A GUY NAMED PHIL

"A Guy Named Phil," Part II
based on the short story of the same title
by Gilbert Trillana

Now where was I?

Oh, yes, alright then…

So then, lemme tell ya 'bout ol' Phil.
He's now having his nose fixed by a plastic surgeon.
The surgeon's a Stanford graduate,
But was a Harvard fellow,
And was a Princeton alumnus,
Then practiced at Cornell,
Shifted to Yale,
And earned his degree at Yukla. (UCLA)
He knows.
He knows.
He knows!
He just saw his credentials hanging on the wall.
"Now aren't you a natural in medicine." Phil said.
"Oh, not really; it's just my hobby." Said the surgeon.
"Whadda 'ya mean 'not really?' Look at all yer diplomas!"
"Aw, them's nothing.'"
"They's aren't nothing!"
"Really, they are."
"Hell no, doc, what about that Stanford?"
"Economics."
"Well what about that Harvard?"
"MBA"
"And that Princeton?"
"Education."
"And that Cornell?"
"Liberal Arts."
"The Yukla?"
"Accounting."
"Well where the hell's your doctorate?"
"Right over there, on that desk."
"I can't read it, what's it say?"
"Burma."
…
"Oh! They must be very good
at this thing, so you went there."
"Yep!" the surgeon said, "Haven't heard from
them Rangoon quacks for a long, long time!"

Well lemme tell 'ya 'bout ol' Phil.
He got out from the doctor scot-free.
Except for his nose.
His nose ended up looking like a pear.
There's nothing wrong with that.
All noses look like pears.
Except for him it was a HUGE pear.
His nose was mistaken for one in a grocery store.
No wonder he often gets hungry.
"Gad, what will that pretty woman think of me now?"
And he kept on walkin…
And he kept on walkin…
And he kept on walkin…
'til he tripped over a stone.
It nearly broke his 'spankingly-new' nose.
'Til someone stepped by him and said;
"Son, you don't have to eat that; it already fell!"

And so he went out again one day with his mails.
Poor ol' Phyllis.
He walked slowly and slumped as ever.
Quite ashamed over his ordeal.
He passed by the pretty girl's house again.
Without the dog, now.
He climbed up the porch and
dropped her mail inside the door.
The door with the mailslot.
He was about to trod in disgust, away from the lady,
Until she opened the door.
"Wait," she said, "I have something for you."
So Phil went back at the porch, accepting her offer.
It was a letter addressed directly at him.
She smiled and said, "See you later, Phil."
And then went back in and closed the door.
The door with the mailslot.

Everyone knows what happened to him.
It's all in the papers.
But then he doesn't seem to care anymore.
So he opened the letter and read its content.
Phil looked up afterwards.
He read it again…
And again…
And again…
Until he began to smile-
The happiest of all smiles.
There's a reason for Phyllis to be happy.
Perhaps it's not the nose after all.
Perhaps it's something else.
I don't know what,
But I don't read other people's letters.
It's unethical.
It's improper.
It's insane.
…
…
Well… sometimes.


So Phil went off again with his work-
The happiest man alive.

So the moral of the poem/story is:
"Never read other people's mail until told.
And don't use drugs."


'There was once a Guy named Phil.
And Phyllis was his name.'



G.J. =D