For the last 2 years, FCN has published the nerdishly popular Envoy Forest series (Envoy Forest and Return to Envoy Forest), showing the members of a Californian NCFCA club as they truly are. As a side note, if you read the letters NCFCA backwards, they stand for Avid Collectors of Funny Class Notes. Anyway, the writer of the Envoy Forest series has retired from the league and is now engaged in more respectable pursuits, like saving the world. So, there will be no Envoy Forest this year, or any other year. I know, I know. It's tragic. But there is good news.
Envoy Forest has spawned a significant crop of spin-offs, and we're going to direct you to two of them, if you really must get your 2007 fix. First, check out the blog The Adventures of Oyi and Clari, which, of course, can be found here:
http://oyiandclari.blogspot.com/
Four side notes: First, the authors didn't give us permission to label their blog an Envoy Forest spinoff, but we're sure they don't mind. If they do, they won't know which of us wrote this post, so we'll still be safe. Second, this blog is pretty confusing even to its authors, so don't feel bad if you end a post standing on your head or something. Third: no, we do NOT write Oyi and Clari. Fourth: yes, Dan the Viking is the same Dan.
For something shorter and more direct, check out this story recently emailed to us by freelancer Randy Hawthorn, for which we take neither credit nor responsibility:
ENVOY MEETING, by Randy Hawthorn
--
DISCLAIMER: All characters in this story are purly fictional. Any
similarities between characters in this story and real life
individuals is purly coincidental. That said we do not apologize.
--
One day about a year ago, I was walking along the road with absolutely
nothing worthwhile to do when I was greeted by a young man. He was
thin and pasty white. In any other circumstance I would be afraid that
I was about to be mugged based on the disheveled appearance of the
individual but his absolute lack of muscle assuaged my concerns
appropriately. He greeted me in smooth English.
"Pardon me, are you here for the Envoy meeting." I looked at him
quizzically. Having nothing better to do with my time and desperately
wanting to get this man off my hands, I gave him some change and
walked into the building me motioned to with his left hand as he bowed
his head and profusely thanked me. "Thank you so much! My names
Trevor. Trevor Ward. They don't pay much for being a peace lobbyist.
Oh yes thank you!" My mind quickly moved to other things as I entered
the room ahead of me.
Immediately to my right there were two boys furiously writing on a
chalkboard. Their handwriting was bad enough for them to be doctors.
They wrote with such enthusiasm that I felt compelled to speak with
them.
"Hi." I said, extending my hand. "I'm Hank."
"Greetings!" Said the shorter of the two, pushing some over sized
glasses up on his nose. "I'm Jesse." He turned to his companion.
"Maybe if we include more phosphorus the mixture would be less
volatile."
Jesse's companion nodded his head importantly. "I'm Zack." He said
thrusting his hand in my direction. I shook it cautiously.
"I'm Hank." Zack had already forgotten about me and was moving on to
mixing two nasty looking fluids together. I left the Einsteins and
moved on. A blond man approached with a woman on his arm. The woman
smiled pleasantly at me. The man grimaced.
"Hi. I'm Hank." I said, trying not to stare at the man's hair which
looked like a failed attempt at keeping girls away.
"I'm Sam. And this is my girl, Adrienne."
"Hi." I said again feeling a little uncomfortable. Neither of the two
noticed me. "Well...I'll be see--" I stopped short. Something I had
initially taken to be a bush moved from behind Adrianne. It was large,
furry, and smelly. I tapped Adrienne on the arm. "What is THAT?" I
asked.
"Oh." Said Adrienne, her face falling. "That would be Travis."
"What?" Said Sam, turning and firing a shotgun from the hip. The
blast caught Travis full in the chest. Thankfully, the hair took most
of the impact. A coke can flew out of Travis' hand and clattered in
the distance somewhere. Travis ran for cover. I walked over to see if
he was OK, but by the time I arrived all I could get out of him were
sobs and cries of 'Adrienne'.
