New episodes in the remarkable chronicle of
Titus Moronicus, a history play
or dark light opera
or what you will-
Brought to you by
The Dick Times: News that Bites!
ACT THREE
Scene one
Keystone Street, in front of Casa Blanca
late at night
A single figure stands before the gates.
It is a woman, clad in a wet tee shirt
bearing the logo “Joe’s Garage”.
At her feet is a heap of lemon peels torn from the fruit
on which she continuously sucks. It is Risotta, a striver
for office in the near circle of Dubus.
She sings, between bites from a fresh lemon:
Risotta: Oh dearest Dubus!
Never was a name so sweet,
your name upon my lips a drop of nectar
( spits out lemon seeds )
To speak it brings a lightness to my feet
( kicks pile of lemon rinds )
But if I’m posted to a foreign sector
I’d cut my wrists and die here
bleeding in this street.
Two figures approach, in conversation:
they are Croftus and the chief
of Casa Blanca’s guards, Colinus.
Croftus: Stay, good Colinus, what figure here
comports herself in such immodest disregard
for hour, dress,and musicality?
Colinus: And littering, as well... But look,
those lemon peels beneath her feet bring only one name
to this sleuthing mind: Risotta! Climber, schemer,
sycophantish sourpuss, and actress wannabe upon
a larger stage. A driven and ambitious wench
who seeks the eye, the ear, the hand, I’ve heard it said,
of Dubus!
Croftus: The latter of her missions sure to fail,
for he is bound by love and need for care
to fair Laurinia.
( to Risotta ) It’s two o’clock and all’s not well, Risotta.
Why dost thou linger in this public place at such an hour?
Risotta sings: The flower of my youth I’ve given
in the service of my lord
and someday he will see me as I am,
beneath the garb
of able functionary
clothed not in drab attire
of loyal secretary
but raised in noble robes to sit beside him
as I help to guide our nation to its destiny
my services I freely give to him alone.
Colinus to Croftus: Has Dubus never
thrown this bitch a bone?
Croftus: He’s unaware of her existence
despite her most annoying
and obsequious persistence.
Colinus to Risotta: Dear lady, sucketh not upon
these sour fruits if it be your wish to catch a prince.
Only sweetness will attract your prey
and sour visage cannot win the the lover’s day.
Risotta: What’s that you say?
Colinus: Thy angry face is graceless to a fault,
a public witness to the sour fruit you eat.
Risotta: Begone, you meddling fools!
Advise me not
nor feign concern with my affairs!
Your two familiar faces those of one eyed jacks,
a duck and shuffle for your masters
as you scrape through cracks in Bigsville
seeking crumbs that fall from tables where you serve!
Your betters know you both for grasping minions
pining for the good opinions of the op-ed writers
in the pestilential press!
Croftus: Such undisguised aggression is ill-suited
to a creature of your sex and age.
Risotta: Oh condescending bureaucrat, you vex me
well beyond my limits! Now take this as a token
of my rage!
She drives an ice pick into the center of his forehead.
Colinus: Most malignant murderess! You’ve killed
this humble servant of the state!
Risotta: Thus does fate turn history on its head
as major players in their plot enriching roles
are prematurely dead!
Colinus: I’ll have you now in chains
for this most heinous deed! ( He tries to restrain her )
Risotta: Keep off! I’ll feed you ice pick number two!
(She stabs Colinus in the chest, and he falls to the ground )
Colinus: I die and leave my prince at risk
of this most maddened witch’s schemes. ( Dies )
Risotta: So die, Colinus, and as you both depart
my dreams shall now expand!
I’ll rise to fill the void your deaths create
by rushing to the side of Dubus
to become his mate and premiere counsel
through what storms may lie ahead! ( Risotta exits )
Enter three sanitation workers carrying brooms
and pushing a wheeled garbage can.
They are the three minstrels, Goofus, Doofus, and Bandoneon
Doofus: The night’s still young and life begetting sun
still hours away!
Goofus: Let’s find some fresh detritus
that the revelers of Bigsville have discarded
in their moonlit fun!
Doofus: Our work of putting polish
on this pit of infamy has hours to go
before it runs its course.
Goofus: What’s worse, here lie before us
on the public way two drunks
in stupors as a team,
inebriate companions who must drink
and dream as one.
