Venus diMilo and her Sheep

Dear Reid,

Hi. I have a problem. There’s this guy, I’ll call him Raphael. I used to date this Raphael guy. He was really devoted to his art, and at first it was kinda cool, but as our relationship went on, I was getting fed up with it. He was always drawing or sculpting, and one time I caught him “studying” a naked woman in the HFA drawing lab. He told me it was just for a class, but I don’t believe him. Anyway, I felt pretty upset.

We tried to work things out, but when I saw his sketches of those West Central Experiment Station sheep and the sensitivity in which he rendered their fuzzy wool, I knew it was time to be done with Raphael. My heart shattered like the tennis ball a high school physics teacher drops in liquid nitrogen to demonstrate the awesome powers of love, er, I mean extreme cold.

The problem is, now he’s in my Human Sexuality class. He sits only a few feet away from me, drawing away like a little Renaissance master. It drives me nuts. His quill pen… scribbling, scribbling, scribbling… it’s driving me nuts! Short of wearing earplugs—or sitting in a different seat—how can I mask that incessant noise? What will help me get through this class? Is it that bad to love sheep? I mean really love sheep? Do you know how I feel?

Venus di Milo

I know how you feel. It is most non-heinous that this guy continues to plague your thoughts and classes. I mean, how bogus is it that he sits near you in that class—what is it, Porno for Poets? What this guy needs is a good Melvin. And it would be really cool if you could go back in time and set up some boobytraps like a falling trash can to drop on him when he was drawing that naked woman or something. It couldn’t hurt to pick up some famous figures from history along the way, just to teach him a really good lesson. And to top it off, you could hire some dead alien dudes to build a big robot you that could beat him up. That would be excellent.

But seriously, all “Bill & Ted” references aside, violence is the answer to all of your problems. I mean, haven’t you been watching children’s television programming lately? The Power Rangers only started the phenomenon, and with each week, it seems, we get a new show from Saban Studios. The common theme in every series: don’t try to deal with your problems in any sort of rational manner, just beat the crap out of your enemies and everything will be peachy-keen.

And have you seen the new “Sesame Street” characters? Those motorcycle-riding ninja Muppets™ whose sole purpose it is to rid the block of alien invaders (in the world of “Sesame Street”, human children are the aliens) in frequent bouts of rampaging bloodshed and dismemberment. No longer is the show devoted to teaching viewers a new letter of the alphabet, or to introducing a word in Spanish each episode. This season’s theme is detailed instruction on a brand new way to kill and torture human beings according to ancient medieval methods.

And finally, there’s “Mr. Rogers.” The show lost all credibility when old Fred, King Friday, and that woman who lived in the spinning museum all became fighter pilots on a mission of death and destruction, raining terror on the last remaining communist states in the Land of Make-Believe. We’re talking speedy delivery of thermonuclear smart-bombs right down the chimney of those tyrannical bastards’ homes. The episode where they joined up with the Hamas Palestinian terrorist organization and went to the Hokah Canning Plant was pretty touching, though.


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