Naming your novel's lead character "Dildette
McGlyph," internationally known heiress to a urinal cake manufacturer in
Bisbee, Arizona, made most Thomas Pynchon fans feel that he was lapsing into
self-parody. That is, until a series of investigative articles in the New
Yorker revealed that employees at Pynchon's publishing house were secretly
outsourcing all writing under the Pynchon rubric to a series of highly
developed wasps.
"I think Tom would just LOVE the idea," crowed a balding man aloud on an empty J train as it hurried under the East River.
"These wasps have no clear concept of my literature," Pynchon later said in a fax to the New York Post. "I have no proof that they understand metaphor, much less even the most generic of cultural references."
Unfortunately, Pynchon's fax merely spawned an entirely new school of Pynchon handwriting theorists, most of whom, it was later revealed in a series of investigative articles in The Atlantic, believed that Pynchon himself was a parasitic queen wasp controlling all media related to the incident. Pynchon's coy about-the-author photo of a yellowjacket on his next novel neither calmed the furor, nor did it cause anyone to chuckle under the age of 62, or anyone living south of 59th Street. In an attempt to put to rest this persistent rumor, Pynchon allowed himself to be filmed that summer eating 17 Peanut Buster Parfaits at a Dairy Queen in Connecticut and then joining the moshpit at a Social Distortion concert, all for an upcoming documentary called "American Badass" which was to be aired on ESPN2. Unfortunately, Pynchon and the entire crew of the film were killed when an errant swarm of approximately four million bald faced hornets attacked them in rural farmland, during the shooting of what would have been the film's final Motocross sequence.
"I think Tom would just LOVE the idea," crowed a balding man aloud on an empty J train as it hurried under the East River.
"These wasps have no clear concept of my literature," Pynchon later said in a fax to the New York Post. "I have no proof that they understand metaphor, much less even the most generic of cultural references."
Unfortunately, Pynchon's fax merely spawned an entirely new school of Pynchon handwriting theorists, most of whom, it was later revealed in a series of investigative articles in The Atlantic, believed that Pynchon himself was a parasitic queen wasp controlling all media related to the incident. Pynchon's coy about-the-author photo of a yellowjacket on his next novel neither calmed the furor, nor did it cause anyone to chuckle under the age of 62, or anyone living south of 59th Street. In an attempt to put to rest this persistent rumor, Pynchon allowed himself to be filmed that summer eating 17 Peanut Buster Parfaits at a Dairy Queen in Connecticut and then joining the moshpit at a Social Distortion concert, all for an upcoming documentary called "American Badass" which was to be aired on ESPN2. Unfortunately, Pynchon and the entire crew of the film were killed when an errant swarm of approximately four million bald faced hornets attacked them in rural farmland, during the shooting of what would have been the film's final Motocross sequence.
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