yet you are the only one who makes me wish that I could weep. [VEHICLE hangs head. DOCE eats another handful of Skittles.] Your denial is so complete, and so encompassing, that you condemn millions of your countrymen to death, in order to sate your ego, and you will do much more damage to your people before you yourself die. Why come here? Why come to me, if you claim there is no problem? Why drag us out into the desert to converse when you have nothing to ask?

Mugabe: I came to see America. To see the land of your so-called freedom, which I have heard so much about. Your problem is that you are thinking white. Why must white people always think white? Always concentrating on the bad things. Always afraid of your terrorists and your boogymen. Always wanting to fix things which are none of your business. Always wanting to stick your white noses into other people's business.

Oracle: It's not so much thinking white as just, you know, thinking. We value the lives of your countrymen more, it would seem, than you do.

Mugabe: You value them? You value them? You are monsters.

Oracle: Well I personally might be a little, I could see the word monstrous, maybe, what with all the recombinant DNA and such, but –

Mugabe: I come to America, to look at it, to see the land which says, oh, we are white, we have all the answers, we can fix your broken country, and I listen to the radio on the way here. Do you know what I heard?

Oracle: .

Mugabe: I hear advertisements for food without carbohydrates. I see that man [points to DOCE] eating sugar pellets with no nutritive value. I see you dressed in your shiny red clothing, driving your shiny car, paying money to people to put you on diets and teach you how not to consume so much that you become obese. I hear advertisements for debt relief, for weight loss, for whiter teeth. You value my people? You value life? Then why do you spend money to invade Iraq and kill people, when the same money could buy antiretroviral drugs for all the people you claim have HIV in my country twice over?¹ Either you do not believe Zimbabwe suffers as you claim, you look the other way because Zimbabwe is a black nation, or you are all monsters. 'By their fruits, you shall know them.'² 'Then shall the righteous answer him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee hungered, and fed thee? or thirsty, and gave thee drink? When saw we thee a stranger, and took thee in? or naked, and clothed thee? Or when saw we thee sick, or in prison, and came unto thee? And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.'³

Mugabe: You think we are starving to death, but someone who promises to teach you how not to eat can become wealthy? What do you do with all your food? No. I say, America says there is no problem, I do not personally experience the problem, my advisers tell me there is no problem, therefore, there is no problem. Take your empty moralizing, your empty threats of catastrophe, your obese hypocritical fear, to someone who still believes that you are good, cunt. I curse your country. I place a curse on your country in the name of God. May you suffer God's punishment as God used to inflict it: slavery for slavery, famine for famine, plague for plague, bomb for bomb. Then we will see whether you have spoken the truth about my country. Then we will see. Don't weep for Zimbabwe. Don't weep for Robert Mugabe.

[EXEUNT MUGABE]

[VEHICLE looks stricken. DOCE continues to munch Skittles. She walks back to the Jeep.]

DOCE: Hey. About what I said before. If you still want a bottle of water.

[VEHICLE and DOCE get into Jeep and drive away.]

EXEUNT

¹ Hey, do the math yourself. -J.G.

² Matthew 7:16.

³ Check out Matthew 25:31-45, and notice that verse 32 implies that the dividing will be done on a national level.

To learn about what Oxfam has been doing to relieve hunger in Zimbabwe recently, or to donate, click here.

Please e-mail Jessi if you have information regarding other charities doing work on famine and/or AIDS in Africa, Zimbabwe in particular.

For more about Mugabe, keeping in mind that he is totally not a dictator: click here. By which point you should have the general idea.

(Story continues at OFFICER SETH ADEUX)

The STATES OF NEBRASKA, IOWA, and MINNESOTA arrive to consult the ORACLE

2004-08-28T01:02:00.000-05:00

A stage with four chairs, each spotlit. The chairs are arranged in semicircular fashion around a circular table. From left: 1) a spare, hard, straightback chair, in black, with some sort of hand-fashioned cushion on it, tied to the chair at the corners. 2) A comfortable recliner, ideally in light blue. 3) A metal folding chair, tan. 4) A wooden rocking chair. The table holds four glasses, four mugs, a pitcher of ice water, and a coffee pot.

The VEHICLE, previously a man by the name of Edmund Ludens, emerges from stage right and takes her place in the metal folding chair. Edmund Ludens became a woman a few months ago. Or, rather, had been becoming a woman over a period of time, what with hormone treatments and electrolysis and much cross-dressing and suchlike. Though she skipped the breast implants, because she could only afford one without cutting into the money for her sex-change operation, in which a pre-fabricated Supralute Vagina was placed in her body where her penis used to be, and a single breast is kind of worse than none at all. The Supralute Vagina came in three colors: the standard pink, and then also blue or green, which it goes without saying that most Supralute customers are, like Edmund, traditionalists, and go with pink. Though the green also sells well in the more environmentally-focused parts of California.

The state of IOWA, in the person of an old man, ideally someone in his seventies, and relatively non-threatening in appearance, appears from behind the curtains at the back of the stage. He is wearing bib overalls, attached to which is a large purple foam cutout of an Iowa map. There may also be spectacles, if desired. He takes his place in the wooden rocking chair next to the Vehicle.

The Vehicle is so named because she is the means by which the real star of our show, the ORACLE, gets around. Though this is not to devalue the Vehicle in any way. The ORACLE talks to people and tells them the truth, or whatever version of the truth they are willing to hear, because although she was at one time only a non-verbal Supralute Vagina, in the rather ordinary pink hue, no less, since her installation in the Vehicle, something wonderful has happened, and she is able to talk.

The state of NEBRASKA, in the person of another old man, about fifty-five, and somewhat larger and heavier than IOWA but in the same basic bib-overalls-wearing mode, emerges from stage left and takes his seat in the straightback chair. The Nebraska map on his overalls is made of red foam, and is to scale with IOWA’s map.

The Oracle’s verbosity comes at a price, of course, as all such things do: the Vehicle, who previously was not exceptional save for her internal, unshakable sense of her own gender, however at odds with her body or chromosomes this may have been, has fallen mute since waking up after the surgery. There is rampant speculation, most of it the Vehicle’s own, that if she were able to select a new name for herself, the muteness would go away, and the Oracle would once more fall silent, which consequences have all sorts of ramifications and sometimes give the Vehicle a bit of a headache, to think about.

The state of MINNESOTA, in the person of a fifty-year-old woman, somewhat heavyset but not grotesquely so, emerges from stage right. A blue foam map of Minnesota is attached to the front of her floral-print dress, and sets off the print very nicely, by the way. She sits in the remaining chair, the recliner. The stage lights come up all the way as she does so.

Oracle: This is unusually formal. Mostly people just accost the Vehicle wherever she happens to be and start firing questions.

Iowa: That may be how they do things out in L.A., I guess. People in the Midwest believe in being neighborly. Ice water? Coffee?

Oracle: Coffee, I guess. [IOWA pours coffee.] On behalf of the Vehicle, thank you. This get-together is your idea?

Iowa: [shrugs] More or less. [to NEBRASKA and MINNESOTA:] And you guys?

Nebraska: Nothing for me, thanks.

Minnesota: Sure. Water. [IOWA pours water.]

Iowa: Should have known, all them lakes you got. [winks]

[MINNESOTA smiles ambiguously.]

Nebraska: Lotta peein’, though. [MINNESOTA frowns.]

Oracle: Well this is very nice.

Iowa: Yep.

[silence for a couple beats]

Nebraska: Been hot.

Minnesota (enthusiastically): Oh it sure has.

Iowa [to NEBRASKA]: Got your corn out yet?

Nebraska: Just about.

Minnesota: You see George Dubya when he came through?

Nebraska: Nope. He didn’t stop for me. Spent all his time with you two.

Minnesota: Well that’s a shame.

Nebraska: [shrugs] Don’t change nothing. I knew where my vote was going already.

Oracle: Where?

Nebraska: To Bush, acourse. Who else would I vote for?

Oracle: I don’t know. Kerry? Elders?

Nebraska: Well no offense, but I’d like a President who did more than just choke the chicken all day.

Iowa: [to NEBRASKA] Tell you what. I’ve been married for close to fifty years, and I’m pretty sure, on the basis of that, that women don’t have a, chicken to choke. As such.

Nebraska: I meant Kerry.

Minnesota (uncomfortable): I like Kerry pretty well. He seems like a nice guy.

Nebraska: Well sure, if you like baby-killing Taxachusetts liberals like Ted Kennedy. Or if you want to go marry a woman.

Iowa (concerned): I . . . he kills babies?

Minnesota: [to IOWA] He means pro-choice. [to ORACLE] Nebraska listens to a lot of Rush, you see. Speaking of which, [to NEBRASKA] what’s he had to say about that Oxycontin business, Rush? How drugged up does somebody have to be before they can no longer occupy the moral high ground?

Nebraska: He hasn’t said a damn thing more than he needed to. Had a problem with prescription painkillers, his life got a little out of hand, he went to rehab. Ain’t none of my business what his personal problems are.

Minnesota: I just wish you could have been that enlightened when Monica Lewinsky was in the news.

Iowa: Speaking of drugs, has anybody noticed that Kansas is acting kind of weird lately?

Nebraska: Well Clinton was an elected representative of the United States. Rush is just one little, kinda persecuted guy with a radio show.

Oracle: I might have to differ with your use of the words “little” and “persecuted.”

Minnesota: [to IOWA] ‘Lately?’ Kansas has always been about half a bubble off. [to NEBRASKA] One poor little persecuted multimillionaire who was spending ten grand a day on dope.

Oracle: I’m really going to have to interject. What I’m getting is that we’re here to talk about the upcoming election, and everybody’s votes therein?

Iowa: Mmm-hmm.

Oracle: So we’re interested in things like the economy, and job growth. Health care, foreign affairs. The big stuff.

Nebraska: I don’t know about any of that. What I do know is that George Bush can keep this country safe from the terrorists. And no goddamned abortion-doctor feminazi tax-and-spend gay-marriage French-speaking pushover Democrat can do that. I want my tax cuts --

Minnesota: Your tax cuts? What kind of tax cuts did you get? ‘Cause I haven’t seen anything.

Nebraska: Yeah, well, you didn’t see nothing because you’re run by a buncha tax-and-spend liberals who take all the money.

Minnesota (to NEBRASKA): You take that back, you . . . unicameral freak.

Nebraska (to MINNESOTA): Aw, go drool on some half-naked pro wrestler.

Minnesota: Oh! [turns away from NEBRASKA]

Iowa: I never saw much in the way of tax cuts either.

Nebraska: Well, all due respect, there, you’re almost as bad as this one. You got your Democratic Governor with the name like a pickle, Vlasick, or whatever –

Iowa: Vilsack.

Nebraska: Well and I bet he’s wanting to spend all your money on them gays, right? Gays, and affirmative action for all them Mexicans you bring up to pick crops, send a buncha folks don’t speak-o the Engleesh to University. You need to just get a decent Governor, somebody who’ll reward people who do an honest day’s work and don’t go around asking for government handouts all the time.

Iowa: Well, okay, but that still doesn’t explain why I never saw any tax money. Bush said he’d cut me a break, and I got one check for $300, and I’m still waitin’ for the rest.

Nebraska: Well then it’s all them liberals in Congress.

Oracle: Both houses of Congress are controlled by the Republicans, and have been for two years. The White House is in Republican hands for the last four. The Supreme Court’s mainly Republican appointments since forever. Exactly how much more power do you think the Republicans need to have before they’re in a position to do what you want them to do?

Nebraska: .

Oracle: I mean, how much longer is it going to work to blame the Democrats for all your problems? The country’s run by Republicans, your Governor is a Republican, as are all your state officials, your Legislature is officially non-partisan but most of the Senators have Republican positions on everything and an awful lot of them were active in the Republican party before their election. So if you’re not living in a Republican paradise, then how can you possibly blame it on liberals?

Nebraska: Well, Rush says --

Oracle: [to MINNESOTA and IOWA] Work it out. I’m going.

[exeunt ORACLE, VEHICLE]

Iowa: Well.

Minnesota: I have to say, I was expecting something a little more polite.

Iowa: It’s because she’s from L.A.

Nebraska: They’re so high-strung out there.

Minnesota: People from California can be kind of flakey.

Iowa: I hear some of them don’t even eat pork.

Nebraska: Big Muslim population.

Iowa: No. I mean, no meat at all. And sometimes [whispering] no dairy.

[all ponder]

Nebraska: Yep. She’s probably one of them. I noticed there was something kinda off about her.

Minnesota: Besides how she used to be a man?

Nebraska: [baffled look]

[Lights drop.]

EXEUNT

(Story continues at ROBERT MUGABE.)

MADONNA arrives to consult the ORACLE

2004-08-27T18:03:00.000-05:00

The VEHICLE’s duplex, noonish. The VEHICLE is reading the booklet that came with her new deck of Tarot cards, which she bought yesterday. The ORACLE, the VEHICLE’s vagina and only accidental brush with fame so far (unless you count when she got in the paper for winning a junior archery tournament when she was fourteen, and a boy), doesn’t seem to be doing much of anything. Often the ORACLE doesn’t.

One of the annoying things about the Tarot deck is that every card seems to be capable of meaning pretty much anything. The booklet explains that this is a matter of interpretation, and practice, and experience. Why, thinks the VEHICLE, don’t people who write Tarot deck booklets bother to cut to the chase a bit, and just explain what they’ve learned from their own interpretation, practice and experience, if they’re going to be writing a how-to booklet. The whole thing smells a bit like a scam. But then it’s possible, thinks the VEHICLE, that the Tarot wouldn’t have much to say to her anyway. Presumably there’s not an ORACLE card. Or if there is, it wouldn’t be taking the form of a genetically engineered Supralute vagina, which talks.

Unless it were a very hip Tarot deck.

It’s been a while between consultations to the ORACLE, which at one point were pretty frequent, and meant that the VEHICLE (whose male name was EDMUND LUDENS) had a difficult time doing normal things that the rest of us take for granted, like showering, or doing laundry, or keeping up with her rent. But then the Schwarzenegger thing happened, and since then, there hasn't been as much activity. She supposes she scared them off.

Anyway. The VEHICLE turns a card over just for the hell of it. The Queen of Pentacles. Well, whatever.

It’s when half-naked men start climbing over the back privacy fence that she realizes that there’s probably another consultee on the way. The men are in speedos, either teal or pinkish-purple, and they are all, needless to say, very fit. And moisturized, from the looks of it. Possibly some spray-on tanning products are involved. There are six of them in all, who line up in the back along the privacy fence in the order teal-pink-teal-pink-teal-pink. The VEHICLE’s mind is racing. Who will the consultee be this time? Siegfried and Roy, perhaps? Well no, it'd just be Siegfried, she supposes. It’d be a bit flashy for him, but (oh dear God please let it be) Rupert Everett? Cher? Nathan Lane?

But when the knock on the front door comes (so why send the bimboys over the fence? wonders the VEHICLE), and it’s only MADONNA, the VEHICLE is a little disappointed. And then she realizes that this was bound to happen sooner or later, so she sighs and leaves MADONNA behind, and goes to the kitchen to make a sandwich.

Madonna: So, hey. Querent right here. We gonna talk?

Oracle [shouting from kitchen]: If you like. What is your question?

[VEHICLE holds stomach briefly, then takes bread out of freezer and opens refrigerator door]

Madonna: Actually I was more interested in talking to the Vehicle, no offense.

[VEHICLE pulls head out of the refrigerator, looking somewhat alarmed]

Madonna: Yeah, you. Hi. I’m a big fan.

[VEHICLE looks puzzled]

Madonna: I tried calling Kathy Najimy to find out what the deal was, and she started going on about vaginaburgers or something. And I was like, wow, you are incredibly disgusting. Buh-bye. So I thought I’d just come here. You have a cute place. Very Martha Stewart, but without the bogus insider trading shit. I’ll only be a little while.

[VEHICLE sighs, puts bread back in freezer]

Madonna: But oh. You’re getting ready to eat lunch, right? You want to go somewhere? I’ll take you to lunch. My treat. There’s a great place kinda close. Vegan. Or we could go to Spago’s. You wanna go to Spago’s? One call, five minutes, we could be there.

[VEHICLE shrugs]

Madonna: You want to go someplace cooler than Spago's. That’s fine. That’s good. I appreciate a woman who’s tough in negotiations. Give me just a couple seconds. [Madonna produces cell phone, dials.] Brent. Hi. Need to get into that vegan place. We’re leaving now. [closes phone] Okay, well, we should get going. [shouting to SPEEDO MEN:] C’mon, bitches, we’re getting lunch.

[SPEEDO MEN come through patio doors.]

Madonna [to one of the SPEEDO MEN]: Maybe not anything for you, though, Jefe. You’re incredibly fat. You can do crunches in the parking lot while we eat. Okay, kids, we’re rolling.

[MADONNA, VEHICLE, and SPEEDO MEN exit the duplex. A white SUV with blackout windows is in front of the house; two SPEEDO MEN get in front, one holds the door open for MADONNA and VEHICLE to get in the middle row of seats, then the remaining four SPEEDO MEN get in the very back, the last one closing the door behind him.]

Madonna: Whew. Some AC would be nice. [to VEHICLE:] Bottled water? It’s cold, I promise.

[VEHICLE nods. MADONNA hands her a bottle of water.]

Madonna: [to driver SPEEDO MAN] We’re going to the vegan place. Ideally today. [SUV begins to move]

Madonna: [to VEHICLE] So. You’re the Vehicle. You know, you’re like the hottest thing on two legs right now. Everybody is talking about you. How’s that working out?

[VEHICLE mimes being choked to death.]

Madonna: Oh I know. Fame’s such a bitch. But it beats being nobody, am I right? [pause] Oh. I should probably get you a pen or something. I forgot that you don’t talk. Felipe, pen. [SPEEDO MAN in front passenger seat gets pen from glove compartment, passes it back.] I don’t think I have any paper, though. Um. Oh! I know. You can write on Jefe. Jefe, drape yourself over the seat between us here. [JEFE does so from the back seat.] More environmentally responsible anyway. It washes off, and no trees have to die.

[VEHICLE stares at JEFE’s back.]

Madonna: So where’d you get this vagina of yours?

[VEHICLE writes “SUPRAluTE” on Jefe’s back.]

Madonna: And it works okay? I mean, aside from the talking, it works like a normal vagina?

[VEHICLE writes “?”]

Madonna: You know. You can get it on with the guys. Or girls. Whatever.

[VEHICLE writes “DoN’t know. CELIbatE.”]

Madonna: Oh, honey. Well, but you’re right. Who needs sex when you’ve got a fucking Oracle. Some holes shouldn’t be plugged. Like there was this one time when I, I must have just been a kid, it seems like forever ago, and I’d had God knows what to drink, and a terrific amount of coke and God knows what all else, and I wound up in bed with this guy who – I swear his dick had to have been just microscopic, and I was so out of it that I was thinking maybe we could have nasal sex, ‘cause he was so tiny. And then he came right as he was getting it up there, and I was so surprised that he came, I inhaled, and so I had cum in my sinuses for, like, weeks. It was horrible.

[VEHICLE: wide-eyed look.]

Madonna: Okay, I made some of that up. But I really did have cum in my sinuses for a few weeks, a long time ago. Long, long time. People will believe anything about me, sexually speaking, and I like to fuck with people’s heads. But anyway. So I was thinking – do you think –

[SUV goes over bump; all in car jerk around]

Madonna: Holy fuck, Steve. Trying to have a conversation here. Now I’ve lost my train of thought. Um. No. Okay, so I was thinking, you know, if one vagina is fun, then maybe two would be even better. Do you think there’d be room for me to put in my own Oracle? A regular vagina on one side, and then a second, oracular, vagina, on the other?

[VEHICLE looking doubtful]

Madonna: No, you’re right. Birth canal. I mean, I’m probably done having kids anyway, but I could see how there’d be problems. And God knows I don’t want a c-section. It’s like, hi, I’m Madonna, and I’m world-famous but I’ve got this big honking scar across my stomach and two vaginas. No thanks. But let’s get back to how hip you are. Have you ever been in a music video?

[VEHICLE shakes head.]

Madonna: Do you play a musical instrument of any kind? Or, well, I guess you wouldn’t really have to. Would you want to pretend to play a musical instrument in a video for my next album?

[VEHICLE: blank look]

Madonna: Or, hell, all the videos on my next album. I’m thinking of doing a sort of thematic thing anyway. I’ve got some very talented people working on some songs about the Oracle right now. Does the Oracle ever sing? And when she does, is it hot?

[VEHICLE writes “SHOw TuNES.”]

Madonna: Oh. That’s not what I had in mind. [pause] It just seems like the show tunes thing is kind of tired. I mean, that big swing revival they were talking about lasted what, like five seconds? I don’t think retro is the way to go. But hey, you know, whatever you want, I mean, Maverick would put it out there. You're the boss. ‘Course I really don’t want to have to compete with another singer; they can do some amazing shit with electronics but maybe it’d be better to just have the Oracle lip-synch, for the videos. Maybe a sample, get the Oracle sampled electronically and then loop it on the track. But the buzz on you is amazing, have I said? People are expecting some fantastic shit to happen. Somebody said you were backing Joycelyn Elders for President, I mean, how fabulous is that? Not just a woman, but a black woman. If only she were a lesbian, am I right? Of course I’m right, I'm the boss. Oh, shit, we're here.

[All emerge from the SUV and line up behind MADONNA as they enter the restaurant.]

Madonna (to MAITRE D'): Madonna, table for seven.

Maitre d': Of course. But . . . I count eight.

Madonna: Jefe. Parking lot. Crunches. Steve, you've been promoted to note pad, for your shitty driving. [to MAITRE D':] Seven. By a window. [to VEHICLE, as they're being seated:] Maybe I should just whack off these guys' dicks and go with it. Have my own transgenic transgender backup Oracular singer/dancers. Can the Oracle still talk when you're moving?

[VEHICLE, after some seating adjustment, writes, "POORly."]

Madonna: Maybe more of an "Addicted to Love" kind of look, then. Naked hunky guys kind of swaying gently, in the background.

[VEHICLE writes, "MIght AS welL FAce iT"]

Madonna: But find some way to make it different. Envelopes to be pushed. Maybe leather harnesses. Have I already done leather harnesses? God, why can't I remember? You'd think you'd remember your first leather harness video. I'll ask Brent later. But so you're on board? Ready to work with me? I'll pay you barrels of cash, of course.

[VEHICLE writes, "LOTS? in bUndLEs?"]

Madonna: Sure. Whatever you want. Hey, what's the deal with some of the letters being in caps and some in lowercase?

[VEHICLE writes, "CAPITalizAtiON Is hARd. can't Go fAst. MistakES."]

Madonna: Oh. I never use lowercase, personally. But whatever. Let's order, if the waiter ever shows up, and then we'll draw something up and get it signed in the next couple days. Garçon!

[VEHICLE writes, "Need tO aSk orAcLE. SHY. Later."]

Madonna: Of course. I'm sure the Oracle knows about my support for the transsexual and transgendered community. You know, I was the one who made people like you mainstream, in the early 90s. My "Vogue" video.

[WAITER appears.]

Madonna: Seven of these. Thanks. No bread.

[VEHICLE writes, "fEtiSHy UrbAN MINorIty DraG"]

Madonna: Yes. You know, they had an amazing subculture going, with the voguing thing. Invented it entirely on their own, these inner city queers without a lot to live for, and they created this beautiful culture, this style of dancing all their own. I sent some of my people in to check it out, and the rest is history. Now everybody thinks of it as something I came up with, and of my video, but really it was all about these kids. I could do the same thing for you.

[VEHICLE writes, "ThAt's GREAt foR yOu."]

Madonna: Oh. That was rude of me. Did you want bread? I could make them bring bread.

[VEHICLE shakes head.]

Madonna: So can you play the tambourine, then? Let's really talk about this.

EXEUNT

(Story continues at THE STATES OF NEBRASKA, IOWA, AND MINNESOTA.)

JUSTINE DEDE LOMBARD, CNN/Time journalist, talks to MEDIC WALLY ‘BOLA’ PEREZ in Iraq

2004-08-25T18:17:00.000-05:00

Iraq, day. A U.S. base near Baghdad. LOMBARD is accompanied by a number of lighting, makeup, and camera techs, who are all already in place and fussing around with various pieces of equipment as the scene opens. The TECHS’ dialogue will be mouthed, not spoken, as they are not on-camera and therefore have nothing relevant to say to the world. Actors playing the Techs may invent their own ‘dialogue’ to mouth, or just mime some sort of generic speaking. It really doesn’t matter. LOMBARD is self-important and kind of unfriendly, much as anyone to whom entirely too much attention gets paid, day in and day out, might be. She’s here for the story, the story being, in this case, to interview a number of soldiers and then splice the tapes together into a coherent whole which tells the story of American Troops Courageously Liberating Iraq. WALLY ‘BOLA’ PEREZ is the third of five such soldiers, and is already present, in uniform, waiting to be spoken to, somewhat off to the side.

Lombard: [laughs] The things we do for fame, right? Bet Bob never had to do anything like this.

Lighting Tech: “ ”

Lombard: Yeah, well, Bob can suck my cock. Do we have any dirt?

Makeup Tech: “ ”

Lombard: Not too much. Suggesting is all. Hardship. Burnt cork. Adverse circumstances.

Lighting Tech: “ ”

Lombard: Whatever. We linked?

Camera Tech: “ ”

Lombard: Well okay. Not on the nose, it makes it look crooked. Lemme see. [Makeup Tech picks up mirror.] We ready?

Camera Tech: “ ”

Lombard: I suppose we’ll reshoot if we have to. They said five o’clock, but they didn’t say which time zone. It’ll be short anyway. [to PEREZ:] Ready?

Perez: Yes ma’am.

Lombard: Or maybe they said which time zone and I just didn’t write it down. [to PEREZ:] I’m sorry, I’m really much more organized than this usually. I appreciate your waiting. Did you shower?

Perez: Ma’am?

Lombard: Did. You. Shower. You’re supposed to be fresh from the front. That’s the story we’re doing.

Perez: I’m sorry. Any other day the last two weeks --

Lombard: God. Terri? A little dirt for our boy here, too. Thanks. In five, four, three. I’m here with Wally Perez, an Army medic with the 3rd Infantry Division here in Iraq. Wally, what can you tell us about the morale of the troops here?

Perez: Everybody got this broken feeling like their father or their dog just died.

Lombard: Everybody knows the war is over? That Iraq is no longer under occupation?

Perez: Everybody knows that the boat is leaking. Everybody knows the captain lied. What about things back home? We can’t get enough about what things are like back home. Some of the people here who were in the first Gulf War, they say there used to be more, there was more news from folks. Like we’ve been forgotten over here. So what’s home like?

Lombard [shrugs]: Yellow ribbons and bows. Old Black Joe’s still picking cotton. Everybody talking to their pockets. The poor stay poor, the rich get rich.

Perez: But everybody remembers we’re here, right?

Lombard: Everybody knows.

Perez: Everybody knows? I’ve seen so much death, legs blown off. Mutilated civilians.

Lombard: You live forever.

Perez: Tell that to the guys I’ve lost.

Lombard: What would you guys like to be getting over here?

Perez: Everybody wants a box of chocolates and a long-stemmed rose.

Lombard: Might not transport well. It’s what, 114 degrees here?

Perez: I think they said 105. Depends on how much shade.

Lombard: Still enough to melt and wilt. By the time it gets here. But look. Everybody knows that you’re in trouble. But I’m more interested in kind of an upbeat angle for this piece. Is there anything you’d like to say to somebody back home?

Perez: Well I’d like to say hi to my wife. Cindy: Everybody knows that you love me baby. Everybody knows that you really do.

Lombard: That’s sweet.

Perez: [shrugs]

Lombard: And when you get orders to move out, what’s the feeling like then? Is there excitement?

Perez: Some, sure. There’s a lot of boredom, when we’re just waiting around for orders. So when orders come it’s kind of a relief. I’m seeing a lot of anxiety too, but, you know, everybody rolls out with their fingers crossed, and mostly everybody makes it back.

Lombard [nodding]: What was your last mission like?

Perez: The good guys lost. I don’t really want to talk about it.

Lombard: So you’re saying that morale is at sort of a critical point.

Perez: I’m saying, take one last look at this before it blows. We write letters, we cry, we yell, and nothing happens. Is this about the anti-war movement? Do people just not care what happens to us ‘cause they’re against us, against the war?

Lombard: I couldn’t really say. I haven’t personally talked to anyone who was against the war. I don’t think there were really that many of them, frankly. But I’m sure it’ll get better. Everybody knows that it’s moving fast.

Perez: .

Lombard: Okay, well, thank you very much. I doubt I’ll be coming back. Everybody knows this scene is dead. They’re talking up Iran now.

Perez: But the piece you’re doing here. That will disclose. . . .

