Read Online The Funnies by John Lennon - Free Book Online Page A

thinking. Of course you are. Look at your brothers and sisters, Tim. Bobby’s already got his little chunk of the pie, Lindy’s told us all to go to hell, Bitty is married (we’ll see how long that lasts), and Pierce, of course, is hopeless. It’s the same old song, Timmy, you’re not living up to your potential. You’re the only one who can still make yourself a decent life. You’re down in West Philly with that little girl of yours, but she’s not any good either, and besides, you don’t like her. Face facts! Say what you will about me, but I did whatever in hell I wanted, when I wanted, and I’m happy I did. Mostly, anyway.
    I’ve included a list of the supplies I use. If you’re going to do it, do it right. Finished cartoons go on 2-ply Strathmore plate; you stick a week’s worth in an envelope with cardboard and ship them to New York. Do your prelims in pencil on 16-lb layout bond. Sketch with a Wolff “B.” Finals with a Globe Bowl point and letter with a Speedball B-6 round. Brushes are MORALLY WRONG, got that? This isn’t art school, it’s the strips. The other stuff you need’s on the list, along with the product numbers for all the important things. Also, I’ve got you set up with Brad Wurster, out in New Brunswick. He’s a real genius, he gives lessons to all the young punks who can afford it. He’s the best there is. You’ll go to him five hours a day, five days a week. When you make your decision, call him at 224-8935. He’s always home. You think FF is a joke, but it sent you to art school, so you’ll keep it the way it is.
    I said I was mostly happy I did what I did. The only problem was your mother. We tore into each other like nobody’s business. Don’t do that, all right? That’s what’ll happen between that girl and you if you don’t watch it. Your lives will go on being boring until one day you’ll wake up and blame her for it, because you won’t want to admit it’s your own damn fault. And she’ll do the same thing. And there’ll be fights and drinking and all the stuff that ruined your mom and me. Now I’m sounding like a sap. But that woman was my one great failing. I bet she’d say the same about me. We screwed up and probably screwed all of you up too.
    You won’t want to do this at first, but you’ll come around. There’s more to it than meets the eye.
    Dad
    The accompanying list was long as my arm: sandpaper, palette, rubber cement, kneaded eraser, etc., etc. I shouldered out of the stall, crumpled the papers and hurled them into the trash can, screamed, spun around, kicked the door so that it gonged on its hinges. Then I stood perfectly still, breathing heavily, for several minutes.
    Gathered, I went to the trash can and pulled the papers out. Did he think he could get away with this pop-psychological semi-apology for all the heartlessness and gloomy self-indulgence he’d inflicted on us over the years? But of course he had, and he was doing it right now. I smoothed the letter out against my leg, fresh sweat breaking out under my arms and on my back. I’d keep it as testament to my enduring patience. Someday, when I’d made my own fortune without him, I’d read it and laugh at what a supercilious twit he was.
    I smoothed back my hair in the mirror—for once, I noticed, I didn’t look like a penitent awaiting the lash—and flung open the men’s room door. I almost knocked over Susan Caletti. She brought her arms up before her face, as if I were about to sock her.
    â€œJesus!” I said. “Sorry.”
    She backed up a step. “That’s okay.”
    â€œWhere is everybody?” The hallway and conference room were empty.
    â€œThey left. You were in there a while.” She smiled, pushing a wavy clot of hair away from her face. She looked terribly uncomfortable—her dress was navy blue and