Today I received a postcard from my step-brother. Penn.
He consigned it first class mail in a manila envelope to my NY offices and Shoshanna shipped it post haste to my remote island off Crete. I was directing 'Mamma Mia!' under my pseudonym Phyllida Lloyd, and had a spare hour while Meryl took her time endowing a jazz square. A polite sweaty Greek serf in a satin turban and limestine sandals hand delivered the letter. I'll name him Δαμοκλης.
I perambulated to my trailer, and latched the bolt. I unfastened the clasp and withdrew the missive. It was still wet with ink and sweat. I furrowed my brow, sipped some Brandy and read aloud. The note was brief, and out of respect to the scribe I will shelter its contents.
Badgely and I go way back. November 1, 1986. I was fresh off my success in "SpaceCamp" when Momma wired me the news. I called my agents at UTA, and had Badgely signed immediately. With my looks, Momma's freckles and Badge's natural smoldering rodent-like bone structure he was a natural family investment. Right away, he booked a Nintendo voice-over job for Mario Kart 64. Really. He did. Check Wiki. Not kidding. Call his publicist. Its true. Ask Trent Vanegas. Really.
Penn and I had it rough. He was adopted, sort of, and Poppa had to intervene during many violent altercations. Once he nudged me in the gut, and I chewed off his ear. But he won. He only has a fake ear. I a nudged gut which in turn has given me irritable bowel syndrome or "IBS". But, many a joyful memory remain. A thrilling event, we were chased by a pack of wild arctic red wolves straight on through to Jacksonville. No one went to Jacksonville. It was the slums. That's where they went through the trash to recycle the plastics we threw away. Where they made poop into peanut butter. Where they bought things at 7-Elevens or Dollar Stores on credit!
Karmaharija Goot was the leader of the slumlords. He had a a grey beard, 84 teeth and a tattoo of Jordin Sparks. He also owned two concubines and a local trout pond. He had his cronies follow us home after the YMCA bus failed to pick us up after school. Poppa had mesothelioma, and Momma slept during the days. But because we were both celebrities we got free YMCA.
The men followed us in a brown El Camino with a hay bale, a pitchfork and a pirated copy of "Duplicity". Badgley and I quickened our steps. The El Camino pulled over and a man in the driver seat indicated that our parents were in some sort of incident. He told us to get inside the car so he could take us see to Momma and Poppa at the hospital. Badgley and I didn't care because we were both adopted, and knew that we would split a handsome insurance policy. But we obliged the lonely man 'cause back in those days we had to walk places, and my feet hurt from step class. Penn and I hopped in the back of the truck and the man us sped away cackling to the tune of "If I Had A Hammer." Then a net fell over our heads. Later I found out it was a wicker hammock. Just a side note.
I must have fallen asleep, but when I woke up I was in a ranch staring into the eyes St. Jolie. I said, "Saint Angelina please save my brother, Penn and I, from this creepy man that looks a lot like J.K. Rowling." She resonated, "Find out how much God has given you and from it take what you need; the remainder is needed by others." I wept a sapphire tear when she paused at the semi-colon. I did. It's in the Smithsonian.
Suddenly, I realized it was NOT St. Angelina Jolie but the creepy man dressed like J.K. Rowling! I sprinted, but he snatched (gross!) and clutched me by my jean skirt. Badgley crouched (gross!) next to a conveniently located blowtorch near a flammable pile of dry newspapers saturated in gasoline, and moved the blowtorch to a safer place. I lit a matchstick resting in the left corner of my lip, lighted it off Badgely's cheekbones and threw it in slow motion. We fled in fast motion and got double time out of our precarious situation out the back gate. We scaled walls, back-flipped over barbed wire. We somersaulted in unison into the old man's truck, and praised our kinesthetic responses. Penn quickly hot wired the El Camino. I took photos to sell later to TMZ.
As we took off, Penn told me that they were going to blind me with candle wax. I couldn't believe it. I felt pensive. So, as we drove through the desert and I stared aimlessly thinking of Latika. But, unfortunately, we did leave a good friend there back at the ranch. I think I remember his name. I think it was Walter. Yeah, Walter Collins. I know he got away. Got a letter from him from Cambodia. Told me his mother swapped him for a kid named 'Maddox'. Walter went communist and ate locusts. But he was happy. Fell in love with a cobbler's aunt. Owned a few kilometers of rice paddies. We heard he was alive and that was enough.
Penn and I had some laughs on the road. We sang Dusty Springfield and Kool Moe Dee. We ate Subway and always asked for Dijon even though the staff knows it as 'deli mustard'. He always had interesting criticism about my books on tape. He didn't make me stop at Starbucks. We were good road buddies.
I reclined in my faux chinchilla divan, and considered Penn's letter post-read. The stars lit in Gemini, and the stain glass shone from the brazen moonlight highlighting my high Irish cheekbones. A beam of moon illuminated a scribbled word from Bagdley's poor penmanship. It read: "P.S.- I can't believe Gossip Girl is..." The rest of the letter will be read on my guest staring role on the season finale of Gossip Girl in 2010. Hint: Mushy Patchouli.
Anyway this polite sweaty Greek serf in the limestone sandals needs me to sign something. Why can't Manuel or Shoshanna handle these trivial, physical tasks? I'm a glass menagerie, don't they know? I have osteoporosis and rickets. I'm also anemic and have lupus. But I can't let Δαμοκλης wait any longer. I've already had him proof read this twice. What is a customary tip for a Greek serf? I'll just give him porridge, five shillings six pence farthing and a gift certificate to Big Lots.
Also, to my fans. Stop sending me "Curious Case of Benjamin Button" joke mail with my face cropped over movie stills. I'm not amused and its tacky.
Beckett Boo, Esq.
Cat Blogger Extraordinaire