I watched as she brushed the light blue powder across my lids and I imagined that I was a movie star on an elaborate set ten minutes away from lights, camera, action. I hadn’t the opportunity to learn how to put on makeup before but I had always been quite fond of the pictures I’d see in magazines where the women had pouty, shiny lips and dramatic smokey eyes looking up at me as if I were an alien from a different planet and they were beckoning, “Look like me.”
“Do you think you’re ready for the eyeliner now? Be sure to not blink too much even though I know you’re going, too!” Angelina’s voice was very nasal-y but it fit perfect for her job position. She’d been the makeup technician for various playhouses around the city and I’d known her for only a few days and she’d offered to “do me up.” She came from an Italian background and always smelled like tomato sauce, but that was only because she worked nights sometimes at the pizza place on the corner for extra cash. Her apartment was also right above it.
I was reminded of a time when my older sister was practicing to put makeup on me one Sunday afternoon when she’d come to visit the parents. It was a few weeks before her wedding and instead of paying someone to put makeup on her, she wanted to do it herself. “I don’t want to look like a clown on my wedding day. I want to be adored!”
And so we’d spent all afternoon testing out different colors, shades, and accents. Peter had walked in from the backyard after playing a few rounds of ping pong with Dad. “What are yall doing? Playing dolls?” We had all laughed. One of those moments that can’t be captured in words, but only the emotions connected between siblings. Like the time we were all taking a drive and Peter had spotted a flock of white pigeons congregating on the parking lot of a stadium and said, “Who left all those white tennis shoes on the parking lot?”
I was blinking a lot as Angelina had predicted, but she didn’t seem to mind as if she were used to fluttering eyelids. The strokes of the eye pencil were uncomfortable and felt like flecks of it were getting into my eyes. “Oh my goodness, this color just makes your eyes POP!”
She swiveled me around and stared at a face that didn’t belong to me. The eye shadow was too blue and made me look like an 80’s pop princess who was on too much heroine. And the rouge lipstick was too dark for my skin tone. “Wow, Angelina! This looks great!”
“You really like it, doll? We can try some different colors next time. I really wanted to see how this would look because I’m gonna use the same color palette for Raphael’s dress rehearsal next week at the Paladium. You’re a doll to let me practice on you. SO much better than a mannequin head!”
I smiled and grabbed my purse. “I’ll see ya next week then, Ange. Bye!”
The cold air hit my face as I let the wooden door of the arthouse slam behind me. I had a sudden thought that the makeup would freeze on my face and become permanent. I dug a tissue out of my shoulder bag and wiped the lipstick away but I could still feel the sticky-dryness of rouge. The taste made me cringe. I wondered how boyfriends and girlfriends could get past that lipstick taste if they were forced to kiss those painted lips everyday.
I walked up the steps to my apartment and clicked the lock shut behind me. Dylan was sitting on the sofa watching the television absent mindedly. “Hey..”
He looked up and took a double-take. “What happened to your face?”
I smiled, “Gee thanks, I’m glad you like it.” Sarcasm was the pet in this apartment.
He stood up and put his arms around my shoulders. “Why are you all dolled up? You got a hot date tonight or something?”
I chuckled. “Yea, a date with Ronald McDonald. No, Ange needed to practice her makeup routine for some play Raphael is putting on next weekend. I was her test run.”
“Oh,” he jokingly wiped a sweaty brow. “That’s a relief. I thought you were running away to join the circus or something.”
He kiss me on the lips and made a face but tried to pretend like he wasn’t. I kissed him back some more just to annoy him. “What’s for dinner?”
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Thursday, September 04, 2008
A Denny's Tale
The hot sun beat down on the little white Civic parked in front of the abandoned Denny's off Highway 19. Froggie lit his third Marlboro red since he had driven out to the middle of nowhere. He looked to his left and saw a road stretch out into the endless desert. He looked right and saw the long stretch of road reach into a blanket of sand as well but with a distant glimmer of civilization in the distance, the tiny tops of downtown glinting in the sunlight.
Where was Kuno? He had called him at least an hour ago. He should be here by now. Hopefully nothing was causing his to be late...like his new wife. But he would have that conversation with Kuno later.
