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Friend of a Mutual Stranger
Unfortunately, I can’t tell you much about the strange & mysterious J.D. Peterson, not
because I don’t want to, but because I just don’t know very much about him. Let me start by
telling you how I, Diogenes, came to be involved with J.D. Peterson, J.P. Homer, dar mofts, and planet Orn. It
all started when J.D. Peterson phoned me in the middle of the night in the summer of 2006 to introduce himself, at first as
a delivery guy from Domino’s Pizza. I hadn’t ordered a pizza, and knew their menu didn’t
have a spam & head-cheese pizza, so I eventually convinced him to tell me who he really was (to a point, at least).
He eventually named
himself as Dr. Jefferson Davis Pernoste.
“But call me J.D. Peterson,” he said.
“Why J.D. Peterson?”
“I like to seem more, um . . . Scandinavian,” he replied awkwardly. “It’s an anagruh-something-or-other
of Pernoste . . . . You know, a letter bouillabaisse, or perhaps alphabet soup. I wonder
how you say that in Swedish,” he mused.
“OK,” I said, humoring this strange character on the other end of the phone. “Are we
going somewhere with this?”
“Read your e-mail,” he said then hung up.
I read what he sent me over the next couple of weeks, laughing my head off (occasionally
groaning at a bad joke), and I couldn’t wait for him to call again. A few weeks later the phone rang
just as I got home, and I knew it was him before I picked up. Well, after a long and convoluted conversation
with Dr. Pernoste, or Peterson, he hired me to establish & maintain a website, “to highlight, illuminate, perhaps
even resuscitate”, the world and creatures of Orn and the thousands of histories written by J.P. Homer.”
Oh yes, and I’m free to write about J.D. Peterson himself . . . not that he’s been very helpful.
Why’d
he choose me? He says we’re alike. Scary thought. How did he find me? “Friend of a mutual stranger,”
he told me.
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My sources tell me that J.D. Peterson was born sometime between
1945 and 1971, or maybe earlier or later. His real name may be Jefferson Davis Pernoste (based on our phone
conversation). Language experts I talked to suggested a Gascon origin for the crazy doctor, although he
had no Basque accent . . . whatever that is. Of course, this may all be a false lead, because in that same
phone conversation he also spoke in a high voice and said he was Mrs. Nesbitt. [This was OK until he
started singing “The Flower Duet” from Lakme by Leo Delibes. My eardrums are still bleeding.
Sorry, J.D.] More than this, I don’t know . . . no caller ID, phone number, or trace-able
e-mail.
Personally, I think his name is either
J.D. Peterson or some completely different name like Hugo Hackenbush, for example. And he’s probably
a doctor, but doctor of what, I don’t know. Anyway, I have been able to get some info from J.D. Peterson’s
xenohistorian peers by meeting with them and systematically going through letters and e-mails they’ve received.
[J.D. Peterson has declined to participate.] Of course, some of these people, a strange
crowd themselves, think that his real name may be J.P. Homer [although he’d have to be ~16,000 years old] or
he may be an immigrant from planet Orn. More critical colleagues suggest that J.D. Peterson is a dar moft
(see anonymously-submitted picture below, supposedly of the author), which may explain why nobody has ever seen or met the
guy. The big nose & green skin would probably give him away. Others think he’s
just some nutty writer.
His career as a self-proclaimed xenohistorian is similarly
shrouded in mystery, but it probably began back in 1979 when he says he found “The Thesoddy” in the attic of an
old, abandoned house in Boston, Massachusetts. According to J.D. Peterson, the work was clearly written by aliens, because
he found it in the original Ornian symbols and it said "From Planet Orn" at the top. Unfortunately,
this alien document was used to line several bird cages, making the translation very unpleasant. This incredible
discovery started J.D. Peterson on a near-30 year obsessive hunt for more evidence of planet Orn. More
than this, I’ll have to let the man himself describe.
Diogenes
[Note
from J.D. Peterson. My nose is exactly the right size for a nose of its size, and I really doubt that
I’m 16,000 years old . . . but I’ll check my birth certificate.]
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