And as it was a charming sum of money (enough to buy a houseboat, where I
could sit all day and chew sugar-free bubble gum and sip alcohol-free beer), I met with
the Committee, and asked for their specifications, which consisted of a penciled sketch
on the back of an IHOP placemat (abit sticky with blueberry syrup): a crude map of the
U. S. consisteing of writhing fish and the word tuna swimming out in the Atlantic from
which a bold arrow arcs over to the writhin fish. Let me make sure I've got this right, I
say to the Committee. You want me

 

2. Suit Stuffed with Horse Droppings & Straw

to fly in fresh tuna, dump it in the parking lot of a dead K-Mart, arrange the tuna
into the shape of the U. S., and for that you'll pay me enough to live the rest of my life
without ever having to get out of bed. My only question is--Why me? I should add
here that very little is known about the Committee, though I've heard that it's funded by
wealthy businessmen (from Japan, China, Saudi Arabia, Korea, and Taiwan), who
allegedly made (illegal) campaign contributions to U. S. political parties, not that this
should have any bearing on my decision, as art is,

 

3. Pineapple Built Entirely with Pencils (#2, Unsharpened)

as we all know, a non-contact sport. How about this, I tell the Committee. I'll
take a photo of a can of tuna. Make a thousand copies and arrange these, in thelocal
landfill, into an ampersan, which I'll then take an aerial photo of. A copy of this will be
inserted into a live tuna, which then, of course, will be set free. A file folder closes. An
unlit cigar slides back into an inner pocket. A hand rests on my shoulder. Thanks,
John, says a Committee member, escorting me to the door. Say, I'm looking for a part-
time poet-chauffeur-bodyguard. You wouldn't know anyone, would you?