Froggie let the cigarette smoke slip through his dry lips. He felt the beads of sweat developing on his brow. He hated sweat. It was disgusting. He grabbed a towel from the backseat of his car and wiped his face dry but it felt dirtier now. He imagined the microscopic germs multiplying on his skin and it drove him crazy. "SHIT." He kicked his back left tire and threw the towel back into the car next to all the other towels.
"This is crazy...crazy...Whatever, it'll be ok. I had to do it. I had to. What choice did I have? This is crazy. Shit shit shit." He realized he was talking to himself and it didn't bode well. His white Armani dress shirt had become wrinkled and he didn't even want to imagine the sweat stains under his arms. He looked at his cuffs and saw the flecks of red. His fingers were antsy. He loosened his cuffs and rolled up the sleeves so he didn't have to look at those flecks.
Suddenly in the distance, he saw a shiny spot getting progressively larger. It was Kuno.
Froggie had three more cigarettes.
Kuno pulled his shiny black Lexus next to Froggie's car. His long legs spilled out of the car and his large shoes crunched on the hot sand. His 6'7" frame folded out and he made Froggie look tiny.
"What is this? Why are we here?"
"Where the fuck have you been? I called you over an hour ago! You know how freakin hot it is out here waiting on your slow ass?"
Kuno lit a cigarette and spit. "I don't know why you called me. I don't know why you dragged my ass out here in the middle of no where. We can't even get pancakes, the damn Denny's is closed down. Couldn't we have met somewhere more hospitable?"
Froggie kicked his back tire. "I didn't want anyone to see us, recognize us." He shook his head and clutched his palms to the sides of his head as if he were having a migraine. "I messed up. I messed up bad."
Kuno squinted behind his sunglasses. He could tell something was bad by the way Froggie was pacing. "Hey man, its ok. Whatever it is, I'm sure its not as bad as you think. What happened?"
Froggie shook his head and walked back and forth from Kuno and to his car. "It happened all so fast. I don't know what got over me. One moment we were having dinner, the next...the next..." He stopped in the middle of his pacing and rolled down his sleeves.
Kuno let his cigarette dangle on his lips. The dark brown spots were speckled on the white and stood out in the sunlight, almost sparkling. There was no doubt what made the stains. "Froggie. What happened?"
"Hahahaha, it was just supposed to be a nice night. Dinner. Dancing. Drinks. A late night movie, even with some wine at home before bed." He began pacing again. "She was being great until....she became a cunt like she always does."
Froggie looked straight at Kuno. "I need your help." He fumbled for his keys in his pant pockets and clicked the trunk of his car open. The trunk door softly clicked open. Kuno couldn't see anything in there other than darkness. Froggie opened the lid all the way to reveal layers of black plastic. He lifted up a sheet to reveal a pale limp hand with perfectly manicured nails.
"Fuck, Froggie! What the hell? Who is that? What did you do?"
Froggie fell to his knees. "I know I fucked up. I know its all turned to shit. But, man, this is happening, and I need your help. You have to help me get rid of the body." He slammed the trunk shut.
Kuno had known Froggie for longer than he could remember. Their moms had put them in the same daycare. They were neighbors and would ride bikes together after school. Froggie had always gotten himself into sticky situations though. Yet, Kuno was always there to pick him up. There were so many times where he was going to cut Froggie off, tell him to shape up or their friendship was over. But he could never turn his back on his best friend.
And besides, sometimes, to become a better person, you have to believe that others can be better, too.
Where was Kuno? He had called him at least an hour ago. He should be here by now. Hopefully nothing was causing his to be late...like his new wife. But he would have that conversation with Kuno later.
Froggie let the cigarette smoke slip through his dry lips. He felt the beads of sweat developing on his brow. He hated sweat. It was disgusting. He grabbed a towel from the backseat of his car and wiped his face dry but it felt dirtier now. He imagined the microscopic germs multiplying on his skin and it drove him crazy. "SHIT." He kicked his back left tire and threw the towel back into the car next to all the other towels.
"This is crazy...crazy...Whatever, it'll be ok. I had to do it. I had to. What choice did I have? This is crazy. Shit shit shit." He realized he was talking to himself and it didn't bode well. His white Armani dress shirt had become wrinkled and he didn't even want to imagine the sweat stains under his arms. He looked at his cuffs and saw the flecks of red. His fingers were antsy. He loosened his cuffs and rolled up the sleeves so he didn't have to look at those flecks.
