The big news in entertainment today was the revelation that Oprah has a half-sister.
A smaller news item that the media chose to pay little attention to was the fact that somebody else found out they have a half-sibling today:
Joyce Carol Oates.
Yes, I am Joyce Carol Oates' half-brother.
We were both thrilled to find each other after all these years.
Well, I was thrilled. JC (as I have taken to calling her) was taking it in a...different way.
"Perhaps I'll write a story where you force yourself upon me," she said, "And I'll call it--'Why Brother?'"
"Um, here's the thing Joy Joy," I said, and this was before I had taken to calling her JC, "I'm gay. Plus, I think people would actually assume I did force myself upon you, and--"
"It's even better if you're gay," she said, "Because then it would be about you forcing your fraudulent sexuality upon the world with me as a symbol of the society that both oppresses you and is deceived by you."
I'm not even sure what that means.
JC sat at her small, black table sipping her tea and watching spiders crawl across her hands. I would later find out that she keeps them as pets, and names them after famous writers who've killed themselves.
"I've always dreamed of killing myself," she said, "But then I worry that it won't be painful enough."
Up until now, I was worried that I had arrived early at some sort of costume party and she was dressed as Morticia from The Addams Family or Lily Munster from The Munsters, but...Wow, those two really are the same character, aren't they?
"Would you like a tour of the estate," she said, gesturing the abandoned ballroom we were sitting it, "I have eight rooms filled with photos of my forgotten youth."
"But how do you forget them if you have eight rooms with photos in them," I asked.
That was when she rang her little bell, and the little person from Twin Peaks entered dancing.
"Ah," she said, "That's better."
Something tells me I'm going to be skipping Thanksgiving.
A smaller news item that the media chose to pay little attention to was the fact that somebody else found out they have a half-sibling today:
Joyce Carol Oates.
Yes, I am Joyce Carol Oates' half-brother.
We were both thrilled to find each other after all these years.
Well, I was thrilled. JC (as I have taken to calling her) was taking it in a...different way.
"Perhaps I'll write a story where you force yourself upon me," she said, "And I'll call it--'Why Brother?'"
"Um, here's the thing Joy Joy," I said, and this was before I had taken to calling her JC, "I'm gay. Plus, I think people would actually assume I did force myself upon you, and--"
"It's even better if you're gay," she said, "Because then it would be about you forcing your fraudulent sexuality upon the world with me as a symbol of the society that both oppresses you and is deceived by you."
I'm not even sure what that means.
JC sat at her small, black table sipping her tea and watching spiders crawl across her hands. I would later find out that she keeps them as pets, and names them after famous writers who've killed themselves.
"I've always dreamed of killing myself," she said, "But then I worry that it won't be painful enough."
Up until now, I was worried that I had arrived early at some sort of costume party and she was dressed as Morticia from The Addams Family or Lily Munster from The Munsters, but...Wow, those two really are the same character, aren't they?
"Would you like a tour of the estate," she said, gesturing the abandoned ballroom we were sitting it, "I have eight rooms filled with photos of my forgotten youth."
"But how do you forget them if you have eight rooms with photos in them," I asked.
That was when she rang her little bell, and the little person from Twin Peaks entered dancing.
"Ah," she said, "That's better."
Something tells me I'm going to be skipping Thanksgiving.
Comments
Post a Comment