Superior sibling crashes Welsh Losser’s office, ruining banner day writing phony memoirs
‘Shortly before I came of age, it struck me as I watched the third and final season of “Gilligan’s Island” – after school hours of my freshman year in one of the most prestigious middle schools of Washington State – that if the seven castaways were so lost to the rest of the world, then how was it that we, the television audience, could see them?!?…’
It’s Welsh Losser, Kyiv-based self-published writer and PR executive, sitting at his desk in the illustrious offices of Penmanship International – a firm without any known purpose.
He’s writing his memoirs, for sale on an Internet store, to make a permanent and irrefutable record of everything he’s never done in his fireplug ice cream-bubble life, but has worked assiduously over the past decade-15 years to get everyone to believe.
‘It was that very moment I decided to write “Gilligan’s Island” creator Sherwood Schwartz (not to be confused with Aaron Spelling) with my modest observation. Well, it wasn’t long before I received a reply – from Mr. Schwartz himself.’
“Nyogets, this sounds good…”
‘It turns out, the fact I had brought to light was so obvious, it had been the easiest thing to overlook. Once this realization hit him, it caused Mr. Schwartz no small embarrassment. This, I heard through the grapevine a year or two later from reliable sources, became the main reason for the show’s cancellation.
‘Impressed, he – Mr. Schwartz, that is – invited me to Hollywood. Of course, I had anticipated this, and so still being underage, I made sure to get my working papers from Seattle following my freshman year, so as to cause Mr. Schwartz and his associates no trouble…’
“Wa-a-ha… nyiggets-nyag…”
‘Now in Hollywood, and looking older than I was, I was soon landing bit parts in movies being produced by Mr. Schwartz’s friends – oh, you know, the blurry guy sitting at the end of a bar, sulking with his face turned partly away from the camera over his beer, or a man late for some appointment scurrying across the street against the backdrop… all un-credited, of course… Once, I even broke through the fourth wall…!!!’
Knock, knock, knock…
Welsh Losser starts in his seat. The door bursts open and slams against the wall… It’s…
“That’s right, Welsh, it’s me, your –”
“My… brother!!! Welsh, what are you –”
“Save me the sanctimonious mealy-mouthed twaddle… Weeelssshhh…”
“But I… negulasoncraxafy…”
“Yeah – see you still got that speech defect. Ha! What else is new?!”
“B-b-but…”
“Never mind that, Weeelssshhh…”
Welsh Losser, the brother of the Kyiv-based Welsh Losser, is better than his brother in every way.
While, like his brother, he is a physical freak, he is somewhat taller and lither, perhaps even more athletic, if that can be said of a Losser, and, although this is hard to believe, better looking.
And for all the effort that Welsh Losser has put into photo-shopping his image, his brother has simply, and naturally, done it better – expending far less effort in the process.
The brother Welsh Losser even carries the walleyes in his head better than his Kyiv-based brother ever could. He is physically stronger and he is smarter. Everything that Welsh Losser has ever tried to achieve in life, the brother has come by with almost dismissive ease.
“Why do you think I came, Weeelssshhh…???”
A confused, helpless, terrified stare…
“I’ll tell you why… To rub your pathetic repugnant rub-a-dub face in the irrefutable fact that anything you do, I’ve already done – and better… Did you really think that by coming to this yawning maw of despond you’d actually ever get away from me to stake a place and make a name for yourself in a way that somehow doesn’t scream two-bit copycat and fraud when people realize you have a brother and then compare you to me?!?”
Speechless and petrified, Losser bleaches pasty white.
“Ha-ha!!! That’s what I thought… But let’s review some history, shall we, Weeelssshhh… Let’s go over the facts… Hmm, let’s see, now… In high school, my 2.67 grade-point average completely lorded over your 2.23…”
Losser gulps and tries to lick small pink lips that have gone dry, while beads of sweat stand out on his brow.
“And in community college you made that valiant effort to catch up with me, even beat me – ha!!! But even then, what was your 2.48 to my 2.9?!”
Welsh Losser is so shaken by his brother’s presence, he begins to tremble. But his throat thickens as its muscles constrict and all he can sputter out is a pathetic “Nagrexamba…”
“And then – moving into the present – there’s this whole PR business. Me – I’m the real thing… business in Seattle, lucratively representing a whole slew of small clients. That’s right. I don’t brag. I made the conscious decision long ago not to go after the big boys; and boy, was I right! In the last 10 to 15 years, while you’ve been here, stinking up this… Kyiv, with your vile, wormy presence, I’ve made a killing! And what have YOU done?!?”
Bracing himself, Losser grips the sides of his seat and shoves his back hard into his chair.
“Ha! Even my name’s better than yours…”
The Kyiv-based Welsh Losser tries to deny this to himself, but in his mind is forced to admit his brother’s name truly is better than his own.
But courage trickles in from somewhere, and in a frightened, near-inaudible voice, Losser somehow manages to say:
“Well, nyugits… At least I’m not Baby Brain… nyug-nya…”
He takes his glasses off his round-raw naked pink-piggy head and throws them on the desk with an awkward clatter. A cuff-linked sleeve wipes his sweat-slippery cheeks, chubby hand shaking…
“Unlike you, Weeelssshhh, our brother never had a chance!!!”
For the Kyiv-based Welsh Losser’s Baby Brain is the third brother, Welsh Losser, whom the Seattle-based Welsh Losser lovingly calls Child Mind. When he was a baby, sleeping peacefully on the dock in the sun, their father accidently dropped an anchor, crushing his skull.
Today, this simple Losser works in an insane asylum in Portland, Oregon, where he is highly respected as a silent janitor of noble bearing. Once a month, the Seattle-based Losser visits him there, bringing him toys with simple moving parts and thousand-piece jigsaw puzzles he puts together in a day, all of which make Child Mind very happy.
“Well, Weeelssshhh,” the Seattle brother says to his despised Kyiv sibling, having grown tired of him for the day (and having just gotten off the plane), “looks like I’m in for some cleaning up of your social calendar, seeing as I have your medium-sized black address book right here.”
He waves the book contemptuously in front of his hapless, overwhelmed brother.
“Nyugrits araxifacla – how did you…?! That’s mine!!!” an all but completely unhinged Welsh Losser exclaims.
“Never mind that, Weeelssshhh… Hmm… let’s see… Who’s this: The Ferret? We-he-hell… Think I’ll go have me a visit…”
The brother turns and walks triumphantly out the door.
Filed by JS, June 3, 2015
PS:
Elmer J. Fudd (early version preferred)
Porky Pig (any version will do)
Frosty the Snowman
Beardless Pedophile Santa Claus
Uncle Fester
J. Wellington Wimpy
The Pillsbury Doughboy