Dear "The Goonies,"
You may not know me, but I have been sitting on the sidelines here in Astoria for the five years since your harrowing adventure to save your parents' property from loan mismanagement. I know they played it up as some big land development situation but you know as well I do that their predicament came from buying big in an area famous as an ideal hiding spot for escaped convicts. Anyhow, thanks to Andy's "modeling" career and the unfortunate overdose that ended it (my regards), I couldn't help but notice that the ranks of The Goonies could have thinned a bit. And if it's thickening you need, just call me James T. Cornstarch.
(Actually, my name is Greg. You will find that information and more on the attached resume. Please only call the top number. If you call the bottom number, do not listen to the things the person there says about me.)
Excuse my candor, but The Goonies as an organization is in desperate need of change. And I promise, if sworn into your society, to burn down the tent cities of insane hoboes that have popped up along the shoreline after stories of local gold and adventure hit all the free newspapers. The Goonies, have you forgotten what you were saving all along? The only lingering evidence of your adventures is a statue of a hunchbacked Italian woman reportedly built "as a joke." Yes, this statue serves a remarkable duty by screaming the time every hour on the hour, but I have not seen a single bird in Astoria since its construction. If chosen, I promise to turn your organization around into a life-affirming safe place where teens can hang out and rap about teen issues, like taking of your shirt and night sweats.
My plan to revitalize The Goonies does not stop there. If this organization is to continue, Mouth must be sober. He has not made a public appearance in the past few years without being accompanied by his old friend, the sickly sweet stench of wine cooler. And his constant public altercations with legal immigrants, though humorous, have given your group a taint of racism that not even Data could eliminate with one of his adorable Oriental gadgets.
Let's not dance around the issue. You're going to have to make sure Stef is seen in public, and with men. People have been saying some awful things I mostly agree with but would rather not be true. And "Chunk" isdefinitely on a road to hell paved with hot fudge intentions. Reaching the weight of 300 pounds might be impressive to his 16 year-old self, but his 20 year-old corpse won't even raise an eyebrow at such a feat. And, as you know from the protestors who swarm your headquarters days, Irving "Sloth" Kucera is a deformed and mentally ill Vietnam Vet who wandered away from his parents' home nearly 20 years ago. It would be a PR windfall if you were to return him to them. I'm sure his cage could become one of GooniesLand's main attractions! (See attached for my proposed GooniesLand map. And yes, the pirate ship is built completely to scale and will serve a double-duty of housing migrant workers.)
The Goonies, your theme song says you are good enough, and sometimes I think you believe that about yourselves. With me, you can be better.
Sometimes I dream that I'm sitting in the back of the defunct Weinermobile as it careens driverless down the highway. At first I thought this was symbolic of the powerlessness I feel in life, but then I realized it's actually the Weinermobile's dream of being able to drive again.
Three years ago, when we were burying my uncle, Cleaver and some gross lady dog (Solstice???) showed up at the cemetery and starting going at it really loudly. It ruined everything and we had to have a "re-do" the next day and it cost a fortune. I've hated him ever since for that.
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