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James Richard Lucas

Lucas Without Prizes

Las Vegas, Nevada 89101


Norwegian Nobel Institute

Drammensvein 19, N-0255

+47 22 44 36 80: +47 22 43 01 68

Re: 2014 Nobel Prize for Literature

Dear Lars:

Please rush me as a fast as a non-chauvinist, non-sexist reindeer can fly, your Prize.  I understand there is absolutely no obligation for me to do anything, pay anything, undertake anything, struggle against any hardship or bogeyman/woman, that you hand out this prestigious award for absolutely no reason but that I am a secular humanoid who believes in worldwide equality and platitudes of human decency.  I am an optimist.  Like Faust, I believe there is a solution for everything, and with the grace of Western Enlightenment, adulterated with Islam, the dhamma of San Abri, the Wisdom of the Ages, and a green katydid with a spliff of whipped cream on his crown from a robo-udderless cow, I can spread the blessings of world peace to every living being and creature on the planet through the blinding insight of my novel, Mezayen in Jerusalem (unpublished).  Do not send my prize money through any bank transfer, since no unhackable network has ever been invented yet.  Send the money in unmarked bills, hundred-dollar denomination, US currency, although short-term bearer Treasuries will be acceptable, via diplomatic pouch per the charge d'affaires, a retired U.S. Air Force colonel named Art Snickers, assigned to the U.S. Embassy in Stockholm.  Although I cognize I don't have to do a thing, I, nevertheless, out of the goodness of my world-peace heart, promise that upon duly receipt of the six hundred thousand dollar prize money ($600,000) in my hands, to send you via XXXEx a xerox copy of my novel, which I have had tattooed on my body in No. 6 1/2 Disney font by one of the best tattoo artists in Las Vegas.  I am copying the ms. now, but I am running out of quarters.  I had to borrow three thousand in rolls from a payday lender to copy MIJ.  I am on Chapter Three which is tattooed to my buttocks.  Ouch!  I twisted my leg!  How did I do that, Kinko?  Stupid machine!  Furthermore, as an absolutely free bonus, when I get my mits on the mazuma, I promise to fly to London, where, searching out the Ecuadorian Embassy, I will prsuade Julian Assange to to give himself up!  If, for any reason, I am dissatisfied with my prize (money is counterfeit, or someother mountebank trick), I understand I can return the money and the prize, no questions asked.  In addition, as a condition of my acceptance, no handling, interest, penalties, mulcts, jizaya, or other charges will apply.  The Nobel Committee expressly waives any right to levy a writ of seizure in the International Court of Justice in The Hague.  In the event I am sued, the Committee undertakes to defend me in court, save me harmless, and pay all my attorneys' fees and court costs, including punitive damages.  If I am sentenced to hang, Committee will pay for the rope; habi in Arabic.  This gift to the Genius is made with full eyes wide-open, arms-length knowledge without recourse in any court of jurisdiction whatever and wherever in the world.  Extralegal measures will not be resorted to, on Scouts' honor.  Finally, if I keep the prize and the money, you promise to publish, promote, and distribute Mayazen with a handsome carve-out royalty for me, my heirs and assigns, until Doomsday cometh, which ain't far off.  This letter is no longer available in Norwegian.

Lucas on Leadership

 This morning I have to lead where I have never led before.  Probably should issue a disclaimer first.  Whereas I have never led before, don't look back.  Never look back.  Blink.  This is a test to see if you can see at all.  I like leading the blind.  Anyone who follows me must be blind. But first I must say a few words of enlightenment to get us going.  Men, it's dark outside.  We expect the sun to rise--eventually--and throw a ray on the subject.  All right now. let's everybody set our GPS in code so the denizens of this dark destination think we're as darkly offensive as they are.  Brothers in darkness welcome all shades of darkness in Tartarus.  Now the place we're going is called Tomorrow.  Not everybody has been to Tomorrow.  That's because they're all slow as molasses on a condom in February in Chicago.  How I ever got to Chicago is a sticky subject.  Let's pray the sun thaws out Tomorrow.  A sun frozen in time stops at the mercator of Time's projection.  I grow old, I grow old.  I project that eventually I will die.  Men, I hate to tell you this, the weather forecast is Death tomorrow.  Death for you and me and everybody.  Hark!  I hear the sound of Sparrow's fart!  'Tis not time to be deaf, but be deft we must be for liberty!  I knew I should have bought some batteries.  What would Tesla have done if he were deaf and dumb in darkness?  Men, forward into the black hole of Tomorrow!  Don't make any noise.  The buggerers have snakes in their traps.  Knock, knock!  Who's there?  General MacCrystal, imagine meeting you here.  Have a cigar. 2//1/2019 


Breaking News!  Lucas Jokes Cause Riot in United Nations!  International Relations.  World Peace!  Laughter in Our Time!  Twenty-Nine Palms,CA.  1200hrs Noon PST.  Lance Corporal Full Transparency, Flak Agent for Writer, Novelist, Screenwriter, and Stand-up Comedian James Richard Lucas, reports minutes ago that Mr. Lucas' first booking at the the UN Assembly Hall in New York, has resulted in a mass riot.  Mr. Lucas appeared in his usual jihadi blood-red straitjacket, and shouted, God is great!  God is good!  And we thank him for this rood!  Rood apparently is an old English word from Shakespeare that mean crucifix or Cross.  Anyway, the UN Ambassador from Iran, where the nails for the Rood are made, immediately got mad, jumped up, and began throwing depleted uranium-238 insults at guest speaker Lucas in Farsi.  Mr. Lucas, who was speaking on behalf of the mentally ill of the world, was rushed out a secret security tunnel by US Navy seals.  More when we have more credible information.  This is a volatile situation.  Oorah!  (LinkedIn 2/15/2019)

 I left my thoughts in lard & Crisco,/ Fried on a skillet, fried dough weights for me,/ Where fat thyroided jowls gobble chocolate candy bars,/ And unicorns have sunk in Milwaukee by lake,/ And no one will rescue the truth that's buried in Kankakee--/ 'Cuz it's fake.  My mistake.. I swoon and moan.  The slide on my trombone slid off into the lake./  I cannot play.  Too much grease, I guess./ Still I'm glad to get that unicorn off my chest./ Call the Coast Guard if you want to hear the rest.  (LinkedIn, Comment to Israel Lugo III post 2/20/2019)

The Mob (10/1/2012), paraody, 18pp 

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