Not a little disconcerted I walked on. I came to a small, very square
box. From inside I heard laughing. I knocked on the boxes side and a
little Irish man poked his head out.
"Whadya want?" He said, his voice slurred from intense drinking.
"Um...I didn't mean to disturb you, I ju--" He cut me off with a
string of Irish curse words and an invitation to join him for a drink.
I accepted and climbed into the box. There was a young lady sitting in
the corner of the square sipping tea and reading a "Mere Christianity"
Next to her, there was a stack of books which reached the roof of the
box with ever single thing CS Lewis ever wrote. She was rapidly
discussing random things she discovered with the drunk Irish fellow. I
had a beer, nodded to the lady who had hardly noticed me in the time I
was there and left the square box. Let me say it was the most freeing
feeling to leave that box.
Almost as soon as I left I was greeted by a charming young lady.
"Hi. I'm Jessica." She said.
"I'm Hank." I said. Relieved to find someone normal finally in this
place. Jessica had a haggard look on her face, like someone who has
seen to much pain, too much fighting, and is ready to put up her sword
and take a long rest. I asked "What are you doing here?"
Jessica looked a little confused. Her answer was stifled by a call
from behind her. It sounded like a mix of a wolf snarling and a boy
crying.
"Hey Jessica, you owe me $20!"
Jessica cringed. "Get down," she said "It's the Nazi!"
I ducked behind a convenient crate full of paper. I peered over to
see something that resembled something out of my nightmares more than
a human. It was crouched in a corner sniffing a smelly, yellow
substance. It hard dark, cold eyes which darted about the room.
"Nazi?" I asked.
"Yes...steer clear of him if you can" Jessica panted.
His face looked like it had been through every war since the war of
1812. The nose (if you can call it that) was bigger than the rest of
his body and covered in pot marks and breaks. It resembled a staircase
more than anything else. With every snort of the yellow substance he
cried out half in pleasure half in pain.
"Who is he? How did he get like that?"
"His name is Logan. I don't know how that happened to him. The best
we can tell, it comes from overdoses of folic acid and vitamin C."
"You can overdose on those?" Jessica's answer was cut short as Logan
snarled and pointed behind the box. He began to run towards us
snorting and howling the whole way, opening another packet of
Emergen-C.
"RUN!" Jessica yelled. I never saw her again. I was running away from
the scene as fast as my legs could carry me when a young, burly
looking, helpful man stopped me.
"Where are you going in such a hurry?"
"Run...Jessica....Logan..." I panted. He smiled knowingly.
"I have a place you can hide." He said opening a trapdoor and
ushering me in. Inside there was another man who had a horrific
looking growth on his cheeks.
"Haha!" He laughed. "You two look more scared that Paris Hilton in
jail!" I wasn't amused.
"Are you OK?" I asked motioning towards the growth on his face.
"Better than Matt Damon in an armory!" He said cracking up again.
"Why? You like my sideburns?" I shrugged not wanting to start a fight.
"I'm Hank."
"I'm Cody."
"I'm Daniel," Said the helpful man who had aided me in my flight from Logan.
"Thanks for helping me, Daniel."
"He is always helping. A veritable Angelina Jolie he is!" Cody added
grinning. There was a knock at the door and Daniel got it.
"Hi there. I am Allison and I was wondering if I could convince you
to vote for Ron Paul." Daniel smiled and welcomed her in. I left
before the libertarian could get her hooks into me. As I left I passed
by a crying baby surrounded by diaper bags. Needless to say, I never
went back to that place.
Thursday, July 05, 2007
Envoy Mission, and other stories ...
Wednesday, July 04, 2007
4th of July 'Tribute'
We have all heard, I am sure, some enthusiastic mantras of praise for the United States of America; expressions of affection that are normally reserved for lovers or little children are extended with unwavering confidence to a nation of 300 million and no time of year is more prone to these tributes than the 4th of July, the day set aside to celebrate the signing of the Declaration of Independence, an act that took place a couple centuries and one day earlier.
