That Time I Wrote a Book Report About Elmo as a Druglord

In high school SSR was easily my favorite thing we ever did.

For those unfamiliar, SSR stands for Silent Sustained Reading or as it was better known by me, nap time.

Teachers used this time, I'm assuming, mostly to catch up on grading and easily assign some rando (I'm intentionally misspelling random as rando because I've always thought rando was a way better word. Words!) book report.

My senior lit teacher Mr. Fischer was retiring at the end of the school year and I was graduating. We had an unspoken agreement to basically not mess with the other.

He would allow me to take my siesta every Friday during SSR and in turn I wouldn't make pain-stakingly detailed arguments about how a pig could never fire a freaking gun when we read Animal Farm (I actually did this with a friend of mine, Eric, during sophomore year to a teacher we were much less fond of. The story's probably long enough for its own post so I'm just going to say that it ended with us both kicked out of Honors English. We are both now high school lit teachers. WHO'S TOO LITERAL NOW MS. CALDER!? WOOOOOOOOO).

I'm off track.

At the end of the term, we were to produce a book report on the SSR book we had been reading. Because of my nocturnal habits during this period, I saw no reason to bring a book to class. Mr. Fischer had a small library in the back and I would grab one from there that would serve as my pillow for the next 48 minutes.

Eventually, book report time came around. As you can imagine this was a bit of a problem for me seeing as I didn't read a book. However, one of the book report options was to come up with an original story using the protagonist of the novel you had been reading as the protagonist of your short story. My go-to pillow book was a Hercule Poirot mystery novel. I knew from having read the first page of this book that Hercule was an investigator. I surmised he was French Sherlock Holmes.

A quick Google search renders him looking like this:

So, yeah, French Sherlock Holmes (sick mustache bro).

The paper was due the next day and I sat awake at 2am with my friend Steven debating whether I should even attempt it. Steven's advice surmounted to, "Kenny, you're a senior in high school and this is the last thing you'll ever turn in now quit being a lazy ass and do it. Now pass me the fruit snacks." (Steven was Valedictorian of the school the next year and is now a orthopedic surgeon. He is smarter than me.)

I was kind of pissed at him for making me feel guilty about doing it. It was already two in the morning and I just wanted to go to stupid college already. So, I did the most reasonable thing I could think of - I wrote the most asinine and ridiculous paper I could possibly come up with, inspired by my little brother's obsession, at the time, with Sesame St.

What follows is exactly what I turned into Mr. Fischer the next day. Enjoy.

 SSR PAPER

IMAGINATIVE PAPER ON HERCULE POIROT AND THE SEARCH FOR THE MISSING COOKIE.

BY: Kenny Koberstein

            It was a chilly September afternoon.  The popular private detective Hercule Poirot was on his way to an afternoon appointment at his newest clients humble abode.  Hercule arrived at Cook E. Monster’s apartment on Sesame St. at approximately 12 noon, right on time.  Hercule knocked and Cook answered the door promptly.

            “Hello Mr. Poirot, I have been expecting you.”  Hercule immediately noticed that Cook seemed to have some sort of blue fur under his clothing and an unusually deep soothing voice.  A voice that children would love. 

            “Yes, hello Mr. Monster, may I come in?” Hercule asked.

            “Please call me Cookie it’s what my friends call me and of course come in.”

            Hercule walked in and took a seat on the couch.  He took a quick gander around the apartment and something which hung on the wall caught his eye.  On the wall above a large fireplace were 25 cookies all hung in a row, each with a letter of the alphabet on them.  One however, was missing, the letter “S.”  The space between R and T seemed so lonesome and desolate that it brought a tear to Hercule’s eye.

            “So Cookie may I inquire to why the letter ‘S’ is missing from your oh so tasty alphabet?”

            “Well it is interesting you ask that Mr. Poirot for that is the reason that I have asked you to come here.  You see I noticed yesterday that the letter ‘S’ was missing.  You see here on Sesame St., every day I gather up a few of the local children and teach them the joys and wonders of the alphabet with my magical cookies.  Tomorrow is the day of which I planned to teach the letter ‘S’.  So you see Mr. Poirot, it is imperative that you recover the missing cookie by 9 A.M. Pacific Standard Time, otherwise the children of Sesame St. will forever be doomed to an alphabet of only 25 letters and never understand the joys of plural words or possessive nouns.”

            Hercule was obviously taken aback by the copious task set before him.

