There's been a discussion going in the MuseConference Yahoo! group about the tastefulness of this humorous story by Ben Greenman, "My Holocaust Memoir." Greenman's poking fun at all the hacks who are trying to cash in on the "fact" that holocaust memoirs are trendy. (Something I was not aware of.) In the discussion, my friend, Tanja Cilia commented: Ah, yes, but to grab our attention he chose the Holocaust, and not the mating habits of the lesser-spotted crested pink frog of Filfla...
...which, of course, inspired my own memoir. (Click on the link and read at least the first couple of paragraphs before reading mine.):
I was born in Seattle in 1989. Shortly afterward, in 1971, my entire family was rounded up by Greenpeace and sent to the Seakitten camp, along with tens of other liberal environmental vegetarians for world peace, who hailed principally from Southern California, Oregon and the Latte belt of Washington State, in order to study the mating habits of the lesser-spotted crested pink frog of Filfla. The first few days there, separated from civilization and McDonalds, denied even the most basic Value Meal, I was in a state of shock. I could hardly eat or sleep, and, to make matters worse, I had witnessed the actual mating ritual. I felt screwed. (This would not be the first time that a metaphor appeared in time to help make sense of a difficult situation.) As a teen in Chicago, I spoke about the ritual to everyone. Few understood my plight. Then I met a hot emo named Amalie. She was deathly ill-looking, but I could tell from her pierced eyes that she was kind, and the next week my appraisal was confirmed when she handed me a package wrapped in Kleenex.
It was a set of razor blades. Gillette, the best a man can get.
Whaddya think? Shall I finish it and send it to the New Yorker?