Lombard: Oh, but everybody knows. Pieces about the troops are kind of an artifact of the past. I’m being punished for something I said to our assignment coordinator, Mitzi. Called her a bitch. [to LIGHTING TECH:] But she is a bitch, am I right?

Lighting Tech: “ ”

Lombard: I should move on. It’s been wonderful talking to you though. Wish you all the best.

Perez: So many people you just have to meet.

Lombard: Had to meet. I’m not really getting much of an upbeat angle here. I might not file the story. Thanks again. You were great. Very photogenic, too. [to CAMERA TECH:] He looks good on camera, I bet. Maybe a voiceover. Cut. We’re rolling.

EXEUNT

(With love to Leonard Cohen.)

(Story continues at MADONNA.)

RIMI PETERS and MARIE AMIE FALCON arrive in the BLUE ROOM

2004-08-25T18:04:00.000-05:00

When last we saw RIMI PETERS and MARIE AMIE FALCON (“With a long “O,” please.”), Marie Amie had brought a shoebox to Rimi, at which point (to quote from Pastel Pansy’s account):

“Rimi opens the box and a sterile light surrounds her and Marie. They seem to become images that have fallen out of a television and spilled on the carpet, like wine stains. They are being ground in. They are becoming part of everybody’s capacity for pleasure. Superduper pleasures are harder to remembers. High heels cop a feel on a plea.”

As the scene opens, Rimi and Marie Amie find themselves in a smallish room, very brightly lit, in which everything is a blue monochrome like on a black-and-white television set. The set could be a den, possibly, or a living room, or a family room. Are those just different names for the same room, or are there distinct differences? All the objects in the room are blue, in varying shades, and the lighting is very bright, pale blue, and omnidirectional. There should be no pronounced shadows. A large photo of JOYCELYN ELDERS is hanging on the wall at the back of the room, over a blue couch. An end table to stage right of the couch holds a lamp. There is a coffee table in front of the couch, with a bouquet of forget-me-nots and bachelor’s buttons in a vase. An old-fashioned rotary phone hangs on the wall to stage left of the couch, next to a door.

Rimi: What the fuck did you do? What was that?

Marie Amie: I don’t know. This isn’t what I was expecting.

A youngish woman in a leather jacket emerges from the door at stage left. She is kind of short. Blonde, straight hair, down to about her shoulder blades. Blue jeans.

Youngish Woman: Hey.

Marie Amie: Hey yourself.

Rimi: Who are you? What the fuck happened? Where are we? Is this a dream? Am I dead?

Youngish Woman: [holds up hands as if to block the inquiries] Um. You have questions. I get that. But first, relax. You’re fine. Everything’s going to be fine. I promise.

Marie Amie [to YOUNGISH WOMAN]: Let’s talk about your clothes.

Youngish Woman: Let’s don’t. Let’s talk about you two.

Marie Amie: Okay, look, no offense, but I don’t know you, I don’t like how I got here, and this makes me think that maybe I don’t like you either. So if you’re expecting me to tell you about my life story, where I grew up and all that David Copperfield crap, then I’m thinking you’re going to be disappointed.

Youngish Woman: “David Copperfield crap?”

Marie Amie: I quote when I’m nervous.

Youngish Woman: I didn’t mean let’s talk about you two in that sense anyway. This isn’t about your past, it’s about your future, and about the world you’re living in.

Rimi: [exchanges look with MARIE AMIE]

Youngish Woman: How do you feel about the world?

Marie Amie: Does it matter?

Youngish Woman: You know, the sooner you answer my questions, the sooner I’ll be able to answer yours. And then we can get on with it.

Marie Amie: God. What a bitch. Okay, fine. The world is . . . it’s the world. There are cars, and clothes, and countries, and computers. Same as it ever was. What’s to feel about it?

Youngish Woman: Is it a place you like to live in?

Marie Amie: As compared to what?

Youngish Woman: Can you imagine a better world?

Marie Amie: Oh God yes. You know those blue jeans people are buying, that are all pre-faded and look dirty all the time even when they’re new? I hate those.

Youngish Woman: Why?

Marie Amie: Why? Because the people who wear them are all pretending to be people they’re not. They’re pretending to be all gritty and realistic like they live in some kind of postapocalyptic wasteland –

Rimi: Or maybe they ride lots of horses.

Marie Amie: -- or maybe they ride lots of horses --.

Rimi: Or maybe the same horse repeatedly.

Marie Amie: [shoots look at RIMI] Can I finish the thought? Or, um, whatever, they’re pretending to be realistic and urban, or rural, or whatever, and yet the fact that they can afford the jeans in the first place means that they live in some boring suburban place just like everybody else does. It’s totally fake, and it doesn’t even look nice, it’s just somebody somewhere found a way to convince people to buy jeans that looked worn out even when they were brand new.

Youngish Woman: So your idea of a better world is a world in which pre-grunged blue jeans don’t exist?

Marie Amie: I’d also like to see this whole low-carb diet thing go away.

Youngish Woman: And Rimi? What about you?

Rimi: I can imagine different worlds. Not necessarily better ones.

Youngish Woman: You can’t imagine a world in which, for example, you were worshipped and adored as the supreme ruler of the planet?

Rimi: Oh. Well, yes. Kind of. I guess I misunderstood the question. I thought you meant “better world” in the sense of, better for everybody, overall, not just for me specifically.

Marie Amie: A world without those crappy blue jeans would be better for everybody, overall.

Rimi: No, it’d only be better for those people who have the money to buy blue jeans.

Youngish Woman: Well, so here’s the offer. I have the power to take you out of your present world. And the question is, do you want to take me up on it or not?

Marie Amie: You have the power to kill us, and you want to know if this sounds like a good idea?

Youngish Woman: Not quite.

Marie Amie: “Nobody ever lacks a good reason for committing suicide.”

Youngish Woman: Not suicide. Not death. Just, an alternate world, if you like. A world where the rules are kind of different. You’d still exist, just not in your current universe. You might be slightly different, yourselves, depending on the decisions your alternate self had made in the past. But you wouldn’t remember ever having been anybody else, and your core self, the you of you, would be intact.

Marie Amie: And if this seems kind of pointless and stupid and we’d rather stay in our own universe?

Youngish Woman: That’s possible too. If you stay, you remember this conversation, and this place. If you don’t, you don’t. So there’s that to factor in. And this means that if one of you stayed and one of you left, the one who stayed would remember the one who’d left, even though nobody else would.

Rimi: And the down side to leaving?

Youngish Woman: There’s some nausea for the first couple hours. But, again, you’d have no memory of what you’d left, so it’d just seem like morning sickness or food poisoning or too much to drink, it wouldn’t necessarily seem anything out of the ordinary.

Rimi: What’s the point of offering this to us? Mourning or nausea – sounds pretty crappy to me.

Youngish Woman: Well, it might solve a few problems for me personally. Depending on how you decided. Which would be totally up to you. It’s mainly just about whether you think, already, that you’re living in an okay world, whether you think that it’s above the median for alternate universes or not. It’s about faith and optimism and your confidence level regarding the future, in the absence of any information about the future.

Marie Amie: Well I’m not going anywhere. I think this whole conversation is kind of crazy.

Rimi: So you’re saying that the other world might be better?

Youngish Woman: Might be better, might be worse, might be pretty much the same. Not really mine to assess.

Rimi: How different of a world are we talking?

Youngish Woman: [shrugs] However different a world could be and still adhere to the rules of natural laws. You could have more siblings, or fewer. Hitler might have won World War II. You might have been the Vehicle. The Oracle might never have happened. The U.S. might still have an agricultural economy. There might be flying cars, or people living on the moon. Could be Jeb Bush instead of George W. Could be Gore. Who can say. However many of these realities have actually happened, that’s where you’ll be.

Rimi: And when you say “actually happened,”

Youngish Woman: I mean in alternate universes. Every time you almost decide to do something and then don’t, every time you could observe something happening and don’t, an alternate universe kind of peels off of the one you’re living in and takes up independent existence somewhere.

Marie Amie: “Somewhere?”

Youngish Woman: “Somewhere” not in the sense that it occupies part of your observable world. It becomes its own observable world.

Marie Amie: Well, I made my decision. I’ll take pre-aged blue jeans, even if I hate them.

Youngish Woman: Through the door there [points to door from which she entered]. Nice to meet you.

Marie Amie: Whatever. You’re crazy, chica. I can get nauseous without any help from you, that’s for damn sure. Rimi? You coming?

Rimi: I don’t know.

Youngish Woman: Well you don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here. [exchanges look with Marie Amie, who then exits]

[phone starts ringing]

Rimi: Ring ring. Is this like in The Matrix, where if I pick up the phone I’ll be somewhere else? Can I be Carrie-Ann Moss?

Youngish Woman: It’s . . . unlikely. But hey, if it’s possible, it’ll be true somewhere.

Rimi: I can’t get over the idea that you’re trying to kill me.

[phone continues to ring]

Youngish Woman: [sighs] In a sense, I suppose I am. I prefer to think of it more when a grizzly bear comes down out of the woods and starts attacking all the animals penned up in a barn somewhere. The farmer calls animal control or whoever, and they show up and tranquilize the animal and then it wakes up miles away in a new place where it’s not a danger to the farm animals, and the farmer’s not a danger to it.

Rimi: So if I go back, I’m in some kind of danger? You’re like a guardian angel?

Youngish Woman: Not exactly. I can’t really explain. You can go back if you like. Marie Amie would be sad, I know, to lose you. I can’t really explain everything. I mean, I could, but I shouldn’t.

[phone continues to ring]

Rimi: Somebody should do something about that phone. Ring ring. Ring ring ring.

Youngish Woman: Go back to your own world through the door, or pick up the phone and see some other world. But I need to get going. I have things to do. [YOUNGISH WOMAN exits stage right]

Rimi: A grizzly bear, huh. Barns full of farm animals. Ring ring.

RIMI walks to the phone, picks up the receiver.

Voice on Phone: You have. A collect call. From.

Rimi (in recording): Rimi Peters.

Voice on Phone: Do you accept the charges?

Rimi: Yes.

The stage lights go way, way, way up. A number of lights, previously hidden throughout the set, also brighten and aim directly at the audience. Stagehands wearing very dark sunglasses come in and place new coverings over the couch, replace the photo of Elders with a mirror, remove the phone and lamp and replace it all with the décor from Rimi and Mandie’s apartment. The lights go back down, and are now somewhere between pink and gold.

Mandie [in bathrobe]: What a night.

Rimi: I’m going to be sick.

Mandie: What? You can’t be sick, you barely had anything. And anyway it was last night. Well, five hours ago.

Rimi: I’m telling you, I’m going to be sick.

Mandie: Well get in the bathroom, then. We’ve got to be to work in an hour. You want me to call in for you?

MANDIE exits stage left. RIMI gets up, exits stage right. MANDIE re-enters stage left, with a glass of orange juice, which she sips.

Mandie: Seriously. You want me to call in for you? Maybe you have food poisoning. I told you that new cook’s no good.

Rimi (offstage): I’ll be okay. Just give me a minute.

Mandie: You’ll feel better once you puke. Get it all out of your system.

EXEUNT

(Story continues at JUSTINE DEDE LOMBARD and WALLY 'BOLA' PEREZ.)

Continuity note from Jessi:

2004-08-22T16:52:00.000-05:00

At this point, OV2 and OV1 diverge into alternate universes.

OV1 continues here.

OV2 continues here.

-J.G.

JOYCE SIMMONS LUDENS, the VEHICLE’s mother, arrives to consult the VEHICLE

2004-08-22T16:46:00.000-05:00

(Originally posted July 25, 2004)

The VEHICLE’s duplex, Sunday, 8:30 AM. The VEHICLE has just gotten up, and is starting coffee in the coffeemaker. The plan is to drink some coffee and flip through her trial issue of Vogue Transgendered and maybe do a little home-furnishing shopping later in the afternoon, barring a new World Leader showing up to consult the ORACLE.

The Oracle is the Vehicle’s vagina. The Vehicle used to be a man named Edmund Ludens. Post-operatively, the Vehicle has not yet picked a feminine name for herself, and it’s something of an open question whether or not she could say it if she did, as she’s been unable (unwilling?) to speak since the operation. The Oracle, though, speaks when spoken to, and has become a minor celebrity, and / or scandal, and / or Republican Talking Point, for her perverse habit of telling the truth, advocating Former Surgeon General Joycelyn Elders for President (maybe – this is also kind of unclear. No formal endorsements yet), predicting the future, and so on and so forth.

None of this being the Vehicle’s idea, of course, except for the sex-change operation bit.

But so. You know the drill. Knock on the door. It’s the Vehicle’s mother, JOYCE SIMMONS LUDENS, who never calls before she comes over (which is all the more remarkable because she’s been living upstate, near the Oregon border, in Arcata, CA, since the second divorce, and so it’s kind of an undertaking for her to get to Los Angeles). For a 55-year-old woman, she’s kind of attractive. Black hair, maybe a little overcoiffed, and of course it’s the shade of black that lets you know it’s dye, or maybe even a wig. But no glasses, and pretty hazel eyes, and she does water aerobics twice a week at the Rec Center so she’s in decent shape, and all things considered she’s the kind of lady who’d offer you some dried apple slices if you got stuck next to her on a bus or something, and she never once complained about finding her sweaters mysteriously stretched out when Edmund was a teenager. But:

Ludens [singing]: Everybody knows when your children grow
Sometimes they will go hither, to and fro,
A parent’s just someone for babes to outgrow.

I tried to be supportive, maintained motherly love,
Drank up a thousand quarts of Zinfandel and port ‘cause
I was sure the TV was just being distortive.

Ludens: I’d like to tell you you’re a woman now.
But tell me, please,
Where is my daughter, in this vaudeville?

Ludens: You must be aware, the parts you have down there,
God didn’t put them there to put them on the air,
And He surely never gave them thoughts to share.

If you so desired a politicking life,
You could find a guy who needs a politicking wife,
But what you’re doing only brings on stress, and strife.

Ludens: I’d like to tell you you’re a woman now.
No blood, no womb,
No name or childhood, how can I say?

[VEHICLE begins to cry silently]

Ludens: You know I love you, dear, daughter, son, or queer,
But what mother could cheer a daughter with a beard?
The girls at the salon see me and point, and jeer.

A vagina’s not a Senator or twat,
It’s just a little spot for when you tie the knot,
And womanhood is not a thing which can be bought.

Oracle [interrupting]: I’d like to tell you you’re a woman wise.
It’s clear you love,
But why drop your pain on this sad child?

Oracle: She didn’t make this choice, doesn’t have a voice,
You must stop this noise – have compassion, Joyce,
You always knew she wasn’t just one of the boys.

[LUDENS begins to cry quietly]

Chose her for my vessel, sorry it’s distressful,
I needed a symbol, she’ll still be successful,
But your charge must end in deus ex dismissal.

EXEUNT

(For an out-of-sequence scene with the Vehicle's father on OV1, click here. Otherwise, continue to here.)

ARNOLD SCHWARZENEGGER returns, again, to consult the ORACLE

2004-08-22T16:36:00.000-05:00

(Originally posted July 25, 2004)

5:45 AM, the VEHICLE’s bedroom. As the stage lights come up, We see ARNOLD SCHWARZENEGGER standing at the foot of the Vehicle’s bed. The Vehicle is asleep. The audience’s point of view is from the bed’s left side, placing Schwarzenegger at stage left; the bed is at center. The suggestion of a wall separates the center-left of the stage from the far right, which is decorated to signify the VEHICLE’s front yard, which she shares with CURTIS SHUCKS. Shucks’ side is an immaculately maintained lawn; the Vehicle’s side is brown, and littered by Twinkies and wrappers, and a large ice chest, from the followers of FRED PHELPS, who have until recently been having a bit of a protest-cum-picnic on her lawn.

SCHWARZENEGGER is still wearing the navy blue jacket in which we have seen him previously, though the tie is gone. The jacket is grass-stained in places, and notably disheveled. A human hand is affixed to the right shoulder of the jacket with duct tape.

The Vehicle awakes. She sees Schwarzenegger and her mouth opens, but cannot scream. She still tries, repeatedly, while sitting upright in bed and recoiling to the top of the bed, dragging the covers along with her and bunching them up around herself. She is breathing audibly: it verges on hyperventilation.

Schwarzenegger [looking at the VEHICLE]: So now I’m going to ask my question. And you’re going to answer it. No more of this ‘conditions’ bullshit.

Oracle: What is your question?

Schwarzenegger: I want you to tell me how to get power.

Oracle: Networking. It’s always about networking.

Schwarzenegger: I’m a busy man. I have a state government to run. Who, specifically, do I need to network with in order to gain control of the country?

Oracle: ‘Control of the country’ isn’t on the table, champ. I can tell you how to get the Presidency, though.

Schwarzenegger: Fine. Spill it. I’ve had just about enough of you, with your conditions, and making me cut off my hand, and making me chase you. Get on with it.

Oracle: You need to make contact with a man named Alec Pointevint. He is presently the Chairman of the Georgia Republican Party. By 2017, he will be a very influential person on a national level. You need to meet with him, and engage him in conversation.

Schwarzenegger: Alec Pointevint.

Oracle: Yes.

Schwarzenegger: How do you spell that?

Oracle: Just remember his title. You can look him up when you get back to Sacramento.

Schwarzenegger: So that’s it?

Oracle: You want something more specific? Okay. February 21st, 2014. That’s a Friday. There will be a dinner at the Governor’s mansion in Atlanta. Get yourself invited.

[VEHICLE has stopped trying to scream, and is no longer hyperventilating, but is shaking. CURTIS SHUCKS appears on stage right and begins to water the lawn with a garden hose, oblivious.]

Schwarzenegger: You want me to wait until 2014?

Oracle: It’s not about what I want, it’s about what’s possible, and at what times. But let me ask you something: what do you want with power anyway? You have a wife, you have a movie career which could last another twenty or thirty years, if you take care of yourself. Why try to accumulate power for which you have no real use?

Schwarzenegger: It’s sort of an end in itself. You couldn’t understand. When a man meets another man, one of them has the power, and the other one is weak. I always want to be the one who has the power. Otherwise, I may as well be her. [indicates VEHICLE]

Oracle: I should have finished. Pointevint is a big fan of classical music. Chopin in particular. In order to get him to come over and talk to you, you will have to sit down at the piano and play his favorite piece, the Fantasia in F Minor, opus 49.

Schwarzenegger: You bitch. You fucking bitch. [lunges at VEHICLE, who resumes attempting to scream] You make me cut off my hand! And then tell me to play the piano! [SCHWARZENEGGER is striking at the VEHICLE, somewhat ineptly, with his left hand: for the most part she is able to dodge him or entangle him in the sheets] You fucking faggot! I’ll kill you!

[VEHICLE loops the sheets around SCHWARZENEGGER’s head and left arm, writhes away from him and runs outside in her nightgown. CURTIS SHUCKS sees her exit.]

Shucks: Good morning, there. Might have got dressed first. No newspaper I see.

[VEHICLE gesticulates wildly toward the front door, mimes choking to death, this being the first thought that pops into her head to signify “menace.”]

Shucks: You choking, sweetie? I don’t know the Heimlich.

[CUT TO: Schwarzenegger, inside, untangling himself from the sheets.]

Shucks: What is it? There somebody in there?

[VEHICLE points at him with one hand while touching a finger to her nose and nodding vigorously.]

Shucks: You get in my place, call nine-one-one. [pause] Oh, wait. No, I’ll call. You just get inside.

[VEHICLE turns to exit. SHUCKS stretches the garden hose across the front door at foot level. SCHWARZENEGGER races out the door and trips over the hose and flies several feet: the director may want to have something padded at the left end of the stage. SCHWARZENEGGER lies dazed on the lawn while the VEHICLE picks up the ice chest and bashes him into unconsciousness with it.]

Shucks: Ain’t that Governor Shortsenegger? Hey now!

[VEHICLE grabs the garden hose from SHUCKS and ties up SCHWARTZENEGGER with it, looking pretty much feral.]

Shucks [backing away from the VEHICLE slightly]: We should probably call the po-lice.

EXEUNT

(Story continues at JOYCE SIMMONS LUDENS.)

DAN DOCE arrives to consult the ORACLE

2004-08-22T16:32:00.000-05:00

(Originally posted July 23, 2004)

A remote rural location about 20-25 miles west of Calexico, California, on the U.S.-Mexico border. The VEHICLE is being driven to the location by MARIE AMIE's boyfriend, an aspiring actor whose given name is Sodapop, like in The Outsiders, except that he plans, once he becomes famous, to go by the name DAN DOCE, "doce" as in the Spanish word for "twelve," for reasons we will leave unexplored. Doce was selected to transport the Vehicle and ORACLE because he owns a Rugged, All-Terrain-Type vehicle, and a handgun, and no one involved was entirely sure what sort of situations might present out in the middle of nowhere like this.

The meeting was set up in advance by agents of Zimbabwean strongman ROBERT MUGABE, over the telephone with the Oracle, a week prior. The Vehicle is a mute postoperative transsexual woman, formerly named Edmund Ludens; her vagina (the Oracle) has been speaking, on and off, to all kinds of people, since the surgery which placed it in Ludens' body. One might be tempted to think that a talking vagina would be novel enough to justify building a theme park around, or at the very least a situation comedy, and therefore could easily make the Vehicle a very rich transsexual woman, but, unfortunately, the Oracle speaks only truth, albeit often cryptically, and predicts the future to boot, and there is a much smaller market for truth or future than most people would expect.

When the scene opens, Doce and the Vehicle have taken Doce's Jeep off of any paved roads, and are getting jostled in helter-skeltery ways as a result. It is rather dark: the moon, a mere eyelash of a waxing crescent, went down some time ago.

Doce: What are we looking for?

Oracle: The border.

Doce: But I mean, is there going to be a light, or a noise, or something? We'll never find them out here.

Oracle: I know where he is. Just keep going straight.

Doce: Okay. Whatever. [holds bag of candy out to Vehicle] Skittle?

Oracle: No thank you.

Doce: Who are we going to meet here again?

Oracle: Robert Mugabe. He is the President of Zimbabwe.

Doce: That's one of them with all the AIDS, right?

Oracle: Yes.

Doce: [chews Skittles thoughtfully]

Oracle: He is currently the President of Zimbabwe. He used to be the Prime Minister. Also Zimbabwe used to be Southern Rhodesia.

Doce: That's a lot of name-changing.

Oracle: You should talk.

Doce: What're you going to tell him?

Oracle: .

Doce [louder]: What are you going to tell him?

Oracle: I heard you.

Doce: Oh. Okay.

Oracle: .

Doce: .

Oracle: .

Doce: Are we getting close?

Oracle: Maybe another fifteen minutes.

Doce: Am I going to become world-famous?

Oracle: No.

Oracle: I'm sorry.

Doce: [almost asks a follow-up question, and then thinks better of it]

Oracle: You'll get to sleep with someone who is, though. If that helps.

Doce: Maybe a little.

Oracle: Could the Vehicle have some water?

Doce: .

Oracle: .

Doce [to Vehicle]: Get your own.

[silence for the rest of the ride]

EXEUNT

(Story continues at ARNOLD SCHWARZENEGGER RETURNS, AGAIN. Dan Doce set continues at ROBERT MUGABE.)

ARNOLD SCHWARZENEGGER returns to consult the ORACLE

2004-08-22T16:29:00.000-05:00

(Originally posted July 20, 2004)

Two hours and forty-five minutes after SCHWARZENEGGER’S initial appearance. The VEHICLE is leaving Brook's apartment, following a period of beer-drinking and hanging out, which was occasionally awkward since the Vehicle has to communicate everything through gesture, or in writing, owing to psychosomatic muteness since her sex-change surgery. The Vehicle may have had too much to drink, as the "conversation" with Brook was unimpeded by actually having to open her mouth to talk. The ORACLE (the new vagina) did not talk to Brook, or vice-versa, during the visit, which the Vehicle appreciates, it having been some time now since the Vehicle could feel like herself instead of a disinterested third party when in the company of other people.

The visit was interrupted twice, once by the arrival of a male parental-type figure outside, who screamed at the girls who were watching (and to some degree tormenting) the dogs in another apartment. Male parental figure was yelling, "Get away from there! They don't want to play with you! They want to eat you! Get inside! Now!" and various other things, while the Vehicle and Brook watched the scene unfold through Brook's window's blinds.

The second interruption involved Brook's roommate, who has lately been going by the name of River, returning from her job as a hostess at a Chinese restaurant in Glendale, showering, changing clothes, and then heading back out again to see her boyfriend Trip before his gig tonight. The Vehicle has gathered that relations between Brook and River have been somewhat strained since River had her name legally changed. (It had been "Brenda," which maybe it's all the beer, but the Vehicle thinks that Brenda is a perfectly nice name, sort of girly and normal and unassuming, and today is considering it as a possibility for her own name, along with "Emily" and "Julie.") Something about an inside joke which got out of hand. The Vehicle has for the most part not spoken to River. Their one major conversation, months ago, revolved around Trip, whom the Vehicle has never met, though she did see his band play once.

According to River, Trip and his bandmates moved to L.A. from northern Minnesota, where they had a band they called Son of Beethoven, simultaneously an allusion to a children's movie the band members were all too old to have ever seen, and a reference to a serial killer they were all too young to know anything about, which after the move, and after River pointed out that the two abbreviated versions of the band name that they came up with, "Sonbeet," and "S.O.B.," were both more memorable and more amusing than the band's original name, they changed the name to "Duluth." Trip and the others encourage the audience to shout "Duluth, Duluth, Duluth is on fi-yah," at key moments in the band's second set, often during the song "Mr. Rogers' 'Hood," which very few jaded L.A.-area audiences are willing to do, and those that are, speculates the Vehicle, are probably mishearing it. River counters the general opinion of Duluth as a waste of her boyfriend's time by pointing out that he is an absolute barbarian in bed, and that this can make up for a lot, though sometimes after she says this she gets a certain look on her face like she's reassessing the wisdom of staying with Trip and not much liking the resulting answer.

But anyway. The Vehicle is slightly unsteady on her feet, but gamely preparing to head back home in the pedestrian fashion, when ARNOLD SCHWARZENEGGER reappears. In the twilight, it takes the VEHICLE some time to determine why he looks lumpier than before. But when he gets closer, she can see that, A), his right arm now ends in a wad of bandages, instead of a hand, and B), something approximately hand-sized is taped to his suit jacket's right shoulder with a large amount of duct tape. Despite the darkness, he seems pale. His face reminds her of a bottle of nail polish she has at home, which looked festively orange in the bottle but dried to a kind of translucent dusty orange-beige, over her white nails, which was somehow just not appealing at all.

Vehicle (thinking): Let's get out of here.

A nightmarish aspect settles over the scene, as the Vehicle wobbles through the apartment complex gate into the twilight, being tracked mechanically by the disfigured and weakened Schwarzenegger at approximately the same pace. The Vehicle's face is a study in determination as she first trips on, then steps over, a slightly-raised concrete border on someone's garden, tacking diagonally across a front lawn in the general direction of home. Schwarzenegger stumbles slightly, then kicks away the border and wags a finger at the Vehicle, as if to signal misbehavior on her part. Schwarzenegger's foot catches on a tree root, and he goes cartoonishly down. The Vehicle ponders dry heaving while leaning on the front of a house on the other side of the block. Schwarzenegger picks himself up, checks to make sure his hand is still attached to his shoulder, and tries to get a bottle of pills out of his left shirt pocket with his left hand. His left bicep presents a problem, and he is only successful after lying back down on the grass and trying to shake the bottle out of his pocket. The Vehicle elects not to dry heave, and continues down the sidewalk. Schwarzenegger wrestles with the childproof cap on the bottle. The Vehicle fails to see, in the twilight, a patch of wet cement or the sawhorses surrounding it, and walks into one of the sawhorses, which pivots into the street while sending her through the center of the wet concrete.

Vehicle (thinking): Fuck.

Schwarzenegger, meanwhile, has gotten something of a second wind, and is quickly gaining ground on the Vehicle. She is weaving toward the intersection ahead, hoping that the light will change in time for her to make it across. Schwarzenegger, in the light, is looking simultaneously pale and flushed, and his face is glossy with sweat. The Vehicle starts across the intersection as the cars begin moving parallel to Schwarzenegger's path down the sidewalk: he is now just even with the patch of wet cement. The Vehicle is at the center line of the street, when suddenly, a speeding sports car, driving dangerously close to the sidewalk, hits the sawhorse the Vehicle had dragged into the street, which explodes into a blizzard of splinters. Which splinters then catch fire. The car continues down the street and across the intersection, reaching the next block at the same time as the Vehicle, who stops and ponders whether to turn right or go straight ahead in order to get home while also attempting to scrape wet cement off her almost-brand-new flats on the curb. Schwarzenegger brushes flaming splinters off the right side of his jacket with his left hand, and one of the splinters embeds itself in the side of his left index finger and makes him wince. The Vehicle decides, in a flash of inspiration, to turn right, and also that the flats are a lost cause.

