Restraint of Pen and Tongue

Learning that one the hard way.

I think it might help if I talk a little about what it means to be a mascot.

We mascots have a saying: Don’t eat, don’t touch. That just means, no snacking in your mascot mask. Several of us have choked to death that way. Sandy Anders was dead for 49 minutes and four thousand people stood by and laughed and whooped and clapped and did the wave, thinking the giant rooster was making a dramatic comment on their “deadness”.

They sure showed him, the 250 pound rooster, face down on the football field. Yes exactly, that’s just the sort of committed stunt a mascot would pull. Ah, the dangerous vocation we have chosen, one that forbids the deadly combination of a roast beef sandwich and a cartwheel.

Oh and don’t touch. No grabbing the breasts of young women even if you are wearing gorilla hands. They are still technically “your hands” in a court of law. Thanks to some hot shot reporters at the Boston Globe the Archmascotsese is addressing it publicly with some “penalties” and “jail time” to those of us who have otherwise served and enthused crowds without complaints. I myself have learned the hard way that there is a direct correlation between giantness of cleavage in young women and propensity to file charges.

I would like to take this opportunity to express my gratitude to the many fans who wrote letters on my behalf during that unfortunate time. And to the courageous and daring audience at the most recent sold out show at the Jazz Gallery in SoHo! I think of you all often. xoxo