LOL
________________________________ From: Joe <geezerfr...@yahoo.com> To: FairfieldLife@yahoogroups.com Sent: Wed, 1 September, 2010 2:26:15 PM Subject: [FairfieldLife] Re: King Tony Cometh Bravo Curtis! You gotta write a book dude: "The King Tony Kronicles-The Rise of Raja-ism". I'd stand in line to buy it! --- 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". > > > > > > > > >
