NOTES TO
MY HOUSEHOLD STAFF.
BY JIM STALLARD
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Consuela—Did your mother tell you yet when the funeral is? I'm sure one of your other sisters can pick up the slack with the wake. I will definitely need you the two days leading up to the party and the day of the party itself. I could say something patronizing like "He's in a better place," but you're a big girl, so I'll just state the blunt truth: No one wants to attend a party where one of the servers is acting like a wet blanket. Let's turn that frown upside down.
Raymond—I need the car painted a different color immediately. Wipe it down first and then get the paint on ASAP. Don't, under any circumstances, take it out of the garage until you've done this. I wouldn't mess with the plates this time. Also, could you get in a little early the next few days and grab the paper off the lawn before anyone sees it? Especially Frances. She has no idea when to keep her mouth shut. Sorry to dump this on you so soon after the last one, and you're right, it's a bad idea for me to drive at night.
Frances—What I wanted for breakfast: Total Raisin Bran with the raisins picked out. What you gave me: Total. Do you think I can't tell the difference? And I don't know why a simple request for bird's-nest soup always has to = Frances Meltdown. Is everything a crisis with you or do you just like playing the martyr?
Hector—The drain to the pool is clogged. It could be leaves, but I suspect it's one of the Henderson's bulldogs again. You'll have to get it out and put it with the others. I checked the garage and, as usual, we're out of quicklime when we need it most. I keep telling you, the time to buy it is in advance, so it's right there. Fix the gap in the fence so nobody puts two and two together. (I already fished the Henderson's invite out of their mailbox, so they shouldn't be a problem at the party.) Also, there's a proper place for the shovel when you're done with it, and it's not lying next to the driveway.
Hans—Let's 86 the cardiovascular workout; it's time-consuming and I'm nodding off halfway through Benny Hill every night. New priority: I want the biceps and ... whatever the other arm muscles are called to be at their prime for this party. Locate some more THG cream and try to find a substitute for the horse pills you gave me last week. You're my PT—you should be able to come up with something that doesn't turn my urine red and keep me up for 72 hours.
All—Just a general heads-up: A few neighbors with nothing better to do may come to the door ranting about something that will make no sense to you. The "Megan" they are talking about was the owner of this house before we got here, and she broke some law and that's what the fliers are referring to. (That my picture is on there just shows you how confused they are.) Let's pull together and weather this like a family. We have a gala affair to host!
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OTHER McSWEENEY'S FEATURES:
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Notes to My Household Staff By Jim Stallard
Unqualified Successes of George W. Bush's Two Terms in Office (So Far) By Dave Halbur
The Photo Commentary of an Expensive Camera in the Hands of an Amateur By Sebastian Gallese
Letter From an Earth Ball By Ben Greenman
The Philadelphia Flyers Have a Time Machine: Installment Five By Dave Johnston
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