Query and First Edit for Grimace Speaks to a Geneticist

I can't remember exactly how I found out about McSweeney's, but I do know that upon reading Wendy Molyneux's "How To Tell People That You Are A Billionaire Without Sounding Obnoxious", I was pretty much hooked. Also, around the same time, I picked up a copy of McSweeney's Quarterly #13 (The one with the gorgeous Chris Ware cover), and was privy to a discussion on writing humour, where McSweeney's was essentially mentioned a few times with reverance no less. Basically from there, I guess the bait was cast. Grimace was my first query, and I was lucky enough to persevere with its publication. You'll note below, however, that it took quite a bit of time to get it through.

COVER AND PIECE SENT (July 14th, 2004)

Dear McSweeney's

I am on a mission to show that even scientists can produce good humorous literature. To that end, I have included in this email the first essay in "The Abhorrent and Secret Lives of Genetically Modified Organisms" a piece I hope your audiences will find both funny and enlightening._Of course, I realize that this is a long shot, but it would be lovely to expand my writing kudos, which are currently severely limited and include:

- Several scientific publications where 'protein tyrosine phosphatases' are the principle sources of conflict.
- One feature non-fiction piece published recently in the Canadian general interest magazine Maisonneuve. This piece detailed a trip to teach molecular genetics in Lagos, Nigeria.
- One recent submission sent to McSweeney's Quarterly, destined to be rejected if only because I have an identical name to an author published recently in "The Believer" (How many David Ng's are there?)
- One not so recent submission sent to the Shouts and Murmurs of the New Yorker. 23 weeks and counting.

Anyhow, if you do like the below piece, there are even more which may or may not be a good thing. They include, figure skaters, corn, reality TV producers, and Stem Cell Barbie.

Thanks for your time.
David Ng

SUBMISSION PIECE: (567 words and would happily edit further if need be)

The Abhorrent and Secret Lives of Genetically Modified Organisms.
By David Ng

CASE 1: "Grimace"

July 14, 2004, 3PM: Mildred, the maid leads me onto a sandstone patio, and I have to stop and take in the marvelous view of the San Francisco Bay. Immediately, I know that this is a place for the rich and famous, appropriate for a king or queen perhaps, and certainly fitting for a fast food icon.

"It's a fucking nightmare, that's what it is." he says as if it were a matter of fact, shifting heavily in his lawn chair. "Those bastards, the things they do..." His voice unexpectedly trails off. "Sorry," he looks vacantly at the shimmer bouncing off his swimming pool "My ex-wife always said I swore too much. It's just horrible, that's all. Just horrible."

You wouldn't think that someone like Grimace could show this much body language, but you would be wrong. He is obviously hurting, he is obviously angry, and sadly, he is obviously purple.

"You know I was one of the first GMOs ever." he explains, "Cloning as science fiction was all the rage back then, with books like the 'Boys of Brazil,' and 'In His Image' hitting the lists. The public never knew what hit them. I never knew what hit them."

And I suppose therein lies his pain. Like an orphan looking for answers, he is haunted only by what he doesn't know. Namely, what exactly 'he' is. Grimace is a prime example of what is both wonderfully right and terribly wrong about genetic manipulation. Due to the marvels of this technology, he has luxury, wealth, fame, as many women as he desires, and yet he has no identity, no origin. If ever there were such a thing, he is an organic black box.

Officially however, from the mouth of corporate MacDonald's if you will, Grimace started off as "Evil Grimace" who with four deft arms went around stealing milkshakes from children. Then in 1974, a change of heart and a loss of two arms lead to his current incarnation - a warm, fuzzy, and apparently living representation of the "embodiment of childhood."

To which he replies, "My friend, that is a heaping load of shit. What the hell does 'embodiment of childhood' mean anyway?" He stops to light a cigar. "You know, my friends once told me to hook up with that Barney the Dinosaur dude. They said that 'He's big, purple, waves a lot like an idiot. Maybe he knows what you are.' Except that the bastard never returns my calls."

"What about your work peers?" I press, "They must know something." He explains that ever since they let him go, he doesn't really speak to his buddies anymore. Intrigued I ask. "Even the 'man' himself?"

"You mean Ronny?" he smirks and pauses, "We don't really get along you know? And I can't really talk about him, if you know what I mean. Let's just say that that S.O.B. is one nasty clown and leave it at that." And as quickly as it began, the interview is over and I am politely but firmly led away by Mildred.

For the next week, I can't stop thinking about him. Even I want to know what he is. With his connections, he must know that a simple genetic test would divulge the secret. But I suppose that the irony in all of this is that people testing genetics was what started the whole thing anyway.

In the end, the piece went through about 4 or 5 edits, and was finally accepted in late September (in a very different form). Here is the final edit, entitled Grimace Speaks to a Geneticist.