Talking To Myself: An Interview With a Ventriloquist… Dummy

The new millennium has set the stage — we’ve evolved into global entertainers, whether we’ve noticed it or not. Our imaginations of advanced futures were bright with flying, lightning-quick cars and instant dinners to cure world hunger. That was until our future brought us a glass video camera and 24-hour access to the world at our fingertips, so why wouldn’t we put on a show? Your life hacks and Monday morning team meetings are interspliced into the same algorithm that gives you leveled-out Palestinian cities and lustful thirst traps on full display for the masses! What’s the matter? Are you not entertained? And to throw my hat in the debate of who is fake or “performative,” at least I’ll be honest when I’m putting on an act.

“Considering I haven’t had your hand in my ass for the last decade, I’d say I’m doing pretty well.”

So to hash out the world’s current affairs and hopefully “get the band back together,” I made a quick call to my stomping grounds — the donation bins, which to my surprise, a familiar face graced by. Made out of polyurethane plastic and missing one of his Tupperware boots, the long-gone (but not forgotten) Howdy Doody came back to life. “Considering I haven’t had your hand in my ass for the last decade, I’d say I’m doing pretty well,” Doody says.

Doody and I were stage partners for the better half of grade school. The fascination came about after seizure-inducing reruns of Jeff Dunham specials and that one episode of The Twilight Zone where a ventriloquist gets tormented by his living dummy. “To think your parents were worried about video games rotting your brain,” Doody says. It was on one Christmas morning when Doody showed up in his cheap, translucent suitcase that things would change forever. For me, it was a theatrical connection bound to contend with the likes of Siegfried & Roy. However, Doody remembers it differently: “Yeah, you were alright,” Doody says. “A little chubby and full of hope, but with good intentions nonetheless. How’s your acting career, by the way?”

“It was hard to tell which one was the puppet.”

First came the abundance of talent shows of back-and-forth “comedy.” I would nervously try to rudder through a routine, while Doody would hit back with one-liners. His Southern drawl was both charming and confusing, especially when his voice sounded like he was talking from one side of his mouth. “Y’know, they saw your lips moving the whole time, right?” Doody says. The act was whiplash improv, crowd work and dry delivery that made our audience courtesy laugh through most of the set. “Remember that one time the teacher dragged you off stage after five minutes of crickets?” Doody chuckles. “I would’ve shoved you in a suitcase myself after that.”

I continued the schtick for a few years, trying my best to practice moving neither lips nor teeth. I even studied the greats like the vaudevillian Edgar Bergen who gave off a wooden demeanor in old films and stage performances. “It was hard to tell which one was the puppet,” Doody says. However, I dropped the act after one night during a Benadryl febrile coma when I had visions of Doody attacking me with a meat cleaver. “It’s idiotic that girlfriends call their relationships off after dreaming about their boyfriend cheating on them — you pretty much did that!” Doody says. Before I knew it, Doody had his flannel button-ups and blue jeans packed for the Goodwill Outlet.

“To think your parents were worried about video games rotting your brain,”

It was safe to say that our reunion was less reflection and more retaliation. Taking up a hobby I didn’t understand involving an uncanny, humanoid doll that mostly freaked me out was meddlingly unhelpful. Ventriloquism is a craft blessed by trial and error, and someone who wants instant results (like I did) will be gravely disappointed. As for Doody and I, we’ve buried the hatchet and are still friends today… and if not, I know a voodoo shop in Louisiana to dump him off at.

You know I have access to your Google Drive, right? You asshole! —H.D.

Read other unbelievable stories by Alton Barnhart:
There’s Something in the Woods: Utah’s New and Improved Cryptid
Skittlez: The Rapper Alter-Ego from my Musical Past