A Love Story in Pictures (and some words)
He was a young, jovial Romanian man, with a passion for life and a contagious enthusiasm.
…she was a beautiful, classic mouth-organ, with a gentle nature and a beautifully-curved yet perfectly tuned resonator body.
They met in the Swiss Alps. He was on a guided trek and she was just lying there, on the grass, taking in the gorgeous scenery.
He walked over and without saying a word, picked her up and cradled her between his thumb and forefingers.
It was a perfect fit.
They said they would take things slow, but their chemistry was undeniable. Although their public displays of affection were a bit much at times, most people would just smile as they walked by, saying things like “Ahh…I remember my first love”, or “Oh boy, kids and their pan flutes these days!”
Soon they were inseparable, and when he flew home to visit his family a few months later, she was right there with him, waiting anxiously in a protective made case stored safely in the stowaway cabinet above his head.
He introduced her to his parents, and although they were a little worried at first (he was their only son and they wanted the best for him), they quickly warmed up to her.
“You will marry, yes?” His mother asked them over dinner one night.
“De course noi voinţă a voi mamă”, he replied. “I chiar nevoie la spre află art.hot. parfum inel înainte I a intreba ei.”
She listened to this conversation he was having with his family, and although she had no idea what he was saying (she didn’t speak Romanian), she knew it was serious.
Suddenly she felt trapped.
By the time Christmas rolled around, she knew she had to get out. She felt suffocated, and she missed having the freedom she once had to do things like lie on the grass, or on the sidewalk…or anywhere for that matter.
He knew something was wrong, but because she refused to talk about it, there was nothing he could do to make things better. And this made him feel hopeless and extremely frustrated.
“Va don’ t ma iubesti nimeni?” He would ask, every time she’d pull away when he went to spoon her.
The truth was, she didn’t know if she still iubesti’d him, or if her feelings for him were gone forever.
After a huge fight broke out while they were having dinner at her Aunt Harmonica’s house one night, she decided it was over. She went home, packed her protective case, and called her cousin, fistula pandis, to come and pick her up.
She moved to the suburbs, and it wasn’t long before she started dating an exotic man by the name of “Rafael,” whom she’d met on an online acoustics dating site.
They became serious right away, but after a few months she realized there was just something “not quite right” about him.
He had a bamboo fettish, and although it seemed innocent enough at first, after a while it started to become an issue. He also became more and more aggressive in bed, and although they’d agreed upon a “safety word”, Rafael would always say afterwards that he didn’t hear her, or that her vibrato had been too muffled and he’d misunderstood what she’d said.
He was also extremely possessive, and after noticing that one of her tubes were clogged one day, he went into a fury, throwing sheet music all over the floor and calling her “a cheap piece of woodwind ass” who’d let anyone have a go.
Finally she decided that she’d had enough of the emotional abuse. She packed herself in her case and left him in the middle of the night, again calling her cousin to come get her.
Soon after she met Balky, a Bohemian who dreamt of making it big. He was a fun guy, but because he never seemed to have his act together, she knew it would never last.
After things with Balky fizzled out, she decided that instead of jumping from relationship to relationship, she would take a break from dating to try and figure out what it was that she really wanted in a partner.
But only two days after making her decision to remain celibate, she attended a ”Do Your Own Magic Tricks” seminar, where she met Horea, a Peruvian Magician who won her over by pulling quarters from her ear.
Although he was older and somewhat humorless, he was a true gentleman, and he put her on a pedestal. Best of all, because of his age, she didn’t feel as though he was always trying to manhandle her.
One morning, after they’d been dating a few months, she looked in the mirror and noticed a crack running up the side of her C note. She hadn’t noticed it before, probably because at only 8.7 centimeters, it was the smallest and most subtle of her tubes.
She asked Horea to take her to the Emergency Clinic immediately.
Thankfully the doctor told her it was just a common split, and with some crazy glue and a little rest, she’d be good as new in no time.
It was a miracle!