Do you realize that was all one sentence? Yay for me.
Anyway, FCN hates to be left out of the fun, but we feel that single-minded praise of the USA is nation centric, selfish and egotistical and we therefore craft our 4th of July Tribute with a focus on other countries. America might be the greatest nation on earth, but that doesn't mean we do everything the best. In fact, if you take apart many of the things that make America “great” we find that other nations may have a better claim to “best.” Take a look at the following examples...
Free Speech
America's founding documents say that the dark beauty of the mind of every man, woman and monkey should be pasted for all to see on every newspaper, wall and museum. The result is personal ads, graffiti and the taxpayer funded “artwork” like the unclothed mannequin squatting on the raw chicken. How much more American can you get?
Perhaps the biggest flaw in our speech laws is that websites like Funny Class Notes are allowed to continue sans sanction or punishment. Regular citizens who make fun of elected leaders and deride the policies of our government are not shut down or even punished. Complete fabrications are allowed unaltered and dry comedy that isn't funny or even inspiring is published anyway. In fact, the White House has been known to give press passes to bloggers and encourage independent journalism by issuing press releases to the pajama media.
A better approach to speech regulation is embodied in China's “One-Word” policy. If one word is out of line, there is no limit to the excruciating pain the government has license to level against you. The flag of China is as red as the blood that runs in the citizens' veins and an acknowledgment of that and subsequent regulation to preserve the serenity and tranquility of Chinese life justifies speech controls.
Quite frankly, we need to be protected from ourselves. When we talk, we use the weapon of James, a terrible tool that can cut down friends, families, and even governments, the most sacred institution of all. A standard that no law can restrict speech is wholly at odds with the realities of today.
Wake up, America; China's got it figured out!
Marriage Laws
For some biological reason, America has it in its thick scull that the only people who can marry are men and women and they can only marry people of opposite genders in units of one. While this policy isn't codified nationally, almost every state has a marriage standard that destroys any chance of turning the love of man and monkey into a legally recognized spousal relationship. Tragic.
In the Netherlands, anyone can get a “Geregistreerd Partnerschap.” Well, more specifically, any quantity of anything and/or anyone can go before the altar (or bookshelf for all the law cares) and lynch the knot. These Partnerschaps can include two or even three partners of any gender background or identity. (Due to a lobbying effort on the part of the canine community, the law currently prohibits unions of four, but the Dutch parliament is working to resolve that and full freedom of spousal interaction is on the horizon).
For a nation that promotes freedom at every turn and prides itself in being the land of opportunity, America sure does limit its citizens' ability to hook up creatively. We allow free speech to run rampant but restrict marriage to the most narrow minded definition. Maybe we can learn something from our Dutch brothers and sisters (and barnyard animals).
The Netherlands are, indeed, the land of the three, home of the brave. America needs to leave behind the antiquated views of marriage and adopt a more progressive view that includes, well, everything.
Wake up, America; the Dutch have it figured out!
Currency
Turning our attention briefly to the somewhat dry – but always crispy – topic of finances, our monetary policy is hoisted (that means it's bad). Our inflation rate is so low and uninteresting, most of you probably couldn't even cite it. In fact, the last time anyone in your family worried about inflation was when your daddy was in diapers. The dollar is just too stable.
In Zimbabwe, a country that wins the award for the best name, inflation hovers around 5,000%. That means that in Zimbabwe money is like a car: It loses most of its value the moment it leaves the mint. But there are some awesome things about having an super high inflation rate. For instance, the currency is printed with an expiration date like milk or yogurt and businesses are not legally obligated to accept old bills as legal tender. This means that immediately before money is about to expire, the economy is boosted with a huge injection of activity, helping keep one of the poorest nations in the world afloat.
If America printed bills with an expiration date, greenbacks would find their way out of mattresses and into the hands of Wal-Mart cash registers, thus helping both the American and Chinese economies. An expiration date is a brilliant way to stimulate economic growth, throw the American consumer for a loop and give Ben Bernanke something to talk about.
