Date: Thu, 2 Mar 2006
To: DeuceOfClubs.com
From: Tad M.
Subject: Man you wish you could be saved
If you knew anything about the LDS church you know
that everything the Osmonds speak about is true. I
guess you will just never know being an unbeliever and
all. Peace my Brother, I will pray for you.
Concerned Brother
". . . everything the Osmonds speak about is true. . . .
You may be more right than you know, Concerned Brother Tad, as revealed in the following document, recently obtained from a top secret Mormon Archive cleverly masked as a St. Vincent de Paul thrift store on G street in Douglas, Arizona, mere paces away from another strong power spot: the Holy Virgin Water Heater of Guadalupe y Douglas. There is now undisclosed evidence that Donny Osmond's understudy for his 1992 comeback Broadway play Joseph And The Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat was, in fact, a convincing robot singer/actor/dancer named OHGOLLY. Much light is shed upon this by our captured period document, in which we see clear evidence of the special Kolobian powers granted Donny Osmond sometime during the 1970s and which he may still in fact command.
(Left: Here we see the imprint (imprimatur?) of Special Agent Martha Aguirre, apparently deployed under cover on the border in Douglas, Arizona. Her current whereabouts and fate are unknown. Right: Disguised as juvenilia, Aguirre's practice scribbles of signatures illustrate the secret skills government agents require out in the field. The word fire is clearly legible, though its import is as yet unknown.)
But, soft! Our story beginneth. . . .
Marie Osmond stood at Donny Osmond's bedroom door and knocked.
"Behold, I stand at the door and knock," saith Marie.
"Evidently something secretive is going on in Donny's room," deduced Marie, "which now—again I say, evidently—belongs to someone named . . . MARTHA?"
Just then, Donny emerged from his room, beaded with sweat.
Marie shouted at him playfully. "Donny gots a gurr-friend! Donny gots a gurr-friend!"
"Jeez Pete, Marie!" Donny whined. "Can't a top and happening pop singer get some farging Me Time for golly sakes?!?
"But I—"
"You?" protested Donny too much. "I totally wasn't thinking about you!" It was very stylish how the red of his sweater really brought out the red color washing over his cheeks.
Donny pointed. "The kitchen, Marie," he said. "Now."
Marie knew the drill. She had been raised in the loving and traditional punishments of her religion, handed down from generation to generation, since, oh, about 1820-ish, let's say.
To kill time until Marie finished all her chores, Donny danced and modeled vintage contemporary 70s fashions all by himself in the living room's groovy "conversation pit."
All that robot dancing helped Donny suddenly remember the robot he had built to do their chores for them. Hours later, after Marie was done with all the chores, Donny unveiled his new chore-doing robot.
"Wow, Donny! Where did you learn how to make a robot?" exclaimed Marie.
"From some inscribed golden plates I dug up in the back yard. Duh!"
"Golden plates? Neat! Can I heft them?" Marie pleaded.
"Sure, but later," said Donny, agreeably. "And," he added, "as long as your doing so violates no teaching of the Church. Oh, wait. It does."
"What's IGOR stand for?" asked Little Jimmy Osmond.
"I don't know, Little Jimmy," Donny admitted. "You see, I lost the Urim and Thummim before I could translate that part, and also, unfortunately, before even the tiniest particle of my wildly improbable story could be verified. But no matter, because I'm pretty sure IGOR stands for: Rock And Roll Robot!"
Little Jimmy was confused. "But wouldn't that be—"
"See, it's very simple, Little Jimmy. You just sing into the garden hose spout, and finished LP records come out . . . back here . . . oh, darn it all. I forgot to make a hole back there!" Donny shouted in as near to an angry rock 'n' roll tone of voice as he could manage. Sort of like on "Down By the Lazy River."
Then Donny began destroying IGOR, along with some of his mom's nice colonial style furniture and shag carpeting (not realizing that when rock stars tore up rooms, these were generally rooms owned by hotels or hookers or drug dealers, not their own mothers).
"Donny! You're tearing apart the whole room!"
"Can't help it, Marie; I'm a little bit rock 'n' roll. You wouldn't understand. Here, Little Jimmy—kick something!"
In short order, Donny and Little Jimmy Osmond had kicked IGOR back into his constituent pieces of trash (which looked oddly at home among even the unwrecked colonial style furniture and shag carpeting).
"Oh, Donny! Oh, Little Jimmy! Now how are we going to put out more records?" lamented Marie. "Also . . . which one of you scamps removed that sweater I was just wearing in the previous illustration?"