She felt as though she’d been given another chance at life, and suddenly everything seemed to make sense. She knew right away that she had to leave this loveless relationship, and try to make amends with the only man she’d ever truly loved.
After breaking it to Horea gently, she packed herself up and called her cousin, who by this time, was starting to feel a little like a taxi service.
After the break-up, he’d spent the last few years in a downward spiral. “Am sa va “T cred ca l-am lasat acest lucru se intimpla sa ma!” He would say over and over, to anyone who would listen. Unfortunately, no one could help him, mainly because they didn’t understand what he was trying to get at.
Thankfully, after a short experimentation phase with ecstacy and a few years spent trolling for random woodwind instruments, he was finally able to pull himself together and pick up the pieces.
But it was painfully obvious that his jovialness and passion for life had all but disappeared.
She found out where he lived, and mailed him an old picture of herself with a message inscribed on the back.
“You told me once that I was like an echo of the heart and mind. If you still feel that way, give me a call at 234-643-3322.”
She wasn’t sure if he would be able to understand it, but she knew she had to at least try.
Three days later he called.
Turns out he’d been taking English lessons, and he could read at a grade three level.
They met at a centrally-located Starbucks, and the second they saw each other, it was as though time had stood still.
While the barista watched curiously from behind the counter, he kneeled before his one true love and said, “My life now has a single goal. I’m absolutely sure that there is a pure vibration–like the wind–in my body. I must find it with you–and show it.”
Although she wasn’t sure what he meant by that (she remembered that English wasn’t his first language), she could tell by the look in his eyes that he desperately wanted her back. He pressed his lips against hers and she knew she was back where she belonged.
They spent the next 20 years together, traveling the world and giving motivational lectures about love, life, and how not to sweat the small stuff.
Because in the end, it’s all small stuff.
Tears flow… what a love story, and amazingly it matches, somewhat, my quest for love among the ruins!!!
I’ll be playing Zamfir tonight…..
Playing who?
Well, I was so taken with the man, that I read the words on the pictures… fell in love with that Romanian named Zamfir.. went out, bought his music and came home and ecstatically made love with my own personal mouth organ while listening to his music.
I am now going to dump Joe and go search on http://www.russianmen.com (couldn’t find romanianmen.com) and find someone who matches the sexy hair, passion, and lip-pursing power of this young Romanian…
Because, I, like TL, want to have a party in my pants.
You are such a romantic soul, DF… that mouth organ better know how lucky it is to have you.
Trust me, you don’t want to have a pant-party like TL. From what I heard, all it is is a few minutes of flipping through the lingerie section of the Sears Catalog, followed by TSN and a nap. (repeat 8 times)
You are too much hehehehe….Such a touching and lovely story its a real boy and his dog feel good story……..thanks for sharing…zman sends
Thanks Zman.
What can I say? I’m a sucker for a good love story.
Thank-God you weren’t there when I saw Gigli…I was a total mess.
b:)
Okay, I have to wait until I wipe the tears from my eyes before I can comment. You are too clever, bschooled!
I’m not sure whether my this sad tale of a misunderstood pan flute is tugging at my heartstrings or blowing wind through my soul, but I loved it! The last photo still has me giggling like a maniac!
Thank-you for your kind words, Talon.
And I’m no Doctor, but if you continue to feel as though your heart strings are being tugged and wind is being blown through your soul, you might want to get that checked out…it could be a symptom of Angina.
I just worry, that’s all.
Always good to see you, Talon,
Bschooled:)
“Fistula pandis”?
Sounds painful…..
Ha! No, trust me, NM, she’s harmless.
Although I did hear she was into S&M for a while…
So many words!! I need more time. Will be back.
I thought this was supposed to be a story in pictures.
Okay, I couldn’t stay away, but do I really need to read the words? The storyline based on the pictures looks like this goofy guy falls in love with an impaler and apparently has three kids, although there must be some question about paternity. And then his lover (or wife depending on whether they ever got married) must die because he looks very sad in the last photo and must be laying her to rest. Now, this might be where words could help because maybe it was murder if the results came back that the kids weren’t his.