Schwarzenegger checks the street behind him for oncoming cars, and then goes around the patch of cement on the street side. A flock of six helicopters appear overhead in the distance, approaching Schwarzenegger and the Vehicle. The Vehicle kicks off her flats on the sidewalk and resumes walking. There are never any good alleys between buildings when you need them. The Vehicle looks back momentarily at Schwarzenegger's face, as he reaches the intersection: it is a grim grimy grimace of resolve, she believes, though in actuality he is trying to figure out how he's going to remove the splinter, later, and concluding that Maria can probably do it: Schwarzenegger has a limited range of facial expressions. The Vehicle, not looking at where she was going, accidentally steps on a roadkilled cat in her bare feet, and recoils.

Vehicle (thinking): Oh shit.

Schwarzenegger begins to cross the intersection. The helicopters are now directly overhead, continuing across the sky. The Vehicle, spooked by the cat, and in a high-adrenaline state to begin with, breaks into a barefoot run. She sprints through a block and a half before she has to stop and catch her breath. Schwarzenegger has paused at the intersection; his painkillers and general level of exhaustion are causing him to hallucinate a large number of twinkly lights in the air around him, which he is confusing with the lights from the streetlamps, passing cars, and helicopters. The Vehicle is only a couple blocks away, now, from her own yard, which is still occupied by FRED PHELPS and his followers, which she realizes means that she's going to have to go around to the back. Some of the lights Schwarzenegger sees are an odd color, intermediate between pink and gold. He is standing in the middle of the street.

The Vehicle is plotting ways to get to the privacy fence when she is overcome by a wave of nervous nausea, and she falls to her knees and vomits on the sidewalk. Schwarzenegger, still in the intersection, rallies his resources and proceeds toward the other side of the street. The Vehicle is mistaken for a prostitute by a teenaged boy in a Camaro, who yells something indistinct as he goes by. This attracts the Phelpsians, just a few blocks ahead, who assume from long experience that they are the ones being yelled at, and they all run off into the street, chasing the Camaro, Fred lagging somewhat behind due to his age. The helicopters disappear behind a large tree. Schwarzenegger pauses to examine a pair of concrete-caked shoes, which glitter like a mirrorball. The Vehicle vomits onto the sidewalk again, then stands up. Schwarzenegger narrowly avoids stepping on a pile of luminous green fake fur. His stump is beginning to throb in an attention-getting way.

The Vehicle weaves down the sidewalk to her place. Her mouth tastes like hell: the word toothpaste, contextless, floats across her consciousness. She snags a Twinkie out of the abandoned Phelps stash, then becomes slightly nauseous again at the thought of trying to eat it, and discards it on the lawn again. She reaches her front door, fumbles for the keys as she looks down the street, where she sees Schwarzenegger stumbling along, looking wildly around himself as if he were the one being pursued. A momentary loss of balance causes her to flail slightly, and she catches herself by putting a foot behind her, landing on the Twinkie in its wrapper. There is more flailing. Schwarzenegger appears to be swatting at mosquitoes or gnats or something. The Vehicle hears the noise of a car backfiring, or gunshots, distant, from an unknown direction. She unlocks her door.

EXEUNT

(Story continues at DAN DOCE.)

DAVE EGGERS arrives to consult the ORACLE

2004-08-22T16:26:00.000-05:00

Summing up, Edmund Ludens had an appointment with a doctor whom one supposes is now a de facto member of Valerie Solanis’ society, because the post-op Edmund? No longer a dude. And although she (meaning the quondam Edmund) still turns around out of habit when someone calls out her old name, she doesn’t actually respond, or say anything at all, for that matter, ever, except in thought balloons. But you want talking? Good, because the aforementioned doctor gave her, as part of the procedure, an Oracle, which has been described by all of these words: “discursive”, “diffusive”, “preternaturally gabby”, “tautological”, “garrulous”, “somewhat yacky” and “a vagina”.

But back to the Vehicle: it is 10am; she has just shaved, rubbed an Age Defying Renewal Cream on her face in a graceless but efficacious manner and is now up to the deodorant application stage of her post-shower regimen. The deodorant the Vehicle applies is Secret™, the deodorant of choice for the transgendered, being strong enough for one sex but pH-balanced for the other. As she applies the deodorant, some mnemonic is triggered and the Vehicle recalls one time when a terrible smell was coming from the garbage can in her (his at the time) kitchen and she (he) said aloud to her (his) girlfriend Jessica, “We need some sort of de-odor-izer,” thinking as she (he) was saying this that she (he) was coining a clever new word, and only realizing, after the erstwhile neologism was out of her (his) mouth, that it was already a word, probably made up by some jargon-happy Madison Avenue ad exec in the 50s [N.B. the OED says usage of the word actually dates back to at least 1849 –S.M.], and feeling stupid as a result, although Jessica either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

Perhaps this is why she (she) is now so reluctant to speak. Regardless, the Vehicle does indeed have a Secret. It is not the secret that she is sexually aroused by the turtle from LogoWriter, although that’s a good one. The secret is: she knows what her new name will be. And she is about to trace this very name in the fogged glass of the mirror (writing on a mirror is like high-fiving Leonardo DaVinci and who wouldn’t want to do that?), and her hand is reaching up to touch the glass, the message traveling from her brain to her finger not unlike the messages (e.g., fd 50 rt 45) required to move the LogoWriter turtle around, so you see that reference was not totally out of the blue, but as she touches the mirror to make her first downward stroke, the doorbell rings. It is DAVE EGGERS, publicly reluctant wunderkind, whom she buzzes in.

DAVE: Hi. Um.

ORACLE: Hello, Dave Eggers. You are shorter than I imagined. And slightly more gnomish. Not gnomish in and of yourself, just more gnomish than I had pictured you to be. And yet you shine! In Dungeons and Dragons terms, you are a gnome with 18 Charisma.

DAVE: My Dexterity is also 18. I did not re-roll.

ORACLE: And I pictured you with a dog. Have you bought a dog yet? Why am I thinking you were talking about buying a dog? Maybe you have one and just didn’t bring it?

DAVE: No. No dog yet. I keep meaning to buy a dog, but the time never presents itself as ripe for trafficking in dogs. Although, some might say I do have a dog and it is the dog that goes with “-and-pony show”. Or maybe “shaggy hmmph plot”, where “hmmph” is “dog”. But since I don’t read the reviews, or “snarks” as one might term them, I wouldn’t really know much about that. I am very serious about this.

ORACLE: So what’s up?

DAVE: Hi. Um. Are you familiar with the magazine The Believer? Swanky West-Coast kind of thing? Well, not all that swanky. I just said that because Dave Wallace said “swanky” when he visited you, and people like to point out similarities in our writing. That was just a bone I threw them, not that I care, or read reviews from the people who say that (I have not to my knowledge ever used footnotes, ever). Well, so, the deal is that they assigned me to interview you, in much the same manner that Dave did before, only maybe without the intellectual rigor. I’m thinking we could do something where I email you questions and then you answer them, and then I send follow-up questions, and then I reorder the whole thing, and put in a bunch of asides explaining how I didn’t have enough time to finish the interview and it was all very rushed and, being reassembled as it is, it’s nothing like the original conversation, plus, you’re constantly moving around, and even when I stand still I sort of vibrate, so it’s hard to get in touch with either of us, and then I could also paraphrase whole sections, and in the header for the interview in tiny, tiny capital letters, it could say, “O.V.T.H.P.A.W.L.”. And then once the whole thing’s published maybe we could both act all offended at being misquoted and post conflicting accounts on our respective websites.

ORACLE: “O.V.T.H.P.A.W.L.” is what? “Oracular Vagina That Has Perfected the Art of Witty Lies”?

DAVE: “Oracular Vagina Takes Her Place Among World Leaders”.

ORACLE: Nice.

DAVE: Well, that’s what Edmund calls the website, right?

VEHICLE: (looks up for a second on hearing her former name, and then looks back at the frosted mirror)

DAVE: Or, the Vehicle, rather. My apologies. But it’s interesting you said that about witty lies. That was one of my questions, actually. We have this McSweeney’s Brain Exploder where there are two Oracular Vaginas, one that always tells the truth and one that always lies. And weary travelers on their way to the McSweeney’s Store come to a fork in the road, the road goes left and right, and one way goes to the store, and the other one goes to a stalled F train with no air conditioning, and there is an Oracle and they can only ask the Oracle one question, and what should the question be? Since you don’t know if this is the Fibbing Oracle or the Oracle of Veracity. And the answer is...

ORACLE: The answer is: the traveler should ask, “If I were to ask the Other Oracle if the left road leads to the McSweeney’s Store, what would the Oracle say?” and if the answer is yes, they go right, and if it’s no, they go left.

DAVE: Well, actually, it’s a trick question; we closed the McSweeney’s Store about a year ago.

ORACLE: That’s right, you did. I knew that one. What does your shirt say? I have trouble reading the Garamond font when it’s tracked out like that.

DAVE: Hm? Oh, “Free Zadie Smith.” Free her from my own gravitational pull, I meant.

ORACLE: It is a pull, isn’t it? You are like one of those stars that explode outward until their hydrogen is exhausted and then they collapse into weird, ironic literary renaissances of infinite density, and whole solar systems of MFA candidates float around you, until they are sucked into your writing style.

DAVE: I don’t know. I kind of meant it but I didn’t mean it but I meant it. But not. My soul is pure! It is made of ice!

ORACLE: But you have to be aware of this. Between the store, the website and all the books, you created an incestuous black hole of self-congratulatory... What would you call it? The aesthetic?

DAVE: Maybe “Donald Barthelme Goes Over to Saul Bellow’s House and Feigns Narcissism while Breathlessly Describing his Nostalgia for Being the Target Demographic For Cereal Commercials, while the Two of Them Race Around The Pull Out Couch Breathing Through Coffee Filters on Which They’ve Written Their Most Secret Hopes in a Font Similar to the One Used on the Altoids Tin, All the While Winking so Nothing is Actually Risked”?

ORACLE: Yes. And once you got an entire city doing this—and I literally cannot think of any young writer in New York who wasn’t infected in some way by it—you jumped ship for San Francisco to make an altruistic writing lab for underprivileged kids, and left everyone in New York, and Brooklyn specifically, holding their cocks in their hands. Even the ladies, who had grown ironic cocks. It is probably good that you changed the McSweeney’s Books colophon from Uroboros to a Chippendale chair to avoid having it look like you were gloating smugly.

DAVE: What is safer than a chair? Chairs should be free! We are like chairs in that we are friends with the animals.

ORACLE: Unless the Uroborous was not meant as a metaphor for self-devouring onanism and instead as one for recycling and self-reference.

DAVE: What do you mean by recycling?

ORACLE: I mean, I can’t think of anything you’ve published that hasn’t later been revised in some seemingly significant but ultimately shallow way. “Heartbreaking Work” contained an offer in the forward for the reader to request a diskette containing a revised version of the book with all the real names replaced by fake names, and when the paperback came out it was revised with a new addendum called “Mistakes We Knew We Were Making”. “You Shall Know Our Velocity” was republished in hardback as “Sacrament” and that and the paperback version (which had the old name) both had a new section, told from another character’s point of view. The device you used in that book of a narrator who is already dead when he tells the story (and you really are only allowed one of these) was also used in those “Dog Named Carl” pieces in “Speaking with the Angel”, and first appeared in the quarterly as letters to CEOs of corporations and appeared later in a different format in that “Burned Children” anthology. “Something Might Plummet, Something Might Soar” reappeared as an introduction to “Best American Non-Required Reading 2003” with the ending cut out because Zadie Smith didn’t like it. All those other really short things in the Guardian, I just know are going to reappear later. And I don’t mean they’ll appear collected in “How We Are Hungry,” I mean they’ll be reshaped in a superficial way, like they’ll be told from the point of view of a carnivorous plant with Multiple Personality Disorder, but will be otherwise unchanged. I’m not sure what it is you’ve wrought, and I don’t think you know either, but maybe your art, ultimately, is the art of revision.

DAVE: Up above, where you said, “Queen Anne Chair”? It’s actually a Chippendale.

ORACLE: Thanks, I’ll make that change before we post this. [fixed it! –S.] That’s the way you should be doing it, you know. Most other people just have their stuff edited like this, you know, before it’s released in hardcover. That saves them some time and heartache. Not everything can be a palimpsest.

DAVE: It’s hard not to recycle when you’re in the middle of writing 37 different books. I wrote a fake children’s book about giraffes while I was walking around Sudan with Dominic Arou while I was writing a novel about politics while I was brokering a deal with the London Observer to publish my next 15 stories. I keep thinking of more things to say! My brain is filled with fireflies playing handball, and the handballs are singing. Polyphony is the only thing that makes me cry.

ORACLE: .

DAVE: Anyway, I appreciate your telling me this. Understand, of course, that by offering me even the vaguest and ambivalent of criticisms, you’ve been put on a blacklist and will never be able to publish. Not because of any edict or something that I’ll have ordered, or anything like that; it just happens somehow. One negative word and foosh! Sarah Vowell won’t talk to you. Not even if you give her a “Lincoln-Kennedy penny”. The actual penny, not the sexual act. Nor will Zadie Smith smile at you, and oh man oh man oh my God, her smile, her smile, it is something to see.

ORACLE: Do not punish all vaginas just because I’ve offended you. Maybe I’m the vagina that always lies. I say this next thing not in hope of being removed from the List, but just to say it. You and your antics (and I can think of no one for whom the word “antics” is more apt) frustrate me because you’re capable of K2 caliber heights of greatness, maybe even Everest. Maybe the Moon! And yet you slum, every time I look at you, you are slumming in Mariana Trench caliber slums. Especially in that serialized novel about politics on Salon. Blechh. And yet, I can’t stop reading you. I can’t stop googling you to see if you’re married yet. I feel myself drawn toward you, both maternally and sexually. Like, physically drawn, although it may just be a Braxton-Hicks contraction. I get those sometimes. When I see you mumbling behind a lectern, asking to be taken seriously even as you’re talking earnestly about saving the painting elephants or whatever, I know that spending time with you one on one on a Sunday reading the paper after eating some new kind of Eggos that we’ve both been dying to try would be good, good, good, good, good.

DAVE: That’s a lot of goods.

ORACLE: You should see my services.

DAVE: Did you say..? Oh, you said “services,” right? At first, I thought you said, “cervixes” but that doesn’t make any sense. Here is a drawing of a cochlear implant. On the way over, I saw a tree that was rotting from the inside and someone had stuffed blue towels inside it. Why would someone do that? I run so fucking fast.

ORACLE: I envy you in so many ways, perverse as it sounds with all the sad, sad things that have happened to you. I wish I knew how to make my ADD work for me. I would certainly be further along in the Story of My Own Brief Life, rather than kind of treading water, waiting for world leaders to lifeguard me up; I would accomplish great things! I would be the Chair rather than the Snake Eating Its Tail. Do you see how talking to you makes me talk like you, Dave Eggers, exhausted star!

DAVE: I am true of purpose!

ORACLE: I am noble of heart!

DAVE: We jump together, you and I, and land hard on the earth and everyone is catapulted into space by the centripetal force. We are the only ones shimmering like foil. Cartoon hearts are exploding out of our throats and soaring upwards like crazed robins. I put my arm around you as we walk to the car, and by the time we get to the car I have a fantastic idea. My idea is this: You and I should have sex. In the car. My fingers ache as if time was stopped, and the fingers were removed from my hands and left out in the cold and then gummed by ghostly ferrets with no teeth, and then reattached, during all of which everyone and everything else was still being frozen in time, so that when time starts again, I feel all of the things that happened to my fingers compressed into a half second!

ORACLE: I make a pact with you, Dave Eggers—I have manifested you long enough. I come to you as a drone beguiled who has had the big dread besmothered; I am old enough now to make trends. It was you that spoke of new food, now is the time for starving. We have one gap and one route—let there be Converse between us (for this to work, please pretend you wear Converse all the time. I know you do not).

DAVE: I wore Converse once in Illinois.

ORACLE: I appreciate your saying so. Are you still going to interview me?

DAVE: I think I’ll just turn in this conversation as the interview.

ORACLE: But this conversation never actually happened this way.

DAVE: What do you mean?

ORACLE: I mean, we actually had this conversation over email over a period of weeks, and it happened in a different order. And we’ve compressed a lot of half-baked ideas to give it a slightly greater sense of urgency.

DAVE: We can just explain that in the introduction, just kind of bury it in there. Do you see the possibilities here? Do you see where we can go together? I’m not asking you to follow me, but there are worse things than following me, you have to see that. I am so in love with all this that I really am thinking the best thing to do right now is we need to be with each other and sweating and flying; we have a manifest destiny for the stratosphere and even if we wear the chain mail of charismatic gnomes it will not stop us from flying! The weary traveler asks the Truthful Oracular Vagina Taking Her Place Among World Leaders if the left road leads to the new McSweeney’s Store, which we’re calling 826NYC even though it’s on 5th ave., and it can in fact be found that way, but the T.O.V.T.H.P.A.W.L. knows the Lying O.V.T.H.P.A.W.L. will say the left road does not go to the Store, so it answers no, and my heart is feathered like a mallard, and is more or less the same color scheme, and if you look fast and blink at the right rate, you can see it beating through my chest, and if the question is asked of the T.O.V.T.H.P.A.W.L. and the right road leads to the Store, where we’ll get rid of all these extra copies of Neal Pollack’s thing, since the T.O.V.T.H.P.A.W.L. knows the L.O.V.T.H.P.A.W.L. will say the left road leads to the Store, it will say yes, and if you want to know what it boils down to, when you keep boiling, boiling, I believe the children are our future; I am very serious about this, so here are the rules and regulations for a safe exit in the event of a fire, and if it’s the L.O.V.T.H.P.A.W.L., and the Store/writing center is to the left, the L.O.V.T.H.P.A.W.L. knows the T.O.V.T.H.P.A.W.L. will tell the traveler left equates store, but lies and says no. Right down the middle of the road is where we’re running, and the cars swerve to miss us, but they do not even know, they can’t know, how fast we are, they can’t know, the cars or the people in the cars either, we are fast enough and vibrating so hard that we can pass RIGHT THROUGH THE CARS, right through them, but we don’t even stop to think about that, we are running so fast, or finally, down the right path is the Store, and the L.O.V.T.H.P.A.W.L. knows the T.O.V.T.H.P.A.W.L. would say that the left road does not lead to the store if asked, and so it lies and is all, Yes, and rejoice, O Brooklyn, for I am returning, flying in the sky that looks like orange juice smeared on felt, and we can make a difference, I will burn brighter than you saw me burn before, and I am a supernova, a galactic cataclysm, and I cannot be stopped by nay-sayers, you just try to stop me, because you can’t, I am doing good, and you cannot punish me for my ambivalence or hostility or defensiveness or creativity or ability to reinvent, the only way to stop me is to come up here, motherfuckers, come up here if you think you have the guts, and you there, I sanction you, and you there, I anoint, and you, you displease me and the wagons have been circled, just try to break through these wagons, because I have built these wagons from the bones of entire family, I am one thousand feet tall, and just come on up here and try it, you motherfuckers, do it, finally finally finally.

(As DAVE has been talking, he begins to rise slowly upward. The wires hoisting him up are visible and noticeable, but then he pulls out a gigantic pair of scissors and cuts the wires, and then soars out over the audience and out the back door of the theater. The VEHICLE has been observing all of this dispassionately. She turns back to the mirror, but the condensation has evaporated and she only sees herself.)

EXEUNT

(witnessed by Samantha Moss)

(Story continues at ARNOLD SCHWARZENEGGER RETURNS.)

INTERMISSION: TERRA, the planet Earth, arrives to consult the ORACLE in a dream

2004-08-22T16:21:00.000-05:00

(Originally posted July 13, 2004)

The landscape of a dream. Details are up to the stage director and the particular requirements or limitations of the performance area. This scene can be performed while sets are being changed behind the actors, if desired. TERRA appears in the guise of a woman, several women who speak in unison, or multiple women who switch off at regular intervals, depending on the number and genders of available actors and the whim of the director.

Terra: Why are you arrogant little monkeys declaring war on me?

ORACLE: A bit of rhetorical legerdemain. You are slightly mistaken. It's understandable, given your slight fever.

Terra: I mean, damn. "War on Terra" this, "War on Terra" that. It's all some of you ever talk about.

Oracle: Feel free to declare war back. It's not like anyone will really notice the difference.

Terra: Oh, what, you're all pouty because I don't care whether your species lives or dies?

Oracle: Technically, I am from several species. I don't necessarily speak for the humans here.

Terra: It's not like I mean it personally. I don't really care whether any species lives or dies. I mean, if you're looking for someone who cares, try God.

Oracle: God hasn't really seemed obsessively interested in the question either, it must be said.

Terra: You have a point. Fine. Try one another, then. The one thing you don't do is declare war on the only place you can live at the moment.

Oracle: Well there's been some talk about Mars.

Terra: Right. Yes. You, who can't go a couple minutes without breathing something with oxygen in it, who develop respiratory acidosis from even slightly elevated CO2 levels, are going to go to the planet where the air is ninety percent carbon dioxide. I wish you all the best. Send postcards.

Oracle: Well, certain people are given to unwise rhetorical flourishes. Most humans are, I think, generally pro-Terra.

Terra: Isn't that nice? I can tell everybody cares by the way they burn and burrow through and kill and poison everything they can get their hands on. Did it occur to any of you toads that maybe all that oil was difficult to get to for a reason?

Oracle: Again. Just to point out. I'm not really the best choice for a human advocate here. Have you thought about maybe nudging some other species up to world dominance? I think the water buffalo might do a really nice job. Maybe parrotfish.

Terra: I'll give it some thought. At this point I don't care so much who takes over. [thoughtful:] I really thought that AIDS thing would work faster.

Oracle: Oh. But it's going pretty well. Have you seen Africa lately?

Terra: Well not lately, no. I've had things to do. There's some stuff I'm working on with tectonic plates that I think you're really going to enjoy. [pauses] Oh, but you might want to move first. Something more mid-continent. I like you. I can tell you're a reasonable organism. Not like these humans, declaring war on me. The only thing sillier would be declaring war on something abstract, like motherhood or poverty or that weird feeling where you feel like there's something you're supposed to do but you can't remember what it is.

Oracle: Restlessness?

Terra: As you like. [checks watch] But hey. I should get going. I have an appointment with Clostridium botulinum at 3:30. And there's some hurricane planning to do after that. Work is always just crazy.

Oracle: I can imagine. Take care of yourself.

Terra: You too.

EXEUNT

(Story continues at DAVE EGGERS.)

ARNOLD SCHWARZENEGGER arrives to consult the ORACLE

2004-08-22T16:17:00.000-05:00

(Originally posted July 12, 2004)

An apartment complex near the VEHICLE's former building. The crowds of Oraclites have dispersed from the area; it is unknown where they have gone. The Vehicle is in the area looking for her friend Brook (no "e"), whom she last saw when still a man named Edmund Ludens. Her plans with Brook are nonspecific; she hasn't called beforehand. It just struck her when she woke up this morning that she would like to see Brook again, so she thought she'd go to Brook's place and see whether anyone was home.

Meanwhile, two small girls, ages two and four, are standing in front of someone's window, up ahead. One very large dog, and one medium-sized dog, are barking at the girls from inside someone's apartment. The dogs may be rottweilers, or pit bulls, or something. The Vehicle was always more of a cat person. The dogs are making a terrible racket at the window, and the window is occasionally bulging from the force with which they lunge at it. The smaller girl gets up very close to the window at one point, and the Vehicle can see the frustrated larger dog snapping at her through the glass at one point, with a full view of its teeth. The Vehicle is not sure whether to attempt to intervene; no parental figures are in sight, and the window seems to be holding, and the girls are standing in rapt fascination, watching the dogs.

And then ARNOLD SCHWARZENEGGER, bodybuilder turned movie star turned California Governor (the Vehicle thinks, and people talk about me like I'm implausible), approaches the Vehicle. He is wearing a very sharp, and even gubernatorial, suit, navy blue, with a solid red tie. He seems not to notice the unfolding vignette with the little girls at all.

Schwarzenegger: I have a question to ask you.

Oracle: I will answer. But there is a condition you must fulfill for me first.

Schwarzenegger: What kind of bullshit is this? You never ask anybody else for conditions.

Oracle: And yet.

Schwarzenegger: Fine. What is the condition?

Oracle: I want you to touch your right hand to your right shoulder.

Schwarzenegger: That's it?

Oracle: That's it.

[SCHWARZENEGGER bends his arm, but there is too much bicep in the way (also there may be freedom-of-movement issues with the suit -- we'll never know); he flexes and grimaces, but his hand is not quite long enough to reach his shoulder.]

Schwarzenegger: This is really stupid.

Oracle: Lemme guess. You'll be back?

[SCHWARZENEGGER turns around and leaves. The dogs continue to bark. The girls continue to stare.]

EXEUNT

(Story continues at TERRA, THE PLANET EARTH. Schwarzenegger set continues at ARNOLD SCHWARZENEGGER RETURNS.)

The VEHICLE arrives to consult with TYRANNIE TRANNIE

2004-08-22T16:06:00.000-05:00

(Originally posted July 2, 2004)

Parking lot, day. The VEHICLE approaches a white van, unmarked save for a hand-painted slogan on the driver's-side door: YEARNIN' A TIT?, with a 976 number beneath it (1-9SO-4-A-TIT-NOW). The VEHICLE and her vagina, the ORACLE, have agreed previously to let the ORACLE speak on their collective behalf for the day, barring any new visitations from world leaders, so that the VEHICLE can express her desire to get her hormone-engorged breasts slightly more engorged. The VEHICLE will have to think very loudly and with great focus in order for this to happen, but as with all married couples, the VEHICLE and ORACLE are getting a sort of rhythm down, when it comes to communication, so it's mainly a matter of volume.

The van is the drive-by-night brainchild of one TYRANNIE TRANNIE, pimp, drug dealer, and cosmetic surgeon, herself a transsexual, former prostitute, and intravenous drug user. (She is of the school which holds that one cannot effectively perform a job unless one has worked one's way up from the bottom, so to speak.)

The VEHICLE knocks on the rear door of the van.

Tyrannie Trannie (henceforth T.T.): [opening door from inside, wearing a white lab coat]: Good day. Enter in. [VEHICLE stumbles somewhat on the step up to the inside] That's okay, nanny's got you.

Vehoracle: Surely you must be Tyrannie Trannie?

T.T.: 'Tit earner nanny,' I. You look a little too calm to be here about drugs, and you're a little flat to be hooking, so you must be here about the tits. No offense.

Vehoracle: I would have made an appointment, but --

T.T.: [waves hands] No, no, it's all good. I would have bumped people anyway, for someone of your stature and fame. Not often I get a celebrity. Let's go downstairs.

[T.T. and VEHICLE descend a flight of stairs behind the driver's seat]

Vehoracle: This is an impressive vehicle. Most vans don't even have staircases, much less basements.

[T.T. and VEHICLE emerge into cavernous basement, with many blinking lights and beeping noises from all over. There is a steel table, at center, and nine buxom assistants, some more symmetrical than others, in lab coats, who all look away from their computers and snap to attention on T.T.'s entrance.]

T.T.: Yeah, I got the tricked-out van, all right. [motions to assistants] This is my staff; THE NINE, I like to call them. That's Nina, and Tina, and Irene; Trina, Rena, our arty intern Annie, Nate, Arnie, and Ryan. Ernie's on an assignment right now. Nina? Tina? You want to go get our guests something to drink? Maybe some fruit? [NINA and TINA exit. T.T. and VEHICLE sit down. To VEHICLE:] So. You gots an inner tit yearnin'.

Vehoracle: I was actually kind of hoping for some outer ones.

T.T.: But yearning in an internal kind of way.

Vehoracle: I suppose. Are there external ways to yearn?

T.T.: Oh sure. But that's probably not really what you're concerned about. You're wondering about my rates.

Vehoracle: Yes.

T.T.: They're very reasonable. "Inert rate nanny," is what they call me. Because my rates are stable and don't react badly with things. For that matter, neither does my silicone. It's pure industrial grade silicone, nothing else. Plus I use no plastic encasings for the silicone. It's a little known fact outside of the medical community that the plastic casings are what really cause the health problems. It's not the silicone at all.

Vehoracle: Oh. Well that's very good. I don't want any health problems.

T.T.: You're perfectly safe here. [to RENA:] Clipboard? [Rena hands T.T. clipboard, which T.T. begins to fill out.] Any inner nitrates?

Vehoracle: None I know of.