"No time for that now, Marie" Donny explained patiently. "Right now, you need to get working on a new Rock And Roll Robot. Our nation needs us to sell more recordings of wholesome music but with a contemporary beat. It's the 1970s, after all, and oddly enough, America inexplicably seems to need us to do our sort of "thing" right now, strange to say." Donny shrugged.
"You're right, of course, Donny," agreed Marie. "I'll get started immediately." And off she went.
"Groovy! I'll be in the kitchen admiring my reflection in the medium green radioactive Fiestaware," Donny exclaimed to no one, unless Little Jimmy Osmond was still in the room, practicing that weird jumping stage bow of his. That thing that was sort of midway between a bow and a curtsey. Whatever that was.
Months later, Marie finally emerged from her fevered, inventor-ish seclusion. "Tuh-DUH!" she exclaimed. "I sing while the tea kettle whistles. What do you think?"
"It blows," said Donny.
"I know that! That's what makes it whistle, silly!" sang Marie.
"Say, where's Little Jimmy?" wondered Donny.
"You have to admit, with the tea kettle and trash can, it really is a little bit country," Marie blathered.
"Sure, sure," Donny said, looking around the room. "It's far out. But have you seen our brother Little Jimmy . . . around . . . y'know, lately?"
"I call him EBOR," continued Marie, obliviously. "That's ROBE backwards, because for some strange reason, it seems to be attracted to my clothing. I mean, really, really attracted." Marie turned just in time to see EBOR pawing at something on the coat rack. "EBOR!" she shouted. "Quit stroking my blazer!"
"Look!" observed Marie. "Our new rock 'n' roll robot likes to tidy up the place."
"Well, that's not very rock 'n' roll," Donny groused.
"To tell you the truth," admitted Marie, "cleanliness isn't really all that country, either."
"Hey, Marie—would you believe I'm EBORed already?" laughed Donny.
"Would you like me to perform something?" Marie hinted.
"Well . . . I guess. Sure," Donny said. "But somebody's got to search for our missing brother, Little Jimmy Osmond. And since you're not allowed out of the house except for concerts, Marie, I guess it'll have to be me, Donny Osmond."
"Neat," said Marie. "While you're scouring the neighborhood for our missing sibling, I will be here further showing forth my range and intelligence by means of a memorized rendition of Hugo Ball's Dada masterpiece, `Karawane,' reveling in its meaningful meaninglessness, as I hope to do one day on some television show or other in a future decade."
"Donny?" shouted Marie, having more or less successfully finished repeating the nonsense syllables with only a few slip-ups, and consequently expecting at least some courtesy applause. "Donny, can Latter-Day Saints say bung? I mean, are we allowed to? 'Cos I know we can—I just did. Three times, in fact. It was fun. Bung. Bung. Bung. Also, I said, ü üü ü, which actually sounds kind of suggestive, if you dwell on it a good long while."
"Er, Donny? Donny?"
Donny was indeed very busy dwelling. Yea, he did dwell and dwell and dwell, having never noticed just how sexy Dadaism could be.
Once having finished dwelling, however, Donny noticed something disturbingly reminiscent about EBOR's waddling gait and scalding steam. He lifted EBOR's piping hot kettle-face and beneath it was the familiar pudgy little facey-wacey of Little Jimmy Osmond, much redder than usual, but still more or less recognizable.
"Haha! Fooled you, Donny!" laughed Little Jimmy, whose little joke caused him to good-naturedly suffer fairly serious burns over 70 percent of his misshapen little body. "Marie, can we please play Put Little Jimmy in the Emergency Preparedness Freezer now? I mean, pretty quick, here? Seriously. Please?"
"A clever joke! I don't know how it took me so long to spot it," laughed Donny, suddenly dropping the tea kettle to the floor. "Dang. That thing is hot."
"But now who's going to do all the household chores?" inquired a nervous Marie, tentatively.
"I have just the thing that will get all the household work done," said Donny, triumphantly. "I call it TOBATS."
"What's TOBATS?" Marie asked Donny.
"About half the number of bats it would take to fix all the teeth in our family, Marie, Lord-a-mercy, I kid you not," answered Donny. "But fortunately, TOBATS is more than enough to keep you on the job around here." And with that, Donny Osmond began to chase his sister, Marie Osmond, around the room, wielding a baseball bat in each of his hands.
And at that moment, all the Osmonds—including Marie, and also including all the Osmond family members who weren't even in the room, or for that matter, included in the book, nor in its not inconsiderable royalty payment schedule—spontaneously broke into laughter and flashed giant-sized smiles because, sadly, they had no other kind.
Please note, before you send off your ungrammatical protest emails, that this is all in the interest of SATIRE.*
(*Seriously, ATotally Ignorant REligion.)
The preceding message brought to you by BIZARR
(Believers In Zealotry And Really Retarded Religion)