Goofus: What! Two drunks
unconscious of the need to keep the sidewalk clear.
Bandoneon: Draw nearer, fellows, and observe that
they’re not drunks, but empty shells, their souls
now risen to their maker’s side!
Two bodies, stabbed, it seems, and left here
where they died!
Their dreaming’s done
unless continued on an astral plane.
We witness double murder here!
Goofus: Corpses lie at Casa Blanca’s gate?
Doofus: Stiffs at Dubus’ doorstep?
Bandoneon: A case of violent intervention
into skin and vital organs. Ice picks stuck them
where they lived!
Doofus: Ice picks! A weapon well suited
to cold blooded murder!
Bandoneon: Let’s look more carefully to this crime:
who might the victims be,
or better yet, who were they when
still breathing in Bucksania’s cherished air?
Well dressed in suits and ties,
but one capped in a baseball hat
with Latin legends thereupon embroidered.
Goofus: Dese guys was moidered!
Bandoneon: The other wears a badge
upon his vest- some law enforcement type.
Goofus: Dese guys was iced!
Bandoneon: The badged official seems familiar-
some face oft in the news...
Goofus: Dese guys was terminally abused!
Bandoneon: It floats now into memory’s scrolling field,
his name and that of his companion now revealed.
Each high in office,
holding in their hands
a pair of Bigsville’s most respected posts.
Goofus: Dese guys is ghosts!
Bandoneon: Croftus and the late Colinus lie before us,
cooled by stones which draw away the last
of any warmth that might have glowed within.
Doofus: Two men of power whose dynamos
spin no more.
Goofus: Such little pinprick holes:
there’s hardly any gore.
Doofus: Well, now they’re finally free.
Bandoneon: If afterlife there be; otherwise,
just darkness, nothingness, no is, no was,
no might yet come.
Goofus: Dat really bums me, man.
Bandoneon sings: These higher instruments of state
have met a fate we lower types are often slotted for/
Doofus: We’re often shown the door by violent crimes!
Goofus: Such guys like these send guys like us
to meet our death in foreign climes!
Bandoneon: And give our lives for
things they won’t explain.
Goofus: That stuff gives me a pain!
Doofus: Men in pinstriped suits invite us overalls
to pluck their chestnuts from the fire.
Bandoneon: And then we’re stuck in some quagmire
and getting shot.
Goofus: Dat’s not so hot!
Bandoneon: The higher ups decree it’s best that we,
the worker bees, are those that go for broke
protecting liberties.
Doofus: While they make certain that we get equipped
with guns their cousins make
or planes their college pals can turn out for the fray.
Goofus: Dat really makes my day!
Bandoneon: They sit on corporation boards
and horde as much as they can grab,
Goofus: While we gotta dab our fingers in a little pot
of nickel/dime. It ought’a be a crime!
Doofus: And if they catch us doing stuff to chill
that they think is a sin,
they really do us in
and stifle us some more.
Goofus: Dat’s really quite a bore!
Bandoneon: In Bigsville lore, these two
were on the ladder’s highest rung,
their lungs filled with the kind of air
insiders sniff,
and now some midnight tiff
has snuffed them.
Doofus: Let’s stuff them in the can
and haul it to the park, away from Casa Blanca.
A thankless job for us if we reveal their deaths
occurred upon this site.
Bandoneon: To thus call in authority
would mark our final night as civil servants.
To leave them here, a dereliction of our nightly rounds.
Goofus: A small dilemma neatly sidestepped
by providing final transport to a spot more restful
and less public.
Doofus: Allez oop! And off then to a some
leafy grove, where shovels and some piled stones
will make an end to this.
The three workers hoist the bodies into their
wheeled garbage can and exit.
***********************************
Scene two, the lair of Bonitia, sorceress who sees all.
Bonitia and Dickus stand before the clouded table
of mysterious visions, in which all versions of each
alternative future are revealed.
Dickus: What the hell was THAT all about!
We’re supposed to be pulling all the strings here!
Bonitia: Well, there’s string pulling and then there’s
string theory, in which all possibilities are equally probable.
It looks as though we just had our strings jerked!
Dickus: This leaves great holes to fill, dramatis personae
to introduce, and many loyalties to shift and balance
in the drift of politics. Croftus left a team of cronies in his wake
who won’t take kindly to the intervention of Risotta.