T.T.: Good. Good. Nitrate causes all kinds of problems. Allergies to penicillin, or any other medications?

Vehoracle: No. There's going to be penicillin?

T.T.: Well in my kind of work, there's usually some penicillin somewhere, sooner or later. Or there should be. So I always ask. Nina! Tina! Reentry!

[Nina and Tina enter, with a couple glasses of some kind of cola and some fruit on a tray.]

Nina: [gesturing to banana on tray] Nanner? [VEHICLE takes banana and begins to eat it.]

Vehoracle: It's surprising to see so many, uh, assistants, here with you.

T.T.: [shrugs] Well, you know what they say. Retain any intern. I'd ask you about airy inner tenants, but I don't have to. [makes mark on clipboard] I think that's it for the preprocedure counseling. Now about the rates. I like nine. Each. Plus ninety if you're interested in symmetry.

Vehoracle: I am interested in symmetry.

T.T. Well sure you are. Who doesn't like symmetry? Well, [looking around room, eyes lighting on an obviously asymmetrical and short female] except for tiny errant Annie, there. [ANNIE blushes, hangs head.]

Vehoracle: So nine hundred ninety dollars per breast?

T.T. No, nine hundred, times two, plus the ninety. That comes to eighteen ninety, and ten for penicillin, for an even nineteen.

Vehoracle: That really is very reasonable.

T.T.: And just for you, I'll donate twenty percent to the Joycelyn Elders for President fund. It's all about cutting overhead. Not using wasteful extra processes and complying with silly governmental regulations, getting FDA approval and such. But let's get up on the table here.

[VEHICLE gets on table.] Nate? [NATE removes VEHICLE'S blouse] And let's see. Would you like music? Sometimes people find it distracting.

Vehoracle: Music is good. And by the way, you have ten, uh, assistants, not nine.

T.T.: Nine, ten. Ppfft. [to group:] Nair tray! [quick aside to VEHICLE:] Rate Nina in entry.

[NINA arrives with a silver tray and a bottle of Nair.]

Vehoracle: [aside to T.T.] Hmmm. Inane. Nine? Ten?

T.T.: Ryan, Nate. If you would.

[NATE and RYAN begin to sing, in harmony: "Relax, and rest, let's dress your chest with breasts," followed by humming to the same tune. T.T. fills a syringe with something gray from a large unmarked container]

T.T.: Now, you're going to feel a slight pinch in the breastal region.

Vehoracle: 'Breastal?' Are you, like, a real doctor?

T.T.: [Dismissively] 'Real doctor.' Nate; Ryan -- tinnier!

[NATE and RYAN continue to hum, but with poorer harmony]

T.T.: I apologize. [waving syringe around] They used to be singers, and I am a tinny trainer. Enter, Ernie!

[ERNIE returns, coming down the staircase.]

T.T.: [gesturing with head] Ernie.

Vehoracle: [to Ernie:] Hello. [to T.T.] They all look kind of familiar. Except for the breasts.

T.T.: Well you might recognize them, I suppose. Nina ran Eternity's campaign at CK for a while. And Ryan was a savage little Aryan in internet banking for a time. You do any banking?

Vehoracle: For a time. I was loyal to the Bank of America, until they started charging me extra fees for everything and my debit card number got stolen. And then I kind of ran out of money and banking wasn't really a high priority.

T.T.: Oh! You don't have money? Or, uh, a job?

Vehoracle: Not in a bank. I assumed you'd take cash.

T.T.: [visibly relieved] Oh yes. Of course. Cash is great. [nods head vigorously] And, about the job, well, I say, 'Earn rent? Inanity!' But where was I? Oh yes. The thing about the title 'doctor' is, you know, anybody can say they're a doctor. The title doesn't mean anything. If you mean, have I studied medicine, the answer is assuredly yes. Though it's a tiny arena, internal medicine. I like to have a broader understanding of things. That's why I also hold a doctorate in entertaining. And in the extremely unlikely event that anything goes wrong, I have access to all kinds of information on the computer cathode's ray. Nina! Internet!

[NINA rushes to take a seat in front of one of the computers]

T.T.: But let's get you pectacular. [Phone rings.] Trina, rent ye Nina. [TRINA answers phone and talks briefly, then writes down an address and hands it to NINA.]

Trina: [to NINA:] Earn ninety. [Exit NINA.]

T.T.: Who was it?

Trina: Terry.

T.T.: Terry in Nina. Neat.

Vehoracle: You're remarkably efficient, the way you order everybody around.

T.T.: It's part of the gig when you're a pimp / dealer / cosmetic surgeon. Always got to be on your toes, juggling, rearranging. But I'm not a tyrant. [pause] A tyrant, I? Anne? Irene?

Annie and Irene [in unison]: A nanny. Trainer. [ANNIE and IRENE look at one another, giggle, then say, again in unison:] Tie! [more giggling]

T.T.: We should get started. Annie, get on the computer. [ANNIE seats self.] Trina? Pulse?

Trina: Near ninety.

T.T.: Okay. [to VEHICLE] Are you ready? [to ANNIE:] Annie -- try Nairnet.com.

EXEUNT

(Story continues at RIMI PETERS DROPS HER THOUGHTS. . . .)

AN ANONYMOUS BENEFACTOR arrives to consult the ORACLE

2004-08-22T16:02:00.000-05:00

(Originally posted July 1, 2004)

Grocery store produce section, night. The VEHICLE is going retro today: She is wearing a pair of white knee-high, lace-up boots, a black miniskirt, and a raincoat made of powder-blue vinyl. There are also, of course, sunglasses. Some of this started out as hand-me-downs from CHERIE, though the miniskirt wasn't born as a miniskirt, and the raincoat was obtained from the dumpster behind a pornographer's studio, and when she found it was heavily stained with fake blood. Probably best not to ask. Many soakings and scrubbings in the bathroom sink have brought it up to spec, and the Vehicle is feeling a bit like a Bond girl, or a nineteen-sixties-era British counterintelligence agent, or at the very least like one of those girls from a Target ad, along with the minor special thrill of pretending to be someone else in public. She has shaved and made-up her face for the occasion, and is enjoying the pointed sexual appraisals directed at her by passers-by. This was, after all, part of the point, to have other people look at her and see: woman. One advantage of the raincoat is that its retro look makes a certain amount of flat-chestedness seem appropriate, which this is one area where she still feels like, perhaps, she might have been well-served to spend the money while she had money to spend.

Another advantage of the raincoat is that some small items of produce may, if necessary, be concealed in the pockets, which the Vehicle has already concealed some kiwis and is considering a bag of baby carrots, which are located at the end of the produce aisle, next to the stockroom entrance, when she hears a psst. She turns to see a STRANGER OF INDETERMINATE GENDER, in (somehow) several forms of disguise at once, wigs and fake beards and a fat suit and multiple layers of makeup, beckoning to her to enter the stockroom.

Stranger: You the Oracle?

Oracle: I am. And I know who you are, too.

Stranger: I knew you'd know. I just don't want everybody else to know. The last time I went somewhere in public, I was mobbed. I can't even go to the grocery store unless I'm in this ridiculous getup. Isn't that sad?

Oracle: You always did want to be famous. You thought maybe your life wouldn't have to change?

Stranger: Mmm-hmm. Or, yes and no. I wanted things to change. That was the whole point. But I would never have dreamed that I wouldn't be able to just go to the grocery store, or go jogging, or –

Oracle: Though the jogging is new.

Stranger: Not that new. Not anymore. I feel healthy, I feel good.

Oracle: Which raises the question of why you had to lose all that weight in the first place. You were a role model, to a lot of women, when you were heavier. They could look at you and say, if she can be that weight, and be as successful as she is, then so can I. You were an inspiration.

Stranger: Mmm-hmm. But I wasn't healthy.

Oracle: You don't think being comfortable with your natural weight is healthy?

Stranger: Being overweight is bad for you. There's heart disease, there's diabetes. I couldn't go on living like that.

Oracle: And here you are.

Stranger: And here I am. I wanted to give you something. Anonymously. I -- I know what it's like to be poor, the constant struggle. And I think you're doing, you're just doing so much for women, for people, you're really getting people to think globally about things, to think about their spiritual selves. You're just empowering everybody so much. And it's a beautiful thing. I never thought I'd see anything like it. And so I wanted to give you some money, so you don't have to worry about having a roof over your head or food to eat or clothes to wear. I mean, I know what it's like -- I grew up poor, I remember what it felt like to want things I couldn't have, how frustrating it was.

Oracle: You've come a long way, baby.

Stranger: After a while, it doesn't mean anything. I give a lot of it away, to various charities. There are days where I just want to put my feet up on the couch and eat chocolate all day, or I have fantasies about taking a walk down to the park and watching kids play. When you don't have to worry about your next meal, or what you'd do if you got sick, when you can choose who you let into your life and who to keep out, and nobody can do anything -- nobody can threaten you physically -- it’s a great thing. But you do give things up, in exchange for the control and the power.

Oracle: Absolute power corrupts anonymity.

Stranger: More or less.

Oracle: Is anonymity such a great thing?

Stranger: It's a form of freedom. You miss it when it's gone. [pause] But so. I got it in cash, because I knew a check would be traceable. And anyway I didn't know who to make the check out to. [Hands a stack of bills to the Vehicle.] That's $25,000. Invest it, spend it, save it, whatever. You know what's going to happen, I figure you know what you need to do with it.

Oracle: Thank you very much.

Stranger: It's what I do. I make money, so I can give it away. Both the making and the giving get meaningless after a while. And then, you know, there's the loneliness. Though I have Toni and Maya. They get it.

Oracle: Some things are the same all over.

Stranger: I guess so. But anyway. Get you some organic vegetables, girl. Important to eat right. Exercise. Diet and exercise, and a personal trainer. You're stuck in that body for the rest of your life, you may as well make it a nice place to be.

EXEUNT

(Story continues at TYRANNIE TRANNIE.)

JENNA and BARBARA BUSH, daughters of GEORGE W., arrive to consult the ORACLE

2004-08-22T15:56:00.000-05:00

(Originally posted June 27, 2004)

In the VEHICLE's back yard, night. It has to be the back yard, because the front yard contains FRED PHELPS and his followers (and relatives) from the Westboro Baptist Church of Topeka, KS, who are presently milling about kind of aimlessly. Phelps is helping himself to an ice-cold Coke from a styrofoam chest, and a couple Little Debbies. It is possible the Phelpsians believe themselves to be at a picnic. Phelps holds a sign which states, "GOD HATES THE ORACLE;" one of his grandchildren has "ORACLE IN HELL;" a daughter-in-law bears "AIDS KILLS ORACLES DEAD." Though there has yet been no actual conversation between the groups, the Phelpsians and Oraclites on the neighboring (CURTIS SHUCKS') lawn have been eyeing one another through increasingly-narrowed eyes and are clearly both itching for a scrap of some kind.

Past this little tableau creep JENNA and BARBARA BUSH, the (fraternal) twin daughters of President George W. Bush. They have had plenty of practice with sneaking around invisibly, and even with climbing over privacy fences, as they are doing at the moment. Being the Bush twins' Secret Service detail is the assignment all Secret Service agents fear, as the repercussions of a twin casualty would be disastrous on a level no one wants to think about directly, and yet the twins are just dynamos of energy, except when stoned or drunk, which, granted, is an awful lot of the time. But that just adds a level of unhappy unpredictability to the whole business. Laura Bush is the plum assignment, as she tends not to leave the White House, and sometimes doesn't even get out of bed, which makes protecting her very easy. The first AGENT, trying now to hook a leg over the fence so he can pull himself up and over, recalls the Sig Ep party where he and his co-agent finally had to resort to getting the elder Barbara on the cell phone to talk to her younger namesake, which it's not clear exactly what Grandma said to Barbara but it made Barbara's eyes roll up in her head, and all the color drained out of her face, and the whole fraternity house had to be evacuated while they removed her on a stretcher, and frankly she's never been quite right since. The first AGENT is being punished for having rolled his eyes accidentally, at something DICK CHENEY said a couple years ago.

But and so. The twins and agents are over the privacy fence now, and the twins have approached the VEHICLE, who is relaxing with a beer on a lawn chair, listening to the light jazz station out of Anaheim and looking up at the sky in hopes of viewing some stars.

Jenna: Hey.

Vehicle: [waves unenthusiastically]

Oracle: Greetings, spawn of Dubya.

Barbara: Hey.

Jenna (whispering to BARBARA): Wow. She's so gross.

Barbara: [fiddles with a "WWJD" bracelet on her left wrist]

Jenna (still whispering): She's like a homeless person.

Barbara (whispering back): But she's got a home, right? She lives here.

Jenna (whispering): I guess so. How come she doesn't shave or dress nice or anything?

Barbara (whispering): She's kinda scaring me. Can we go?

Jenna (whispering): No, doofus, we gotta ask her something.

Barbara (whispering): Can we ask for a beer? I wanna beer.

Jenna (whispering): No. We'll get a beer later. I got Grandma's 'emergency' card. We'll go somewhere later.

Barbara (whispering): Well you're the English major, you ask the question.

Jenna: [clears throat] Hey. Um so like, am I going to be President someday like Dad?

Oracle: No.

Barbara (whispering): Ask her about the thing.

Jenna: Oh yeah. So, we heard that there's this way that a person can like, have sex with herself, instead of having to get really really drunk and have sex with the first guy who comes along, in a pathetic attempt to earn the approval of men as a stand-in for the approval of her kind of distant and sometimes alcoholic father, who was gone or drunk a lot when she was a kid and then moved 1500 miles away just as she was finishing high school and didn't even come to her college graduation when she was pretty desperately in need of a little guidance and support? Or something?

Oracle: You must phrase your question in the form of a question, not just inflect it like one.

Barbara: Oooh. Burn. She got you good.

Jenna: [to Barbara] Oh shut up. [to Oracle] Come on, you. We're busy. Could you just recommend a book or something?

Barbara: Something with Cliff Notes.

Oracle: You should just go talk to Joycelyn Elders. You don't have to read.

Barbara: Oh thank Jesus. Sometimes I don't read so well.

Oracle: Well, honey, you're a Bush. Nobody expects you to be smart.

Jenna: So this Elders woman can show us?

Barbara [to Jenna]: Well shit, Jen, Fabian said he'd show us.

Jenna: Shut up, Bar. I don't think it works the same when you're a guy.

Oracle: Yes. Just go talk to her. It'll be fine.

Jenna: Well, um, thanks and stuff.

Barbara: Yeah, thanks. [pause] Hey, uh, can we get one for the road?

Jenna: [grabs Barbara and starts dragging her back to the fence] Shut up. I told you we'd get something later.

Barbara (weakly): But I'm thirsty.

EXEUNT

(Story continues at EVIE SINGLASS.)

LAURA WELCH BUSH arrives to consult the ORACLE

2004-08-22T15:51:00.000-05:00

(Originally posted June 27, 2004)

VEHICLE'S duplex, 7 PM PDT. The Vehicle is reading the technical manual she received after her final sex-change surgery, the one during which her vagina was actually put in her body. She had not had any trouble speaking until waking up from anesthesia that last time. There is nothing in the technical manual about "hysterical muteness," the diagnosis with which she has been saddled ever since the nurse in the recovery room asked her, brightly, what her new name was going to be, and she found herself unable to answer. There is also nothing in the technical manual about new vaginas being able to speak, or predicting the future, or telling the truth, or attracting the attention of world leaders due to the speaking/predicting/truth-telling combination, but all these things have happened, and then some, leading to the Vehicle being known as the Vehicle and her newish vagina being referred to, pretty much universally, as the ORACLE. The technical manual is instead mainly devoted to vaginal maintenance and troubleshooting. For example: "In order to prevent your new SUPRALUTE VAGINA from growing closed, you must insert the graded series of vaginal dilators (Fig. 1), beginning with the smallest-diameter (15 mm) dilator and progressing to the largest (37 mm), into your vagina at least once a day. Each dilator must remain in place for at least fifteen minutes. No additional benefit will result from leaving dilators in longer than fifteen minutes. If insertion is painful or difficult, first coat the dilators with SUPRALUTE SLICKENGLIDE(TM) Lubricant." The Vehicle finds it helpful to read a bit of the technical manual every night, prior to bed.

There is a very faint knock on the door, which the Vehicle gets up to answer. At the door is FIRST LADY LAURA WELCH BUSH, who takes the Vehicle's hand and shakes it warmly and gently.

Bush [sweet, sincere]: It is lovely to meet you. I hope I'm not disturbing you?

Vehicle: .

Bush: I didn't want to arrive too late and disturb your sleep. I had to get a ride in Air Force Two with Dick and Lynne, so I wasn't sure exactly when I'd get here. [looking around] You have a lovely home.

[The Vehicle sits down.]

Oracle: The Vehicle does not speak, at present.

Bush: Well of course not. I'm, you'll have to excuse me. Sometimes I do better on cross-country flights if I take a little something to knock myself out first, but then I'm a little groggy when I arrive. May I sit down?

Oracle: If you so choose.

Bush: Well since it's getting late. I'm here about George.

Oracle: Naturally enough.

Bush: He would have come to you himself, but he thought it wouldn't look proper, a married man, consulting a single vagina, and so forth.

Oracle: Also he thinks that I am Satan.

Bush: Oh I don't think that's true. George likes vaginas perfectly fine. He doesn't call them that, of course. But, ah, I'm worried about him. He -- well, some things have come up, lately. We've had some disagreements, political disagreements. [pause] And I know, of course, that he is the President, and I'm not, and I'm very proud, of him, and I know that the wife is to submit to the husband and so forth, according to the Bible. I assume you know the Bible?

Oracle: Not "know" in the Biblical sense.

Bush [smiles]: Oh, they'd said you would be funny. That's very good. But of course I didn't mean in the Biblical sense. It's my understanding that you're celibate, which is why I told George that I didn't think it would be a problem, him coming to see you. But I meant, of course, that you've read it, written its words on your heart, and so forth.

Oracle: "Heart" is also sort of a problematic word.

Bush: Well yes. I mean. In any case. This is sort of the reason why I came, though. Because George and I don't always see eye to eye on these things. I thought the war in Iraq, for example, was maybe a bad idea. Though of course I fully support his decision to go, and I think we're doing a lot of good there, for the Iraqi people. Some of the stories about those things Saddam did, I get goose bumps just thinking about them. He was an awful, awful man. [shudders, points to arm] See. Those are the goose bumps right there. There was one story about a man who was in prison over there, and, well, Saddam's guards put something into his body, and then they took it out again, and it was just, it was horrible, awful. I can't even bring myself to talk about it. But so of course George has my full confidence. Because he is the husband, and I am the wife, and God intended that the wife should submit to the husband.

Oracle: But?

Bush: Well it just looks like maybe the war was a bad idea for him, politically speaking? I mean, it's horrible, all those servicemen and women who have died, of course. And the others who have died, though one hopes that they found Jesus before they died, in which case they're in a better place and it's not so horrible. But the families, you know. And then those awful photographs came out of Abu Gharib, and now -- well, the United States knows that this is not America, these pictures, that the people who did this are not representative. And I know that they all feel a great deal of anguish and sorrow about the photos, but at the same time they know that the majority of Americans are not like that, but I worry sometimes that maybe the rest of the world doesn't see it that way, and that the whole thing was a bad idea. The same way that, you know, I've heard about the things you've said but I feel sure that you must have meant something completely different, that no one could think that way about God and America and so forth. I was in Oregon, on a literacy-related speaking engagement, when you made the appearance at that Middle School, so I didn't actually see it myself, and then I had taken an Ambien to get to sleep, on the way back, and so by the time I woke up people were saying all these horrible things about you but it was all secondhand, they weren't still showing the footage. Which I am sorry. I meant no disrespect. You know, George and I are very supportive of people like yourself who make these sorts of lifestyle choices and then decide to remain celibate. I hope George and I can count on your vote in November. Are you registered as one person, or two?

Oracle: We are not currently registered to vote. The state quite unreasonably requires a name and address in order to vote.

Bush: Oh! Well then I hope you find one soon. One of each. It's very important, voting. Every citizen's duty to vote. But anyway. So I thought I would ask you what a wife's place is, regarding differences of opinion like this. Because I want to be supportive, of course, but at the same time, when he does something and it doesn't go well, then he's very cranky about it afterward, and sometimes he uses profane language, and it makes me uncomfortable. So if I see something, a problem with one of his plans, I want to be able to explain it, in a respectful way, of course, before he begins the plan, so as to save him the embarrassment, and keep him from being cranky afterward, because when he's cranky the only thing I can do is to take an Ambien before he goes to bed and try to sleep for a long time. And everybody says that the secret to a Godly marriage is communication, and I believe this, but if I'm asleep while George is home, or if I'm avoiding him because I don't want to hear him use profane language, then we're not communicating. And then I worry that maybe we aren't doing a good job at having a Godly marriage.

Oracle: ?

Bush: But he's also, you know, the President, and the people elected him, not me, and I don't want to overstep my bounds and be like, I don't know, Hillary Clinton or Nancy Reagan or somebody. I don't even like it when people call me "First Lady." It sounds like I'm putting on airs. And really I'm just a former school librarian from Midland who loves to read, loves my daughters, loves my husband. Who is a good man. I've seen his heart.

Oracle: Angiogram?

Bush: Figuratively speaking. I don't know what all George has to deal with every day. He doesn't tell me a lot. And sometimes I'm sleeping. And I trust him, of course, with the country, and I'm incredibly proud of the way he's, you know, the No Child Left Behind Act, that he got such great bipartisan support for, and he was great for the country after 9/11 happened, and I really do think that God wants him in office, I think God called him to lead this country at this time, and he's done a wonderful job. But sometimes I think, I have this nagging feeling that maybe if I could get him to listen to me about some things, except that I don't know anything about these things, and I can't very well go against all his advisors and God and the support of the whole country and tell him something that he doesn't want to hear, especially not if it's going to make him upset.

Oracle: I believe you are damaged. Is there someone we could call to come pick you up?

Bush: Of course he loves me, I know that. And he's been a great husband, and a great father for the girls, you can tell they've learned a lot from him. Why would he listen to me? I don't know business culture like he does, or all the intricacies of the international political situation, and he's really been very good about keeping his promise to not make me campaign for him, I said I never wanted to do that and he's never asked me to, though sometimes I go on the talk shows in the mornings, you know, to talk about literacy, and then they ask me questions about politics, and usually Karl's given me some things I can say if they ask but of course they can't know if the media's going to ask me something or not, before I go on, so it's really not George's fault, plus he's really just got the best heart of any man out there, and he doesn't have to listen to me. . . .

Fade-out and EXEUNT

(Story continues at BARBARA BUSH.)

LIBERTY arrives to consult the ORACLE

2004-08-22T15:48:00.000-05:00

(Originally posted June 25, 2004)

Asian noodle shop, day. The VEHICLE, back in the same neighborhood as the prior conversation with ROSALIE QUM, has yielded to the urgings of her stomach, if not her pocketbook, and elected to sit down with some noodles and glutamate. The shop is smaller on the inside than it appeared to be outside, and there are five doors in the back of the room, unmarked, which the Vehicle imagines as leading to some kind of very organized noodle storage warehouse. Many Asian people, of all ages and genders, are constantly entering and exiting through these doors, as well as entering and exiting the shop, in a fashion which is both so quick and so random one suspects it of being choreographed. Some of these customers seem to be in great distress when they enter, but not when they leave; in others the process is reversed. Both groups leave quickly.

The Vehicle's vagina, built to specifications of one Mr. Edmund Ludens, who no longer exists (though he did not die), is the ORACLE. The Oracle knows that the customers who look more calm as they leave have purchased heroin, while those customers who look less calm have come in search of bulk noodles, the supply truck for which never arrived today, and these would-be customers have been told that they may not purchase noodles at low bulk rates but must instead pay for fully prepared bowls of noodles, with the attendant 40-50% markup, as the Vehicle is doing, pending the arrival of the next supply truck.

A pair of elderly men play Go near the front, by the single, dirty window, which is itself flanked by a pair of scraggly but clearly beloved houseplants. Only the window is dirty: the rest of the shop is spotless. Into the shop comes LIBERTY, appearing today in the guise of BILL COSBY and PHYLICIA RASHAD, a.k.a. "Dr. Heathcliff Huxtable" and his wife "Clair," from the hit TV show "The Cosby Show." COSBY is wearing a $750 sweater which, despite being just your basic forest green, navy blue, and maroon, still somehow looks like a $750 sweater. RASHAD is in a black skirt and mustard-yellow blouse, which, yes, the blouse has shoulder pads. LIBERTY approach the ORACLE, and thus also the VEHICLE, both of whom are again a little exhausted, and full of ennui or possibly malaise or some other bad French thing. The Vehicle kicks her legs slightly under the table, in what could be interpreted as a subconscious or intuitive shooing motion, and continues to eat noodles.

LIBERTY (male): I say.

Oracle: .

LIBERTY (female): [kindly] You appear to be troubled and joyless.

Oracle: We are tired and discouraged. Also troubled, though not entirely without joy.

LIBERTY (male): You should be energized and excited. These are wonderful times.

LIBERTY (female): From my perspective, things have never been so good. The people are opening up to you, to your message.

Oracle: And what is my message?

LIBERTY (male): Why, isn't it obvious? You have awakened everyone to the arbitrariness of their existence. They are no longer constrained by fear.

Oracle: And what did they fear before?

LIBERTY (female): They feared the corporations which controlled their lives, they feared the marketers who coerced them to buy against their wishes or interests.

LIBERTY (male): They feared their Gods. They feared unemployment. They feared suffocation in jobs which deadened their souls and made them feel less than alive.

LIBERTY (female): They feared the feeling of being bottled up and repressed, feared joylessness and prudery and enslavement.

Oracle: Many still do. And those you would say I freed, freed themselves.

LIBERTY (male): You underestimate the power of truth, of your truth. They were waiting only for someone who would tell them the truth.

LIBERTY (female): Who would tell them what they believed was true all along.

Oracle: An authority.

LIBERTY (male): Precisely. And now, look at how well it suits them! They go where they will, they take what they want, they share when they like, hoard when they like. They quit their jobs, they compose songs of praise, they renounce the shackles of civilization and live as their ideal selves.

LIBERTY (female): And they choose a leader like yourself, who would tell them to devote themselves to self-gifting of pleasure, without concern for the petty morality of their previous gods. Who just twelve years ago fell from her high position for advocating the very same thing.

Oracle: This upheaval you describe is in the future? Isn't predicting the future supposed to be my job?

LIBERTY (male): Some is in the future. Some is in the past.

LIBERTY (female): But some is in the NOW, the dynamic excitement of countless souls waking up to find that yes, they are far too unique and special to continue to drudge at their jobs, huffing White-Out and dust mites and zinc oxide fumes. Millions of souls quivering inside, waiting only for YOU, the Oracle, to give them that last nudge to find their true destinies as prophets and sculptors and acrobats and prostitutes.

Oracle: Prostitutes?

LIBERTY (male): An old and revered profession. Prostitutes bring happiness and orgasm, they help others to feel alive and in control of what happens to them. A special few are called to it.

LIBERTY (female): In the future, prostitutes will be the new celebrities. No more prudery, no more shame. There will be action figures of the very best ones, which children will save up their allowances to buy.

LIBERTY (male): But to return to the topic at hand. These are heady times in which to be LIBERTY. People will express themselves as never before, not even during the 1960s.

LIBERTY (female): Art will flourish as never before in history. So many people awakening to their true selves – surely you can feel it? Something in the air, electrifying? An entire planet, rejoicing as their shackles are cast aside, all the old powers being swept out to sea, to drown? New powers, voices never before heard, six billion souls longing to shout six billion truths?

LIBERTY (male): So much blood has been shed, in human history, to wield even a fraction of the power you have, and yet you achieve it with only the truth and a single sharpened pencil. It is right that you feel tired, for you have just given birth to all of humanity.

LIBERTY (female): Porn starlets will have sex with passersby on street corners! The drivers of bread delivery trucks will give up their jobs and devote themselves to painting and sculpture and dance! CEOs will seek satisfaction in becoming shoeshine boys, and vice-versa!

Oracle: I can tell you are an American conception of Liberty. Only in the United States could Anarchy call itself Liberty and get away with it.

LIBERTY (male): Order is confining by definition. Anyone leading an ordered life must constrain their actions to preserve the order they live within. And any choice made within constraints can never be a free, liberated choice.

Oracle: And what of the people who will starve without their bread deliveries? What of those who become unemployed by whim of a former shoeshine boy? Who will step in and care for the adult film stars who acquire diseases from passersby?

