i would have settled for “The Marauders” or “The Odd Jobs”

September 23, 2012

Me and I, we’re democratic types, so I put it to a vote. I asked my smartass friends what I should name my new gentleman’s group that does nothing but sit around in the dark drinking gin and listening to Cab Calloway. The best answer was “The Corpses Most Likely to be Found by an Inquisitive Mailman”.

Anyway. I call the meetings to order, and there is never any time for new business. Still too much old business on the docket. Drinking beer and heartache. I move to take the floor, and fall down face-first. “Seconded!” comes a slurred voice. “The motion passes!” Shouts a chorus of sullen ghosts. There’s a sound of clinking glasses and then silence. The irony is that we will never reach a quorum.

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No way, bromigo

September 15, 2012

So. Today, for the first time in my life, I sat down and actually watched an entire Marx Brothers movie. It was “Night at the Opera.” In my opinion, too much opera, not enough Marx brothers, but Groucho didn’t have a single moment on the screen that wasn’t gold. Also, when Harpo plays the piano, you can notice: he’s got your tickets to the gun show. He must be a veterinarian, because his pythons are sick. He… I’m out of metaphors for saying he’s got muscular arms. He looks like he could crack walnuts in his elbow.

So. I’m out in the garage, you know, lurking as I do and such, because I’m about to go to the grocery store. And the neighbor from upstairs is also, leaving, and she asks me if I like classical music? Do I like Opera?

I can’t figure out why the hell she’s asking, then it occurs to me, she must have heard the Marx Brothers movie I was watching and thought I was watching an actual opera. But anyway, what am I, gay? A lady wants to know if I like opera, so I tell her hell yes, I like the shit out of Opera. I knew opera when he was in high school. She asks me what my favorite opera is, and for some reason, I blurt out “The Phantom.”

She says “The… Phantom of the Opera? and, my brain (backpedaling on the duct tape unicycle to which he has condemned himself) makes me say “Oh, I mean… La Fantome. It’s French.”

She asks whether or not Opera is usually in Italian, not French, and I say “Oh, sure…. now.” Then I get in my car and drive myself away.