This is a classic, dude. Deep bow. Really. You should be writing for TV or the movies. I would pay good money to see this as a weekly sitcom.
--- In FairfieldLife@yahoogroups.com, "curtisdeltablues" <curtisdeltabl...@...> wrote: > > --- In FairfieldLife@yahoogroups.com, Sal Sunshine <salsunshine@> wrote: > > > > On Aug 31, 2010, at 3:04 PM, Rick Archer wrote: > > > > > > King Tony, along with his wife and kids, is coming to > > > Fairfield. The Mansion, which was purchased for $1 million > > > years ago for him to live in (he lived there a few days) is > > > being renovated. Bevan, Neil Paterson, and other bigwigs > > > are also coming to stay there. How long they'll stay I > > > don't know. > > > > One wonders if any of the commoners will get to see > > the Royal Family up close... > > Sal > > Wizzing by in a beige convertible perhaps? All giving the side to side hand > wave popular with the British Royals and beauty queen winners? Fortunately I > have the car bugged... > > "Tony, Tony, Tony" rasped Mrs. Nader, her wavy chestnut hair and multicolored > scarf trailing behind her in their beige Austin Martin convertible. Two kids > sit strapped into car seats riveted by the dancing prince and princess on the > built-in DVD screen. Maybe Ariel, maybe that other one. > > "My little boy with his little crown playing dress up like one of the > Parisian couture boys who used to fawn over me whenever I shopped on Rue > Ampère. Those days are long gone now that we are here in this dust bowl." > She brushes off the shoulder of her silver metallic lame jacket in disgust. > "Merde" she hisses for the hundredth time today. "I am coated in the dust of > pig shit and it will never come out of my D and G (which she pronounces Day > and jay). > > "What are you saying dear?" Tony realizes he has not been pretending to > listen. > > "Dolce and Gabbana you twit. You haven't heard a word I've said have you." > > Tony "Of course I have, something about missing your fag hag buddies in Paris > right?" > > "Don't even start with me. What else was I supposed to do while you sit in > your room with your eyes closed? Meditating on what? What is so wonderful > behind your eye lids that you have to avoid your family for most of the day?" > She readjusts her dress, smoothing out the multicolored fabric with perfectly > manicured hands. Her nails are modestly short, just beyond her finger tips, > but the rich maroon color is flawless. The thought floats through her mind > that she will not be able to find anyone like her beloved Parisian nail girl > Tai May here to keep them in this condition. In Iowa they probably only stock > nail polish with sparkles, the kind little girls, strippers and pop stars on > coke wear, with names like "Totally Awesome" instead of color shades. > > Tony let's his smile drop a bit while he attempts to appease his wife. After > all, he has gotten his way against all odds. He has brought his whole family > to Iowa where he is the King. This was not how he was viewed in Paris > outside their somewhat dingy TM center that smelled of curry like a Pakistani > take-out joint all the time. In the past initiation days would break up the > baked-in smell with sandalwood but it has been quite a while since they had > those kinds of initiation numbers through the center. Now roasted cumin > seeds and asafoetida had won. Tony's wife had refused to go with him after > she found out to her horror that the smell clung to her clothes and > everything needed two trips to the dry cleaner to get what she called "that > cab driver smell" out of her clothes. > > "Cheer up dear, this weekend we are going to a grand celebration for my > return and you can dress up the way you like. Why don't you wear that > gorgeous dress we bought just before leaving Paris? You know the Orange > one?" Tony winced a bit as he remembered his shock at getting the bill for > his bribe to smooth over his wife's displeasure at leaving for Iowa. Little > did he know that this was only the fist of four dresses that she had arranged > to have shipped to her in Iowa. The matching shoes alone equaled the price > of that one dress. She would not be bought off so cheaply! > > The flamboyant shop owner Toulouse was more than happy to be her accomplice, > holding her husband's credit card number for future purchases. "Just a text > or a tweet Daaaaaling and I will rush you a care package from your favorite > designers" he cooed the last time he saw her. It was not her ass that he > followed with his eyes as the King and Queen of fantasy land walked out the > door. Toulouse had heard rumors about them being some type of royalty but he > had automatically assumed it was a reference to role reversal sex play. His > gaydar had gone off like a fire alarm when he met Tony and he secretly > wondered if he might be invited to one of their parties someday. > > Mrs. Nader's face takes on a hard edge. She moves her jaw so little while > speaking that she resembles a ventriloquist as she says, "Yes I am sooo > looking forward to having that beastly Bevan stare at my teeeeeets all night > while slobbering in his food trough. If you were really a King you would > have had his head cut off for putting his hand on my ass during the last > "celebration!" Doesn't he get enough from those pasty-faced movement women > all smiling like shop keepers at him wherever he goes?" > > Tony is determined not to lose his good mood. "Oh Bevan is so loyal to the > teaching. He was the only one who helped me stand up to the Indian clan when > Maharishi died. Perhaps you should wears something low cut to keep him > happy. Is that too much to ask?" > > Mrs. Nader turns her head in slow motion toward Tony and out of sight of her > children, gives him the middle finger while mouthing the same sentiment in > French. It is the language she uses both for endearments to her children, > and to express the seething hatred that had built up between the King and his > Queen. Then she turns her head to look out the window as mile after mile of > corn stalks get painted with the dust their car kicks up as it makes its way > to the "Ideal Village". > > > > > > > >
