Besides the device, the box should contain:

–Eight little rectangular snippets of paper that say: “WARNING” —A plastic packet containing four 5/17-inch pilfer grommets and two chub-ended 6/93-inch boxcar prawns.

YOU WILL NEED TO SUPPLY: a matrix wrench and 60,000 feet of tram cable.

IF ANYTHING IS DAMAGED OR MISSING: YOU immediately should turn to your spouse and say: “Margaret, you know why this country can’t make a car that can get all the way through the drive-thru at Burger King without a major transmission overhaul? Because nobody cares, that’s why.” (Warning: This Is Assuming Your Spouse’s Name Is Margaret.)

2. PLUGGING IN THE DEVICE: The plug on this device represents the latest thinking of the electrical industry’s Plug Mutation Group, which, in the continuing effort to prevent consumers from causing hazardous electrical current to flow through their appliances, developed the Three-Pronged Plug, then the Plug Where One Prong Is Bigger Than the Other. Your device is equipped with the revolutionary new Plug Whose Prongs Consist of Six Small Religious Figurines Made of Chocolate. DO NOT TRY TO PLUG IT IN! Lay it gently on the floor near an outlet, but out of direct sunlight, and clean it weekly with a damp handkerchief.

WARNING: WHEN YOU ARE LAYING THE PLUG ON THE FLOOR, DO NOT HOLD A SHARP OBJECT IN YOUR OTHER HAND AND TRIP OVER THE CORD AND POKE YOUR EYE OUT, AS THIS COULD VOID YOUR WARRANTY.

3. OPERATION OF THE DEVICE:

WARNING: WE MANUFACTURE ONLY THE ATTRACTIVE DESIGNER CASE. THE ACTUAL WORKING CENTRAL PARTS OF THE DEVICE ARE MANUFACTURED IN JAPAN. THE INSTRUCTIONS WERE TRANSLATED BY MRS. SHIRLEY PELTWATER OF ACCOUNTS RECEIVABLE, WHO HAS NEVER ACTUALLY BEEN TO JAPAN BUT DOES HAVE MOST OF SHOGUN ON TAPE.

INSTRUCTIONS: For results that can be the finest, it is our advising that: Never to hold these buttons two times!! Except the battery. Next, taking the (something) earth section may cause a large occurrence! However. If this is not a trouble, such rotation is a very maintenance action, as a kindly (something) viewpoint from Drawing B.

4. WARRANTY: Be it hereby known that this device, together with but not excluding all those certain parts thereunto, shall be warrantied against all defects, failures, and malfunctions as shall occur between now and Thursday afternoon at shortly before 2, during which time the Manufacturer will, at no charge to the Owner, send the device to our Service People, who will emerge from their caves and engage in rituals designed to cleanse it of evil spirits. This warranty does not cover the attractive designer case.

WARNING: IT MAY BE A VIOLATION OF SOME LAW THAT MRS. SHIRLEY PELTWATER HAS SHOGUN ON TAPE.

I’m going to start a rock ‘n’ roll band. Not a good band, where you have to be in tune and wear makeup. This will be a band consisting of people who are Approaching Middle Age, by which I mean they know the words to “Wooly Bully.” This will be the kind of band whose members often miss practice for periodontal reasons—and are always yelling at their kids for leaving Popsicles On the amplifiers. We will be called the “Urban Professionals,” I will be lead guitar.

I miss being in a band. The last band I was in, the “Phlegmtones,” dissolved a couple of years ago, and even that was not truly a formal band in the sense of having instruments or playing them or anything. What it was, basically, was my friend Randall and myself drinking beer and trying to remember the words to “Runaround Sue,” by Dion and the Belmonts.

Before that, the last major band I was in was in college, in the sixties. It was called the “Federal Duck,” which we thought was an extremely hip name. We were definitely 10 pounds of hipness in a 5-pound bag. We had the first strobe light of any band in our market area. We were also into The Blues, which was a very hip thing to be into, back in the sixties. We were always singing songs about how Our woman she done lef’ us and we was gon’ jump into de ribba an’ drown. This was pretty funny, because we were extremely white suburban-style college students whose only actual insight into the blues came from experiences such as getting a C in Poli Sci.

In terms of musical competence, if I had to pick one word to describe us, that word would be “loud.” We played with the subtlety of above-ground nuclear testing. But we made up for this by being cheap. We were so cheap that organizations were always hiring us sight unseen, which resulted a number of times in our being hired by actual grownups whose idea of a good party band was elderly men in stained tuxedos playing songs from My Fair Lady on accordions at about the volume of a drinking fountain.

When we would come in and set up, with our mandatory long hair and our strobe light and our 60,000 pounds of amplifiers, these people would watch us in wary silence. But once we started to play, once the sound of our pulsating beat filled the air, something almost magical would happen: They would move farther away. They’d form hostile little clots against the far wall. Every now and then they’d send over an emissary, who would risk lifelong hearing damage to cross the dance floor and ask us if we knew any nice old traditional slow-dance fox-trot-type songs such as “Smoke Gets In Your Eyes,” which of course we didn’t, because it has more than four chords. So we’d say: “No, we don’t know that one, but we do know another one you might like.” Then we’d play “Land of 1,000 Dances,” a very big hit by Cannibal and the Headhunters on Rampart Records. This is a song with only one chord (E). Almost all of the lyrics consist of the statement, I said a na, as follows:

I said a na Na na na na Na na na na, Na na na, na na na; Na na na na.

Our best jobs were at fraternity parties. The only real problem we’d run into there was that every now and then they’d set fire to our equipment. Other than that, fraternity brothers made for a very easy-going audience. Whatever song they requested, we’d play “Land of 1,000 Dances,” and they’d be happy. They were too busy throwing up on their dates to notice. They are running the nation today.

Me, I am leading a quiet life. Too quiet. This is why I’m going to form the Urban Professionals. Right now I am actively recruiting members. So far I’ve recruited one, an editor named Tom whose musical qualifications are that he is 32 years old. He’s going to play some instrument of the type you got handed in rhythm band in elementary school, such as the tambourine. just judging from my circle of friends, I think The Urban Professionals are going to have a large tambourine section.

Once we start to catch on, we’ll make a record. It will be called: “A Moderate Amount of Soul.” After it comes out, we’ll go on a concert tour. We’ll stay in Holiday Inns, and sometimes we’ll “trash” our rooms by refusing to fill out the Guest Questionnaire. Because that’s the kind of rebels the Urban Professionals will be. But our fans will still love us. When we finish our act, they’ll be overcome by emotion. They’ll all rise spontaneously to their feet, and they’ll try, as a gesture of appreciation, to hold lighted matches over their heads. Then they’ll all realize they quit smoking, so they’ll spontaneously sit back down.