Suddenly in the distance, he saw a shiny spot getting progressively larger. It was Kuno.
Froggie had three more cigarettes.
Kuno pulled his shiny black Lexus next to Froggie's car. His long legs spilled out of the car and his large shoes crunched on the hot sand. His 6'7" frame folded out and he made Froggie look tiny.
"What is this? Why are we here?"
"Where the fuck have you been? I called you over an hour ago! You know how freakin hot it is out here waiting on your slow ass?"
Kuno lit a cigarette and spit. "I don't know why you called me. I don't know why you dragged my ass out here in the middle of no where. We can't even get pancakes, the damn Denny's is closed down. Couldn't we have met somewhere more hospitable?"
Froggie kicked his back tire. "I didn't want anyone to see us, recognize us." He shook his head and clutched his palms to the sides of his head as if he were having a migraine. "I messed up. I messed up bad."
Kuno squinted behind his sunglasses. He could tell something was bad by the way Froggie was pacing. "Hey man, its ok. Whatever it is, I'm sure its not as bad as you think. What happened?"
Froggie shook his head and walked back and forth from Kuno and to his car. "It happened all so fast. I don't know what got over me. One moment we were having dinner, the next...the next..." He stopped in the middle of his pacing and rolled down his sleeves.
Kuno let his cigarette dangle on his lips. The dark brown spots were speckled on the white and stood out in the sunlight, almost sparkling. There was no doubt what made the stains. "Froggie. What happened?"
"Hahahaha, it was just supposed to be a nice night. Dinner. Dancing. Drinks. A late night movie, even with some wine at home before bed." He began pacing again. "She was being great until....she became a cunt like she always does."
Froggie looked straight at Kuno. "I need your help." He fumbled for his keys in his pant pockets and clicked the trunk of his car open. The trunk door softly clicked open. Kuno couldn't see anything in there other than darkness. Froggie opened the lid all the way to reveal layers of black plastic. He lifted up a sheet to reveal a pale limp hand with perfectly manicured nails.
"Fuck, Froggie! What the hell? Who is that? What did you do?"
Froggie fell to his knees. "I know I fucked up. I know its all turned to shit. But, man, this is happening, and I need your help. You have to help me get rid of the body." He slammed the trunk shut.
Kuno had known Froggie for longer than he could remember. Their moms had put them in the same daycare. They were neighbors and would ride bikes together after school. Froggie had always gotten himself into sticky situations though. Yet, Kuno was always there to pick him up. There were so many times where he was going to cut Froggie off, tell him to shape up or their friendship was over. But he could never turn his back on his best friend.
And besides, sometimes, to become a better person, you have to believe that others can be better, too.
Monday, September 01, 2008
Scale: Chapter Two
::A Son and his Mother::
The graveyard shift at the National Institute of Human Obesity Studies was the worst. It became a national mandate to have every person living in the U.S. to weigh themselves three times a day: 8 AM, 1:45 PM, and 9 PM. Every scale in these households were hardwired to a main server at the NIHO. If a number was over the acceptable weight, a signal would be sent to one of the analyst on that shift and he or she would issue a warrant and make the call to the Health Police. The graveyard shift was the worst because it was usually the busiest time when the signals would go off.
One of those analyst was Greyson Neely. He had only been working at NIHO for a little over a year. For the most part, it was an easy job. For the most part.
A year ago, he had made the decision to take the job. But he was having qualms about it. Was it right to forcefully place people in the middle of nowhere because of a weight problem? Was it solving anything?
"Greyson, I left you a plate in the kitchen. Pancakes, your favorite." His mother looked at him adoringly. Here eyes were tired and the crow's feet lining her face gave away her daily habit of smoking. "Have you thought anymore about the offer from the government weight place?"
"NIHO, mom. The National Institute of Human Obesity." He sighed. He was worried about leaving his mother behind all by herself. She wasn't working and his dad had left them when he was ten. "Yea, I have been thinking about it. It's a pretty good offer. But do you think you'll be alright?"
She smiled and lied, "Of course, dear. I'll be just fine."
Greyson could tell his mother wanted a cigarette by the way she was looking around and twiddling her thumbs.
"Well, then I think I'll call Mr. Blue today and tell him I accept. I won't start until after the holidays anyway, so I won't be gone for awhile. Two months."