Bonitia: We must now play the cards that fall our way
by whatever means of double dealing. There’s no turning
back or wishing for alternatives once bodies have been
covered over and decay has taken root.
Dickus: But I kind of miss Croftus, and he was already rotten.
Bonitia: Don’t worry, there are plenty of other easy
targets out there, and your shotgun approach can’t miss.
Dickus: Is that a diss?
Bonitia: Relax, Dickus, and help me get a grip on all of this.
The two resume their positions at the table’s edge,
peering into its smoky depths, looking for a clue.
***************************************
End of Act Three, scene two, or wherever the hell we are...
Friday, March 25, 2005
Friday, March 11, 2005
Titus Moronicus,continued
The last of our archived scenes, to be followed by new stuff, ASAP
Scene five of the second act now begins!
Act Two, scene five: the large and sumptuously appointed Bigsville office of Croftus, Official Legal Leader In Extremis (OLLIE) of Bucksania. Croftus is conferring with Gregor, one of his deputies. They are standing at a table piled high with bulging sacks marked with dollar signs.
Croftus: As garbage on the turning tide doth wash ashore to stick most mulish stubborn on the bank, so do these monies float our way, unbidden but, my oath upon it, not unloved!
Gregor: But from which quarter comes this flow of un announced munificence?
What treasuries are thus diminished by an equal sum? What paper trail, what footprint by some cashier’s grate, what note, what nod, what wink could lead a careful sleuth from this money’s font to Dubus?
Croftus: None, I’ll warrant, for it be washed and double washed, and triple washed, and, finally, four times pressed through scrubbing bubbles in the finest sieve and whirled three continents round in blind accounts!
Gregor: And what amounts?
Croftus: When last we looked the books were writ to eighty million dollars. We hope that when the final tally’s in the number will be rounded to one hundred, and of this sum but twenty goes to Dubus, the highest limit of his expectations.
Gregor (aside): Hmmm, methinks one hundred million but an eyelash on the elephant of graft that sits athwart this capitol, and donkeys made of all by some who sit behind the stage’s somber backdrop, pulling strings. But what of Croftus in the scheme of things? A player or the played?
Gregor, aloud: Dubus! What a noble soul, to ask so little in return for vast beneficence bestowed on all who need but ask!
Croftus: I know, I know, his kindnesses the wonder of this well known cynics haven. The maven of generosity!
Gregor (aside): Preposterous, but outside the jurisdiction of my office.
(aloud, to Croftus): And for yourself, good Croftus? A table crumb, a scrap, some fat trimmed from the leaner, more expensive cuts? (Aside): He’s got big nuts if he says naught for me.
Croftus: Naught for me, for in my western homeland we were taught that service is an honor and an obligation. My reward will lie in (blah, blah, blah,...the sophisticated reader to fill in the blanks with cliches etched in memory over years of listening to this kind of self-serving rubbish. It’s just too gross! [ed.])
Gregor: Well, you’re the boss, and there’s an end to it!
Croftus: A trouper, thou, and sure to be acknowledged in a more material manner, if thy feet keep to the pure and humble path that Dubus walks!
Gregor: I’ll do my duty. (aside): And the envelope, please!
******************************
Scene five of Act Two has concluded!
******************************
Scene Six of the Second Act Now Begins...at
Ye Swampe Crossings, a development in unincorporated suburban Bigsville, at the cathedral ceilinged Tudor style mini-manse of Gregor and his wife, Kristus Bellus, the postmistress of Potomia. Gregor has just come from work and the couple is seen in the cherry cabinet lined, granite counter- topped kitchen of their all electric model # 38 “The Baskerville” home.
Gregor: Ah, at last, my castle!
Kristus Bellus: Wet your whistle?
Gregor: This’ll do it! (he hoists a bottle of beer)
Kristus Bellus: How are things in higher Bigsville altitudes than those I toil in ?
Gregor: These jobs of ours may come at prices far too high to pay.
Kristus Bellus: Uh-oh, tough climb today, huh?
Gregor: Croftus breathes a thinner air than I and drives few pitons in the ice for those who follow.
Kristus Bellus: And often it’s a slippery slope with neither rope nor map nor hope of helping hands if you should fall.