            “I feel Cookie that it is my duty to Sesame St. and children everywhere to find this missing letter ‘S’ and the criminal responsible.”

            “Then go Mr. Poirot and waste no time!”

            With that Hercule ran out the door onto Sesame St.  He knew just where he would start.  A place where booze flows like wine, a place where women instinctively flock like the salmon of Capistrano, and a place where the only thing in more abundance than trouble is crack cocaine.  That’s right I’m talking about a little place called “Elmo’s World”

            Hercule entered the tall red building known as “Elmo’s World.” He strolled through the lobby and took the elevator to the top where he entered the office of the man himself, Elmo.  As he walked into the office all he saw was a revolving chair facing a large window overlooking the heights of the city.  Cuban tobacco lingered in the air.  The chair turned slowly and steadily revealing a small, red, furry creature wearing a black Armani suit obviously just off the rack.  It was Elmo.

            “What do you want gumshoe? You got nothing and you know it, that broad was from Tijuana. I barely even knew her!”

            “Actually that’s not what I’m here to talk about Elmo. Do you know anything about a missing ‘S’ right here on Sesame St.?”

            “I might of heard something about it, what’s it to you?”

            “How about this autographed picture of one miss Halle Berry?”  This proposal obviously aroused the interest of Elmo

            “Halle Berry! Now were talking, I don’t know too much about this myself, but I know a couple of loose talkers that I met in a high stakes dice game in Vegas.  Their names are Bert and Ernie.”  Elmo reached across the desk and handed Hercule a card with an address and telephone number on it.  “That ought to help you gumshoe.” Elmo said.

            “I appreciate the help Elmo, I’ll be on my way, good luck with the Tijuana girl.”  Hercule quickly sniffed out the address on the card and arrived at the house of Bert and Ernie around 4 P.M.  Hercule walked up to the door first ascending the steps on the porch, but before he could raise his hand to rap his fist on the door he heard excited dialogue coming through a small open window next to the door.  Hercule kneeled and crawled to the window where he crouched and listened.

            “Hey Bert did you hear about Oscar stealing that cookie from Cookie the other day?”

            “What are you talking about Ernie? You talking about Oscar the grouch?”

            “No, Oscar the pleasant, hard-working, dedicated citizen of society!  YES, Oscar the grouch.  He jacked that cookie just yesterday. It’s hanging on his trash can as we speak.”

            “Oh that grouch he always was a troublemaker.”  With that Hercule knew he had solved the crime.  All that was left to do was apprehend the culprit and seize the stolen “S” cookie.

            On Sesame St. there is a garbage can.  It is the only garbage can on Sesame St.  It smells like a newly bloomed summer rose, after it was covered with three metric tons of manure.  Hercule approached with caution for he knew that merely breathing the air here could very well give him an STD.  Then he saw it.  The cookie hanging there from the garbage can like a beacon of hope in this dungeon of filth and decay.  Hercule drew his revolver from his hip and called out.  “Come on out Oscar, show’s over that letter is going back home.”  The grouch rose from his can with his green, matted hair almost looking like a Bob Marley dreadlock. 

            “So, copper you busted me huh?  I figured it’d happen sooner or later, well no reason letting this little beauty going to waste over my lonesome heart.  Here you go.” Oscar then tossed the cookie to Hercule and began to sink back into his can, but Hercule stopped him.

            “Wait a second Oscar, I know a good shrink here on Sesame St. I here it’s great service at premium rates if you don’t mind talking to a big yellow bird.  Here is his card.”  Hercule flipped the card to the grouch and then turned to the sunset.  He began to walk back to Cookie with the cookie.  He was happy because he knew that for at least one more day the alphabet was safe on Sesame St. 

I saw Mr. Fischer a few days after I turned this in and his class was over. He stopped me in the hall (at this point I almost threw up because I knew he was going to say something like, how dare you write this blah blah blah, you can't walk at graduation. But, he didn't.) and brought up my paper.

He told me of the 80 or so book reports he read that mine was the one that stood out. He thanked me for making him laugh and told me he gave me an A.

The next year the drama department at my high school performed the story as part of a production of short acts. Mr. Fischer called my mom to tell her they were performing it so as to make sure she would let me know. I went and watched.

I guess why I'm posting this is because Mr. Fischer could have bawled me out about writing this, and he didn't. He laughed. He honored our unspoken agreement.

And that's why I'm a high school lit teacher today.