YnB,
I have to be honest. when I first read your comment, I thought you wrote “inhaler” and I was a little confused…especially because I didn’t remember him as being asthmatic.
Thankfully, after reading it again, I realized you’d actually written impaler.
But then I was even more confused, because I couldn’t figure out what would make you think this goofy guy had fallen in love with a Chevy mid-sized sedan.
So finally, I had to break down and ask Google Images to help me solve this mystery.
And now I must go lie down.
Ha!
You are right, YnB.
Therefore I have updated the title…the last thing I would want is for people to think of me as a fraud.
Sorry, B. Didn’t mean to confuse you. That’s what I get for only looking at the pictures. (I wonder how toddlers feel when they get misunderstood). Anyhoo….I finally broke down and ready all about the tragic yet happy ending of this troubled mouth organ (confused by some to be an impaler) and her wild and crazy search for true love. I just love happy and hilarious endings, especially since it’s Friday. It would have ruined the weekend if it had ended otherwise.
“read” not “ready”.
Thans YnB!
I love a happy ending too. Which, come to think of it, is probably why I didn’t bring Mr. Sanchez into the story….
Ah yes, the absolute pure joy of wrapping your lips around perfectly curved wood and blowing until your physically and emotionally spent. What? I played the recorder in 5th grade. Your love story awakened parts in me that I had thought long dead. You’ve touched me in places that make Glenn Beck and Jesus both cry. Your ‘tune’ resonated deep, deep within my newly thawed spirit. You filled me with a childlike sense of orgasmic delight. Is that wrong? It feels so right.
A few observations about the body of your work…
Gheorghe Zamfir is jovial Romanian with a contagious enthusiasm? That’s unbelievable. There are a bunch of Romanians here in this village and they are a sour, dour, grumpy, scowling lot. The fact that our boy has this great attitude and talent makes this guy look downright boring. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p2SSZA0CjdQ I think we may have found the new most interesting man in the world! Maybe Corona will cut a deal with us or something to upstage Dos Equis. Usually a company will pay more if you can make their rival look foolish.
Once the communication goes in any relationship it’s a harbinger of bad things to come. If it goes with a musical instrument, especially a woodwind, then that can only be an omen of heartbreak and doom. I just wanted to scream at them to talk, just talk through your feelings. Make up sex, especially with a woodwind, is just so mind-blowing. Well, it not just your mind that gets blown.
I’m humiliated to learn what a fistula pandis really is. All of these years, all of those jokes and references, and I come to find that it’s a God damned musical instrument and not a sexual position involving kitchen accessories and a mammal. I don’t even want to show my face down at the local pub.
I had been secretly toying {with sex toys} and the idea of starting a book printing company to put Harlequin out of business. They are so outdated and irrelevant. These horny middle aged women of today want something new and exciting. Romantic writing infused with wit, humor, comedy, and well……sex. Lots and lots of filthy, dirty, mind numbing but contemporary sex. I think I’ve found my first author in you B! We could have a whole series on ‘Restraint,’ featuring safe words such as nerk and cotillion, and the utter power that can only be found when completely dominated by a 300lb Mexican woman. We could cover all the niche markets by ‘putting out’ for the golden shower crowd, the chicks with dicks crowd, and the ‘I need a crowd’ crowd. Think about it we’ll make millions!?!?
OMG! I played the recorder too! That’s what first drew me to the woodwind instruments.
The following tracks were on my “Break-Out” cassette:
Twinkle, twinkle little star
low D low D AABBA GG low F low E low E
low E low D AAGG low F low F low E AAGG
low F low F low E low D low D AA BBA GG
low F low F low E low E low D
Oh When The Saints (Go Marching in)
f a b(flat) f a b(flat)c f a b(flat) c a f a g
a a g f f a c c b(flat) a b(flat) c a f g f
Three Blind Mice
B A G B A G G G G G A A A A B A G
*FYI, the notes in Three Blind Mice were also used for my smash hit “Hot Cross Buns”
Ahhh….those were the days. If only I hadn’t gotten mixed up with those bad-ass “hacky-sackers”, I’d probably still be recording recorder records. Memories…who can forget ‘em?
