Recently, I had the opportunity to interview Marilyn Monroe. You might think this would be impossible, but I found myself one afternoon with some scented candles and an old Ouija board, unable to remember if I’d already taken my scheduled dose of painkillers. I took a second dose and soon found myself doing a little spirit-contactin’.
Marilyn was happy to talk. Here’s what she had to say:
Stacey Longo: Marilyn? Is that you? Or do you prefer Norma Jean?
Marilyn Monroe: What? Who is this? Where am I?
SL: Sorry to bother you. I’m using my psychic powers to contact you through this Ouija board.
MM: Sure you are. What is that you’re taking—tramadol? Good stuff. I was always fond of a nice hallucinatory painkiller . . .
SL: So, Marilyn. How have you been? What’s new with you?
MM: Mostly I’ve just been hanging out, moldering mostly. Things have been a little slow. Say, what year is it?
SL: 2016.
MM: Wow! I’ve been out for a while, huh? Tell me, how’s Joe?
SL: DiMaggio? He’s dead.
MM: Of course, of course. Makes sense. And Arthur?
SL: Also dead.
MM: Jack? Bobby?
SL: Kennedy? Dead and dead.
MM: Serves ’em right—they had me killed, you know.
SL: Aha! I knew it!
MM: I’m just kidding. Kind of gullible, ain’tcha?
SL: Hey. That wasn’t nice.
MM: Women don’t make it in this world on “nice.” So, what’s 2016 like? Do you have flying cars and colonies on Mars yet?
SL: Er, no. We have the internet.
MM: The what?
SL: It’s a—well, it’s kind of an . . . information system, really, that connects every household in the world to a giant brain of knowledge.
MM: Wow! I can’t believe you all haven’t used that to invent flying cars yet. So what do you do with it?
SL: Mostly just waste a lot of time. And porn. A lot of people use it for porn.
MM: Really? What do you mean, exactly?
SL: You can find anything online these days. Not that I use it for that, mind you, but there’s all sorts of kinky information out there. But—I hear—some people just use it to look up pictures of naked celebrities, tame stuff like that . . .
MM: What sort of naked celebrities? Not dead ones, right? Right?
SL: Um . . .
MM: Like, say, hypothetically, if someone had some very private pictures taken before they were famous, just to pay the bills, really . . . those kinds of photos would be long gone, right?
SL: Sure. Sure they would, yeah.
MM: So you have this huge wealth of knowledge out there at your fingertips, but nobody’s colonized Mars yet. Has society made any advances?
SL: We have Walmart now.
MM: Walmart?
SL: Yeah, it’s this one-stop shopping store where you can get poorly made clothes, cheap, shoddy electronics, and already-rotting produce, all in one place!
MM: That sounds just awful.
SL: It’s not so bad. Now that Walmart has put most everyone else out of business, we’ve kind of forgotten that there used to be places where you could buy bananas before the fruit flies hatched in ’em.
MM: You’re still not selling me on this Walmart thing.
SL: No, it’s really great. Sometimes the trashiest people shop there. They show up un-showered, unshaven, wearing nothing but a bathing suit and boots, and other shoppers take pictures of them and post them on websites like onlyatwalmart.com.
MM: You know, there’s something to be said for an old-fashioned girdle.
SL: Yeah, you have a point. We still have girdles, by the way. Except we call them Spanx now.
MM: Sounds like that porn you were talking about earlier. Say, I heard Elton John wrote a nice song about me. Did he sell a lot of copies?
SL: Absolutely. And then he re-wrote it as a tribute to Lady Diana, and it went double platinum or something.
MM: He rewrote my song? For someone else?
SL: Um . . . yes?
MM: Gee, look at the time. I really should be going. I have some more decaying to do.
SL: But wait! I have so much more to ask you! Like, were you really a size sixteen?
MM: Are you kidding? I gotta go. Bye.
SL: But—but--
MM: And don’t contact me again, please. My life was a lot better when I was still rotting in blissful ignorance. (Hangs an Out of Order sign on the Ouija board and disappears.)
SL: Well, that was rude.