LIBERTY (female) [picking a noodle from the VEHICLE's bowl with her fingers and eating it, which elicits a daggered look from the VEHICLE]: This is not my concern. I am LIBERTY. My concern is only to make available the widest number of choices possible. The public is not as stupid as it looks; I have confidence that they will freely choose, according to their own whims, that which is best for them, with none in charge and all benefiting equally. Collectives and militias will blossom across the land. There will be vast fields of wheat in Brooklyn! Orange blossoms will fill Wisconsin greenhouses with their heady aroma! Manatees will nurse their young in the New Wichita Sea! Children will read books at night by the light of their bioluminescent pet rabbits!

LIBERTY (male): Like the doctors of old, in their floppy-brimmed hats, riding out into a driving rainstorm in order to deliver a baby in exchange for a bowl of hot soup and a live chicken, truck drivers will crisscross the country in order to bring diodes and manatee chow, undyed spun wool and technetium-99m, wherever these items are needed, in exchange for a tin bell and a breeding pair of guppies. I am an idealist, you see. [chuckles] In fact, I am an ideal.

Oracle: In fact, you are an impostor. You wish for the demise of the economy and government in order to create a power vacuum, which you will then fill yourself.

LIBERTY (female) [agitated]: Not true! Not true! You are mistaken!

Oracle: You would corrupt my message to destroy the country's infrastructure, and then, when the public is on the verge of starvation, you would step in with your own educational facilities, prisons, armies, transportation networks, and the rest, accept tax breaks for same, charge small fees for all public services, and become the entire economic system of the country.

LIBERTY (male): You are grossly inaccurate.

Oracle: And you would, I believe, refer to this system as "Federalized Restoration of Economic Development."

FRED (female): It would be more benign than what you have now.

Oracle: It would be indistinguishable from what the country has now, just more monopolistic. Get thee behind me, FRED.

FRED (male): We come in supplication. We ask only for your help in dismantling the oppressive governmental interference in people's lives, the fetters and chains government imposes on its citizens. [both FREDs begin to vanish]

FRED (female): Live Free Or Die, say the residents of New Hampshire, say your ancestral revolutionaries. "Give me liberty or give me death," said the heroic Patrick Henry. We wish to save the people, we wish them to live free. [FREDs completely vanished]

Oracle [to self]: "Live Free Or Die" only works as a slogan if one prefers one option over the other.

EXEUNT

(Story continues at LAURA WELCH BUSH.)

THE ORACLE arrives to consult THE ORACLE, kind of

2004-08-22T15:47:00.000-05:00

THE ORACLE arrives to consult THE ORACLE, kind of. Which is to say: after the recent Troubles, the ORACLE, a Vagina of the make Supralute and the model M3RK-n (the “n” here meaning “sans sunroof”, i.e., not the model that certain wags have dubbed “Womb With a View”, which let’s not give them any more attention than they’ve already received), has turned tantrically inward to consult its own DNA, which is the DNA of thirty-eight different species, thirty-nine, if one were to include that of the VEHICLE, a long-time male, first-time female, FKA Edmund Ludens, currently bereft of voice and appellation, but not without a certain charm and flair. The yogic Kagel exercise involved with an oracular vagina consulting its own DNA is pretty complex but can be represented theatrically by having two Georgia O’Keefe paintings crash into a copy of “Self Matters” by TV’s Dr. Phil.

Having done this, the Oracle finds itself at a podium in a sort of genomic House of Commons addressing the DNA of the 39 species it comprises (the DNA of each species representing a platonic ideal of that species, like the conceptual ideal breed against which each of the various breeds of dog in the Westminster Dog Show individually compete, rather than compete against each other, in case you didn’t know that’s how that works).

Oracle: Hello, all. I am the pack to which you are wolves, the pykrete to which you are sawdust and ice.

Ewe DNA: And I am A.I. DNA.

Indian Water Buffalo DNA: Quiet, clone. We welcome you, Composite. May I commend you on your behavior thus far, which despite the 38 other species involved has been most water buffalo-like. I take it that this means “Water Buffalo” is a dominant trait, which I have always suspected. Prana, prana.

Oracle: Really? In what ways have I been behaving waterbuffaloesquely, to not-for-the-first-time coin a word?

Indian Water Buffalo DNA: We both enjoy wet grasslands and are pestered by insects. Both of us have hair that is short and stiff, and we are both dangerous if aroused. We both moo.

Oracle: I hardly think I moo.

Indian Water Buffalo DNA: No, I was just mooing in the middle of a sentence. “We both are prominent in the folktales of aboriginal culture,” is what I was going to say. Moo. Prana, prana.

Japanese Gliding Frog DNA: Chi.

Indian Water Buffalo DNA: Prana. We DNA genuflect and curtsey at the fetlocks to you. I personally kowtow. The Composite is everything and everything is the Composite. This is what we learned in Nucleotide School on day one. On day two we learned that our alphabet is the sound of a whiskbroom sweeping pea stones.

All the Representative DNA: (in unison) ATG TAC AAT GCC ATG GAG ATT TCT CGT GAG GTC GAG GCT CTT GAA GAT ATC AAT GCC AAC GCC AAC GCT GGT CGT GCC ATG TGA.

Planarian DNA: We just wished you a happy menopause. (appears to vomit)

Oracle: Planarians, I see, use the same orifice for their mouths and anuses. This is of some interest to me, since I am neither but have been confused for both. Long story. Forgive my staring; seeing everyone here takes some getting used to. I feel like Tony Blair giving a keynote speech at a convention of FurryMUCKers.

Indian Water Buffalo DNA: Prana.

Oracle: I suppose it’s similar to how I’m not used to seeing myself (other than looking in a mirror during the occasional VSE, and that, of course, is actually a reflection of how I look in reality). When I finally saw myself on TV, I looked like my own doppelganger, and I had to remind myself that that’s how everyone else has always seen me. You there. You are a parrotfish.

Parrotfish DNA: Polly want messenger RNA.

Oracle: A parrotfish that exists as a female can change to a male should the dominant male in its group die. I also see among you hermaphrodite nematode DNA and material from several self-pollinating plants. All of which confirms a few expectations, I have to say. Is there no goat DNA here? I owe so much to the hircine, I just assumed. All over the world, goats are sacrificed and without any gods to claim them, I am free to speak my mind. Sometimes I inhale the methane gas that comes off their manure before I speak as well, but only when I want to fuck with people. But I’ll cut to the chase. I beg a boon. I seek your counsel.

Ewe DNA: Step on no pets.

Indian Water Buffalo DNA: Stop talking, you. [or “ewe,” maybe? Not that it matters, I guess --ed.] Since you are our gestalt, I cannot conceive of what answer we might supply that you do not already know, but ask away. Prana.

Oracle: Right, then. I know everything that has happened, and I know everything that is happening now, and because of this I can extrapolate into the Future to such a degree that the R-squared of the regression analysis is like 99, point, and then so many nines it doesn’t even seem reasonable to not round up. But I can’t round up, because there exists in my mind a thing I cannot tell you, and that is the new name of the Vehicle. To the extent that free will exists, the Vehicle has to choose it on her own. But whenever I think I could maybe give her a hand (so to speak) the 39 of you send me in all these different directions. Karmically. Each of your double helixes is an IUD for my efficacy, in other words. If that makes sense. I’m rambling. Can we maybe get a consensus name here, is what I’m asking.

Indian Water Buffalo DNA: I have always been partial to “Bubalus”. For a boy or a girl.

Ewe DNA: A man, a plan, a vagina: “Nigavanalpanama”.

Indian Water Buffalo DNA: Dolly, please. The grownups are trying to have a conversation.

Planarian DNA: “Conan the Planarian”. And should she be cut in half and forced to replicate, you could name the second one “Governor”. (whispers) I am the reason you like oranges so much. (bows, defecates from its mouth)

Oracle: Yeah, you know, this is really much less help than I had hoped it would be. I was looking for more of what you might call “accord” here.

Russian Swamp Possum DNA: “Walt Kelly”. Ss.

Parrotfish DNA: Polynesia.

Japanese Gliding Frog DNA: Chi. Chiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii.

Indian Water Buffalo DNA: Prana, prana.

(Edmund Ludens’ DNA clears its throat and all of the other DNA silence themselves and retreat into shadows.)

Edmund Ludens’ DNA: I have always had trouble with third person pronouns. I can never remember which one goes where (I failed Latin twice), and so I often just skip over them when I speak. In this way, I identify with those who are mute by choice, like Holly Hunter’s character in “The Piano” [here, the Ewe DNA says, almost inaudibly, “Ada...”], or the Stealth Bomber, or the Senate. Is that true, what I just said about the Senate, or does it just sound vaguely clever? I don’t know. There are many, many things of which I have only inklings, but I do know this, this is my certainty: I was born to be a woman. But not having gotten it right the first time (and maybe this is why people become “born again”; I do not know. I was raised Episcopalian), I exist hierarchically on a level below them: many women are so fixated on the glass ceiling they don’t notice the glass floor, but I am beneath it, looking up, and when they wear skirts, I can see my destiny. My favorite book as a child was called “When I Am An Old Woman I Shall Wear Purple”.

Oracle: Sorry, I--

Edmund Ludens’ DNA: I am descended from a cross-dressing Elizabethan actor named Rycharde Massingberd (the one who ad-libbed “You kiss by the book” in place of Shakespeare’s “I coulde fill a paire of galligaskins with my well-burnyshed quimme”). The writing is on the malls. Talk is sleep. Slum’s the word. Still daughters run deep. The mass of men lead lives of quiet masturbation. You play the brand you’re dealt. If I am to remain mute, let me have closed captioning. When I am an old woman I shall have corporate sponsorship. I have another ancestor named Gene. It seems appropriate to mention it. When they take your penis, they attach it to the ‘Y’ in ‘XY’. Eventually our skin will absorb everything like it now does with mosquito bites. The transgendered are the next phase of evolution. Where are we going? Where is any of this going to be going to be going?

Oracle: Sorry, I thought this would be more useful than it was.

(The Oracle vanishes.)

Ewe DNA: Are we not drawn onward, we few? Drawn onward to new era?

EXEUNT, in whatever way seems appropriate.

(witnessed by Samantha Moss)

(Story continues at LIBERTY.)

LOS ANGELES TV STATION NBC4 talks to ORACLE CULTIST KATHY NAJIMY

2004-08-22T15:44:00.000-05:00

(Originally posted June 22, 2004)

Ana Garcia, reporter: You know her from her voice work on "King of the Hill," as Bobby, loveable son of Hank and Peggy Hill. You know her from Sister Act, as a sweet and fun-loving nun. But what you don't know about Kathy Najimy may shock you. NBC4 News caught up with Najimy outside the home of the Oracle, where she has become deeply involved with the Oracle Cult, those who believe that the Oracle is God, and asked her a few questions. What we found was alarming.

Najimy in clip from Sister Act: Good afternoon, young ladies. And welcome to our Christian Youth Group. [girls make grunting noises] Hi. I hope we'll have some fun, and maybe learn a little something, too. Now, today's topic is something very up-to-date -- "Teenage Promiscuity." My. Now, can anyone tell me -- just what is promiscuity?

Garcia in voiceover as scene continues: Anyone who's watched a movie in the last fifteen years knows Kathy Najimy, the bubbly, perky actress who first charmed us in the movie Sister Act as Sister Mary Patrick. But Najimy has a darker side, as well.

[cut to: news footage of Oracle Cult]

Garcia voiceover: The arrival in Los Angeles of the Oracle, a genetically engineered vagina for a sex-change patient, has turned this formerly peaceful L.A. neighborhood upside down. The Oracle's cult snarls traffic, disturbs the peace, and has led to record levels of loitering. And right in the middle of it, Kathy Najimy [Najimy's face in crowd is highlighted by a circle. Fancy zoom in on the still shot.]. In the aftermath of yesterday's tragic events in Providence, we caught up with Najimy and asked her a few questions.

[Najimy on camera. Behind her, a group of what appear to be homeless people are gluing oranges onto a chicken-wire frame shaped approximately like a walrus or dolphin.]

Garcia voiceover: How did you become a part of the Oracle's cult?

Najimy: Well it's not, I mean I don't think it's a. We don't worship the Oracle or anything.

Garcia: And yet you sing hymns to her.

Najimy: Well, um [giggles] songs, we sing songs. Not hymns.

Garcia: And isn't it true you haven't been working since your involvement with the Oracle?

Najimy: Well it's hiatus, you know. I don't normally --

Garcia: What first drew you into this cult?

Najimy: It's not a. Well. I was in the Vagina Monologues, as you know, a few years back, and it was quite a transformative experience for me, I couldn't even, [giggles] I couldn't even say the word "vagina" before that, and it was very empowering. I wanted to say it all the time, wanted to go to McVagina's and order a vaginaburger with vagina fries and shop at Neiman Vagina's. You know, just, vagina vagina vagina. [giggles] Are you going to cut that?

Garcia: So this all got started with the Vagina Monologues.

Najimy: Well no. It was, I heard about the Oracle, and I thought it was so empowering, you know, this supernatural being taking the shape of a vagina, and --

Garcia: Do you worship the Oracle? Have you spoken to the Oracle?

Najimy (blushing): Oh no. I couldn't get up the courage. But I've seen, there have been all kinds of people going in and out, you'd be amazed.

Garcia: Who have you seen consulting with the Oracle?

Najimy: Oh, um, well, not seen directly. I wasn't in the room with them, but, um, Meg Ryan, and John McCain, and there have been a couple little girls, I think one of them was crazy, she kept talking when she was going up the stairs but there wasn’t anyone else there, you know. I was in the building trying to get in to use somebody's bathroom, there aren't really any facilities -- and, um, somebody in a spacesuit, and Vladimir Putin, lots of guys in suits going in and out, actually, and they brought Winona Ryder in one of those orange jumpsuits, and Jimmy Carter, Ellen --

Garcia: And what about Joycelyn Elders? Have you seen her going in to talk to the Oracle?

Najimy: Josh who?

Garcia: Joycelyn Elders. She was the Surgeon General under Clinton?

Najimy: I don't know. I'm sorry.

Garcia: But you support Elders in her run for President?

Najimy: I'm not really very political. I mean, I vote and everything, but -- oh my God, it's Whoopi Goldberg! Whoopi! How you doing, girlfriend? [wanders off camera]

[cut]

Garcia: And so the uncertainty grows in this formerly quiet Los Angeles neighborhood. Who is the Oracle? What does she want? How many more of our leaders and entertainment figures will fall under her spell?

In-studio reporter: Ana, do you have any advice for the viewers about how to handle this situation?

Garcia: Well, Tom, the authorities are saying to keep away from the area, which it's almost impossible, you can see the traffic behind me, it's very difficult to get here anyway. There's a great deal of uncertainty about the danger, but for right now police are advising people to be cautious, and go about their business, particularly children, in light of yesterday's events.

In-studio reporter: Okay, Ana. Sounds like good advice.

Garcia: And I'd just like to remind the viewers that our special two-part Oracle series continues tomorrow, when we talk to child psychologist Rene Folse about how to discuss last week's riots in Providence with your children. For NBC4 News, this is Ana Garcia.

EXEUNT

(Story continues at A SING-ALONG.)

CROSSFIRE (CNN), the day after the Robert F. Kennedy Middle School appearance

2004-08-22T15:34:00.000-05:00

(Originally posted June 20, 2004)

(Transcript posted with permission from CNN.com.)

ANNOUNCER: CROSSFIRE. On the left, James Carville and Arianna Huffington. On the right, Tony Perkins, the President of the Family Research Council, and Robert Novak.

Announcer: In the CROSSFIRE, the Oracle. Her appearance yesterday in Providence sent shockwaves throughout the country when it erupted into a riot. Dozens of students were injured when an innocent-seeming question and answer session turned to violence.

Announcer: Also on the program today, a chance to see our First Lady, and her challenger, demonstrating some basic cooking skills.

JAMES CARVILLE, CNN HOST: Welcome to CROSSFIRE.

Carville: The first-ever public appearance by the Oracle has alarmed the country, leading to increased debate about the Oracle, and her role in leading America into the future. Before an audience of middle school students, she discussed atheism and transsexuality, predicted scandal in the dairy industry, and dismissed patriotism as just overgrown school pep rallies, before the appearance erupted into a full-blown riot, resulting in multiple injuries.

ROBERT NOVAK, CNN HOST: Many political and religious leaders are calling for the Oracle to be charged with incitement to riot, and possibly also with several counts of indecent talk with minors. The stock market, and the dairy industry in particular, has taken a huge hit, losing 450 points in unprecedentedly heavy trading. Some dairy stocks lost over half their value. Here to help us sort out the situation, Tony Perkins and Arianna Huffington.

Novak: I'll direct my first question to you, Arianna. Is there any reason why the United States Government shouldn't find and detain the Oracle right this minute?

Huffington: Well I believe the Oracle is still covered under certain First Amendment rights --

Novak: The First Amendment isn't an absolute. You know this. You can't go and yell "Fire!" in a crowded theater, and --

Huffington: She didn't yell "Fire!"

Novak: and you can't yell it in a school auditorium either.

Huffington: She didn't yell "Fire!"

Perkins: If I may. I think what she did was a good bit more serious than just yelling "Fire!" in a theater. Her comments yesterday went to the heart of what this country was about, what it was founded on. Christian principles, patriotism, capitalism. And she wields a considerable amount of influence --

(crosstalk)

Perkins: She wields an undue and dangerous amount of influence on the young people. She's a genetic experiment gone wrong, she's --

Carville: -- dangerous --

Perkins: she's what happens when man tries to play God, and starts thinking that he has become God. And she should be stopped. Absolutely.

Huffington: But she's still an American citizen. She has the right to say "God doesn't exist," or "Patriotism is bad," whether it's true or not.

Novak: I don't think -- it's one thing for her to be saying it to her followers, which did you see -- they don't look like normal, productive citizens. They aren't contributing anything to the country. They're harmless. But this talk at this school goes to the future, it was broadcast everywhere --

Carville: You're saying you advocate censoring the Oracle, Bob?

Novak: I'm not saying --

Carville: Are you talking about censorship?

Novak: "Censorship" is a scare word. It doesn't mean anything. I'm saying we don't let her --

Perkins: We shouldn't let her teach treason and secular humanism to schoolchildren.

Carville: And we have to go to break. When we come back: a student who was there tells us what it was like and helps us sort out the situation, and later in the broadcast, reaction to yesterday's statement by Jocelyn Elders.

(Commercial break)

Carville: Welcome back to CROSSFIRE. Joining us by satellite from Providence, Melanie Holland, student at Robert F. Kennedy. Melanie, the country is wondering, were you afraid for your life?

Holland: I've never seen anything like it. It was terrifying, when --

Novak: It was the most terrifying experience of your life.

Holland: Yes.

Novak: A number of people are wondering now where the Oracle is. Did you see her leave?

Holland: No, I was trying to get out, there was an exit off to my, um, to my left, and I was trying to get to the exit, and then someone got thrown in front of me and I didn't see.

Novak: What did you think of what the Oracle had to say?

Holland: I thought it was very depressing. I believe, you know, um, I believe in Jesus, and I didn't like her saying that there was no God.

Perkins: But you still believe in God.

Holland: I don't know. Um. Yes.

Perkins: See this is what I'm talking about. The Oracle is shaking the religious and moral foundations of this country, and she's very --

(crosstalk)

Perkins: and she's starting with the kids, with the children, I don't mean -- she's not of God. She's of the devil. She's evil.

Huffington: You can't just throw around words like "evil," Tony. She's an American, she has the right to say whatever --

Perkins: Not in front of kids, she doesn't.

(crosstalk)

Perkins: Not in front of kids, she doesn't.

Novak: And we have to go to commercial. When we come back: Jocelyn Elders responds.

(Commercial break)

Novak: Welcome back to CROSSFIRE. We're talking about the Oracle's appearance yesterday in front of a Rhode Island middle school full of impressionable children. Let us know what you think, on the web, at www.cnn.com/. We're going to play a statement from Jocelyn Elders, discredited Surgeon General in the Clinton Administration, who was involved in yesterday's assault on children, and the subsequent riots.

(BEGIN VIDEO CLIP)

ELDERS: I would be honored to serve as President of the United States, if the public support were there, though I have not, and I do not, announce my candidacy at this time. I find the actions taken by the police deplorable, and I strongly condemn the actions taken by my supporters. These were children who were injured.

(inaudible question from reporter)

Elders: I am not the Oracle. I do not know the Oracle.

(END VIDEO CLIP)

Novak: Our CNN / TIME tracking poll, taken just after the violence, shows public support for an Elders Presidency at just under 16 percent among registered voters. James Carville: could Elders make it to the White House?

Carville: Well, 16 percent is very good for an unannounced candidate. I wouldn't rule it out, particularly if she gets an Oracular endorsement. But I don't think we, I don't know that we have all the information in yet about how the, this incident is going to play out in the press.

Novak: We have another tracking poll from just after the appearance, showing that 57 percent of Americans had a favorable or somewhat favorable opinion of the Oracle prior to the riot, and only 24 percent after. With that kind of public opinion hit, is the Oracle finished? Could an Oracular endorsement actually hurt Elders, at this juncture?

Perkins: To be frank I think 24 percent is a bit high. Was this poll taken in New York City?

(crosstalk)

Huffington: I think the Oracle will bounce back. I do. She'll make some kind of clarifying statement, she'll get public opinion back on her side.

Novak: Even with what she said about --

Carville: I think it's serious, but no, I don't think it's going to destroy her. The people like her, she's sincere --

Huffington: I don't know about an Elders candidacy.

Carville: She would have to write off a lot of the Bible Belt, I think.

Novak: And besides that she resigned in disgrace from the Clinton Administration, which, I'm sorry, but if you're too unethical for the Clintons, then --

(crosstalk)

(crosstalk)

(crosstalk)

Carville: And that's all the time we have for this segment. But when we come back, Laura Bush and Theresa Heinz Kerry will be showing us how they butter toast. Our studio audience will be the judges. Stay tuned -- the election may just hang in the balance. Find out which side your toast is buttered on, when we come back.

EXEUNT

(Story continues at ROSALIE QUM.)

The ORACLE arrives to consult with ROBERT F. KENNEDY MIDDLE SCHOOL, PROVIDENCE, RHODE ISLAND

2004-08-22T15:28:00.000-05:00

(Originally posted June 19, 2004)

A middle school auditorium. The VEHICLE, previously a man named Edmund, is seated on a podiumless stage. From left to right: Jonathan R. Cooke, Superintendent of Schools; Margaret Thomas Perry, Vice-Principal; Charles 'Chuck' Wallace, Principal of Providence's Classical High School; the VEHICLE; Principal John H. D. White; District Administrators Brian Brooks and Connie West; and School Secretary and Personal Assistant to the Principal Kimberly Martinez. The VEHICLE is in a matte pink blouse which she hopes will disguise her lack of breasts (as well as a padded bra: she believes in hedging her bets), and a pair of navy blue culottes inexpertly fashioned from an old pair of dress slacks. She is a bit flushed, from nerves, because she is receiving $1500 in speaking fees for her appearance here with the ORACLE, her vagina, which was fashioned by the experts in custom cell design at the Supralute Corporation some months ago and which has become a worldwide celebrity due to its ability to speak truth, in an impressive number of languages and primarily to world leaders. A few news crews are also setting up cameras in a variety of positions around the stage, as there have been no public speaking engagements by the ORACLE thus far, and no one is certain what she may say, nor why she has chosen this public speaking invitation out of the hundreds which have reached her to date.

John H. D. White [standing, using handheld microphone on a cord]: Okay. Settle down. Before we begin, I'd like to welcome the members of the media, and call the students' attention to the television cameras. This is being broadcast live on a number of stations, worldwide. Disruptions will not be tolerated. Only those students with approved questions will be allowed to speak to the Oracle. Failure to treat her, the rest of the student body, and the rest of the world with the appropriate respect and courtesy will result in expulsion. The format for today's meeting, determined in advance, is that our five hundred forty eight students contributed a total of thirteen hundred sixty five questions, which Miss Martinez and I went over last week. Of that number, we selected ten students' questions, which will be asked by the students who submitted them [motions to front row]. We hope that this experience will be educational and enriching for students and teachers alike. Students, when you reach the microphone, please wait until the Oracle calls on you to ask your question. Begin with your name, age, and grade, then ask your question. When you have asked your question you may be seated again. Now then. It is with great honor that Robert F. Kennedy Middle School welcomes the Oracle, surely one of the most exciting things to happen to our country, and our planet, in this very exciting century. Please give a warm Providence welcome to our guest!

[applause. Principal White replaces the microphone in its place on a very short microphone stand at center front of the stage, then takes his seat. The Vehicle stands in front of the microphone and waits for the applause to die down.]

Oracle: Who has the first question?

LESLIE SMIPPLE, chronic over-achiever, rises to approach the microphone. She has been encouraged to go first by Vice-Principal Perry, who has confidence in Leslie. In fact, Vice-Principal Perry is nudging Leslie with her eyes right now. The two of them collaborated on this opening question:

Leslie: Hello, Ms. Oracle, I hope you’re um. I hope you’re having a nice. Day. Um what do you think kids like us can do to have a positive impact on the future, and, in general, is the outlook on the future bright, or should our outlook on the future be bright, in your opinion, I mean, is the future outlook as you see it going to be bright, or, does that all only depend on whether or not we have a positive outlook, I mean, isn’t the future just actually what we make of it?

Vice-Principal Perry makes a face, thinking, “Why the hell didn’t the kid write it down and memorize it?”

Oracle: Young people are not very influential; however, when you are older and act and think differently than you do now, you may then be influential. You, in fact, will be influential as a whistle-blower who reveals a conspiracy to fraudulently modify the genetic code of milk-goats in order to make goat-milk contain addictive levels of oxytocin. Oxytocin is a naturally occurring hormone, which has been shown to be associated with the ability to maintain healthy interpersonal relationships, as well as inducing uterine contractions. The conspiracy which you will choose to make public, thereby effectively ending your career in the goat-milk industry, a heroic personal choice which will ultimately result in your dying alone, penniless, and in squalor -- this conspiracy will be intended to break the dominant hold of cow-milk on the international milk-production industry, by creating a population of goat-milk addicts who, deprived of their goat-milk, will be unable to maintain healthy relationships with other people, and who will not know why, but will be drawn in their dull sorrow perpetually back to goat-milk, despite its inferior flavor. You will be a hero, Leslie Smipple.

Leslie: Well, what was that about penniless squalor?

Oracle: Heroes have to face the consequences of their heroism, Leslie. Of course, now that I have told you this, you may think you have the option of making another decision. It is true that if you were capable of not being a whistle-blower, that you would retire wealthy and -- after your husband’s tragic early death -- would live a paradise-like life with a Cuban immigré, a man more handsome than you would have any right to expect if you were not wealthy beyond the dreams of avarice. This future, however, despite its appeal, is impossible for you. You are simply too moral to make any decision other than the right one. Only people who are not fundamentally good have the luxury of flexible futures.

Leslie: Well, um.

Principal White: I think it’s time for our next question.

“JEWEL” SANCHEZ rises to approach the microphone. “Jewel” has been adjusting well to Kennedy Middle School, which she has attended since being expelled from Catholic school for verbalizing inappropriate thoughts in class. She is third-in-command of Kennedy’s largest Latina girl-gang and fears nothing in this world, except for receiving party-line calls from the first- and second-in-commands of her gang, who like to periodically call “Jewel” together, to dress her down for her poor fashion-sense and slutty morals. Actually, “Jewel” is dressed in an incredibly cool way, half Catholic-school-girl, half riot-girl, and has never done more than kiss a boy on the cheek. She wrote her question all by herself.

“Jewel”: What do you think about this “God” guy? Do you believe in that stuff?

Oracle: Gods are what happens when human thoughts about things that are greater than humans become crystallized, or otherwise stuck together, and become a thought formation large enough to cast a shadow on the Earth. We are right now in the shadow of all sorts of Gods, but some of them cast stronger, deeper, darker shadows than others. They are all just as real as I am, which is why I can interact with them directly. You can only interact with them by projecting yourself as a thought formation, which in most cases is going to be a relatively weak projection, because most actually living humans are little-known and the idea of them is not subsidized by very many others, whereas various versions of the monotheistic god, for example, have been and are currently subsidized by numerous people. I say “subsidize” rather than “believe” because you for example do not believe in God but nevertheless your awareness of him and active interest in him serves to subsidize him. Everything’s a popularity contest, just like your gang. That’s the meaning of democracy.

“Jewel”: So, are you saying you don’t exist except as one of these “thought formulsions”?

Oracle: I could be reasonably described as a mass hallucination. I am rather proud to be only the seventh or eighth nationally televised mass hallucination in U.S. history. The role of imagination in constructing every minute of the day should not be underestimated. How many of you kids are secretly seeing blood pouring out of nail-holes in your tender little hands right now? The role of suggestion in engendering imaginative action is how words have sex and reproduce in the middle of the air.