I can’t get YouTube at work, however I plan to feign cramps right this very minute so that I can go home and check this video out. (“cramps” excuse + Engineer Boss = no questions asked)
I love your idea Scott, and yes, nerk is a perfect safety word (cotilllion may be a little harder to incorporate, seeing as it’s so syllable-ly(?) and all). And seriously, who wouldn’t love a golden shower? It’s better than taking a shower in myrrh or frankincense, that’s for sure!
count me in!
I could almost hear those beautiful melodies. If only I could in real life; it would be like the pied piper story. I’d follow you anywhere. Wait, that would make me a rat. Ok, not like the pied piper, like dirty dancing. Nobody puts B in a corner. There, that’s better.
Thank God I never got mixed up with that no-good hacky sack crowd. The only sport I could never play was soccer. God forgot to give my feet coordination. It must have been to balance things out since he blessed me with looks, intelligence, charm, athleticism (in everything but soccer and hacky sack) wit, wisdom, agility, humor, fantastic hair, eyes, teeth, and a humility that most men would kill for.
Your whole boss/work/job shtick has got to go though. We don’t have time for you to be pissing around in an office all day. We have way too many irons in the fire for that. I’m working on the Lovejuice, the greeting cards, and the reality shows. I need you to dig in with the sculpting, the choose-your-own-adventure-in-photography series, and the romance novels. So the sooner you quit your job, the better!
I’m so glad your ‘in.’ I always knew you were one of the cool kids!
I have to be honest. I never really played hacky-sack, I was just the token “bag-hag” so to speak.
I only wish there would have been more guys like you at our school, because let me tell you, athleticismists who had eyes, teeth, and humility were a rare commodity back then.
And you’re right, Scott, I do need to get out of this Corporate-forsaken place! Not only have they got me pissing around here, they’ve also put me in a corner office…
Nobody puts B in a corner.
You had me hooked immediately with “mouth organ”. Then, when he “cradled her between his thumb and forefingers”, I knew I would be having a party in my pants.
Not to be critical but I would have found a way to include a Dirty Sanchez into the story but that’s just me nitpicking.
Brilliant, as usual.
Personally I have never read a blog post with so many man blowing organ references.
Thanks Bearman!
I’m actually going for a world record breaker…wait till you see my next story, entitled “Man-Blowing Organ References for Dummies.”
*not recommended for those suffering from lock-jaw
Well! That sounds like a dare to me!
Here’s an attempt (from the Archives):
http://capitalistliontamer.wordpress.com/2009/06/19/fancy-plans-book-of-the-month-club-clive-cusslers-sparta/
It contains none of the pathos and album covers of bschool’s epic, but it does contain a poorly-captioned photo and -CLT at the end.
Wow. That was intense (and gripping), CLT.
In fact, it makes my story seem rather anti-climatic in comparison.
“Anyone who’s ever wondered what it’s like to glisten with sweat while rubbing a shaft in the bowels of a submarine, needs to read this book!”
-Nora Roberts
(TL is right, I need to find a way to work in the Mr. Sanchez angle)
You probably already know this, but finding new and unconventional ways for you to have a bash in your bloomers (I’m guessing the third one of the morning) is the one of the main reasons I blog.
And you are right…I should have incorporated Mr. Sanchez somehow.
Thanks TL:)
I shouldn’t have come here tonight. My girlfriend just dumped me.
Ivan,
I am truly sorry to hear that. Had I known, I would have waited a few days to post this romance-filled, passionately-passionful, love-infested post.
There’s nothing I hate more than kicking someone when they’re already down.
…well to be honest, there are a few things I hate more, but I can’t think of them right now. And really, it depends on who I’m kicking.
