Author's Blog- My funny, odd life.
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William Wellstone and his wife Olivia had a love-hate relationship with the opera. She loved it and he hated it. He loved her, though, so he put up with it. Wellstone was a high powered , high priced attorney. He was really good at what he did. So good that he had to beat clients off with a stick. He’d like to beat whoever came up with opera with a stick.
Being as good an attorney as he was and making the kind of money he did put Wellstone way up there in terms of money, power, and influence. People like that gravitate towards one another like flies to horse manure. For some reason when people get that way it’s expected that they become cultured. Opera instead of pro wrestling. Wellstone has all this money and influence and he gets opera.
The first thing he disliked about the opera was having to get dressed in a tuxedo to go. Why? He can’t hear any better in a tux than his other clothes. Why can’t it be like a rock concert so he could wear jeans and still be overdressed. Tuxedos were not comfortable in any way. Drop something on a tux and it looks bad; do that to jeans and who’d know?
Then there was the atmosphere at the theater. Everyone acting as if they had their butts wrapped in an Ace bandage. No one could act relaxed. You couldn’t talk about sports there. You had to discuss modern art as if there was any such thing. Kindergarten kids could do better with finger painting. Everyone wearing their false smiles as a badge of their class. Most of them didn’t have any class to begin with.
Most operas were sung in Italian. Wellstone spoke four languages and Italian wasn’t one of them. He couldn’t understand a word of it. Olivia Wellstone didn’t speak Italian either. She read the book and claimed to enjoy the opera. Wellstone thought that maybe she did. The singing was done in a fashion that even if he spoke the language he wouldn’t understand what was being sung. Of course, rock was like that so what the heck.
Wellstone figured most of the male singers were gay. Only gay guys would dress that way and sing that way in public. Wellstone didn’t have anything against gays unless they were opera singers. The women were scary looking. Wellstone didn’t think he could take many of them in a fight even if he fought dirty. He’d definitely be leery of running into one of them in a dark alley- or anywhere else.
Olivia had a grand set of opera glasses. Wellstone didn’t know why she wanted them. Why would she want to take a closer look at any of this? The opera was like a snack. It may take the edge off but certainly doesn’t satisfy. Wellstone would go home after the opera and listen to some Stones with the volume cranked up so high the wallpaper moved.
The post opera parties were terrible. He’d slaughter some other attorney in court during the day and have to be nice to him after the opera. The two of them being at the same opera at the same time didn’t change anything.
“I enjoyed it immensely when Maria Theresa hit that high note in the middle of the third act,” someone would say.
Wellstone would reply, “Probably someone goosed her.”
Olivia would scold him for those kinds of remarks. She tell him, “Remarks like that give people the impression you don’t like the opera.”
Yea, he’d think, wouldn’t want anyone thinking that.
Then, since Olivia was a patron of the arts, someone would bring one of the fat ladies over to meet them. Olivia and the Buffalo Girl would gush all over each other. Wellstone would change his mind about the goosing. No one, but no one, would have the nerve to goose this woman. Or want to.
Olivia was a good sport about it all. She’d go to rock concerts with him since he went to operas with her. She’d wear a wig, thick glasses, and get e rent-a-wreck so no one would recognize her. The fact that she was with William Wellstone didn’t seem to mean anything he guessed.
The post -rock parties were parties!!! No gushing fat ladies; no being nice to your opponents. No lying that you liked it.
“Are you ready, dear? We don’t want to be late for the opera.”
Interview With Sasquatch
The Real America Show. That was the announcement Tom Conners made on his "The Real America" show. His show was the number one show on cable. He covered anything and everything in his own obnoxious, abrasive style. He was an obnoxious, abrasive man anyway so he was paid to do what he’d did for free.What a racket.
Conners was coming out of make-up when he poked his head into the Green Room to eyeball his guest. He failed to do that because his guest was standing instead of sitting and was eight feet tall. Conners made a mental note to alert security to lay on some extra people, armed extra people. Actually, interviewing Sasquatch without bars between them made Conners a mental case. Well, not just that. There was that no hat, no pants incident.
"So, umm, Mr., uh, er, do you have a name?", Conners led off.
"Of course I do. It’s Herman", the Sasquatch replied.
"Sasquatch. We don’t have two names. Some of us aren’t that bright and we don’t want any confusion", Sasquatch told him.
"Us? You mean there’s more of you!?", Conners asked excitedly while glancing at his beefed up security, who were glancing around nervously and holding their hands very close to their guns. Would a .40 caliber stop this thing? Would an RPG?
"What? You didn’t do well in biology, I see. What, are you thinking we’re amoebas?"
"No, I just never thought there were more than one of you. Guess there’d have to be", Conners said.
"Do you, umm, is it one male, one female-"
"Huh? We ain't into kinky, okay? I ought to reach over there and rip your face off!", Sasquatch replied, causing Donner to jerk back and one of the security guards to start to draw his automatic. That got him a glare from Herman and he, wisely, froze.
"Where did you learn to speak English so good", Conners asked.
"Well. Well, not good. At mission school", Sasquatch told him.
"Really?", Conners almost shouted.
"Of course not you twit. I learned it from my parents who learned from theirs and so on. We might have originally learned in at mission school. Who knows?", Sasquatch said with a wink.
"You'd think there'd have been some mention of, uh-"
"A big, hairy, naked monster? Think so?"
"Well", Conners responded, looking at his security guards.
"What do your kind eat?", Conners continued.
"My kind? What's that supposed to mean?", Sasquatch replied, getting a little angry. The security people were getting a little nervous. Most were wishing they had loaded hollow points. The rest were wishing they’d called off sick.
"I just meant, you know, you're an animal and-"
"We eat nuts and berries, squirrels, blondes, fish-", Sasquatch started to explain.
"What a minute! Blondes? Did you say blondes?", the incredulous host yammered.
"Yea, they taste better, except the bleach blondes. They taste like crap."
"But that's, that's, umm-"
"What? People eat animals, so we eat people. Well, blonde people. Don't like that? Don't go walking in the forest then."
"I notice you aren’t wearing clothes."
"Nope. All those women backstage noticed that too. Several times. We’re all into nudity. It’s a cultural thing except we have nothing to be ashamed of or at least embarrassed by." He said that while giving Conners a sly look that Conners didn’t like but wasn’t going to dispute.
"What sort of, umm, uh, I mean, do you have tribes or something or little family groups or-"
"Yea, we have little family groups. that's why we have so many morons and why we haven't made much progress- ever. We use a form of government called The Big Fist."
"The Big Fist. Whoever has the biggest fist rules. Right now, that's me. Soon as someone with a bigger fist comes along, I'm out."
"What happens to you then?", Conners asked hoping for a bloody ending.
"I become one of the guys."
" Oh. Are there many , uh, groups?"
"A few, We don't know for sure. The smaller ones we take over. The bigger ones we hide from, the way we hide from you humans."
"Yet you're here on national television on 'The Real America" show’. "
"Yea, I am. I'm not hiding anymore. I want to be a star and get my own show or maybe a movie or something. Really, I'm tired to death of berries and squirrels. Not blondes though. If I get rich I can have all the blondes I want."
"You can't get away with eating them!"
"Well, that’s not really true, if you get my drift. I'm sure they can come up with something we could both enjoy. That’s what makes America great."
Small Tales One Don Roble
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