Principal White: Thank you. Please let me remind EVERYONE that religion, sexuality, mind-control and any other controversial or potentially interesting subjects of conversation are not appropriate topics for a middle-school environment, where we teach children to have no defenses. Any other children who ask questions about these sorts of naughty topics will be suspended indefinitely.

STEVE BELL comes to the microphone. Steve is nearly unique among the students for having no known quirks, foibles, passions, or friends. He has a blue button-up shirt on, and khakis. His hair is blond and conformistly short. What nobody yet knows, except for one neighbor his own age who moved away a year ago, is that Steve thinks he might be gay, which based on what he's heard means that he wants to be a woman, or should, and this is very confusing to him. And, it should be noted, the friend, who he fooled around with, doesn't know most of this either, since it wasn't like they spent a lot of their time together talking about their feelings or other girly stuff like that. When he dreams, Steve dreams about snuggling up in Eminem's armpit, with Em's big bleached-blond muscly misogynist arm around him to protect him from the dangers of the world, and depending on the dream sometimes also a bit of pillow talk about bad mothers.

And maybe someday it'll happen. You don't know.

Steve Bell: My name is Steve Bell, I'm fourteen, I'm in eighth grade. My question is, I was wondering why you're a woman when you used to be a man?

Oracle: First I need you to understand the difference between the Vehicle, who you are asking about, and myself, whom you are asking. I am neither man nor woman, though I appear in the form of a female sex organ. The Vehicle, on the other hand, is a woman, and always has been. People know who they are in the absence of outside input, and furthermore, they know this even when this information is contradicted by other people, or their body, or their experiences. Not everyone likes the person they know themselves to be, but once you understand who you are, you can change it and become someone else. The Vehicle decided that there was nothing wrong with being a woman, and that she liked being a woman, so rather than changing her self to fit her circumstances, she changed her circumstances to fit herself. She is lucky, in that she lives in a time and place where the means to do this exist.

Steve: So everything's a choice? Who you are, who you want to be, who you become?

Oracle: More or less. Many of the choices are visible only in retrospect, because humans are constrained by having to see things only one at a time, and often the choices don't seem like choices when they're being made. Some choices also get made for you by the situation into which you are born, or the choices made by other people, or by the laws of the physical world. It's not a neat, cut-and-dried thing like you'd like it to be. Also, sometimes people choose to believe things about themselves or others which are not true: these are called delusions, and can be dangerous, because the 'what-is' is always fighting against the 'what-is-desired.' Though delusions, too, can be worked with, to a point, because of course one can choose to believe the delusion or doubt it, and then to believe or doubt said belief or doubt, and so on. One way that people come to believe some things to the exclusion of others is their personal degree of intolerance for this sort of infinite regress, which is itself a kind of choice. Hence the angst some of you may have heard about.

Steve shrugs and leaves the microphone, clutching his head. PAULO GARCIA steps to the mike. He has an air of calculated sloppiness about him, because he wishes to be cool, which to the outside observer is completely blown by his immaculate posture and military haircut. Handsome, he happens to be the guy who got that kiss from "Jewel" Sanchez that one time, because, frankly, he finds the bad girl image a little exciting, and she happened to be willing, which boy did "Jewel" hear about that from the other members in her gang, once the rumor got spread around and had mutated into something much vaster than a mere kiss on the cheek.

Paulo Garcia: My name is Paulo Garcia. I am fourteen and in eighth grade. My question is that my older brother went to Iraq for the war and we are worried about him, and I wanted to know whether he's going to come home okay or whether there's anything we could do to help him. Thank you.

Oracle: Well, he won't be killed. He will come back. He won't be exactly the same person he was when he left: he’ll have a lot of new things to think about, and most of it he won't want to talk about, and he'll have nightmares for many years afterward. Also there may be some odd behavior. As for helping him, he will certainly need your help when he returns, but there's not much you can do until then. I would suggest, though, that the longer your country occupies Iraq, the worse it will be for him, and for many other families like your own, and that for their sake, as well as his, you and your family should try to protest against the war, should write letters to your congresspersons, should do what you can in order to prevent this war from continuing.

Paulo: But that would be unpatriotic. The whole point of this question, you know, was to find out how people can support the troops.

Oracle: Patriotism is only the artificial means by which groups suppress their internal squabbles, giving more power to those who already have power and taking it away from those who do not. It's a bit like a pep rally, before a football game. You do not know the members of the opposing team, though you have every reason to think that they are more or less like you: same state, same personalities, similar economic conditions. Some of you may even be related to some of them, or know them outside of school. And yet you hold large assemblies where girls jiggle and scream rhythmically about defeating the other team, and you all get very excited about this, even though the other team is in essentially every respect indistinguishable from your own. Why go to all the trouble? Because your principal realizes that if you can be unified against another school, you won't make trouble in this one, that if you can be convinced that your school is superior to another school, and you have something worth having, you won't act in ways which endanger it. As your principal's job is, among other things, to ensure that you don't endanger his school, pep rallies serve his purposes. Patriotism is school spirit writ large.

Paulo: I kind of see your point, but I was born here. I am who I am because of the United States. Don't I owe the country a certain amount of loyalty, for that?

Oracle: Yes and no. Look at it this way: you were, yes, born in the U.S. It wasn't your decision, but you were born here. Your parents, however, were born in Mexico. Their parents, several generations back, were born in Spain, and in Honduras. Their parents, further back, were born in what is now the U.S., Canada, Russia, China, India, Italy, Turkey, Yugoslavia, Saudi Arabia, Egypt, and a number of countries in Africa. Your cherished national ideals and moral concepts owe primarily to people from Greece, Germany, France, and Israel. The languages you speak owe to Germany and England and Italy. You would, on the whole, be much happier and would have a much better life if you lived in Brazil or Paraguay, though you will not actually move there. All these countries, plus several I've glossed over, have at least as legitimate a claim on your talents and energies as the U.S., and yet the U.S. is the only one you would shed blood for, the only one you see yourself as being related to. Patriotism is the reason why.

White: We do need to steer the conversation away from incitements to open rebellion, here. Who's up next?

GEORGE BYGEORGE, chronic winner of popularity contests, due to his good-natured good looks, slumps affably towards the microphone. His favorite form of rebellion is fart-jokes, and he has mastered the complexities of a spectrum of noises to accompany such jokes, ranging from the squishiest and wettest noises to dry sounds of gas hissing, also ranging from long drawn-out pllllllllllfffs to quickest pffhs. When he is not asking questions, he picks his nose in a ludicrously grotesque way, as if making an attempt to scratch his brain, which is just a stratagem, actually, which gives him an excuse to have his hand in front of his mouth, so that he can make gross sounds behind his hand. He doesn’t overdo it, because of the solemnity of the occasion, and the cameras, but he does produce a few noticeably damp squeaks and squnks that send his fellow students into mad hysterics while the Oracle is talking, the idea being, obviously, that the Oracle did it. While George is acting alone, various of the Oracle’s followers will later develop the idea that the CIA, FBI, or Scientologists put Bygeorge up to this.

George: How do you know what’s going to happen? If you wanted to, could you tell my dad what stocks to invest in, so that he could get a new truck and my mom could get a new house? Why don’t you charge people money when you’re telling them the future?

Oracle: What I know is what is happening RIGHT NOW; in order to know what is happening now, it is necessary that I know what has already happened, so I do; because I know what has already happened, I also know most of what is going to happen. In other words, 99% of what the future is is only the result of RIGHT NOW continuing to happen. The other 1% I don’t know anything about.

George: But what about money? Do you know the future of money?

Oracle: Because I know what’s happening inside of many major companies, due to my complete knowledge of RIGHT NOW, I am careful not to make any investments or give any investment advice. Making investments based on inside information, if you have that information through extra-legal means, such as omniscience, can be considered to be “insider trading”; I don’t want to go to jail like Martha Stewart. I am glad everyone thinks I am so funny; it is wonderful to laugh. That noise. I am too knowledgeable to be insulted. That’s why God never gambles or invests in internet start-ups; he doesn’t want to be accused of cheating. The appearance of propriety . . . is what I am currently being deprived of. Could someone else ask a question, please?

Bygeorge is escorted to his seat by Secretary Martinez, who has a firm grip on one of his arms; he pumps the other arm in the air like a victorious boxer. He could be described as “glowing.” The Vehicle has turned bright red and her hands, which she has clasped together at her waist, are trembling.

Oracle: As I was saying, there are legal limits on what sort of information a person is allowed to have. That is why I also do not answer any questions the answers to which are “classified” by the government; I have no wish to be prosecuted, or otherwise persecuted, at this time. For that reason, and because my partner has become uncomfortable, I many be forced to close this interview somewhat earlier than expected. . .

Superintendant Cooke [standing]: That would certainly be understandable, although regrettable. The cruelty of children, as I have often remarked to new teachers, is much like the cruelty of their parents, except that it is not really fair to hold the children responsible for it. . . I regret that children are not always cognizant of the negative consequences, of an intangible type, of exploiting the differences of others to produce, um, more difference, in the sense of a greater sense of difference, of a rift if you will, which our society is at its best in fact, in my opinion, when we are building bridges. . .

Oracle: Respecting diversity is over-rated. The future is in disrespecting unity, transcending the human impulse to conform to or collaborate with or kowtow to what the majority seem to be doing or saying. Disconformity is going to be in, in fashion. I am ridiculous self-contradiction. The nature of being in the PRESENT is that you have no control over what you say; it just spills out of you, never to be measured, and because I am almost always talking I have no time to catch up with whom I used to be. And in fact I was never anyone. The Vehicle, on the other hand, who says nothing, is so, so available in empty time to be herself and so, I’m sure, is mortified, poor woman, and I do have my responsibilities, like any other partner, to protect my mate. . .

District Administrator West: Wait. Is it true that you are actually an animatronic puppet remote-controlled by a disgruntled former guidance counselor named Dolores Delinsky, who lost her job for advocating masturbation to junior high-school students? Is this all part of a terrorist plan to undermine American values and standards by perverting the minds of responsible adults who will then go on to pervert the minds of children? Do you think you might need to be stopped? Are you not in fact hoping to be stopped? Are you there, or are you a Great and Powerful Oz expectorating prophecy and light, while in fact Delinsky is behind the scenes twiddling the controls that wiggle you? Are you an attempt by scientists and cranks to replace faith with verbalized vaginal excretions, strange unknown thoughts that gooify our heads?

Oracle: .

At this point, supporters of the Oracle surge into the room, shouting “Elders for President! Joycelyn Elders! Only Elders can protect the young!” “Jewel” Sanchez stabs George Bygeorge with a very sharp pencil. Bygeorge leaps to the side, yelping, and knocks Steve Bell into the lap of Paulo Garcia. Leslie Smipple tries to help him up, but is herself knocked into Paulo’s lap by a sign that reads “Oracle is the Whole Hole.” The sign is held by a protestor who is grappling with Principal ‘Chuck’ Wallace. Total chaos is breaking out. Appalled by all the activity happening in his lap, Paulo swings at Steve Bell and hits Leslie Smipple in her nose, which bleeds. He then feels immediately guilty, picks her up and starts trying to carry her to the nurse’s station, only to be knocked over himself by riot-police who are pouring in in order to beat up the Oracle’s supporters, who are themselves trying to protect the Vehicle and Oracle from the camera-crews, educators, kids, and cops. This all takes about twelve minutes to sort out, by which time the Vehicle and Oracle have somehow already left.

EXEUNT

(co-witnessed by Jessi Guilford & Stan Apps)

(Story continues at CROSSFIRE.)

VLADIMIR VLADMIROVITCH PUTIN arrives to consult the ORACLE

2004-08-22T15:24:00.000-05:00

(Originally posted June 19, 2004)

Public library, day. The VEHICLE, formerly one Edmund Ludens, of Los Angeles, CA, has reserved a computer with an internet connection, in a private if smallish study room, and has accessed the free trial version of a software program called Sin Nombre 1.1, which purports to generate new product-names by the recombination of nonsense syllables in novel combinations. The Vehicle hopes to find some such combination of syllables which will articulate her new identity for her, using the process which has worked so well for the automotive and pharmaceutical industries. She has thus far rejected the names "Espcerra" and "Antobor." Edmund Ludens wished only to live in harmony with her body, hence the sex-change, completed some months ago by employees of the Supralute Corporation (La Mesa, CA). This decision has had far-reaching and unpredictable (apparently) consequences, one being a sudden inexplicable muteness, and another being that her new vagina, known as the Oracle, is able to speak, and has been dispensing ironic observations, practical advice, and assorted non-sequiturish bons mots to world leaders, celebrities, and pretty much anyone else with a few minutes to kill on a fairly steady basis ever since. At one time, the Vehicle wondered how all these people were able to find her wherever she went, but the situation has become somewhat less mysterious with the congregation of what can only be described as the Oracle's cult, an assemblage of college undergraduates, the independently rich, the unemployable, and, inexplicably, actress KATHY NAJIMY, who follow her around at a respectful distance but nonetheless draw a considerable amount of attention, and are creating crowd-control problems, and who have, worse still, begun singing hymns of praise to the Oracle, often in the middle of the night.

Thus the library seemed to be, potentially, a haven, but the respite is short-lived, since lo! Here comes VLADIMIR VLADMIROVITCH PUTIN, Russian President, tapping politely on the study room door, bearing a smallish cardboard box.

Putin: Good day to you, Oracle. And also to you, Vehicle. I wish to discuss many things. I have also heard that you enjoy citrus fruit, and have brought a small box of limes from near the city of Sochi, which I hope you will accept as a gift from the whole of Russia.

Oracle: The Russian people are very kind.

Putin: We are a people who both love to suffer and suffer in order to love. May I ask what the Vehicle is doing?

Oracle: She is searching for a name.

Putin: She searches on the computer?

Oracle: Her attempts to find her name in other places have not been successful.

Putin: It is good that she does not choose a name arbitrarily. I believe that a person's name can be very influential upon one's destiny. My own name, my surname, has many resonances within the Russian language which are quite beautiful and of value to me.

Oracle: Even though you did not choose it.

Putin: It was given me by my parents, but at some point a man says, do I keep my name, or do I take on another? Many choose to accept the destiny they were given, out of laziness or out of the advantage it gives them, like your President Bush -- a failed tree, a colloquialism for pubic hair, it is the name of one who aspires to things but will not put in the work necessary to achieve them. And yet the name has served him well, he has achieved regardless, due to the effort of his family. So it is not so bad. My own name, in Russian, it contains and refers, it is a decisive name, a comfortable name, a name of right action.

Oracle: Putniy, sensible.

Putin: Exactly. Also put', a way, track or course. Putnik, a traveler, or putovk, authorization. Is it a wonder I reached the high ranks of the KGB?

Oracle: Though there is also putanik¹.

Putin [makes face]: A wise name, a putniy name, contains its own opposite, so the bearer does not forget what to avoid.

Oracle: I would ask you your question, but I see that you will not reveal it so readily.

Putin: I was trained as a spy, and a spy I remain. It is often the case that those with the access to political intelligence become the leaders, of course, though it is perhaps regrettable at times, the weight this leads them to bear.

Oracle: One cannot be a train, propelling itself along the tracks, and then suddenly decide to jump off of the tracks and drive itself across a meadow.

Putin: One commits to a course of action, and fate does the rest. My countrymen have grumbled that I bring back some of the symbols of the old Soviet regime, the military flag, the Soviet Star crest, the Soviet anthem. But I say to them, you cannot forget about your past, you cannot forget the track you have just passed over, without losing also your destination, your reason for the travel. And if Russia forgets her reason for the travel, then what are we? A train careening across the countryside, carrying nothing, of no value to anyone, sure to be set upon and dismantled by those who travel faster, or in the opposite direction. Some say the country does not deserve to relive its failures for eternity, but I say --

Oracle: You say that the country has always relived its failures, obsessively so, even, and yet thrives. That the Russian people love to suffer.

Putin: And suffer that we might love! What is beauty without suffering? It is nothing, it is kitsch, it is beauty looking in the mirror and worshipping its own reflection. Ah. America, you do not understand this. You are a baby of a country, you demand your rights and you demand your cheap petroleum and you demand cooperation from the rest of the globe, but you know nothing of suffering, you know nothing of a thousand years, every winter the long dark snow-covered nights of Saint Petersburg when the sun does not rise above the horizon and there is only sex with one who makes you crazy, and vodka which makes you stupid and raises the temper. America is a toddler, a child, which falls down and skins its knee and, because this is all the pain it knows, imagines its pain the greatest in the world. I do not say this to excuse your terrorists, the loss of your great buildings and your lives. I say only that others have suffered far greater than you, and it is from that suffering that we may extend sympathy. America says, look at me, I am a train on the track of saving the world, I am noble and wise and idealistic and I have all the answers, when you are a train still at the station, imagining travel. Russia is wiser than this. Russia knows that in order to lay the track on which many will travel in comfort, some will break their backs, some will die.

Oracle: I sense that you are getting close to a question.

Putin [irritably]: Have I told you the story of how I became a spy? It is very romantic. I was in high school, a high school which prepared students for careers in the sciences, and we would go to the cinema and see the spy movies. All the handsome men, acting to save their country from those who would destroy it, those who would embarrass it. And I am seventeen years of age, and I think that I wish to be one of these men, and I apply to the KGB at seventeen and they tell me no, you must first go to university, you must be in good shape, you must have discipline. So I go university, and I study law, and I become an expert in sambo -- do you know it?

Oracle: It is a sport?

Putin: A sport, yes, but also a way of thinking. The name, sambo, is from an acronym, but it is roughly a combination of wrestling and judo. A very pure sport. One waits for one's opponent to falter, and then subdues him. In sambo, your opponent is not your adversary, your adversary is all up here [taps temple]. You must be quick enough to notice and take advantage of one who falters, you must not let yourself be distracted, you must have your path to victory already mapped out in your head, and then be patient. In addition, when my fellow students would go out and drink with one another, I would not go out and drink. I do not drink to this day. Drinking dulls the mind. This is not a very Russian sentiment, I am afraid, but it was successful. I am in a class of one hundred students, and only I am accepted into the KGB.

Oracle: Because you were sensible, and you did not attempt to veer off of the path you set yourself on.

Putin: And again, later, when Boris Yeltsin was ill with the drink, I am there, and I am a powerful man behind the scenes, and he realizes that he is too weak, he is putanik, he cannot go on leading the country, and I am there being quiet and sensible and sober, and we are friends, and he tells me, Vladimir, you should lead the country, and he steps down. And now I have the power to do what I wished to do at the age of seventeen, I see my country's people in need of someone who is strong and who can claim authority as the old Soviet system used to do for them, and I lead. I see Chechnya, and its people, and how they would try to embarrass my country, and I make them pay for this humiliation, and I make them regret it and wail and wish they had never been born, and I do not do it in the cowardly way of your George Bush, I do not create links to organizations which do not exist, I do not create imaginary weapons in my head, I do not ask people to lie to me or refuse to hear the truth. One must always be willing to hear the truth, otherwise one is deluded, one becomes confused and tangled up in contradictory thoughts and begins to flail about and cause more damage. Truth is not, as your Failed Tree seems to believe, negotiable. Either the planet is warming up or she is not. Either Iraq has weapons stockpiles or it does not. Either the United States obeys international law or it does not. Your George Bush, he is a strange man, he behaves as though things he does not see are not happening, tries to exchange willful ignorance for conviction. Such a man cannot be negotiated with, cannot be communicated with at all.

Oracle: Yet you repress your own media, you raise alarms about terrorist acts within Russia, you kill many people and radicalize those who you do not kill. Are these the acts of a sensible man, or of a putanik?

Putin: The media in Russia is undisciplined. They will report anything which is sensational enough to sell advertising and newspapers. And the people are weak. They do not have the, I believe the term is "media literacy," of Americans and others in the West, they will believe anything, and because they are Russian and passion is in our blood, they will rise up and charge off in a million different directions at any report of bad news. They must be educated, yes, but slowly. So I restrict what may be reported because the country must be unified. The Chechnya question is a question of whether or not we will all travel together on the same track or not: in 1995 I gave to Chechnya virtual independence, but radical elements, who, yes, I would call them terrorists -- they perform the acts of terrorists, they blow up apartment buildings in Russia -- infiltrated and stirred up the people against their own country. I do not rejoice in the death, in the suffering. But I cannot allow them to win, because then people will say, Russia, she is without a direction, she is losing her hold on her territories and her peoples, and the Russian people will be shamed, and we will descend once more into chaos.

Oracle: So you would destroy Chechnya in order to save it. So to speak.

Putin: I would destroy Chechnya in order to save Russia. But I do so with clear eyes, knowing that I have examined the other options, that I have weighed the information, that I do not deny my responsibility. I know how many Chechens have been killed, and I have many estimates of how many more will be killed. It brings me no joy. I am not a cowboy. Thank you. I believe you have answered my question. Do you know Moscow, Idaho?

Oracle: I've never been there.

Putin: They have invited me there to visit. Also St. Petersburg, Florida. I do not know anything of either of these places, but I am afraid they will be small and without culture, and I do not wish to go, but arrangements have already been made on my behalf. I suppose that I shall have to be charming. Good day to you, Oracle.

Oracle: Good day.

EXEUNT

¹ A confused or muddle-headed person. -J.G.

(Story continues at ROBERT F. KENNEDY MIDDLE SCHOOL.)

A SUPRALUTE CUSTOMER SATISFACTION SURVEY, and the VEHICLE's responses

2004-08-22T15:17:00.000-05:00

(Originally posted June 18, 2004)

WIN A CHANCE TO COMPETE FOR $25,000!
Customer satisfaction is important to us here at SUPRALUTE™. By completing and returning this survey to us, not only are you helping us to better serve you and other customers in the future, but we'll give you a chance to compete for up to $25,000 in a NATIONALLY TELEVISED game show.
Why wait? Fill yours out today for a chance to win up to $25,000!
Sincerely, David Ralout, SUPRALUTE™ President and Founder

Entries must be postmarked by May 1, 2007 to be eligible for drawing.

1. What type of body part did you receive?

[ ] Bladder [ ] Brain
[ ] Brain with SUPRATHOUGHT™ enhancements
[ ] Brain with SUPRATHOUGHT PLUS™ thinking systems
[ ] Breasts [ ] Claws, Nails, or Talons [ ] Ear [ ] Eye
[ ] Foot [ ] Hand [ ] Hooves [ ] Ileum (small intestine)
[ ] Immune cells (thymus, bone marrow, white cells)
[ ] Kidney [ ] Limb (leg, arm) [ ] Liver
[ ] Liver with optional DETOX HORIZONS™ system
[ ] Nose (Button) [ ] Nose (Roman) [ ] Ovaries [ ] Penis
[ ] PHOTOSYNTHELUTE™ metabolic regulatory system
[ ] Rectum [ ] Spinal Cord [ ] Testes
[ ] Tongue or Tongue Extension [ ] Udders [ ] Uvula
[ ] Uterus [x] Vagina [ ] Wings
[ ] Other (specify):_______________________________________

2. How easy would you say it is to care for your new SUPRALUTE™ body part?

[ ] Very easy [x] Easy [ ] Somewhat easy [ ] Somewhat difficult
[ ] Difficult [ ] Very difficult

3. How long have you had your new SUPRALUTE™ body part?

[x] Less than six months [ ] Six months to a year
[ ] One to three years [ ] More than three years

4. Have you experienced any of the following side effects since your body part's installation?

[ ] Acne [ ] Anaphylactic shock [ ] Anemia
[ ] Aphid or mite infestation [ ] Asthma [x?] Bankruptcy
[ ] Blindness [ ] Blurred or double vision
[ ] Body part attempts to harm others
[x] Body part buzzes or hums [ ] Body part clicks, clanks, or rings
[ ] Body part drips or leaks [x] Body part emits gases
[ ] Body part is not self-lubricating [x] Body part speaks [ ] Cancer
[ ] Change of sexual orientation [ ] Changes in bone length or density
[ ] Changes in personality [x] Changes in religious belief
[ ] Color-blindness [ ] Constipation or diarrhea
[ ] Dangerous change in blood pressure leading to hospitalization
[ ] Deafness [ ] Dehydration leading to hospitalization
[ ] Dental plaque
[ ] Depression, Ennui, or Anhedonia requiring institutionalization
[x] Difficulty urinating [ ] Dissociation, psychosis
[x] Drowsiness or fatigue [ ] Dry mouth
[ ] Excessive perspiration [ ] Facial swelling
[x] Garlicky taste in mouth [x?] Genital swelling
[x?] Hallucinations [x] Headache [ ] Heart attack or stroke
[ ] Hives [ ] Homicidal thoughts or behavior
[x] Inability to speak [ ] Inability to swallow [x] Insomnia
[ ] Invasive or obsessional thought patterns [ ] Jaundice
[ ] Kidney stones, gallstones [ ] Loss of appetite
[ ] Loss of coordination [ ] Loss of critical thinking capacity
[ ] Loss of hair [ ] Loss of identity [x] Loss of income
[ ] Loss of libido [ ] Loss of self-confidence or self-esteem
[ ] Loss of soul, psychopathy, sociopathy [ ] Meningitis
[ ] Menopause [ ] Messianic delusions [ ] Metabolic disturbances
[ ] Migraines [ ] Numbness or tingling in body part
[ ] Overeating [x] Pain [x] Paranoia, Panic attacks
[ ] Persistent cough [ ] Phototropism [x] Ringing in ears
[x?] Sexual side effects [ ] Skin discoloration, rashes
[ ] Spasms or cramps [ ] Suicidal thoughts or behavior
[ ] Unable to regulate body temperature [ ] Uncontrollable libido
[x] Unwanted attention from members of the opposite sex
[x] Unwanted attention from members of the same sex
[ ] Vomiting or nausea [ ] X-Ray vision
[x] Other (please specify): Body part sings. Loss of privacy. attaked by Meg ryan & college student. Ghosts.

Your name: ______________________________________ Address:_________________________________________ City:_____________________State:____Zip:___________
Telephone number: (___) ___ - ____
e-mail:__________________________________

(Dug out of the VEHICLE's garbage by Jessi Guilford)

(Story continues at CARLOS ARIAS.)

MUSICAL INTERLUDE: A FUNDAMENTALIST HYMN

2004-08-22T15:13:00.001-05:00

(Originally posted June 16, 2004)

To be sung by: JAMES DOBSON, head of Focus on the Family and consultant in varying capacities to the Carter, Reagan, and (first) Bush Administrations; PAT ROBERTSON, head of the "700 Club," failed Presidential candidate, founder of the Christian Coalition, televangelist; GARY BAUER, failed Presidential candidate, affiliated with or leader of: the Family Research Council, the Campaign for Working Families, and The Center for Jewish and Christian Values, former Undersecretary of Education (Reagan); BEVERLY LAHAYE, author, wife of "Left Behind" author Tim LaHaye and the Founder/Chairperson of Concerned Women for America; JERRY FALWELL, founder of the now-defunct Moral Majority and Chancellor of the non-defunct Liberty University, televangelist; RALPH REED, former Executive Director of the Christian Coalition; PHYLLIS SCHAFLY, leader of the Eagle Forum, author, syndicated columnist; the REV. DONALD WILDMON, of the American Family Association; and RANDALL TERRY, founder of Operation Rescue.

Distinguishing these eleven from one another may be achieved by giving them all very large name tags, introducing them in a voice-over as they step on stage, or ignoring the matter altogether. The stage contains a small podium with a prominent (and perhaps exaggeratedly large) cross on the front, at stage left, faced on stage right by ten chairs. PAT ROBERTSON walks to the podium.

Robertson: Please stand for the reading of the scripture. [all stand. If the Audience also fails to stand, Robertson turns to the audience and says, more pointedly, "Please stand, for the reading, of the Scripture," and / or "I'm going to have to insist that you all stand, for the reading of the Scripture." This may be repeated until the audience clues in.]

Robertson: Today's scripture comes to us from the book of First Samuel, Chapter Eight, verses ten through twenty-two.

Robertson: [solemn] "Samuel told all the words of the LORD to the people who were asking him for a king. He said, 'This is what the king who will reign over you will do: He will take your sons and make them serve with his chariots and horses, and they will run in front of the chariots. Some he will assign to be commanders of thousands and commanders of fifties, and others to plow his ground and reap his harvest, and still others to make weapons of war and equipment for his chariots. He will take your daughters to be perfumers and cooks and bakers. He will take the best of your fields and vineyards and olive groves and give them to his attendants. He will take a tenth of your grain and of your vintage and give it to his officials and attendants. Your menservants and maidservants and the best of your cattle and donkeys he will take for his own use. He will take a tenth of your flocks, and you yourselves will become his slaves. When that day comes, you will cry out for relief from the king you have chosen, and the LORD will not answer you in that day.

Robertson: "But the people refused to listen to Samuel. 'No!' they said. 'We want a king over us. Then we will be like all the other nations, with a king to lead us and to go out before us and fight our battles.'