Wake up, America; Zimbabwe has got it figured out!
Equality
Somewhere along history's timeline, America picked up a perspective on gender relations that promises equal treatment and the same rights for men and women. That's all fine and dandy in a political sense, but in the real world, where only the strong survive and the weak must wear headscarves for protection, a different perspective is appropriate.
Iran, the land of the great Imams, which gave the world camels and burritos, takes a more Darwinian approach to gender equity. Women are given all their rights by men. As three teenage guys living in America, we think that's pretty cool. Not everything about Iran is that awesome. We can do without the noontime wailing and the bed spreads that pass as casual wear, but the idea of subservient women is attractive. Guys, imagine being able to silence any female with a snap of the fingers. Heck yeah.
Instead of enslaving our female population, America has granted the fairer sex suffrage, land ownership rights and drivers licenses. Women are put as equals to men in government and business and are given the choice to work wherever they want, as corporate executives, small business owners or even mothers.
The day of the liberated woman is over. Iran has recognized this and recaptured the women that were never set free. What a picture!
Wake up America; Iran has got it figured out!
That's our tribute. Hopefully we've provided more evidence in favor of free speech restrictions. We've looked at four countries from five continents to find just a few examples of where the greatest nation on ever is behind the curve. Sorry to rain on the “America is awesome" party. Maybe next year we can celebrate reforms that bring us closer to having an unbeatably great country. Until then, we can continue to suffer - as is FCN's habit - under mediocrity.
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
Redundant.
Note: This is a sad story. It isn’t happy and may induce feelings of sympathy and bereavement. Please read only if you don’t mind some cheerless, lugubrious, and slightly morbid fare. Yes, morbid. This is morbid, mournful and morose. It isn’t funny. In fact it’s woebegone; more likely to induce feelings of despair and despondence than delight and ecstasy. Read at your own risk.
Meet Todd. Todd is a boy, who is a male young man. He owns a house, a small, undersized abode with four walls and a ceiling. His home has a floor and a roof. Outside the house is a yard, covered in landscape and small plants for decoration. The yard has a sod lawn with grass planted in it. Todd owns it.
On the side of the house opposite the street is a large, concrete-lined pond filled with chlorinated water. Behind the house is a pool. The pool is full to capacity with cool colorless liquid, treated with chemicals to keep the algae from growing. It is a swimming pool. It is full of water. It is in Todd's backyard.
Around the pool are two chairs for sunbathing. People who want to soak in some rays and collect some ambient Vitamin D may lean back in the plastic furniture and relax. The area around the water is perfect for getting a tan and there are a couple of shays set up for that very purpose. In fact, there are two pool chairs on the deck.
Todd exits his house, ready to swim. He is wearing nothing but a swimsuit, but doesn’t feel self conscious because he knows he is alone. Todd is the only one around and he is wearing appropriate clothes for swimming.
As the owner of the house is about to step into the pull, he slips on the wet tile and knocks his head against the deck. The tile is soaked, aqueous and covered in water. Todd loses his footing and his foot slides against the drenched surface. Just as he is about to get into the pool, he loses his power over gravity and smashes his cranial cavity against the surface he used to be touching with his feet.
Inconclusively, without much evidence and with little data, we can conclude that Todd is knocked out. It’s ambiguous and the information is deficient, but even in the face of such unsatisfactory confirmation, we can infer that the owner of the house is unconscious. Lacking a definitive testimonial, it would be inappropriate to say for certain, but Todd really looks out of it.
A wave brushes up against Todd’s half-submerged body and pulls him toward the water. The wind blows some water up onto the owner of the house and its rebounding movement drags Todd away from the deck. A larger wave pulls Todd all the way into the water. The colorless liquid covers Todd’s face. He falls into the pool.