There you have it: an exclusive update on Marilyn Monroe. I wouldn’t bother trying to contact her to verify my information here, by the way. She seemed a bit cranky.
Marilyn was happy to talk. Here’s what she had to say:
Stacey Longo: Marilyn? Is that you? Or do you prefer Norma Jean?
Marilyn Monroe: What? Who is this? Where am I?
SL: Sorry to bother you. I’m using my psychic powers to contact you through this Ouija board.
MM: Sure you are. What is that you’re taking—tramadol? Good stuff. I was always fond of a nice hallucinatory painkiller . . .
SL: So, Marilyn. How have you been? What’s new with you?
MM: Mostly I’ve just been hanging out, moldering mostly. Things have been a little slow. Say, what year is it?
SL: 2016.
MM: Wow! I’ve been out for a while, huh? Tell me, how’s Joe?
SL: DiMaggio? He’s dead.
MM: Of course, of course. Makes sense. And Arthur?
SL: Also dead.
MM: Jack? Bobby?
SL: Kennedy? Dead and dead.
MM: Serves ’em right—they had me killed, you know.
SL: Aha! I knew it!
MM: I’m just kidding. Kind of gullible, ain’tcha?
SL: Hey. That wasn’t nice.
MM: Women don’t make it in this world on “nice.” So, what’s 2016 like? Do you have flying cars and colonies on Mars yet?
SL: Er, no. We have the internet.
MM: The what?
SL: It’s a—well, it’s kind of an . . . information system, really, that connects every household in the world to a giant brain of knowledge.
MM: Wow! I can’t believe you all haven’t used that to invent flying cars yet. So what do you do with it?
SL: Mostly just waste a lot of time. And porn. A lot of people use it for porn.
MM: Really? What do you mean, exactly?
SL: You can find anything online these days. Not that I use it for that, mind you, but there’s all sorts of kinky information out there. But—I hear—some people just use it to look up pictures of naked celebrities, tame stuff like that . . .
MM: What sort of naked celebrities? Not dead ones, right? Right?
SL: Um . . .
MM: Like, say, hypothetically, if someone had some very private pictures taken before they were famous, just to pay the bills, really . . . those kinds of photos would be long gone, right?
SL: Sure. Sure they would, yeah.
MM: So you have this huge wealth of knowledge out there at your fingertips, but nobody’s colonized Mars yet. Has society made any advances?
SL: We have Walmart now.
MM: Walmart?
SL: Yeah, it’s this one-stop shopping store where you can get poorly made clothes, cheap, shoddy electronics, and already-rotting produce, all in one place!
MM: That sounds just awful.
SL: It’s not so bad. Now that Walmart has put most everyone else out of business, we’ve kind of forgotten that there used to be places where you could buy bananas before the fruit flies hatched in ’em.
MM: You’re still not selling me on this Walmart thing.
SL: No, it’s really great. Sometimes the trashiest people shop there. They show up un-showered, unshaven, wearing nothing but a bathing suit and boots, and other shoppers take pictures of them and post them on websites like onlyatwalmart.com.
MM: You know, there’s something to be said for an old-fashioned girdle.
SL: Yeah, you have a point. We still have girdles, by the way. Except we call them Spanx now.
MM: Sounds like that porn you were talking about earlier. Say, I heard Elton John wrote a nice song about me. Did he sell a lot of copies?
SL: Absolutely. And then he re-wrote it as a tribute to Lady Diana, and it went double platinum or something.
MM: He rewrote my song? For someone else?
SL: Um . . . yes?
MM: Gee, look at the time. I really should be going. I have some more decaying to do.
SL: But wait! I have so much more to ask you! Like, were you really a size sixteen?
MM: Are you kidding? I gotta go. Bye.
SL: But—but--
MM: And don’t contact me again, please. My life was a lot better when I was still rotting in blissful ignorance. (Hangs an Out of Order sign on the Ouija board and disappears.)
SL: Well, that was rude.
There you have it: an exclusive update on Marilyn Monroe. I wouldn’t bother trying to contact her to verify my information here, by the way. She seemed a bit cranky.
"Please stop bothering me." ~ Marilyn
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