Gregor: And worse, for those who come behind would have you slip and leave a new position in the climbers’ line! The ones above seek only that the glory of the summit’s purchase be for them alone, without a shadow of an aiding arm upon the snow beside them.
Kristus Bellus: But who then takes the photo of their victory?
Gregor: In politics, self-portaiture is practiced from the earliest, most halting steps to lowest offices. The self- absorbed absorb all light around them and keep companions in the dark.
Kristus Bellus: But Croftus, on whom our patronage depends, presents an image of humility and loyalty to higher forces.
Gregor: And I suspect he pays himself too well for all these sacrifices. And now he uses my good name to cover his complicity with Dubus. He’s put me in a corner.
Kristus Bellus: He’s on your case? Gets in my face, too, but no compunctions stay me from completing my appointed rounds of sticking Dickus!
Gregor: Dickus! He’s but the smallest thorn that’s borne upon the hide of these jackals. One cipher in a magnitude of zeros adding up to who knows how much?
An insufferable typer, a journalist without portfolio, not a gnat but some mere protozoan creature, a low bacterium, crawling through Bucksania’s gut!
Kristus Bellus: That’s where stuff happens, dear.
Gregor: In narcissist’s delirium he thinks his feet don’t stink. Walks on water, floats on clouds of self-deceipt.
Kristus Bellus: Gee, hon, I don’t care much for the guy either, but goll...
Gregor (sings): Dickus beats his head on walls,
hasn’t got the sweetest clue!
and if a tipster ever calls
he won’t know what to do.
In the soo-wer
covered with man-oo-wer
He spends his whole life chasing wind
and hoping not to catch it!
Loves nothing more than itching
wants the rest of us to scratch it!
Kristus Bellus: A professional whiner.
Gregor resumes: He’s happiest when bitching
and wants to go forever itching
and he can’t get to sleep at night
unless his nose is twitching,
smelling rats,
seeing plots,
hearing whispered conversations
he gets unholy hots for revelations!
Seeking new sensations!
Has no reservations who he hurts,
just blurts out the first thing in his head
and if we lived a few years back we’d call him red,
then his reputation would be dead!
Kristus Bellus: What’s that you said?
Gregor: He’d be dead!
Kristus Bellus: He’d be dead!
The two in duet: He’d be dead!
He’d be dead!
He’d be dead dead dead dead dead dead deeeeeeaaaaaadddddd!
The two suburbanite government workers fall to their knees in the kitchen and begin to smash Michael Graves for Target Stores cookware on the quarry tile floor as they scream “dead, dead, dead” over and over. This hysterical acting-out continues until the heavy brass plated renaissance revival knocker of their front door announces the arrival of a Ye Swampe Crossings development representative who tells them that property values are being diminished in real time due to an open window on the second floor of their house, which creates a disturbing community wide asymmetry and suggests that some owners might not be able to afford to use their central air.
Gregor and Kristus Bellus immediately recover and rush to close the window in an attempt to repair any damage they may have done to their image and their equity.
********************************
The end of scene six of the second act. Next follows scene seven!
Act Two Scene seven: following the scene with Gregor and Kristus Bellus at Ye Swampe Crossings:
The Cave of the Sorceress with Dickus and Bonitia in further conference at the mysterious table of fate and destiny.
Bonitia: Oooo, we’ve let those two stray off the screen. They’re turning mean!
Dickus: Threats more to themselves and fellow creatures of the Ye Swampe. But Gregor’s words, though by intent offensive, give no offense to me. He’s but a dog who’s picked up fleas and , undesirous of a bath, goes mad with irritation. It would vanish with application of a collar, a symbol of domestication he’ll not tolerate.
Bonitia: Abidance to an un writ canon where loopholes have no place.
Dickus: Where lawyers fear to tread. And so he wants me dead, at least in my ability to press a case. The pots and pans but painful recognition of his self-betrayal, throwing over grander hopes to buy a Viking range, then to find that they’re all gas!
Bonitia: Pitiable misreading of the ads!
Dickus: Oh, these people see their dreams fulfilled upon a glossy page and can’t go on until an empty carton sits in the garage. Then wonder how the plan went wrong when hunger isn’t satisfied.
Bonitia: It helps to grow the GDP.
Dickus: And clears the forest of the trees.