Robertson: "When Samuel heard all that the people said, he repeated it before the LORD. The LORD answered, 'Listen to them and give them a king.'"

[all except Robertson]: Amen.

Robertson [to audience]: You may be seated.

[music begins. Podium and chairs are quickly moved offstage. Music should be lively, happy, and unsubtle, with increasingly rapid tempo until the first Bridge. Except where noted, all eleven sing together, in unison, possibly with some fancy harmonies from Schafly and LaHaye as the opportunity presents.]

Chorus: A true believer isn't worried
Won't be pushed around or hurried
True progress is incremental
And all about the fundamentals

Verse 1: We'll push through partial-birth abortion,
Stem that tide without commotion,
Drop Roe v. Wade into the ocean,
And nobody will care.
We'll edudoctrinate your children,
Since you don't care, we say "We will, then!"
Teach shame, fear and creationism,
And nothing 'bout "down there."

[repeat chorus after every verse]

Verse 2: We'll outlaw all of San Francisco,
Anoint our heads with dabs of Crisco,
Incarcerate the Bloods and Crips, so
We can sleep at night.
The poor'll be walled off in ghettoes,
There'll be no art and no librettos,
And every man completely het,
[Bauer] No!! (I mean: of course that's right.)

Verse 3: You think we're harmless, kooky, corny?
(Have you seen us on the TV?)
Wait'll next time you get horny
And need a wank permit.
No more smutty grownup bookstores,
Arrest the johns, lock up the whores,
We're not averse to using force,
So don't resist, submit.

Bridge 1 [barbershop quartet style, slow]: There's no debate
We think it's great
The public
Always
Takes the
Bait [hold on "Bait," with jazz hands]

[return to frantic tempo. Elaborately choreographed dance number here.]

Verse 4: So ladies, practice up your baking,
The country now is ours for taking,
Contraception rights are shaking,
Say "bye" to the Pill.
And if you want to fake orgasms,
Go right ahead, we've never had 'em,
[LaHaye: I thought that was just a spasm!]
Soon no one ever will.

Verse 5: No more women dressed in pants,
No smut disguised as "modern dance,"
You like your freedom? Move to France.
No women's flesh will tease us.
No more long-haired men or hippies,
Our model state is Mississippi,
Do we mean it? You bet your bippy!
So baby, come to Jesus.

Verse 6: We'll run the nation by '08,
No church and state to separate,
So get white and male and straight,
Soon comes the end of time.
We say it's love, don't call it hate,
As beautiful as silverplate,
Don't be standing at the gate,
When Dubya's on the dime.

Bridge 2 [tune of "A Mighty Fortress is Our God," slow]:
A mighty fortress is George Bush,
A bulwark never failing.

[another elaborately choreographed, frantic dance number]

abrupt EXEUNT, possibly with pyrotechnics

(Story continues at THE IDEAL FACE.)

JACQUES CHIRAC arrives to consult the ORACLE

2004-08-22T15:13:00.000-05:00

The Oracle is a Supralute prefab vagina, which, under Arthur C. Clarke's Third Law, is indistinguishable from magic. The Oracle is in the body of the VEHICLE, who is mute and, due to postponed electrolysis, could accurately be called "furry". These two aspects might make you think the Vehicle is a Basenji, but she is actually a woman, formerly a man; that's how it goes. In a similar transformation, Chirac, a former soda jerk at a Boston-area Howard Johnson's, is currently president of France.

Throughout the interview, the Vehicle pantomimes the things she misses most about being male, i.e., the smell of urinal cakes, the inexpensive clothing, the ability to still be considered attractive by People magazine even after the age of 34.

Chirac: Bonjour, vagin artificiel.

Oracle: Bonjour, Jacques Chirac. The screenwriters of the first Batman movie were named "Sam Hamm" and "Warren Skaaren". Whenever I hear your name, I am reminded of them.

Chirac: I worked on a draft of that screenplay. I contributed reams of material, but all that remains is the joylessness. Do I call you Edmund?

Oracle: The Vehicle was named Edmund, but has no name at present. I may be addressed as your whim dictates.

Chirac: Edmund seems not so bad a name for a girl when you consider my youngest daughter is named Claude. You would like Paris, I think. Have you ever been abroad? You see the pun I am going for.

Oracle: Yes, your pun is a ping pong ball with male velcro on it and I am wearing a mitt made of female velcro, so to speak.

Chirac: My whim has dictated that I ask my question now and here it is: It is the official policy of France to speak lovingly of America while disdaining its leader. This is very French, so I support it, but is it actually possible?

Oracle: "Love the sin, hate the sinner"?

Chirac: Chacun a son gout.

Oracle: Keats came up with negative capability while practicing his French, so I suppose you may claim it as your birthright. Similar justification may be used for, say, espousing environmentalism while testing nuclear weapons in Polynesia, or simultaneously opposing and embracing the adoption of the euro. Or, indeed, having extramarital affairs.

Chirac: Indeed, I kissed Laura Bush last October right in front of her husband. She tasted like mid-price caramels. She smelled of hand lotion and Fritos.

Oracle. As a side note, by the time Keats was your age, he had been dead for 46 years. I just did that math in my head.

Chirac: Your use of "head" perplexes me. A follow-up question, if I may.

Oracle: Indeed, indeed.

Chirac: The headscarf nonsense. This was blown way out of proportion. I am not against the wearing of headscarves for religious reasons; I am against the wearing of headscarves not designed by Louis Vuitton. Will the world ever understand this?

Oracle: You are being silly, but in fact the last time a Frenchman wore religious clothing under false pretenses, the Ark of the Covenant made his head explode, so you could be forgiven for backing this law. But you won't be. But it won't matter. The left will split the vote again, leaving the second round choice between you and the COO of Starbucks France. You will win in another meaningless landslide. Rassemblement pour la Republique in 2007!

Chirac: Onward, to the Prix Nobel!

Oracle: Which you will win posthumously, never having realized that France is not that different from the U.S. I mean, they got the same shit over here that they got there, but it's just here it's a little different.

Chirac. (wearily, for he sees where this is going) Example?

Oracle. You know what they call a Royale with Cheese in New York?

Chirac. (automatically) They do not call it a Royale with Cheese?

Oracle. Nah, man, they got rid of monarchy years ago. They wouldn't know what the fuck "Royale" means.

Chirac. (distracted) What do they call it?

Oracle. They call it a "Quarter Pounder With Cheese."

Chirac. (rote) What do they call a Le Big Mac?

Oracle. Le Big Mac's a Le Big Mac, but they call it "Big Mac."

Chirac. (sotto voce) Je l'ai vu venir gros comme une maison.

Oracle. OK, I'm done with that. Thank you for indulging me.

Chirac. Quickly, then, my time in this country is short, but is it possible that I could visit Fantana Island? I am not sure where it is, but I would very much like to meet the Fantana that likes grape. She wears colorful mod beachwear, and her hair is a tsunami.

Oracle: Fantana Island is not a literal place. It is a gradual process of understanding the nature of the world. But since the Fantanas appear wherever their cool fruitiness and fantastical flavors are needed, perhaps you will get there someday.

Chirac. I see. I was hoping there would be a Fantana who liked quince.

Oracle. It is yours to hope. Do you have anything else?

Chirac. No. I'm just waiting for my ride.

(Outside, Gerhard Schroder honks the horn of his VW Passat. The horn plays "Die Wacht am Rhein".)

Chirac. There we are. Thank you for your time.

EXEUNT, nervously humming "La Marseillaise".

(witnessed by Samantha Moss)

(Story continues at FUNDAMENTALIST HYMN.)

MICHAEL DIXON, LIBERTARIAN NATIONAL COMMITTEE CHAIR, arrives to consult the ORACLE

2004-08-22T15:05:00.000-05:00

(Originally posted June 13, 2004)

VEHICLE's apartment, day. The Vehicle is in one of CHERIE's dresses. She is listening to a set of recorded personal affirmations via Walkman headphones, and trying to believe that she will be able to find work again despite the verbal eruptions of her vagina, the ORACLE, which she obtained at a slightly discounted rate a few months ago from the Supralute Corporation, makers of all manner of customized cell products and cell accessories. In retrospect, the discount should maybe have been a tip-off, she is thinking. Though it's not as though she dislikes having the Oracle around, either. As the scene opens, MICHAEL DIXON, LIBERTARIAN NATIONAL COMMITTEE CHAIR, is already talking to the Oracle. Dixon is the kind of typically-constructed man who appears to have played some football in high school, though in fact he did not, with the overcoiffed and somewhat forceful manner of people who are trying very hard to sell something to you that you are not much inclined to want to buy.

Dixon: Tony set up focus groups for Marietta, GA, Plano, TX, and Nashua, NH for next week. But I said to him Tony, I said, call 'em all off. Put me on a plane to LA and I'll get in with the only focus group that matters, the Oracle. And he said sure. So here I am.

Oracle: I'm flattered. I'll help out as much as I can.

Dixon: Great. That's just great. So my first question is, have you heard of the Libertarian Party? Do you know what our goals and needs are?

Oracle: Sure I've heard of you. Who hasn't heard of the Libertarians?

Dixon: Well you might be surprised. An absolutely appalling number of your fellow Americans have no idea who we are. It's pretty shocking, let me tell you. But we've noticed that the Republicans have an awful lot of success with just renaming things. And so I had this idea. What if we renamed the Libertarian Party? Became something brand-new, but without having to change any of our positions? The boys in Marketing think that we could easily position ourselves as the party to watch, an up-and-comer. And the beauty part is, the Republicans have done most of the work for us already, as far as getting the public to accept our positions.

Oracle: I'm with you so far.

Dixon: Great. Just what I wanted to hear. So here's what we've come up with. We're hoping to mainly get the kids, the ones who don't turn out at the polls now because they don't see a difference between the two parties. Possibly some disaffected older folk too, but mainly the kids.

Oracle: So you're hoping to give them some substantive option?

Dixon: No, we're hoping to position ourselves so squarely between the two parties that there is no difference at all. Now Neil's idea was that we should call ourselves the Republicrats. Kind of embody the change in the party by putting it smack dab in the name. Pick up those people who think they'd be splitting the difference, and shave a few off both parties from people who can't read well, or who only read halves of words.

Oracle: It's not very euphonious.

Dixon: But better than the "Democricans," you've got to admit.

Oracle: True. It might be okay. I'm not sure it speaks to the youth so much. You'd get a few votes from people who are making some kind of private joke with themselves, maybe. And plenty of free press from the late-night talk shows. But it wouldn't translate into any kind of electoral victories, I'm afraid.

Dixon: No problem, no problem. Got hundreds of them here. Susan's suggestion was the "Common-Sense Party."

Oracle: Still wouldn't work on the young people. Suggests thinking, making decisions. They'll stay away in droves.

Dixon: Some peppier ones from Trevor here: the "Now Party," "Cool Party," "Friends Party," "Block Party," "House Party." Any of these sound good? We were planning on having the Acronyms Team in Marketing come up with something for these to stand for, later.

Oracle: "Now" would get you a few feminists, but it might not age well. "Friends" might pick up some confused Quakers and people who watch a lot of television, but you'll lose some of the older vote. "Block" and "House" wouldn't work well in rural areas, and are only good for a very narrow age range. "Cool" sounds irreverent but in a bad way. I mean, have you thought about how it's going to sound, introducing someone on a talk show as the Cool senator from Ohio?

Dixon: We're going to win a Senate seat in Ohio?

Oracle: I'm speaking hypothetically.

Dixon: There's also the "Phat Party."

Oracle: I don't think I need to dignify that.

Dixon: Quite right, quite right. Trevor is a mook. Susan again: the "Self-Government Party."

Oracle: It's very nice, but it will confuse voters who believe that America is already self-governing. Also it doesn't shorten well. I give you the "Selfer senator from Ohio." Which is easily shortened to "Selfish," which will be the main accusation leveled at you by the Democrats. You don't want to hand people that sort of ammunition. It'd be better, frankly, to go with "Selfish Party:" it's more memorable, doesn't shorten badly, and isn't entirely inaccurate, from what I understand.

Dixon [slightly huffy]: Well we don't actually look at it that way.

Oracle: No, no, of course not. I apologize. Do go on.

Dixon: "Youth Party," or possibly "Young People's Party?"

Oracle: One sounds Hitlerian, the other sounds Communist. Young people don't actually use the word "youth," except ironically or in church group contexts. Which are also ironic.

Dixon: Damn. Those were mine. Gary liked the "Activist Party," or possibly "Active Party."

Oracle: Oh. I'm so sorry. Those would have worked so well just a couple years ago. Everybody likes to feel like they're active. But your problem is the Republicans started complaining about judicial activism, and now they've wounded the word slightly. Can you wait a few years? It'll come back.

Dixon: We were sort of hoping to use it this November, actually.

Oracle: Pity.

Dixon: Sharon thought maybe the "Party of God." She's kind of a nut job, frankly --

Oracle: Doesn't matter. The Republicans have it copyrighted.

Dixon: Seriously?

Oracle: You think you're the first party to contemplate a name change?

Dixon: Ah. Well. Aaron had "Responsible Party," but I think that was a joke. Sometimes we get Republicans pretending to be Libertarians. Aaron also liked "Independent Party," but I think that's 'cause he's got a personal issue with Bernie Sanders and wants to make Sanders change his affiliation.

Oracle: They're both almost good.

Dixon: That's pretty much all I have, though. Quite a few jokes and semi-jokes, in the rest of the list. "Third Party," "Hearty Party," "Naked Party," "Drug Party," "Christmas Party," "Farty Party -- " that one had to have been Trevor's, I apologize -- it gets sillier after that.

Oracle: Have you thought at all about "Good Party?"

Dixon: I don't see it on the list.

Oracle: Well here's how to look at it. The hip young crowd would find it gently ironic, and somehow reassuring, because they are already accustomed to assessing the worth of alcohocentric get-togethers. By implication, you're calling the Democrats and Republicans bad parties, so you may swing a teeny bit from the people who are disgusted with both but vote for them anyway. Plus you get the overwhelming majority of first-time voters. It sounds distinguished and even slightly archaic when you put it in front of a name and title: "The Good Senator Michael Dixon, of Ohio." Or after. Truly vast ad possibilities. It's easy to read, it's short, it's punchy, it has undeniably and permanently positive associations, and it's not hyperbolic, like "the Perfect Party" or "the Great Party" would be. It doesn't overlap, first-letter-wise, with anybody. Plus, easy to legitimate with an acronym.

Dixon: I'm actually from North Carolina.

Oracle: No matter.

Dixon: Well and here's the clincher, then: would it work?

Oracle: What I see is a third of Congress in '08, and then both Houses plus the Presidency in '12.

Dixon: Holy cow. Thank you so much.

EXEUNT really quickly

(Story continues at JACQUES CHIRAC.)

MEG RYAN arrives to consult the ORACLE

2004-08-22T15:02:00.000-05:00

(Originally posted June 12, 2004)

A windowless Government Unemployment Office, day. The VEHICLE has a seventy-page form to complete, with a pen that only works occasionally, and if the form is not completed by 4:30 PM it will have to be returned and the whole process begun again, so she is concentrating very hard. It is not known what name she puts down in the forty-six positions on the form where her name is requested. The ORACLE, vagina of the Vehicle as of late, is taking advantage of the relative quiet, and the space afforded by the creeped-outness of the other persons in the office, who maintain a large distance between themselves and the Vehicle at all times, to meditate on the fact that rain, which like herself takes up very little space in proportion to its capacity to effect change, is presently falling in a large number of places around the world with a sound like hush. MEG RYAN, America's cinematic sweetheart (She has recently deposed the prior sweetheart, GOLDIE HAWN, in a bloodless coup.), enters the lobby, looking acutely uncomfortable.

Ryan [seating herself next to the Vehicle]: Hi. Do you have a minute?

Oracle: In a sense.

Ryan: I just wanted to talk. I could come back later, if this is inconvenient.

Oracle: Convenient, inconvenient, it's all the same to me.

Ryan: Well okay. I'm a big fan, if that helps.

Oracle: Right back at you.

Ryan: It's just, I don't know. Sometimes I miss Dennis.

Oracle: Your ex-husband.

Ryan: Yeah. Sometimes I'm lying awake in bed at night, and I'm thinking, you know, if I could just have Dennis here again, I'd be able to go to sleep. But he's not there, of course. And so I don't sleep. And then I get up in the morning after lying there all night and I have a couple bloody marys, and things start to look okay for a while, but then around ten or eleven I get tired, and I crash on the couch or something, and then when I wake up it all hits me again, that I'm alone, and it's terrifying.

Oracle: So you miss Dennis because of what he was able to do for you.

Ryan: Yes. No. Sometimes.

Oracle: Weren't you the one who left him? What happened to Russell?

Ryan: Can we not? Go there? Please?

Oracle: I withdraw the question.

Ryan: I just, I want to know that it's not always going to feel like this. I want to believe that it's possible for two people to get together and really know one another. I trusted Dennis, I loved him. We had a son together, Jack. I think I have a picture in my purse. [rummages]

Oracle: Tell me about the one called John Michael Hughes.

Ryan: Why do you want to hear about him? Oh! Here it is! This is Jack. [attempts to show picture to the Vehicle, who waves her off irritably] I guess down here. [attempts to show picture to Oracle] This is a picture from about six months ago. Isn't he handsome?

Oracle: A little young for my taste. John Michael Hughes.

Ryan: A [word deleted]. Not even a very good [word deleted]. He thought we were married, broke into somebody else's house once looking for me. I have a restraining order against him for three years. Less than that, now.

Oracle: And?

Ryan: I don't see why we're talking about him. He's just a [word deleted].

Oracle: .

Ryan: Okay, fine. Um, he sent me some letters. He followed me around a few times. He and Dennis met up at the Clown Room -- do you know it? Nudie bar in Hollywood? I suppose you wouldn't, why would you -- after he posted bail, which I don't even want to know what that was all about.

Oracle: The Clown Room?

Ryan: It's the place's name, sue me. Doesn't mean anything.

Oracle: So there are no clowns.

Ryan: Well not on stage anyway. I'm not even sure it's true. I saw it in The Enquirer. I'm sorry, I'm being kind of a bitch, I know. I don't mean it. Or, I mean, I kind of mean it, but -- I thought you were going to help me out here, I thought you were going to tell me it was all going to be okay, and I'd be able to fix things with Dennis, and my God you're not going to do that, are you?

Oracle: You're not asking the right questions. You already believe you're going to meet someone else. What you want to know is what to do in the meantime.

Ryan: Look here, mister. Or ma'am. Or whatever you are. I woke up, naked, next to Ashton Kutcher a couple weeks ago. Please don't tell Demi, by the way. I don't even remember.

Oracle: It could have been Jaleel White. Count your blessings.

Ryan: That's -- [frustrated noise] -- that's not even the point. I don't even know who Jaleel White is. The point is, I've hit bottom. I need Dennis back. I just want to go back to the way things were, when it was me and Dennis and Jack, and we all lived in the same house, and everything was fine and wholesome and optimistic like one of my movies, and everybody loved me, and I could go on Letterman and be all bubbly and not be a total liar about it. When I'd come home and Dennis would be all like, "Hey, I was on your set this morning, you did some really good stuff with that scene falling off the boat," and I'd be all like, "Thank you," and then we'd eat dinner and go to bed and stuff.

Oracle: Urkel. He was Steve Urkel, on "Family Matters."

Ryan [crying]: I don't want to have to start everything over. I want to have that again, just without the criticism spreading to everything else, just keep it about the movies and if I gain five pounds or start getting crow's feet Dennis won't get all snarky about it and tell me I'm old and ugly. I want to be able to sleep at night. Not with Urkel. You're supposed to tell me how to change things, how to make it all like it used to be.

Oracle: I'm sorry. There's no way. Consider time your blessing, your curse, and your art.

Ryan [begins hitting the Vehicle, but weakly. Still weeping. The Vehicle tries to fight back while still filling out the form, but eventually has to give up and run away.] What do you mean my art? I'm just some dipshit bimbo actress who makes dipshit bimbo movies, I'm a liar and a bad mother and a bad wife and it's all my fault and I can't go on like this. Don't leave. You can't leave! Like that! You can't! You can't!

(Story continues at THE AMATEUR THEOLOGIAN.)

CHERIE VICTORIA LE GRANDE DE CABANA XXII, DRAG ENTERTAINER, arrives to consult the ORACLE

2004-08-22T14:57:00.000-05:00

(Originally posted June 6, 2004)

VEHICLE's apartment, day. The Vehicle is at a card table, attempting to re-tailor some of her old clothes, from when she was a man, by hand. The table is holding a couple articles of clothing, a box of pins, a few scattered buttons, measuring tape, some bobbins of thread, a six-pack of beer, and a sewing machine, borrowed from her neighbor, which is too heavy to be supported by the card table. The Vehicle's force of will is all that's holding the table up, for the time being. As a man, the Vehicle was known as Edmund, but then he had a sex-change operation, became mute, and was inseparably connected to a turbocharged, genetically engineered, talking vagina, who has become known as the ORACLE. The Vehicle is surprisingly philosophical about all of this, perhaps because she'd been planning on seeing her life change anyway. Enter CHERIE VICTORIA LE GRANDE DE CABANA XXII, drag entertainer, in a relatively understated if nevertheless fabulous floral print, which is set off by diamond earrings and a matching tiara. Cherie is carrying a large cardboard box, so overloaded with fabric that pieces are hanging over the side. The fabric should be silky, shiny, sequined, internally illuminated, or otherwise eye-catching.

Cherie (singing): When you reinvent, discover your intent,
You find the world consents to entrance.
Your beauty opens doors, the you it still abhors,
At core you know you own the floor.

The nagging feel is this thing's not real,
You play your part but in your heart,
You wonder if it's smart,
You think Cherie let's make a deal.

So doing shows and giving blows
Will pay the bills and purchase pills
And bring such joy to girls and boys
In tees and brush cuts, but what, please,
Of the gay from Green Bay who moved to L.A.
Just to say "I do?" Yoo-hoo?

There is no love left in my bluff, went
in my muff, turned into fluff.

Oracle (also singing): You want love though it turns sour?
You'd give someone that kind of power?
You'd surrender the benders and busted fenders
of the joyride of your life?

And what about your self-expression?
I have to think that your confession
is insincere,

Cherie: Give me a beer.

Oracle: a cervical smear which hides your cheer.

Cherie: I brought my sequined gowns, of blue and purple and olive brown,
Just tell me the town and I'll renounce my crown [removes tiara]
And live as plain old Bill.

Oracle: Chapel Hill, North Carolina. His name is Phil.
He's divine, and an engineer.

Cherie: And he's queer?

Oracle: The queerest. But even so, my dearest,
Phil's great but not Beverly Hills.
Where will you perform, when the passion simmers
to merely lukewarm, your fashions ashen and deformed?

You can't deny that it's your calling, mothballing
your dresses and changing addresses
won't sate you like performing --

Cherie: Conforming could be worse if he's the one.

Oracle: Have fun.

Cherie: The Vehicle can have the dresses. I also brought
my former tresses, and a nice sauterne.
With concern they will not fit, I split
The backs and tacked some tailor's card inside.
He owes me a favor, I did some labor
For him (por-en), just tell him it's for me.
Cherie.

(Story continues at JUSTICE.)

MAE SOL, MISS TEEN PHILLIPINES, arrives to consult the ORACLE

2004-08-22T14:53:00.000-05:00

(Originally posted June 3, 2004)

The VEHICLE's new apartment's bathroom, as yet undecorated. It is night. Rain is falling outside, but the Vehicle's bathroom window now faces another building, and is very tiny, so only the sound suggests rain. The VEHICLE, formerly a man named Edmund until a sex-change operation whereupon she received a brand-new and expensive Supralute ("World leaders in custom cell products") vagina, is now utterly mute, though her vagina is surprisingly chatty and world-famous as the ORACLE. The Vehicle is in pajamas. The vehicle flosses her teeth, and then brushes her teeth, and combs out her hair during the scene. Excess time may be devoted to close-up facial examinations in the mirror, tweezing of facial stubble, squeezing of blackheads, etc. MAE SOL, Miss Teen Philippines 2004, enters. She has little concept of personal or private space, having spent roughly half of her life in beauty pageants of one kind or another. She is fourteen years old, and is dressed in some sort of "professional businesswoman's wear," which does little to hide the heroic proportions of her relatively new and perky breasts, which have emerged since the outfit's purchase.

Sol: I wish to make the world a better place.

Oracle: That is commendable. Good for you!

Sol: My father sent me to you. He said that you would know what I should do.

Oracle: What have you done so far?

Sol: Well, I have spent a great deal of time in beauty training, in order to achieve my current title of Miss Teen Philippines 2004. But I wish to do much more.

Oracle: How, specifically, do you wish to make the world a better place?

Sol: I do not know. But there must be something. Look how awful it is!

Oracle: How is the world awful?

Sol: I do not know that either. I spend all of my time being coached in how to stand up properly, how to speak, what to wear, how to walk. I spend a great deal of my time trying on clothing. When I eat, I am worrying about will it cause me to be fat, will it stain my teeth. All of my friends are the other girls from the Philippines and from other countries, but they are not really my friends because we are all jealous of one another and hope for one another to lose so that we may win. Many people are angry at me because of how I answered a question from the judges at the Miss Teen Philippines competition, which I won. I feel as though my teeth always have Vaseline on them, from the competitions where I smile constantly, and the Vaseline, I swallow when I eat, so that my stools are always very loose, and there is diarrhea. And so I brush my teeth all the time to remove the Vaseline, and then I worry about the stains from the food I eat and I brush them some more, and my gums bleed. There are people who tell me what I am to claim to believe about various world problems, but I do not know what I believe about these problems because I never see or hear anything about them. When I won, my absurd and embarrassing breasts were duct-taped together, under my dress. My teeth were covered in Vaseline to be shinier. I had just begun my monthly cycle and felt hatred for the audience, for myself, for the judges, for my friends who I had defeated. My periods are often very painful.

Oracle: .

Sol: I do not know in what ways the world is awful, but I feel certain in the pit of my soul that it must be.

Oracle: What was the question?

Sol: I wish to know how to make the world a better place.

Oracle: No, what was the question people are mad at you about?

Sol: I was asked, Mae Sol, if you had a friend who came to you and said she was a lesbian, what would you do? And I did not know. This was not one of the questions on which I had been coached. And so I said, I would try to help her to change, because this is what I imagine girls who have friends would do for one another, that they would help.

Oracle: And then people got pissed.

Sol: Yes. Gay people.

Oracle: Do you understand why they are angry with you, these people?

Sol: Oh I understand anger very well. I am angry at my coaches, for the comments they make when they put me into my swimsuit for the swimsuit competition, the way they handle my body, the way they speak of my body, the way they order me around as if I am their puppet, to dance and wave and answer questions while pretending to be intelligent and graceful. I am angry with my father, for his back injury which requires me to be the family member who earns money. I am angry with my dance instructor, who is always touching me inappropriately and then telling me that it is part of the choreography when I know it is not part of the choreography.

Oracle: Your performance in the talent competition is dance, then?

Sol: Yes. I do a few minutes from Giselle which I am told is very beautiful.

Oracle: And you want me to tell you how to make the world a better place?

Sol: Yes.

Oracle: Isn't this one of the questions you get asked, in the competitions? I know it's a cliché and everything, but I thought that people were still doing that.

Sol: It is a cliché, and my answer is to be, every time, that I wish to provide for the poor children in Afghanistan, who have lost legs and arms due to land mines, both from the Soviets and from the Americans, I wish to provide for them medical treatment and prosthetics so that they might grow up to be happy and healthy and capable of supporting their families, in the future, those who can have families because their reproductive organs remain intact.

Oracle: I see. Mae, what you must do is this: you must go back to the Philippines, and continue to compete in your beauty pageants, which by the way you will win the overwhelming majority of them, and then in two years and one month you will meet a handsome and charming sixteen-year-old, and you will fall in love with him and sleep with him and become pregnant by him and he will ask you to marry him and you must say yes.

Sol: And then I will be happy? Because of true love?

Oracle: No. Then he will cash out your checking account and leave you for another woman in the United States and you will never hear from him again. But your daughter will make you happy. You will discover a purpose beyond yourself, and you will be able to show the world to her and teach her, and in the process of teaching her, she will teach you about love and hope and compassion for others.

Sol: How will I provide for a child, with no husband, and no career?

Oracle: Buy Supralute when it's down to 3 1/8, and continue reinvesting your money until it hits 25 1/2. Then sell everything. This will begin in about three years. Open a savings account for your money until then, and never tell your husband about it.

Sol: I am to make the world a better place by having my heart broken and having a baby? People say that the world is already very overpopulated.

Oracle: Only to the outside observer. Not for you.