Ivan=no kick
Boring co-worker who talks non-stop about her scrapbooking collection=hearty kick
Anyway, you are a strong man, Ivan, and I know you will eventually get past this. Remember what our friend Rick Schnabel always says…”If I can do it, so can you!”
A love story is never so tender as one that involves a mouth organ. Just imagining all that salivary action makes my heart beat a little faster…
Ah, the delight of first, second, third, fourth… love. It’s not the destination after all, but the journey. That and lots of antibiotics.
“A love story is never so tender as one that involves a mouth organ”
-April Belle
Thank-you for giving me my first quote, April. I will put this on the cover of my book, entitled “A Love Story in Words (and some pictures).” (I decided to switch the words up a little, just to keep things “fresh”)
I will send you a copy once it’s printed…although to be honest, it’s pretty much verbatim to what is written here. I just added a dedication to the front.
Holy shit, bschooled! That was mouth-blowing!
I dig this kind of post. (Let’s sit back for a moment and “dig” on how shitty that previous sentence was. Yeah… It sucked… My hands are so big…)
Welcome back. I’ve always been partial to the kind of blogger who can shamelessly state: “A picture is worth a thousand words. And, much like the home version of the game show you’re currently sucking at, your prize is a thousands words or so to accompany the photos!”
While there are several reasons for this, the main one is it reminds me of me. Bschooled’s hilarious look into the dark recesses of her addiction is both cripplingly funny and outrageously amusing.
Pan flute truly is her crack, and we are indeed fortunate to watch her freebase up a storm.
(Note to self: try to avoid using multiple tenses. Especially in the same two-sentence paragraph.)
From
CLT,
Personally, I’m honored that you “dig” this post. I believe the correct spelling is actually Digg, but no biggie. I mean seriously, when did I become the spelling Nazi? Or is it Nahtzee? I always get National Socialism and that “Exciting Dice Game!” mixed-up.
“Is that a small straight you have there? Or is it a Totalitarian Ideology?”
It’s probably why I’m not a big fan of either.
While in the thicket of my addiction, CLT, I never imagined that one day I’d be able to say I was pan flute-free. But thanks to a six-month stint at Promises, an effective 12-step program (I skipped over step 5, because really, I had no one to make amends with), and a newfound obsession with playing the slots, I can honestly say that I’m (almost) clean.
Which is why I felt the need to tell my story. If I can help just one person find a replacement addiction, then I’ve done my job.
Well almost…I still need to send a kid to camp.
I’m speechless, B, still recovering from a torrid affair with a striped soda straw and several lines of Peruvian marching powder, with a reversed air flow, if you know what I mean. Blow is such a resilient word, and like the F word, does so much with only four letters. Noun and verb, in and out. Ah, the memories. Or flashbacks. I’m working on it . . . sorry. Damn those pan flutes!
That sounds scary…and yet stimulating at the same time.
Personally, I always thought of blow as being more of a “breathy” word, but now that you mention it, I do see your point (I’m a visual learner).
Maybe you should start blogging your story, Invasive1. I, for one, would be really interested in hearing more about these constant flashbacks of yours.
You seem to give new meaning to the term “living in the past”…
Thanks B, Your sensitivity to rambling burnouts of the Aquarian age is very much appreciated. It reminds me of the time . . . whoa. Back again. One of the chapters is actually called “Flashback Review”. So many flashbacks; so little time . . . now. Not then. There was plenty of time back then, so if I add those times to these times, and live in BOTH times, then there’s actually a LOT of time left. Ah-HA! And they banned me from math class. That really hurt(s).
I can only imagine how much that would have hurt, to be honest it hurt a little just reading it…
Regardless, just make sure you keep your chin-up Invasive1…because whatever it is that’s going on in that creative mind of yours, it sounds like it’s going to be pretty big!
Thanks B! If big things really do come in small . . . packages. Ouch. Hurt myself again.
Loved it.
Good news! The networks have approved your wonderful story for a TV Movie of The Week.
Bad news! They have notes… Oh, do they have notes.