Bontitia: Be not a preacher here, good Dickus, for I have seen thy face’s other side within these patinated depths. Thou, a hypocrite with forty pairs of shoes and silk ties that would serve to weave a room sized rug!
Dickus: And what would be the knot count of such a lustrous foot pad? A Fereghan or something coarser with the makers’ labels legible? Polos and Armanis, such a carpet made for gods to float above, admiring the sartorial taste that made it possible...
Bonitia: What a vain and banal man in thy most fundamental elements! Scrape but the finest layer of thy epidermis and there lie comic strips and self regard!
Dickus: Ouch! Don’t scrape so hard! Complexity, diversity, a range of tastes beyond the herd. A thirst for justice, love of comfort, sleep, and hot dogs! This, the epitaph of Dickus, carved upon a granite tomb arrayed with angels cast in bronze and chased with swirls of ascending golden cords which pull his soul eternally to heaven, alas, to no avail, there being none.
Bonitia: Always the sarcastic joke!
Dickus: To lift the noisome yoke of all these swarming scenes before us on the table. Have we had enough of give and take, and may we now move on? For Titus and his gang have reached the edge of an abyss and need the slightest push from us. It’s time to pull some puppet masters’ strings and see this drama to an end!
Bonitia: Shifting into overdrive, the visions in my crystal ball now come alive! Bonitia’s conjuring never fails! Beware, thou villains, and take care to cover tails!
The two anti-establishment conspirators exchange a high five and a rock concert whoop and once more lean into the table’s mysterious spinning mists.
Scene five of the second act now begins!
Act Two, scene five: the large and sumptuously appointed Bigsville office of Croftus, Official Legal Leader In Extremis (OLLIE) of Bucksania. Croftus is conferring with Gregor, one of his deputies. They are standing at a table piled high with bulging sacks marked with dollar signs.
Croftus: As garbage on the turning tide doth wash ashore to stick most mulish stubborn on the bank, so do these monies float our way, unbidden but, my oath upon it, not unloved!
Gregor: But from which quarter comes this flow of un announced munificence?
What treasuries are thus diminished by an equal sum? What paper trail, what footprint by some cashier’s grate, what note, what nod, what wink could lead a careful sleuth from this money’s font to Dubus?
Croftus: None, I’ll warrant, for it be washed and double washed, and triple washed, and, finally, four times pressed through scrubbing bubbles in the finest sieve and whirled three continents round in blind accounts!
Gregor: And what amounts?
Croftus: When last we looked the books were writ to eighty million dollars. We hope that when the final tally’s in the number will be rounded to one hundred, and of this sum but twenty goes to Dubus, the highest limit of his expectations.
Gregor (aside): Hmmm, methinks one hundred million but an eyelash on the elephant of graft that sits athwart this capitol, and donkeys made of all by some who sit behind the stage’s somber backdrop, pulling strings. But what of Croftus in the scheme of things? A player or the played?
Gregor, aloud: Dubus! What a noble soul, to ask so little in return for vast beneficence bestowed on all who need but ask!
Croftus: I know, I know, his kindnesses the wonder of this well known cynics haven. The maven of generosity!
Gregor (aside): Preposterous, but outside the jurisdiction of my office.
(aloud, to Croftus): And for yourself, good Croftus? A table crumb, a scrap, some fat trimmed from the leaner, more expensive cuts? (Aside): He’s got big nuts if he says naught for me.
Croftus: Naught for me, for in my western homeland we were taught that service is an honor and an obligation. My reward will lie in (blah, blah, blah,...the sophisticated reader to fill in the blanks with cliches etched in memory over years of listening to this kind of self-serving rubbish. It’s just too gross! [ed.])
Gregor: Well, you’re the boss, and there’s an end to it!
Croftus: A trouper, thou, and sure to be acknowledged in a more material manner, if thy feet keep to the pure and humble path that Dubus walks!
Gregor: I’ll do my duty. (aside): And the envelope, please!
******************************
Scene five of Act Two has concluded!
******************************
Scene Six of the Second Act Now Begins...at
Ye Swampe Crossings, a development in unincorporated suburban Bigsville, at the cathedral ceilinged Tudor style mini-manse of Gregor and his wife, Kristus Bellus, the postmistress of Potomia. Gregor has just come from work and the couple is seen in the cherry cabinet lined, granite counter- topped kitchen of their all electric model # 38 “The Baskerville” home.
