A Thomas Pynchon XXX-mas (aka, Blood on the Wallpaper)

[Jane Grant]

Of course, you're wondering how I plan to squander my X-mas, which is something I was wondering, too, because last year I made a solemn vow not to spend X-mas at my parent's A-frame in Bennington again. If you've seen Chilly Scenes of Winter, you know what A-frames do to people, and if you've seen The Myth of Fingerprints, you know what families do to A-frames. Put the two together and you have the Grant Family at X-mas. Hell no, you perverts, my daddy didn't make a pass at my boyfriend and my ugly brother didn't wake up X-mas morning looking shiny and tumescent as Noah Wiley, but my little sister did fuck her boyfriend very loudly in the same room where dear sweet Jane was reading her dear old copy of Gravity's Rainbow in the richly nostalgic glow of a flashlight sequestered beneath the Quallofil covers of a Vango Omega sleeping bag ("the most advanced in the world") while her own boyfriend snored next to her in a vaporous stupor. 
    The next morning, Jane took her little sister to one side of the breakfast nook and whispered furiously in her ear, "Jill, can't you control yourself?" 
    "No," replied the darling skank, shaking her ponytail out. "Why in the name of Count Drugula should I control myself? Why should anyone control me? Why should I control me??" (Everyone in Jane's family loves Thomas Pynchon, except Jane's ugly brother Steven who loves Susan Minot instead and was caught choking Kojak over the Lust dust jacket on two separate occasions.)      "Because you're really fucking loud," hissed Jane.     "So what." Jill yawned and lazily combed her hair back with the same metal brush Jane had used earlier on Iggy the Dog's molting butt-fur. Jill snap-crackled her Yellin' Melons Blibber Blubber. "I need to get fucked till there's blood on the wallpaper," she explained. "It's the only way I know for sure I've gotten laid."      Later, Jane went upstairs and inspected the wallpaper. Sure enough...blood among the dancing pandas and the day-glo lemonade stands.  
    So, I'm not going home for X-mas this year. Instead, I've decided to have a Thomas Pynchon XXX-mas in Burlington. It's going to be magical! Better than a Charlie Brown X-mas, I'm sure. I came up with the idea on the toilet this morning, smoking my first cigarette of the day and listening to the copy machines hum like pneumatic kazoos through the slimy lino. I'm still working out the details, but I can at least tell you folks that my Thomas Pynchon XXX-mas will feature an Osbie Feel-sized spliff rolled with Imipolex G-impregnated Frau Bhang, a dildo painted in the colors of a V-2 rocket, a Bodhi Dharma 24-grain pizza with toppings of cosmic pineapple and purple gum arabic, the sensual sounds of the Spike Jones Orchestra, the lost reel of the pornographic snuff musical Eight Arms to Hold You featuring the vocal stylings of Katje and Grigori (includes duets with Barbara Streisand and James Brolin, Maria Callas, and Vanilla Ice on the smash hits Venus Man Trap, Volcano Girl, and With David Bowie), and, of course, Chesley Bonestall's famous portrait of Wernher von Braun in Long Underwear with Huge Erection, aka, Is That a Rocket in Your Pocket or Are You Just Glad to See Millison?          
    Those in the Burlington area who either despise their family or who are despised by their family are cordially invited to sup on my momma's secret recipes for Cum Yum Coon and Menstrual Marmalade (I've been aging mine for over a year!) with me, Jane Grant, over The Copy Shop at Jane's First and Last Annual Thomas Pynchon XXX-mas. See you all there...especially you, Doug! After all, who loves ya, baby?!     

Jane 



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