Her eyes became glassy and she felt the emotions well up in her throat. She didn't know if they were tears of happiness or sadness. "I know its a hard decision, Grey. But, you're helping to make a change in this world. Nothing you're doing is wrong. You should be proud of yourself."
Did all moms get the same handbook with those little sayings that try to make you feel better? The cookie cutter stuff. Or was it just memorized lines from family television sitcoms like from The Cosby Show or Full House?
He let her ruffle his hair like she used to do at his little league games when he was younger.
"Ok, I'll see ya downstairs. Remember, pancakes. Don't wait too long or they'll get cold." She closed the door behind her.
"How bad could it be?" he said to no one in particular. He picked up his phone and began to dial.
The graveyard shift at the National Institute of Human Obesity Studies was the worst. It became a national mandate to have every person living in the U.S. to weigh themselves three times a day: 8 AM, 1:45 PM, and 9 PM. Every scale in these households were hardwired to a main server at the NIHO. If a number was over the acceptable weight, a signal would be sent to one of the analyst on that shift and he or she would issue a warrant and make the call to the Health Police. The graveyard shift was the worst because it was usually the busiest time when the signals would go off.
One of those analyst was Greyson Neely. He had only been working at NIHO for a little over a year. For the most part, it was an easy job. For the most part.
A year ago, he had made the decision to take the job. But he was having qualms about it. Was it right to forcefully place people in the middle of nowhere because of a weight problem? Was it solving anything?
"Greyson, I left you a plate in the kitchen. Pancakes, your favorite." His mother looked at him adoringly. Here eyes were tired and the crow's feet lining her face gave away her daily habit of smoking. "Have you thought anymore about the offer from the government weight place?"
"NIHO, mom. The National Institute of Human Obesity." He sighed. He was worried about leaving his mother behind all by herself. She wasn't working and his dad had left them when he was ten. "Yea, I have been thinking about it. It's a pretty good offer. But do you think you'll be alright?"
She smiled and lied, "Of course, dear. I'll be just fine."
Greyson could tell his mother wanted a cigarette by the way she was looking around and twiddling her thumbs.
"Well, then I think I'll call Mr. Blue today and tell him I accept. I won't start until after the holidays anyway, so I won't be gone for awhile. Two months."
Her eyes became glassy and she felt the emotions well up in her throat. She didn't know if they were tears of happiness or sadness. "I know its a hard decision, Grey. But, you're helping to make a change in this world. Nothing you're doing is wrong. You should be proud of yourself."
Did all moms get the same handbook with those little sayings that try to make you feel better? The cookie cutter stuff. Or was it just memorized lines from family television sitcoms like from The Cosby Show or Full House?
He let her ruffle his hair like she used to do at his little league games when he was younger.
"Ok, I'll see ya downstairs. Remember, pancakes. Don't wait too long or they'll get cold." She closed the door behind her.
"How bad could it be?" he said to no one in particular. He picked up his phone and began to dial.
(Revisited) Scale: Chapter 1
::The Unjust Persecution of Tom Brodie::
Tom Brodie started breathing heavily as he looked at the scale under his waxy, pudgy feet. Could it be? 302 lbs? Could that be right? He fainted and the Health Police were at his door 5 minutes later hauling him out on a gurney into their ambulance.
In a world where image is everything, the world's obesity problem was climbing to staggering numbers especially in the United States. 50 years ago, the government was having talks with representatives around the world and many leaders were also concerned. The concern laid in scientists predictions that within 200 years, the world's food supply would run out. Things had to be done.
There were experimentations of genetically grown foods, chemically enhanced. But even those findings would not sustain the human race especially at the rate the population was exponentially growing. And many activists were concerned of the long term health ramifications of human consumption of all those chemicals.
Then Mr. Howard Duvalle from Perth came up with a radical plan. "The problem is not the food sources gentlemen. The problem is the consumers that are eating this food at an enormous rate and the more pressing culprit is the obese human. Obese humans eat an average 5000 calories a day whereas a normal person only consumes 2500 calories a day. What we need to get rid of are people who are morbidly obese."
"Well how do you plan we do that? Slaughter them so we can eat them ourselves?" The representative from Lithuania said half-heartedly but quickly frowned when he saw Howard's stone face. "My god, man, you're not serious. That's inhumane!"