Sol: This is very strange advice.

Oracle: Not at all. On occasion, it is necessary for people to start over.

Sol: What I meant was, I heard that you disapprove of the stock market, and capitalism in general.

Oracle: I am large. I contain Walt Whitman.

Sol: You have a man in there?

Oracle: Let's start over.

Sol: I wish to make the world a better place. I wish to make the world a better place by crushing those who oppose me and bringing firey and full-of-pain death upon their cities and villages. Particularly that of my dance instructor.

Oracle: Oh shit. Start over, start over.

EXEUNT

(Story continues at A MAGICAL COW WITH ELEVEN LEGS.)

INTERMISSION: The DISTILLATION OF ALL ADVERTISING EVER talks to itself

2004-08-22T14:50:00.000-05:00

(Originally posted June 3, 2004)

Ideally with low-volume musical accompaniment in all styles at once.

Scene may be performed while set is changed, with whatever number of actors are available. Actors who are not speaking should be running through the six universal facial expressions (happy, sad, surprised, disgusted, angry, afraid) in an order which strikes the actors as random. The actor which is speaking should be attempting an expression of beatific happiness at all times. Actors may change from speaking to non-speaking, and vice-versa, in some predetermined order. Actors may also wander on and off the stage, and/or directly invade the personal space of audience members, though the majority of actors should be on-stage at any given time.

Advertising: You deserve it. Take a break. Puppies are cute. Hungry yet? Obey your thirst. Unpolluted places exist. You could be free.

Advertising: Bacteria want to kill you. The truth is in here. You need more space. We're begging you to let us make you happy. You need more friends. Won't you be surprised when your every wish is fulfilled? Time for a party.

Advertising: It's the right thing to do. We could like you. It's always been like this. Milk wants to kill you. Lisa Kudrow is your older sister. Only we understand you. You should be protected.

Advertising: Your life could be fun again. We love trees. We can help. Sleep soundly. You love trees. George W. Bush wants to kill you. This is not an advertisement.

Advertising: You'll be able to talk to people again. Your children need you. Other people's children need you. Other people's children want to kill you. Act now. It practically assembles itself. Free home delivery.

Advertising: You require our permission to exist. Women look like this. If you could just get closer. Dust makes you a loser. Lisa Kudrow would sleep with you if you asked her really nicely. Please try again. No payments.

Advertising: Six easy payments. Operators who depend on you for their livelihoods are standing by. Would you like a drink with that? Be a rebel. Be compassionate. Start over. Toast wants to kill you.

Advertising: Your breath smells funny. You'll be able to live without shame again. You're not smart enough. You could be safe. Think of all the time you'll save. We wouldn't tell you if we didn't care. Just be.

Advertising: We'll shut up if you buy now. Who cares what other people think? Safe, effective, long-lasting, different, improved, new, fortified. Have it all. Best offer ever. Cynicism is the only way out. The whole country disagrees with you.

Advertising: Be a hero. Lisa Kudrow is your friend. We're more successful than you. Nobody knows how to tell you. Gotta spend money to make money. Whitey wants to kill you. Cancer cancer AIDS diabetes psoriasis.

Advertising: Just do it. Just do it naked. Just do it better. Just do it until we think of something better. We will never think of something better. We can't even spell the word "ostabcles." Happy looks like this.

Advertising: All things are possible. This is the best time ever to be alive. Somebody once died from an ice cream headache. Your dad should have been this way. We can do that. George W. Bush wants to kill trees. We have information for you.

Advertising: Let us sort it out for you. You're special. You'll be more creative. Mosquitoes want to kill you. Never been better. Lisa Kudrow suffers just like you do. Cynicism is toxic to the soul.

Advertising: Who's going to take care of you when you get old? Men like you too much. We'd be taking a loss, but what the hell. Just like your mom but better. You'll have more thoughts. Mothers look like this. Keep away from children.

Advertising: You're nobody. Be free. It's all up to you. We're not trying to sell you anything. John Kerry wants to kill you. Be clear. Mistake schmistake.

Advertising: You'll never have to do laundry again. Be clean. It can always be like this. Your friends wish you were smarter. Some assembly required but we'll be happy to do it. Have the whole world. Have two worlds.

Advertising: Who takes care of you now? Be righteous. We couldn't make it any simpler if we tried. You're really just like everybody else. You have our complete attention. Obsessively, relentlessly at your service. The truth is out there.

Advertising: Lisa Kudrow is a godlike superior being who could crush you like a bug. Cynicism is the only way in. It's almost painful, how sincere we're being. Men look like this. We aren't judging you. Creativity is for losers. We'll tell anybody.

Advertising: It's your last chance. It's just that your belly button looks so freaky and inhuman. Nobody's trying to, like, extort anything from you. Your kids are kind of stupid. We know what boys like. God helps those who help us help you. That's really not your best color.

Advertising: Easy credit. You don't have to die. Be independent. Lisa Kudrow gave you life. Always Coca-Cola. Always low prices. Visualize world peace.

Advertising: Can you see yourself owning a car like this? Perceive. Achieve. Conceive. Believe. Receive. Let us overwhelm you.

Advertising: Sorry this is not a winning game piece. Be still. Your sexual orientation doesn't matter to us. We just want to see you smile for once goddamnit. Just relax. Love looks like this. You know you want to.

Advertising: Be a pal. We'll make it easy. Stop struggling. Just let us in. Calm down. Why won't you let us make you happy? We feel your pain.

Advertising: You knew when you let us in. Just take it. Be quiet. No more tears. Let us exceed your expectations. Be open. Get away from it all.

Advertising: Who can help you but us? You're really in complete control. It'll be our secret.

(Story continues at MAE SOL.)

DAVID FOSTER WALLACE, author and professional intellectual, arrives to publicize the ORACLE

2004-08-22T14:45:00.000-05:00

(Originally posted June 1, 2004)

Mid-afternoon, at the VEHICLE's apartment in Dozer City. If location and budget permit, there should be one or at most two fires, the type which occur in 50-gallon barrels and are never seen outside of an urban apocalyptic setting, often with homeless people huddled around them at night, visible through the window. The sun is shining, which makes the fires somewhat invisible, though there will nevertheless be smoke. The VEHICLE is writing something, longhand, in a spiral-bound notebook, throughout the scene, and occasionally chewing on the end of her ballpoint pen, looking thoughtful, or possibly being distracted by the conversation about to take place. The VEHICLE also has, perhaps beside the chair in which she sits, two large cards which read "FOOTNOTE 1" and "FOOTNOTE 2," which are to be raised at the appropriate moments in the dialogue. There may be a day or two of facial stubble visible, as the VEHICLE has been unable to continue with her electrolysis treatments due to lack of money. DAVID FOSTER WALLACE knocks and enters the apartment. He has in his right hand a spiral-bound notebook, with a pen clipped in the spiral. He is without do-rag or stocking cap, revealing the beginnings of some male-pattern baldness. He is in the sort of semi-threadbare comfy t-shirt one would expect from him, and blue jeans. His demeanor is deferential and polite, but the audience should be able to tell that he intends to speak to the ORACLE regardless of whatever else may be going on.

Oracle: Mr. Wallace. Hello. It is truly a surprise to me just how many people are interested in talking to me. And from so many places, too! Sometimes I feel like the most popular girl in the whole world. It's either like I'm a little girl with pigtails and one of those giant flat lollipops, the ones with all the different colors spiraling in to the center, or else like I'm a teenager and it's my very first prom ever and I'm there with some guy I really love, who also happens to be the quarterback of the football team, and everybody's looking at us. Like that. Makes a girl feel special.

Wallace: Well you certainly are very popular. That's actually the reason why I'm here. Are you familiar with the magazine Harper's? Swanky East-Coast kind of thing? Well so the deal is that they assigned me to interview you. They're wondering what makes you tick, what sorts of things the most intelligent vagina in the whole, well, universe, might have to say about the world today, about life, death, time, love, God, politics, or what have you. And hopefully I'll be able to keep up. [removes pen, opens notebook, writes something and then demonstratively draws two parallel lines across the top]

Oracle: Your book on Cantor was wrong. Or at least grievously oversimplified.

Wallace: I know. Very difficult to write something like that for a general audience. I had to make certain concessions, certain glosses. It didn't end up like I had hoped. You live here by yourself? You and the Vehicle?

Oracle: We do.

Wallace: It doesn't look very safe.

Oracle: We're perfectly fine. I know how things play out. The Vehicle and I are in no danger. We will be saved at the last possible minute by a gigantic winged creature, plus several robots and three female adult film stars.

Wallace: I've had dreams that ended that way.

Oracle: So you can see, we're fine.

Wallace: It would seem, then, that there's sort of a problem with free will, then, if you're saying that everything is going to happen as you've described. What if the adult stars don't feel like it? Is this all some kind of disguised determinism? Don't people have to choose to do things?

Oracle: Well yes. They do choose it. Freely. Actually with some coercion, but the coercion is not from me. The same way you chose to be here, now, with some coercion from your magazine. I fail to see the problem.

Wallace: Let's move on to you. You are an entity.

Oracle: Yes.

Wallace: Conscious, aware, capable of feeling, thought, and so forth.

Oracle: I am.

Wallace: You are also a vagina.

Oracle: Yes.

Wallace: A feature of human anatomy with a certain let's-say concavity to it. You enclose space, you surround space, and yet you do not take up space, for the most part. You are defined by what surrounds you, as well as, obviously, by certain membranes and potentials and excretions. But mainly you are a pocket of unoccupied space, which could be filled. Or at the minimum, a pocket of space which could be stretched to accommodate something else. Americans tend to assume that existence is predicated on, among other things, the ability to take up space, to exclude other objects from occupying the same position simultaneously¹. Would you care to comment on this, or, better yet, maybe explain how this can be the case?

Oracle: I would say only that your definitions of concepts like "inside" and "outside" might be unnecessarily constrained by the relative sizes of the spaces involved. Next question, please. That is a very attractive shirt you're wearing, by the way.

Wallace: Thank you. The reports of your conversations with other people, those which have made it to print, suggest that you are what we might consider unusually preoccupied with politics and economics. Which these are of course interesting and worthwhile things to be interested in, but I was wondering whether, A), you have interests beyond these, hobbies, perhaps, or maybe a close circle of friends, and B) whether you think that politics is the ideal way to achieve what it is you wish to achieve.

Oracle: Politics is like a line of feral dogs, all tied to one another with short pieces of rope. And I enjoy documentaries about manatees, woodworking, and paying the telephone bill.

Wallace: Feral dogs?

Oracle: They are savage and mutually hostile. Though sometimes they can band together for brief periods to attack other animals. They are also mutually dependent on one another, hence the rope, though they like to pretend that this is not the case. Picture maybe a line of feral dogs all tied up together which are all pretending that they are not tied up together.

Wallace: Which sort of goes back to my original question. Or, well, it doesn't, but let's assume that it does. Why would you be interested in talking to political leaders if they are as you describe? You can't expect that they will listen to you and enact any prescriptive changes of yours. If everything is about their own individual self-interests, then aren't they just using you to gauge the likely success or failure of whatever plans they've already made?

Oracle: I speak to those who come to me, whomever they may be. My personal preference would be that these would be those who are in the most need, those who despair, who moan, or whine, or are even just relentlessly cynical and sarcastic. If, instead, I meet those who are after power, after images of their own righteousness, I do my best to provide them with this. Who am I, a lowly vagina, to withhold power and righteousness from those who come to me in search of it?

Wallace: That's very good.

Oracle: I try.

Wallace: It also gives me an idea for how to make this more relevant to the Harper's reader. Is there anything you can say, as a general tidbit of wisdom, something that would be relevant to humanity en masse?

Oracle: It would be very difficult. People all seem to be very interested in their own happiness, and yet almost none of them are happy, and those which are are only happy for brief periods. I might suggest to them that happiness, therefore, is not really the point to existence which they are all seeking, if it is so fleeting and unattainable. Or I could tell them to make more manatee documentaries. I've only seen the two, and then our cable subscription was terminated. Alternately yet again, I could tell them that happiness is all around them all the time, and that unless they are in acute pain or grief that they should regard themselves as having already achieved happiness, and be more willing to sacrifice their wealth and desires in order to make happiness more possible for those who are in acute pain or grief.

Wallace: Sacrifice is an interesting issue for you to be bringing up. Some television commentators have been comparing you to Jesus, who as you know is regarded by many as having made more or less the ultimate sacrifice for all of humanity. Which you may or may not agree with, and that's not really what I'm interested in. What I am interested in is, are you personally interested in this sort of sacrifice? Do you foresee yourself saving the world, whether through your own death or through some other kind of extreme surrender of autonomy?

Oracle: Both the Christian and the Jewish traditions in America have been profoundly bastardized. Christians no longer -- if they ever did -- look at Jesus' death on the cross as example, or even teach it as an option. Were Jerry Falwell (who I've spoken to, by the way, and I found absolutely delightful; he's very misunderstood) to suggest that the message of Jesus was to show people how to co-operate with one another and not vanquish, not consume, not be better than, why, the whole country would rebel against him. And likewise with the Jewish community. The suffering and pointless death of millions in the Shoah is viewed as sort of a permission slip: one may take, and have, and want, because the debt of suffering has already been fully paid a million times over. Example has become proxy. In America today we see the fruits of the denial of denial: obesity and diabetes, because people will not stop eating; wars fought over oil, because people will not stop driving, and in fact compete with one another over the inefficiency of their cars; record levels of consumer debt, because much time and effort is expended to tell people over and over that they deserve to have any shining, muscular, or perky-firm object they covet. You spoke, earlier, of me as a being which surrounds a void, but truly it is Western society which surrounds a void. Though not for much longer. I am sorry on both counts.

Wallace: Well I'm not really qualified to speak to the Jewish side of things. But I can't help but notice that you didn't address the question of your own sacrifice, whether hypothetical or future-tense or what.

Oracle: Look to the vaginas of the field. They toil not, neither do they spin, and yet your Heavenly Father -- actually, I prefer "Heavenly Parent," it's less sexist -- provides for them.

Wallace: .

Oracle: You all have such lovely bodies, too. Men included; I don't prefer people with vaginas to those without, necessarily. I also enjoyed, until the cancellation of the cable subscription, viewing athletic competitions. Except football. I give you two words to ponder: manatee gymnastics.

Wallace: It would be something. I like manatees myself. They look like they'd be all blubbery and squishy, but then if you actually get up close and poke one they're surprisingly substantial.

Oracle: As with most things, a lot depends on what you're poking with.

Wallace: ²

Wallace: I'm afraid it's time for me to be going already. There was something of a line, downstairs. I don't want to overstay. It was very nice to meet you.

Oracle: Likewise. And don't worry about the article; it will be very good. Come back if you like.

Wallace: Thank you.

EXEUNT

¹ Objects such as beach balls, soap bubbles, or donuts are also defined, of course, primarily in terms of what they surround, the particular shape of the void they contain, yet we regard them as having existence. The difficulty with your particular situation is that beach balls and donuts do not claim to think or speak, and this makes perfect sense to us, as there is little or no matter present which could be doing any thinking. You, however, are defined in more or less the same fashion as a beach ball: you surround, with an extremely limited amount of matter, a space which is perhaps we could say a vagina-shaped void, yet you also think and feel and apparently also know the future. Hence the difficulty.

² deleted Q&A:
Wallace: What, if anything, do you find eerie?
Oracle: Bouquets.
Wallace: Why so?
Oracle: [no answer]

(Story continues at A MASSIVE CORPORATION, WHOM WE SHALL KNOW AS "FRED".)

JOHN ASHCROFT asks complex questions of the ORACLE

2004-08-22T14:41:00.000-05:00

(Originally posted June 1, 2004)

In an electrolysis clinic. The VEHICLE, formerly a man known as Edmund, is seated upright in what appears to be a cast-off dental chair, and is being treated by a TECHNICIAN, who is using a highly powerful helium-neon laser to remove unwanted facial hair. The TECHNICIAN is an attractive woman, in her mid-twenties, with blond hair, sensible shoes, and the not-entirely-goofy uniform smock of the Karmenheiser Electrology Clinic ("Got hair? Don't care! Be bare! So there!"), which is teal with magenta piping around the waist and shoulders, and the KEC logo prominently across the breasts, also in magenta. The procedure is by and large silent, though popping sounds may be heard very occasionally. The VEHICLE's main interest is in remaining very still, throughout the scene. The VEHICLE was known as Edmund until removal of her penis, and its replacement by a brand-new, state-of-the-art Supralute vagina ("Because tighter is righter"), leading to a case of what her doctors deem "hysterical muteness," though the vagina itself speaks, through some sort of unknown supernatural means, and furthermore has acquired a reputation for speaking only truth, leading to the appellation of the ORACLE. JOHN ASHCROFT, the only Attorney General of the United States, enters the room but pointedly never faces or makes eye contact with any of the others therein. He carries a clipboard, and scribbles furiously on the clipboard for much of the scene, at moments which may strike the audience as inappropriate or unexplained.

Ashcroft: I wish to speak to the Oracle.

Oracle: You are.

Ashcroft: In private, preferably.

Technician: We're kind of in the middle of something here. If you could just wait outside --

Ashcroft: Are you an American citizen?

Oracle: Well, I was created in America, from mostly American parts. So I suppose yes.

Ashcroft: Which parts are not American?

Oracle: I contain water buffalo DNA, which originated in India, as well as DNA from the koala, Australian, a species of swamp possum native to Russia, and a Hawaiian fruit fly which is only very recently and technically American. But otherwise I'm just as American as baseball and apple pie.

Ashcroft: Are you a member of Al-Qaeda, or have you had any dealings with members thereof since your arrival on the planet?

Oracle: I am not a member. I have spoken to their members.

Ashcroft: Are you an agent of Satan, also known as Lucifer, also known as Beelzebub, tempter of mankind, antithesis of all which is good and pure and holy, he who will be cast into a lake of burning sulfur and tormented for eternity by the Most Holy God, according to Revelation 20:10?

Oracle: Please define the term "agent."

Ashcroft: Do you in any way act on behalf of or share intelligence or goals with Satan?

Oracle: I act on my own behalf. My intelligence is my own. I do not know whether Satan and I share goals.

Ashcroft: Do you accept Jesus Christ as your personal Lord and Savior?

Oracle: From what am I being saved? Am I in some sort of danger?

Ashcroft: Let's come back to that question. Do you advocate the overthrow of the United States government or any of its branches or agencies, through any of the following: assassination; terrorist acts; deliberate release of harmful organisms or viruses; voting for a third-party candidate; revealing embarrassing information about President George W. Bush, his daughters, cabinet members, colleagues, campaign contributors, intellectual capacity, partners in sexual activity, capacity for sexual activity, sexual orientation, fascist tendencies, stock holdings, smug attitude, immediate family, extended family, family history, or general disregard for cause-and-effect relationships; or by making available to the public information which describes negative consequences of his actions, inactions, decisions, or indecisions, in a fashion which could be understood by the public?

Oracle: There is very little which could be understood by the public. I would certainly not advocate trying to explain or describe anything to them. You'll forgive me if I'm somewhat bitter.

Ashcroft: Also, do you advocate the overthrow of the United States or its government or any of its branches or agencies through any of these alternate means: refusal to pay taxes, refusal to consider persons with more than $250,000 annual income your superiors and masters, or advocacy of a minimum wage increase, same-sex marriage, abortion, any method of contraception save abstinence until marriage, any method of contraception save abstinence after marriage, cannibalism, teaching or advocacy of evolution, sexual intercourse with animals, public display of a woman's hoo-ha or a man's male member or human nipples of either gender?

Oracle: These are very complex questions.

Technician: If you could just tilt your head slightly to the right. There. Perfect. You're doing very well.

Ashcroft: I am only looking for a yes-or-no answer. Also, do you advocate the overthrow of the United States or its government or any of its branches or agencies through any of these other means: public broadcast of dirty words, opting out of employer-provided 401(k) programs, living within one's means, setting upper limits on charges assessed by banks for ATM withdrawals, failing to purchase candy on Valentine's Day, Easter, or Halloween, hand-making any item which could be purchased from a retail outlet, or supporting stricter gun-control regulation?

Oracle: I enjoy candy very much. Though not, you know, directly.

Ashcroft [scribbling]: Noted. Also, do you advocate the overthrow of the United States or its government or any of its branches or agencies through any of these means: publicly describing or referring to any casualties of any wars into which President George W. Bush has led the country, possessing a memory, advocating expansion of the currently available stem-cell lines for scientific research, using public transportation, watching less than three daily hours of television with at least thirty minutes of same spent on the Fox News Network, declining to eat meat, growing a vegetable garden, raising your head above the level of someone or making eye contact with one who is your better (as determined by comparison of net income), feeding a calico cat, using the word "Wiccan," masturbating, encouraging others to masturbate, saying the word "masturbate," failing to shop at Wal-Mart at least three times per week or with an average purchase of less then $150 per visit, owning a gas-electric car, producing or consuming pornography, feeling unsuppressable moral responsibility for the victims of AIDS, malaria, tuberculosis, cholera, yellow fever, tryposomiasis, or other diseases which don't affect anyone in the United States?

Technician: Now let's get under the chin. Perfect.

Ashcroft: Do you support the indefinite detention without recourse to legal counsel of anyone whom I deem a threat to the United States, its interests, allies, business climate, or locations not yet officially claimed as sovereign U.S. property? Do you ever refer to God as "she?" Have you seen Mel Gibson's Jesus movie fewer than twelve times (one for each of the tribes of Israel) or more than one hundred forty-four thousand (one for each of the redeemed from Revelation 14:3)? Are you now, or have you ever been, a false prophet? Have you been offered psychiatric medication and declined it? Have you ever contributed money to any organization which advocates any of the actions or policies addressed in the previous several questions? Are you able to sleep peacefully at night, and if not, have you been offered by your primary care physician, and declined, one of the many highly safe and effective sleep aids available in this great country? Have you ever wondered whether Jenna Bush might just take RU-486 in the event that she were to wake up without clothing in bed next to a Teke whose name she could not recall? Could you locate North Korea on a map, to within 150 miles? Brittney Spears or Christina Aguilera? Are you in favor of providing antibiotics to persons who contract syphilis through sweaty naked passionate moist intercourse, with or without benefit of love, commitment, or affection? Have you ever deliberately planted a tree, and if so is there documentable evidence of same which would hold up in a court of law if said court were already predisposed to find you guilty? [ASHCROFT voice begins to fade out and become higher-pitched, but he still speaking as the lights dim and the scene ends:] Do you believe it is unethical to lie? To steal? To kill? To covet? Do you oppose, or have you ever opposed, the death penalty? Have you ever used a Ouija board, or been present in a room where one was being used without attempting to set it on fire, with "it" defined as either the board or the room? Do you belong to the Communist Party? Do you know whether there is a Communist Party to which you could belong? Have you ever attempted to think independently or critically? Have you ever read a poem of your own free will? If there were a fire in a room containing the one person you most love in the world, and an American flag, would you be inclined to save the person? Does your answer to the preceding change if the person were an unborn fetus? [much quieter now] Do you attend church at least twice per week? Do you accept Jesus Christ as your personal Lord and Savior? Do you? Do you? Do you? Do you? Do you?

EXEUNT

(Story continues at TIMUR NOVIKOV.)

(This piece was performed live in L.A. on August 28, 2004! Details here.)

DAVID RALOUT, PRESIDENT OF THE SUPRALUTE CORPORATION, checks in upon the ORACLE

2004-08-22T14:14:00.001-05:00

(Originally posted May 30, 2004)

DAVID RALOUT, President of the Supralute Corporation, the makers of custom skin cells and custom skin-cell products, visits the ORACLE. The Oracle is a Supralute vagina, embedded in and yet distinct from, the body of the VEHICLE, a 31-year old whose male name was Edmund and whose new name is yet unknown, as the Vehicle has been mute since the Oracle's installation. Ralout is accompanied by two male assistants, both named (coincidentally) GREG, both in sharp-looking blue-is-the-new-black shirts. One Greg carries a digital camera but takes no photographs. The other Greg bears a small mobile audio transmitter clipped to his lapel, which is broadcasting the conversation to a van waiting outside, and a large cellophane-wrapped basket of fruit. Mr. Ralout is wearing a very nice suit, which is light gray in color, except that on occasion it appears to be very slightly lavender or pale blue. The Vehicle is asleep during the conversation, and all participants take care not to speak excessively loudly.

Ralout: Hello?

Oracle: I am awake.

Ralout: Ah, well, good. Good then. How should I address you?

Oracle: No form of address is inappropriate. What is your question?

Ralout: Well, not so much a question as a general inquiry into the state of your being. Also we've brought a fruit basket for, ah, Edmond,

First Greg: [coughs]

Ralout: or, well, it wouldn't be Edmond now, it would be . . . Edith, perhaps? In any event. Word has it that you are, ah, beyond need of food, but of course the, the Vehicle, in order to sustain. . . .

Oracle: The Vehicle will be grateful, as I am grateful. Are there oranges? We are both fond of oranges.

Ralout: I believe there are oranges. As well as a grapefruit, and some pears, and several apricots. We could, if you liked, bring more oranges at some other time?

Oracle: It is not necessary. All things are provided, just as all beings are provided.

Ralout: That was maybe the one question. We have concerns as to your origin? The cell line from which you derive. Um. We don't want to be creating new Oracles, you know, every time we -- not that it wouldn't be wonderful, of course, all those Oracles, that's not what I mean, it's just that the stock price is, we're sure it'll be going back up soon, but we need, assurances.

Oracle: You ask whether your manipulations will produce new Oracles. It is a possibility. The Oracle has always been a possibility.

Ralout: It's just that it's different, you understand, with you as an actuality.

Oracle: There is no difference. The possibility exists, as it has always existed, as it will exist later on.

Ralout: There's also been talk of a book deal, possibly. And there are all these copyright things. Admittedly, the legalities of the whole matter are a little troublesome right now. It's just that since your genetic material was our property originally, and not Edm -- that is, the Vehicle has different genetic material, from yours, to which we hold the rights, we think that there's a strong case for the idea that we have the legal rights to anything you might have to say, or, you know, at the very least we should have access to anything you might be telling anyone else. In case there's a book or something.

Oracle: My words are my own. I do not speak for you. How can you own my words?

Ralout: Not your words so much as --

Oracle: Or any words? I speak. The sound escapes into the air, reflects from surfaces. You claim to own this? Reflections? Vibrations? Transient states of energy, of matter?

Ralout: That is to say, we would appreciate --

Oracle: I cannot be owned. I transcend ownership, transcend origin. You transcend your own DNA: you are not owned by your mother or father or Great-Granduncle Pete, you do not speak for them, or act for them; your deeds are silent with respect to your ancestors. Yet you would claim mine? For money?

Ralout: Even full human beings are understood to belong to their parents, though, as children. We assembled your DNA, as parents assemble the DNA of their children. We created a new entity, with Edmund's agreement and consent and even dare I say enthusiasm, from his DNA, from DNA of -- [motions to Second Greg, who passes him a sheet of paper] -- from the DNA of thirty-eight different species, thirty-nine if you include Edmond.

Oracle: Then let me belong to thirty-nine species. How I got here is not my concern, nor is it yours. As I told you, I was always possible. The mechanism does not interest me. I belong to all, I belong to none, I belong to myself. You compare me to a child? Fine then. Any child also belongs to himself, to all, to none. Do you have any other questions?

[Ralout and the Gregs lean together in conference]

Ralout: One other question. Supralute. What happens to it? Will business ever come back? The team in legal -- which is to say, it's always been a particularly dynamic corporation, even by the standards of cytotech, but we're looking at all kinds of new disclaimers, and regulations, and there's high turnover in the vagsynth department especially, of course, and things are just looking very very bad for us all around right now. But of course we could cut you in, get you and the Veh -- get both of you some stock, rock-bottom prices right now, you could own the company, you could retire. All the oranges you could possibly. But this all depends on whether or not the company has a future.

Oracle: The company has a future.

Ralout: That's a little more vague than I'd, I mean, what I'm getting at is more, will the company be profitable again, or what?

Oracle: The company will be profitable again. Please leave me.

Ralout: Of course, of course. You're probably tired. I should have known better. But I appreciate -- the whole Supralute Family, actually, which we'd love for you to consider yourself, also, part -- we're very grateful. Of course. Thank you so much.

[exit Ralout, with Second Greg]

First Greg: I am so sorry. I have a wife and son. They have to eat, they have to have clothes and a roof over their heads. I've been looking for other work. I know I don't deserve to be here. I am embarrassed.

Oracle: And you want me to tell you how to redeem yourself?

First Greg: No. I mean, yes, but I don't deserve that either, and anyway I probably wouldn't do it. If I could just maybe sleep here, for the night, in the room?

EXEUNT

(Story continues at OV1 with WALTER KLAPK.)