RIP Kurt Vonnegut (1922-2007)


So it goes.

I happened to be at the library early this morning when the news came across the wire. Word spread fast amongst the librarians.

I was looking for a special issue of Consumer Reports when a strange noise distracted me. I could hear what sounded like a chorus of starving cats begging for food far off in the distance. I walked closer to investigate and soon recognized the sound. I found them in the back room, behind the check-out desk. It was the librarians. Each appeared to be middle aged, red faced, and weeping loudly. They took no notice of my entrance.

"What has happened?" I demanded of the group, fearing another terrorist attack. A younger woman, having heard that a man was in the room, stood quickly and ran into my arms.

"What is it!?" I demanded again.

"He's dead ....it's Kurt....the fall last week proved fatal!! (inaudible, muffled noises) Why, Mr. Vonnegut, why God!?"

My mood quickly snapped from fear to anger. I grabbed the girl by her shoulders and pushed her back away from me.

"Damn it woman, get a hold of yourself! " I yelled, shaking her violently, "The man smoked unfiltered Pall Malls for nearly seven decades. He'd have shot himself in the head by now if he had the balls! Now get off your asses and stop whining!"

I threw her to the ground and stormed out of library. Outside I paced back and forth in front of the door, huffing down two quick Camels...waiting for the idea to come.


I ran back inside and grabbed a bag at the check-out counter. The librarians were making their way out of the back room now, crawling on top of each other, wailing loudly at God and stretching their arms up to the sky.

"God?" I said to myself, shaking my head in disgust, "Fucking Vonnegut didn't believe in any fucking God."

I made my way to fiction, Te - Z, and found his collection. I swept my arm behind his books and scooped them all into the library bag. The security alarm beeped as a threw open the first door at the exit, but I knew that there would be no interest, Kurt Vonnegut is dead.

Kurt Vonnegut is dead...and those dirty librarians are going to have a hell of a time explaining why Kurt Vonnegut's entire catalog of work shows up on the screen, but not on the shelf.

Why would I steal the collective works of a man who has helped shape my life? Why would I deprive so many aching minds of the same experience? Why am I presenting librarians in such a sexist and offensive light?

Fuck you.

We all mourn in our own ways.






(Did you know? One of Vonnegut's sons was a big Phish fan. Phish's Drummer, Jon Fishman (a Jew), was a big Vonnegut fan. The two met. The son convinced the old man to design an album cover for a Phish album. The album name was changed and a different artist used, but the art still exists. 5 points to the first person who can spot the asshole, the penis, and the vagina in the drawing...or is that a fishing lure, line, sinker, and pond?)