Howard laughed. "No no no, I for sure would not want to eat the ass of a fat man who probably has more diseases than a pigeon. I just don't think this is a laughing matter. Our race is in trouble and we will not be taken out because there are humans who can't control their stomachs. There are parts of this world that are not even occupied. The glaciers of Antarctica, the rain forests of South America. I suggest, gentlemen, that we take these fat people and make them drastically lose weight on these deserted places and when they are of acceptable size, they can be integrated back into humanity. This is what our world is heading towards. Drastic measures. I suggest we focus this plan on America where the obesity problem has gotten out of hand. Just as a test run."
The leaders were in an uproar.
"You're a crazy man, Duvalle! Incompetent!"
"That's involuntary slavery, you fool! The public won't stand for this!"
"Would you put your own mother on an iceberg in Antarctica, ignoramus! I'm disgusted!"
"There must be a better way..."
People were shouting and no one could understand anyone especially with all the different languages being spoken. The presiding officer banged his gavel.
The conference mellowed into a light stir and then was quiet. It felt sinister as if they were in the middle of a sci-fi movie. Was this really an option? What about the mental state of these obese people? What about civil rights? How would they implement this? Had the human race really been reduced to this morbid solution?
Fast forward 50 years....
When Tom Brodie awoke, he found himself in a hospital bed. The stale smell of antiseptic stung his nose and he realized that he was plugged up to an IV drip and the tubes going in and out of his body were numerous. The tears were rolling down his cheeks. "I'm only 25. 25, this can't be happening. I can change. I already started this new diet...." His words trailed off when there was a knock at his door.
Three men dressed in white smocks and a woman in a nurse's uniform walked in and stood at his bedside.
The woman stepped closer and checked his vitals. "Mr. Tom, I'm sorry but your weight has gone over the acceptable limit of national standards and you will have to be reprimanded. I'm sure you've read about our process, yes?" It seemed as if she were reciting a speech she'd done many times. Her toothy grin was mordant and sinister and gave Tom an uneasy feeling.
Tom wanted his mother. "Where's my mother?"
The nurse smiled. "Have you been monitoring your weight on a daily basis, Mr. Brodie? Well, the Health Police sure have and they have a bone to pick with you." She gave a nonchalant laugh. Tom felt as if he were back in primary school being condescended by his kindergarten teacher. The nurse continued, "I'm sure the government has sent you the brochures. The process is nothing special. In a way, you can think of it as a vacation. You get to go and relax, not have to worry about work or school. We just need your signature....," she fluttered a stack of papers in front of his blurry eyes. The tears were making his eyes swollen. "....here. Pen?" She clicked the pen and the tip gave an evil sparkle. He looked up. The hanging light above him swung slowly and gave a slight squeak.
Tom shook his head. "But I thought they give you a month's notice! A month's notice before you come! My friend said she knew a woman who was able to stay home for a two month's grace period and she ended up losing 50 pounds!! She didn't have to be shipped off! I can do that. .. I don't want to go away...."
He thought of all the investigative news blips on how people were shoved into tiny cabana huts and forced to eat banana leaves and caterpillars. And the worst part of it was most people went crazy, or committed suicide or ended up dying before their time was up. Drastic Weight-loss Rejuvenation Deportation....
The tall man with the mustache stepped up. "Mr. Brodie, yes, we usually do give people a month's notice but haven't you kept up with the Weight Report News? They announced 4 months ago that if a person is gaining too much weight, too quickly, the Health Police take over jurisdiction and are able to make the call of who goes or doesn't. And you've been chosen and we cannot do anything about it. We have the warrant right here, " He waved a light yellow paper with an official emblem embossed at the top. He pointed to Tom's name printed at the bottom. "You, my sir, have been eating too many pancakes."
Tom Brodie started breathing heavily as he looked at the scale under his waxy, pudgy feet. Could it be? 302 lbs? Could that be right? He fainted and the Health Police were at his door 5 minutes later hauling him out on a gurney into their ambulance.
In a world where image is everything, the world's obesity problem was climbing to staggering numbers especially in the United States. 50 years ago, the government was having talks with representatives around the world and many leaders were also concerned. The concern laid in scientists predictions that within 200 years, the world's food supply would run out. Things had to be done.
There were experimentations of genetically grown foods, chemically enhanced. But even those findings would not sustain the human race especially at the rate the population was exponentially growing. And many activists were concerned of the long term health ramifications of human consumption of all those chemicals.