The squid strangles Todd. Using every one of its ten arms, the cephalopod asphyxiates his prey until he stops moving. Todd's neck is being covered by ten different suction powered appendages and he can't breathe. Todd loses his breath and ceases his struggles. Todd dies. He kicks the bucket, is bumped off, buys it, cashes it in, chalks out, conks, expires, succumbs, pushes up the daisies, harfs it, folds, mucks, goes KIA, keeps the headstone company, captains the dirt submarine, visits the in-laws, communes with nature, renders unto Caesar, goes back for seconds, calls home in the horizontal phone booth, catches some shut-eye, gets off the train, hunts for buried treasure, meets the gophers, tucks in for the night, holes up, cools off, gets front row seating at the funeral, goes all in, tests the dirt with both feet, gets busted cheating death, wumps, sproinks, dingalings, taps out, busts, finishes last, gets in a time capsule, hides from Chuck Norris, gets his last change of address, and, yes, drowns.
Posthumously, after his death and when he is no longer alive, Todd’s friends cry for him. They shed tears about the life he led and the tragic nature of his demise. His passing was sad and they mourn his loss. Todd’s friends are bereaved.
At Todd’s funeral, a man in a suit talks about the importance of never swimming alone. While they put his body into the ground, an expert in pool maintenance and safety advises others to learn from Todd’s mistake. Todd gave his life to tell a lesson and we should all pay attention to that lesson. Everyone is wearing black and, while tears are shed and memories shared, a water virtuoso warns others of the danger of pools and squids. They are not safe, so always bring someone along to help you if you have a problem. Always, always, always!
Moral: Never swim alone without other people around to accompany you unless you have supervision.
Monday, July 02, 2007
My Dreams Can Now Be Realized!
Dark times were swirling around my house – my dog died, my abs were sore and there weren't any good movies in theaters – until I got an email from some very kind people offering to have the “Government fund my dreams.” I won't give you all the address, because I want this opportunity exclusively for myself, but let it suffice to say that I think they are serious and I am ready to be doted upon.
In case you forgot or someone didn't tell you, I dream big. My dreams are about fifteen story mansions, trophy wives and all the chicken soup my little tummy can hold. They are filled with grandeur, romance and money, lots and lots of money. Fast cars and fast Internet connections.
You guys figure into my dreams as well, at least I think you do. The faithful few are mostly in the dreams I forget the next day. The dreams I remember of the selfish ones of personal success and fame.
That's why I am giddy over the concept of the Government funding my dreams. You see, the Government is big and famous and has a fast Internet connection. It builds big mansions and controls so many billions of dollars that even Bill Gates has to get out his calculator to understand the numbers.
The Government is everywhere. There is some at the local, state, federal and – and you can't go around telling people this because it's a secret – international level. The Government is big, taking a goodly portion of everyone's money for the benefit of people who dream, like me. It is worthy, supporting causes of magnitude and significance. It is benevolent, helping derelicts who can't make it on their own. And it is gentle. Yes, the Government is gentle. So soft and loving that a toddler would burp in its presence, so caring and considerate that a grandma would invest her life savings in its brawny arms and so kind that true hearts cry when it's hurt.
Yeah, I need to lay off the Lifetime channel.
With the government in the picture, I can afford to dream even bigger. Little things become big things when you add a few million dollars. I can't wait to see what the Government has in store for me.
My ship has come in, my ride has arrived, my chariot is on fire. Or something like that.
You all can dream, but sans Government assistance, your dreams will be Lysol Dreams: sterile, noxious and not worth living. If this is your future and you want something more, I encourage you to contact your local Government representatives and find out what Uncle Sam can do for you. A fifteen minute call could save your dreams...
Sunday, July 01, 2007
Life Tip #33
Don't let your minor children have dangerous firearms.
If you must let your minor children have dangerous firearms, don't let them join a gang.
If you must let your minor children join a gang while they possess dangerous firearms, don't let them go shoot up rival gang member's houses.
If you must let your armed gang children shoot up rival member's houses, don't drive them yourself.