Gregor: Ah, at last, my castle!
Kristus Bellus: Wet your whistle?
Gregor: This’ll do it! (he hoists a bottle of beer)
Kristus Bellus: How are things in higher Bigsville altitudes than those I toil in ?
Gregor: These jobs of ours may come at prices far too high to pay.
Kristus Bellus: Uh-oh, tough climb today, huh?
Gregor: Croftus breathes a thinner air than I and drives few pitons in the ice for those who follow.
Kristus Bellus: And often it’s a slippery slope with neither rope nor map nor hope of helping hands if you should fall.
Gregor: And worse, for those who come behind would have you slip and leave a new position in the climbers’ line! The ones above seek only that the glory of the summit’s purchase be for them alone, without a shadow of an aiding arm upon the snow beside them.
Kristus Bellus: But who then takes the photo of their victory?
Gregor: In politics, self-portaiture is practiced from the earliest, most halting steps to lowest offices. The self- absorbed absorb all light around them and keep companions in the dark.
Kristus Bellus: But Croftus, on whom our patronage depends, presents an image of humility and loyalty to higher forces.
Gregor: And I suspect he pays himself too well for all these sacrifices. And now he uses my good name to cover his complicity with Dubus. He’s put me in a corner.
Kristus Bellus: He’s on your case? Gets in my face, too, but no compunctions stay me from completing my appointed rounds of sticking Dickus!
Gregor: Dickus! He’s but the smallest thorn that’s borne upon the hide of these jackals. One cipher in a magnitude of zeros adding up to who knows how much?
An insufferable typer, a journalist without portfolio, not a gnat but some mere protozoan creature, a low bacterium, crawling through Bucksania’s gut!
Kristus Bellus: That’s where stuff happens, dear.
Gregor: In narcissist’s delirium he thinks his feet don’t stink. Walks on water, floats on clouds of self-deceipt.
Kristus Bellus: Gee, hon, I don’t care much for the guy either, but goll...
Gregor (sings): Dickus beats his head on walls,
hasn’t got the sweetest clue!
and if a tipster ever calls
he won’t know what to do.
In the soo-wer
covered with man-oo-wer
He spends his whole life chasing wind
and hoping not to catch it!
Loves nothing more than itching
wants the rest of us to scratch it!
Kristus Bellus: A professional whiner.
Gregor resumes: He’s happiest when bitching
and wants to go forever itching
and he can’t get to sleep at night
unless his nose is twitching,
smelling rats,
seeing plots,
hearing whispered conversations
he gets unholy hots for revelations!
Seeking new sensations!
Has no reservations who he hurts,
just blurts out the first thing in his head
and if we lived a few years back we’d call him red,
then his reputation would be dead!
Kristus Bellus: What’s that you said?
Gregor: He’d be dead!
Kristus Bellus: He’d be dead!
The two in duet: He’d be dead!
He’d be dead!
He’d be dead dead dead dead dead dead deeeeeeaaaaaadddddd!
The two suburbanite government workers fall to their knees in the kitchen and begin to smash Michael Graves for Target Stores cookware on the quarry tile floor as they scream “dead, dead, dead” over and over. This hysterical acting-out continues until the heavy brass plated renaissance revival knocker of their front door announces the arrival of a Ye Swampe Crossings development representative who tells them that property values are being diminished in real time due to an open window on the second floor of their house, which creates a disturbing community wide asymmetry and suggests that some owners might not be able to afford to use their central air.
Gregor and Kristus Bellus immediately recover and rush to close the window in an attempt to repair any damage they may have done to their image and their equity.
********************************
The end of scene six of the second act. Next follows scene seven!
Act Two Scene seven: following the scene with Gregor and Kristus Bellus at Ye Swampe Crossings:
The Cave of the Sorceress with Dickus and Bonitia in further conference at the mysterious table of fate and destiny.
Bonitia: Oooo, we’ve let those two stray off the screen. They’re turning mean!
Dickus: Threats more to themselves and fellow creatures of the Ye Swampe. But Gregor’s words, though by intent offensive, give no offense to me. He’s but a dog who’s picked up fleas and , undesirous of a bath, goes mad with irritation. It would vanish with application of a collar, a symbol of domestication he’ll not tolerate.
