A Holiday Tune...

City kitchens, busy kitchens
Filled with holiday smells...
On the floor there are remnants of baking...

Cookies crumbling, dried fruit tumbling
Biscotti...pile after pile...
And in every still corner you hear...
Tiny mice...tiny mice...
It’s Christmas time in the City...
Hear them squeak...
Watch me freak...
Soon it will be...Christmas Day...

Is me really monster?

- - - -
COOKIE MONSTER
SEARCHES DEEP WITHIN
HIMSELF AND ASKS: IS ME
REALLY MONSTER?
BY ANDY F. BRYAN
- - - -

Me know. Me have problem.

Me love cookies. Me tend to get out of control when me see cookies. Me know it not natural to react so strongly to cookies, but me have weakness. Me know me do wrong. Me know it isn't normal. Me see disapproving looks. Me see stares. Me hurt inside.

When me get back to apartment, after cookie binge, me can't stand looking in mirror—fur matted with chocolate-chip smears and infested with crumbs. Me try but me never able to wash all of them out. Me don't think me is monster. Me just furry blue person who love cookies too much. Me no ask for it. Me just born that way.

Me was thinking and me just don't get it. Why is me a monster? No one else called monster on Sesame Street. Well, no one who isn't really monster. Two-Headed Monster have two heads, so he real monster. Herry Monster strong and look angry, so he probably real monster, too. But is me really monster?

Me thinks me have serious problem. Me thinks me addicted. But since when it acceptable to call addict monster? It affliction. It disease. It burden. But does it make me monster?

How can they be so callous? Me know there something wrong with me, but who in Sesame Street doesn't suffer from mental disease or psychological disorder? They don't call the vampire with math fetish monster, and me pretty sure he undead and drinks blood. No one calls Grover monster, despite frequent delusional episodes and obsessive-compulsive tendencies. And the obnoxious red Grover—oh, what his name?—Elmo! Yes, Elmo live all day in imaginary world and no one call him monster. No, they think he cute. And Big Bird! Don't get me started on Big Bird! He unnaturally gigantic talking canary! How is that not monster? Snuffleupagus not supposed to exist—woolly mammoths extinct. His very existence monstrous. Me least like monster. Me maybe have unhealthy obsession, but me no monster.

No. Me wrong. Me too hard on self. Me no have unhealthy obsession. Me love cookies, but it no hurt anyone. Me just enthusiast. Everyone has something they like most, something they get excited about. Why not me? Me perfectly normal. Me like cookies. So what? Cookies delicious. Cookies do not make one monster. Everyone loves cookies.

Me no monster. Me OK guy. Me OK guy who eat cookies.

Who me kidding? Me know me never actually eat cookies. Me only crumble cookies in mouth, but me no swallow. Me can't swallow. Me no have no esophagus. Me no have no trachea. Me only have black fabric throat. Me not supposed to be able to even talk.

Me no eat cookies.

Me destroy cookies.

Me crush cookies.

Me mutilate cookies.

Me make it so no one get cookies.

Everyone right. Me really is cookie monster.


From: http://www.mcsweeneys.net

Which response it best? A poll.

Last night, Greg picked up some Ben and Jerry's vanilla fudge caramel ice cream. It pretty much sucked. The fudge and caramel had been overswirled into the ice cream so there wasn't a distinct flavor of either. We were equally unhappy but came up with two different solutions to the problem:

Tina's solution: Pour some Hershey's chocolate syrup on top so it would taste like something.

Greg's solution: Seal a rat in the container and ship it back to the factory in Vermont.

You be the judge. Which should we have done?