Date: 09/6/2008
Name: Johnnie L. Cochran, Jr. aka “Mummy Johnnie Cochran”
DOB: 10/2/1937
Height/Weight: Asking for the size of God’s creation is damn discrimination!
Current Occupation: Mummified Trial Lawyer
Relevant Gift: Supernatural reasoning and rhetorical skills used in the courtroom, specifically litigation concerning the wrongfully accused and personal injury
Personal Essay:

I am Johnnie Cochran, the greatest trial lawyer of the 20th Century and soon to be 21st.  You may remember me as the former counsel of O.J. Simpson, Sean Combs, and Rosa Park’s estate, and you may be wondering to yourself “I thought you had a fatal brain tumor in 2005.”  This is true.  However, like I always said, don’t always believe what you’re fed, cuz I ain’t dead.  I have recently risen from the grave to continue my legacy in the courtroom.  Unfortunately, due to rigor mortis and several years buried under the damp, worm-ridden earth, I have been forced to mummify my body in order to keep it together.  Right now my secretary is typing this essay as I orate, as the swaddling cloth used to be cover the stumps of hands on my ever-out-stretched arms would result in my typing looking something like “lket mne inm tyhe scvghool, por yurr;’e a dfamned fopol” (secretary translation:  ‘let me in the school, or you’re a damned fool.’)

I believe I got the talk and can walk the walk, and I wanna join your gang, Professor X.  I think a man like yourself could use someone with my presence in front of a skeptical jury or senile judge should you find yourself in some sort of criminal or civil litigation, even after death.  My first act after resurrection was to take out that snitch Tory.  The second was winning full damages sought for a desperate Harlem man mauled by dogs after stealing to feed his family from a grocery store.

Also, due to my undead state, I cannot feel physical pain, even when certain appendages fall of my body when poorly wrapped by my assistant, who is typing this essay right now.  The stench of years buried has given me an aura that makes many mere mortals vomit when I pass them, which may come in handy, you never know.

But most of all, I think you’re looking for a man.  A man who can.  Who could have ran (from life, because I died), but who won’t pan (in front of a judge). I’ll admit my rhyming skills have gone down since that brain tumor four years ago.  But I’m rich as hell, so you should accept me.

Best,
Mummy Johnnie Cochran

Date: 10/28/2008
Name: Carl Gibson
DOB: 7/14/1976
Height/Weight: 5′1 / 230 lbs.
Current Occupation: Professional Dog Walker
Relevant Gift: Telepathy
Personal Essay:

I am applying for enrollment in the 2009-2010 school year in the Xavier Institute because I believe I have a special mutant power and was told I could come to Xavier to escape persecution.  I have the ability to communicate with dogs, but not in the fraudulent Cesar Millan way or in the way many dog owners sedate their pets by pouring grain alcohol in their water dish.  I believe that, from birth, I have been able to engage in telepathy with domestic canines.  All of them:  gun dogs, service dogs, herding dogs, terriers, hounds, toys, males, neutered dogs, bitches, intelligent dogs and mentally disabled dogs, they all speak to me.  But I’m the only human who understands these barks and yelps.  Additionally, I can command these dogs to carry out my will.

As a child, I was tormented by my talents when my parents would make me walk our Cocker Spaniel through Manhattan’s various dog parks.  The constant yelling and sexual advances made by the hundreds of dogs in the parks at once would be unbearable.  My parents would try to calm me, but I reacted in the only way a five year old could, by screaming at the top of my lungs, and jumping up and down, using my hands as earmuffs in a vain effort to muffle the deafening noise of humping animals.  Subsequently, my parents took me to a counselor who prescribed that I ride shorter than average school buses to special education facilities K-12.

However, upon adulthood and several years removed from television and dogs, I rediscovered my talents after reading Nietzsche’s Will to Power and I realized busy, overpaid New York residents would pay me to walk their dogs for them.  For several years I led a satisfying life with this business, but at the heart of what I’m getting at, which I’m sure you’ll appreciate, is that there was a day I felt the need to use my powers toward good and I was subsequently punished by a public afraid of what they don’t understand.

This summer, I was walking a band of dogs through Upper Manhattan when I saw a man run out of a corner grocery store with a large paper bag, with the store’s clerk following, yelling in a demonstrative manner toward the man.  I realized I witnessed a theft, and I decided to stop being an idle citizen and take matters into my own hands (or head).

I used my telepathy to order the five dogs I was walking:  two Shih Tzu’s named Molly and Suzie, a Yorkshire Terrier named Crumpet, a Miniature Schnauzer named Curly, and a Labradoodle named Precious to take a bite out of crime.  I let go of their leashes as they went into dogged (pun intended) pursuit of the thief.

Unfortunately, my dogs got a bit carried away.  The thief’s left eyeball, several appendages, and a part of his rectum were all digested in the act of vigilantism.

Later that week, I was made aware that a civil suit was being brought against me by the thief.  I tried to prove my Good Samaritan intentions, but a stiff, rhyming, decomposing attorney wrapped in copious bandages won over the judge, who I believe felt sympathy toward the plaintiff’s counsel because the attorney’s arm fell out of its socket at one point.

Conversely, I was unable to communicate my powers to the Judge.  Much laughter was had in the courtroom, especially by the plaintiff’s attorney, who spit out several teeth and lost his nose engaging in his deep, ghastly chuckling.

I hope you understand my predicament as a man with an extraordinary gift who is misunderstood.  I look forward to future correspondence from the Xavier School.

I also understand that students in your school are given a pseudonym to protect their identity.  Should I be admitted, I would like to request my pseudonym be “Lil’ Bow Wow,” due to my abilities and stature.

Sincerely,
Carl