Bonitia: Abidance to an un writ canon where loopholes have no place.
Dickus: Where lawyers fear to tread. And so he wants me dead, at least in my ability to press a case. The pots and pans but painful recognition of his self-betrayal, throwing over grander hopes to buy a Viking range, then to find that they’re all gas!
Bonitia: Pitiable misreading of the ads!
Dickus: Oh, these people see their dreams fulfilled upon a glossy page and can’t go on until an empty carton sits in the garage. Then wonder how the plan went wrong when hunger isn’t satisfied.
Bonitia: It helps to grow the GDP.
Dickus: And clears the forest of the trees.
Bontitia: Be not a preacher here, good Dickus, for I have seen thy face’s other side within these patinated depths. Thou, a hypocrite with forty pairs of shoes and silk ties that would serve to weave a room sized rug!
Dickus: And what would be the knot count of such a lustrous foot pad? A Fereghan or something coarser with the makers’ labels legible? Polos and Armanis, such a carpet made for gods to float above, admiring the sartorial taste that made it possible...
Bonitia: What a vain and banal man in thy most fundamental elements! Scrape but the finest layer of thy epidermis and there lie comic strips and self regard!
Dickus: Ouch! Don’t scrape so hard! Complexity, diversity, a range of tastes beyond the herd. A thirst for justice, love of comfort, sleep, and hot dogs! This, the epitaph of Dickus, carved upon a granite tomb arrayed with angels cast in bronze and chased with swirls of ascending golden cords which pull his soul eternally to heaven, alas, to no avail, there being none.
Bonitia: Always the sarcastic joke!
Dickus: To lift the noisome yoke of all these swarming scenes before us on the table. Have we had enough of give and take, and may we now move on? For Titus and his gang have reached the edge of an abyss and need the slightest push from us. It’s time to pull some puppet masters’ strings and see this drama to an end!
Bonitia: Shifting into overdrive, the visions in my crystal ball now come alive! Bonitia’s conjuring never fails! Beware, thou villains, and take care to cover tails!
The two anti-establishment conspirators exchange a high five and a rock concert whoop and once more lean into the table’s mysterious spinning mists.
Monday, February 28, 2005
The plot thins! Dick has "ins"!
More murderous news, Dick's views skewed by
affinity with Blues!
The Dick Times: News that Bites!
Dateline Lincoln Square, 28 February year of the post turtle
Neighbor's murder mystery thickens,
detailed outline maybe sickens!
Rated NC 17 ( No Charge! It's free! "And worth it!" Dick )
So Dick went on his bookish way once more
and opened up his most bedeviled store...
The bookmobile swung easily in to the free parking space
created when the window crashing car took out the parking
meter in front, thus slowing the drunk's momentum
and reducing damage to a minimum, if $500 for new plate glass
can be thus minimized ( Dick has a lousy, and cheap, insurance policy ).
We were late today, on account of having made an appointment
with our accountant, this being tax time, on top of all the other
taxing elements now raining in, as Chicago elements often do.
So at a little before one p.m. the lights go on and the register
begins to glow, its tongue hanging out, salivating.
T.V. vans begin to arrange themselves up and down the block,
their remote feed antennas higher than most of the local architecture.
Channel 5, channel 7, no Fox, though, they're out licking Republican
boots in DuPage County, home of the KKK ( knew knights of kristondom ).
Dick leans into the marble topped sales counter, his best Eastwoodish
dare you to buy smirk childishly in place.
He gets bored.
He mosies down the block to Ludwig's Interiors, owner of
the now infamous murder scene apartment, just upstairs on the second floor.
Ludwig the Second is in attendance today, not Mad Ludwig, whom we have
never met.
Yo, Lud, who died and how'd they do it, our no nonsense gambit.
Dick, goes Lud, don't breathe a word of this until you use your
tongue scraper, but my recent tenant was iced by persons unknown
who used a sharp object about thirty times, holes in body-wise.
Name of ( X, pending notification of Sixty Minutes ) and a singer with
the famed Lyric Opera of Chicago!
At this, our operatically inclined ears prick up considerably, wanting to know
if it could have been a Maria Callas fan, and thus perhaps deserving his fate.
He was a singer in the secondary chorus, continues Lud, most accommodatingly.