From: Big Shot Broadcaster Guy and his Lackeys
To: Writer who will do as we say
Subject: A Love Story in Pictures (and some words)
We have approved the story and given A Love Story in Pictures (and some words) the green light. We do, however, have some notes. Please make the following changes…
Change the title from “A Love Story in Pictures (and some words)” to something more provocative. We recommend using the words “Entangled” “Sumptuous” “Goliath the Talking Dog” and “Dangerous” in the title. *
* Please note that all recommendations are, in fact, orders.
Lose the young, jovial Romanian man, with a passion for life and a contagious enthusiasm and replace with a Rastafarian Bard Pitt type. Give him two superpowers. We recommend flying and eyes that shoot thunder bolts.
Change her from classic mouth-organ, with a gentle nature to wild strumpet of a trumpet. Name her Gloria. Add troubled past/back-story involving the circus and a midget named Herman.
Change meeting place from Swiss Alps (too expensive) to Kentucky Road House.
Add more tension. At first they hate each other. No one will expect it when they come together. Include 35 strumpet with trumpet jokes.
Zany up the parents. Make him a one armed mime named Claude who speaks in half sentences, and her a blind knife thrower named Zelda whose act relies on her highly pronounced sense of smell. (Lots of opportunity here for fart jokes and Body odor gags. Take advantage.)
Dialogue change. Lose: “De course noi voinţă a voi mamă”, he replied. “I chiar nevoie la spre află art.hot. parfum inel înainte I a intreba ei.”
And replace with “О ребенок, как я хочу Вас столь плохо, Вы делаете меня горячим и влажным, и это включает меня ничего себе о мальчик о да”
We like that she felt trapped. Lets raise the stakes and amp it up. She felt trapped like a trap in a trap. So let’s put her in a trap. So the audience understands she feels trapped. Like a trap. In a trap. We need to see she is trapped. This will solve the problem.
Change Christmas to a pagan holiday. Include sex scenes. (12) *Note. No insertion shots, please.
Change Aunt Harmonica to Uncle Mouth Organ. Give him a back-story about bowel problems. Make it funny and tragic.
Lose Rafael, and replace with an animated sequence involving a talking dog named Goliath. The audience won’t know what’s hit them!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Make the third act all musical and make Sure Goliath has at least three singing numbers. We want more Goliath. He’s the star of this baby.
Add a Jewish cowboy, an Austrian Whaler and a Spanish Gigolo.
Give Horea a tail. Have her speak in tongues.
Give Goliath a strong closing speech about man’s inhumanity to dogs.
Have Goliath die a tragic death. We suggest a neutering operation gone wrong.
Please have change in two hours…
Thanks,
Big Shot Broadcaster Guy and his Lackeys
This is brilliant advice. To be honest, I knew the story was missing 16 or 17 things, but I wasn’t sure what those things were. And now that I do, I can incorporate those things into my story by using a technique that I like to call “cut and paste”. (It’s a little hard to explain, but you’ll get the idea once you see the final product)
An Entangled yet Sumptuous Love Story in Dangerous Pictures (and some words, Courtesy of Goliath the Talking Dog). I love how that rolls off my tongue. And by rolls, I mean “makes a valiant effort to roll”.
There once was a flute in a trap,
But the audience didn’t fall for her crap
So she jumped in a box
Then removed all the locks
And prayed that the people would clap.
(Unfortunately they didn’t, they thought it was a little too abstract for “Must See TV”)
I love what they did with Horea, to be honest her character was feeling a little one-dimensional to me. I was thinking more along the lines of antlers or elephant tusks, but I think the tail goes much better with her personality.
The only thing I might change would be the excessive number of exclamation marks after the audience “gets hit” (not to be confused with “Get(s) Shorty”).
Like I always say (especially when I’m creating brilliant night-photos), I’m not a big fan of overly expressive punctuation. Perhaps we could substitute them for a bunch of random symbols? @#%$!@$%^$^$%&&$^#?
Besides that minor detail, I love all of their ideas, Alan. I’ll get to work right away.