Then Mr. Howard Duvalle from Perth came up with a radical plan. "The problem is not the food sources gentlemen. The problem is the consumers that are eating this food at an enormous rate and the more pressing culprit is the obese human. Obese humans eat an average 5000 calories a day whereas a normal person only consumes 2500 calories a day. What we need to get rid of are people who are morbidly obese."
"Well how do you plan we do that? Slaughter them so we can eat them ourselves?" The representative from Lithuania said half-heartedly but quickly frowned when he saw Howard's stone face. "My god, man, you're not serious. That's inhumane!"
Howard laughed. "No no no, I for sure would not want to eat the ass of a fat man who probably has more diseases than a pigeon. I just don't think this is a laughing matter. Our race is in trouble and we will not be taken out because there are humans who can't control their stomachs. There are parts of this world that are not even occupied. The glaciers of Antarctica, the rain forests of South America. I suggest, gentlemen, that we take these fat people and make them drastically lose weight on these deserted places and when they are of acceptable size, they can be integrated back into humanity. This is what our world is heading towards. Drastic measures. I suggest we focus this plan on America where the obesity problem has gotten out of hand. Just as a test run."
The leaders were in an uproar.
"You're a crazy man, Duvalle! Incompetent!"
"That's involuntary slavery, you fool! The public won't stand for this!"
"Would you put your own mother on an iceberg in Antarctica, ignoramus! I'm disgusted!"
"There must be a better way..."
People were shouting and no one could understand anyone especially with all the different languages being spoken. The presiding officer banged his gavel.
The conference mellowed into a light stir and then was quiet. It felt sinister as if they were in the middle of a sci-fi movie. Was this really an option? What about the mental state of these obese people? What about civil rights? How would they implement this? Had the human race really been reduced to this morbid solution?
Fast forward 50 years....
When Tom Brodie awoke, he found himself in a hospital bed. The stale smell of antiseptic stung his nose and he realized that he was plugged up to an IV drip and the tubes going in and out of his body were numerous. The tears were rolling down his cheeks. "I'm only 25. 25, this can't be happening. I can change. I already started this new diet...." His words trailed off when there was a knock at his door.
Three men dressed in white smocks and a woman in a nurse's uniform walked in and stood at his bedside.
The woman stepped closer and checked his vitals. "Mr. Tom, I'm sorry but your weight has gone over the acceptable limit of national standards and you will have to be reprimanded. I'm sure you've read about our process, yes?" It seemed as if she were reciting a speech she'd done many times. Her toothy grin was mordant and sinister and gave Tom an uneasy feeling.
Tom wanted his mother. "Where's my mother?"
The nurse smiled. "Have you been monitoring your weight on a daily basis, Mr. Brodie? Well, the Health Police sure have and they have a bone to pick with you." She gave a nonchalant laugh. Tom felt as if he were back in primary school being condescended by his kindergarten teacher. The nurse continued, "I'm sure the government has sent you the brochures. The process is nothing special. In a way, you can think of it as a vacation. You get to go and relax, not have to worry about work or school. We just need your signature....," she fluttered a stack of papers in front of his blurry eyes. The tears were making his eyes swollen. "....here. Pen?" She clicked the pen and the tip gave an evil sparkle. He looked up. The hanging light above him swung slowly and gave a slight squeak.
Tom shook his head. "But I thought they give you a month's notice! A month's notice before you come! My friend said she knew a woman who was able to stay home for a two month's grace period and she ended up losing 50 pounds!! She didn't have to be shipped off! I can do that. .. I don't want to go away...."
He thought of all the investigative news blips on how people were shoved into tiny cabana huts and forced to eat banana leaves and caterpillars. And the worst part of it was most people went crazy, or committed suicide or ended up dying before their time was up. Drastic Weight-loss Rejuvenation Deportation....
The tall man with the mustache stepped up. "Mr. Brodie, yes, we usually do give people a month's notice but haven't you kept up with the Weight Report News? They announced 4 months ago that if a person is gaining too much weight, too quickly, the Health Police take over jurisdiction and are able to make the call of who goes or doesn't. And you've been chosen and we cannot do anything about it. We have the warrant right here, " He waved a light yellow paper with an official emblem embossed at the top. He pointed to Tom's name printed at the bottom. "You, my sir, have been eating too many pancakes."
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