Crazy Henry called me up the other day to ask if he could borrow my car. "What happened to yours?" I asked him. "Oh, I gave it to some homeless guy who wanted to get up to Duluth to visit his sick mother." "Okay" I said. "Yeah, sure, you can use mine. What for?"
"I'm going downtown to see the mayor about changing a street name." he said.
"You'll never get in to see her" I scoffed. "She won't have time for a nutbag like you." "Sure she will" he replied. "She's my aunt."
"Your aunt?" I said in disbelief. "Yeah, my Aunt Smedley. She'll see me." he said. "Well, okay" I said, my thumbs pricking, "can I go along too?" "Sure thing" said Crazy Henry. "The more the merrier!"
An hour later we were actually in the mayor's office, sipping on herbal tea while Crazy Henry and his Aunt Smedley caught up on some family gossip. Then the mayor got all business-like.
"Well nephew" she said briskly, "what brings you into my office today?"
"I wanna change the name of Hennepin Avenue to Alfred E. Neuman Avenue, cuz MAD Magazine is going out of business" he replied promptly. Mayor Smedley did not look taken aback at all -- I guessed she was used to Crazy Henry's folderol. Instead she rose from her desk and walked over to her picture window, which had a stark panorama of the Mississippi and the ruins of old flour mills that used to explode all the time. She tapped a pen against her chin, like she was thinking real hard. Then she whipped around and said "You'll need at least ten thousand signatures for that to happen. Can you do it?"
"I can do it" said Crazy Henry.
I had to say something at this point. "How are ya gonna do THAT?" I asked him in an exasperated voice, and then begged the mayor's pardon for being so rude in front of her. She waved me away with a dainty hand -- I noticed her nails were painted blood red.
"I'll hold a press conference this afternoon about your initiative" said mayor Smedley. "After that, you're on your own."
"Okey-dokey, auntie" said Crazy Henry affectionately. They hugged and we were ushered out of her office by a man wearing an old baseball cap that read I DRIVE EARL BATTEY.
Two days later Crazy Henry asked to borrow my car again. "What?" I asked him derisively, "didn't the homeless guy bring yours back yet?" "Nope" he said cheerfully. "But that's okay -- he probably needed it to go find a job or something." "And just what do you want my car for this time?" I asked. "I need to pick up an automated dialer" he said. "What the Sam Hill is that?" I asked. "It's a thingy that automatically dials hundreds of phone numbers all at the same time and if someone answers it gives 'em a recorded message" he told me. "Ugh!" I exclaimed. "A robocaller! Those things oughta be illegal." "Well" he continued, "I'm using mine to call up everybody in the city to tell them by answering their phone they agree that Hennepin Avenue should now be called Alfred E. Neuman Avenue. Then it will tell them to mail in a postcard saying so to the mayor."
When we got the machine set up and plugged in at Crazy Henry's apartment he turned it on and the thing hummed and fizzed and emitted a weird green glow. I moved away from it because I thought it might be radioactive. Then it started to smoke and filled the room with the smell of burnt popcorn in the microwave. I unplugged it and opened some windows. Crazy Henry just sat there, shaking his head but not looking too upset or anything. "It's karma" he told me. "Hennepin Avenue was never meant to be anything else but Hennepin Avenue."
I had to give him a dig, just out of petty spite, and because I hate the smell of burnt popcorn: "Y'know, MAD Magazine is not going out of business -- I googled them and they are just going to start reprinting old articles and cartoons, that's all."
"Let's rerig the autodialer to it'll call everybody to wish them Happy Holidays" was his only reply. I love that guy, even though he's certifiable.
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