Trust me, this is going to make every Afterschool Special ever made seem like “a half-ass storyline in an attempt to teach life-lessons to children from the ages of 11-17″.
From: Big Shot Broadcaster Guy and his Lackeys
To: Writer who will do as we say
Subject: An Entangled yet Sumptuous Love Story in Dangerous Pictures (and some words, Courtesy of Goliath the Talking Dog).
We’re thrilled with your receptive and positive response to our notes. Usually writers get so uppity. In fact, we’re so tickled that we will be in touch shortly regarding a new TV series staring a plucky Oboe and a willful and depraved puppeteer that we think you can spin into comic gold. It will be a hit!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!*
*Please note, when we use lots of exclamation marks it’s only in reference to hits…
We are now ready to throw lots of money at you. We have more of it than anything else. It’s really great.
We’re glad you’re pleased with our notes on Horea. We’ll wait until the first draft before we likely cut her from the story. (Or add on more strange body appendages – this could go either way.)
Also we’ve been brainstorming on Goliath. We want to include a love affair (possible love triangle) with a talking fire hydrant. Start thinking up urine jokes.
Please have an outline and 1st draft in five minutes.
Sincerely,
Big Shot Broadcaster Guy and his Lackeys
Look, I don’t know who you people are, (and yes, by you people I’m referring to the three midget lackeys heckling me in the back row), but five minutes isn’t going to cut it. It takes me five minutes to put on one leg of my pants, nevermind how long it takes me to start making gold records…er, I mean Made for TV movies.
Right now I’m going out to celebrate, which means copious amounts of celebratory drinks, even more copious amounts of celebratory dances (similar to the ones performed on Riverdance), and a celebratory tube of Pringles that will be awkwardly attached to my forearm tomorrow morning.
I promise to update the updates just as soon as I have the tube surgically removed.
However, I would appreciate it if you would still throw the money at me, preferrably in small, unmarked loonies and toonies (or is it twonies?). If I hear one more bartender at the Pig and Whistle say “Do you have anything smaller than a fiver?” with such obvious sarcasm, I think I’m going to lose it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
(it’s true, the exclamation marks do add a little “je ne sais quoi” to the mix)
From: Big Shot Broadcaster Guy and his Lackeys
To: Writer who will do as we say
Subject: An Entangled yet Sumptuous Love Story in Dangerous Pictures (and some words, Courtesy of Goliath the Talking Dog).
We have notes on your celebratory evening. We’d prefer less alcohol and more cocaine. Instead of Pringles let’s go with a can of tennis balls (we can get product placement with Slazenger). Please have the studio’s name tattooed on your forearm.
Please change the midgets to pygmies. Change all references to Riverdance to name checks on Lord of The Funky Dance (airing this December).
Please have the revisions to us yesterday (You will need to travel back in time to do this. We have full confidence in your ability.)
Signed, your friends at the studio…
Big Shot Broadcaster Guy and his Lackeys
Date: Yesterday (or maybe the day before)
To: BSBGAHL (all of you except the three pygmy lackies)
From: Writer Who Went Out to Celebrate Celebrations and Ended up in a Compromising Situation involving cocaine, Tennis Balls and the Songs “Soul Patch” and “Smack it” (which will be aired on this CD in December- http://www.danceclassmusic.com/br109ct.JPG ),
Due to unforeseen circumstances (seriously, I never saw them coming), revisions to the script will be delayed.
Sorry for the inconvenience.
Signed,
Your Friend Who Went Out to Celebrate Celebrations and Ended up in a Compromising Situation involving cocaine, Tennis Balls and the Songs “Soul Patch” and “Smack it” (which will be aired on this CD in December- http://www.danceclassmusic.com/br109ct.JPG )
Buaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
If a woodwind can find true love then, damnit, who am I to be cynical?
That’s the spirit, Amanda!
Cynicism is for those who don’t believe in the power of pan flutes, and I, for one, have no time for those people.
Always nice to see you AB&K,
Bschooled:)