Friends found him when he failed to show for Saturday's performance.
Dick has still not looked at a Lyric schedule to check that title...maybe a hated
twelve toner or, worse, an early Verdi! Ugh!
So hows come the icing, Lud, we're all, like, going.
Bad vibes, there, Dick, goes Lud. Evil computing stuff has lead to this-
keyboard hijinks of an unknown variety.
With this, Lud shuts off the info tap, and we trekked the fifty paces
back to Dickville, AKA Dick's Famous Books ( Not Its Real Name! )
Soon, in walks Pete, camera man for channel five, warming up before
the big live sidewalk shoot. He buys two Elvis books and we hit it off,
him the owner of - get this- a Paul Reed Smith electric guitar, of
Santana fame. We talk axes for a while but never get around to knives,
him being a cameraman and not a man- tanned live air talent person.
So he splits, promising to return in two weeks with a VCR tape of some
famed Swedish guitarist giving lessons. ( As if! ) I am still in the
dark, dead guy wise, despite the odd coincidence of Streets and
Sanitation having come around with a cherry picker to change street
light bulbs about three p.m. I had to remove my American flag
from its position above the sidewalk so they wouldn't ground on it
and short circuit the whole 'hood.
Then it occurs to me, light bulb-wise!
This guy I know is an opera commentator on a local radio station:
why not buzz him up and look for new dope?
Buzz, I go.
Hello, he goes.
I lay it out on him.
Geez, he's like, tell me more!
Then he jumps on the horn and calls pals at the opera.
High octane dope pours into Dick Central, now becoming for the first time a
conduit of actual fact filled news stuff and not just second hand
hate mongering filter aimed at the disgusting Red Horde which is poised to
to wreck America forever.
So here's the stuff, and do't tell anyone because the cops are probably
keeping a lid on it for purposes of their poking about the sewers without
alerting the rats therein:
This guy, X, is a sex nut, hetero-wise, who can't get enough of it, or maybe
any, through normal channels, whatever they are these days ( Dick is over 60 ).
So he goes on the Net and he's like, hey, honey, here's the money,
where's your bunny?
Electronic solicitation, without fear of short circuits! Well grounded in his
sex site savvy!
So the deal is, his former associates say, he plays the rough trade field,
and it goes bad for him, they now surmise, whore-wise.
Body found with a blanket ( non-security type ) covering it, perhaps
a metaphor of some undiagnosed variety. Hiding it, maybe. Or some
native American thing, tree top burial wise...we may never know.
And I still don't know if I've lost a customer, because the name's
not familiar.."Bud" is the nickname, like on Father Knows Best ( Beast,
in this case ) or like "Hey, bud, where's that C note we agreed on?"
You won't get this on NBC, and it's probably true, courtesy of
The Dick Times: News that Bites!
Dick sez: hate all those typos? You try doing this after a
huge meal of pork tenderloin and baby spinach salad
with pear infused balsamic dressing, liberally (!) washed down
with lots of Australian Shiraz.
http://thedicktimes.blogspot.com
http://chicago.indymedia.org/newswire
affinity with Blues!
The Dick Times: News that Bites!
Dateline Lincoln Square, 28 February year of the post turtle
Neighbor's murder mystery thickens,
detailed outline maybe sickens!
Rated NC 17 ( No Charge! It's free! "And worth it!" Dick )
So Dick went on his bookish way once more
and opened up his most bedeviled store...
The bookmobile swung easily in to the free parking space
created when the window crashing car took out the parking
meter in front, thus slowing the drunk's momentum
and reducing damage to a minimum, if $500 for new plate glass
can be thus minimized ( Dick has a lousy, and cheap, insurance policy ).
We were late today, on account of having made an appointment
with our accountant, this being tax time, on top of all the other
taxing elements now raining in, as Chicago elements often do.
So at a little before one p.m. the lights go on and the register
begins to glow, its tongue hanging out, salivating.
T.V. vans begin to arrange themselves up and down the block,
their remote feed antennas higher than most of the local architecture.
Channel 5, channel 7, no Fox, though, they're out licking Republican
boots in DuPage County, home of the KKK ( knew knights of kristondom ).
Dick leans into the marble topped sales counter, his best Eastwoodish
dare you to buy smirk childishly in place.
He gets bored.
He mosies down the block to Ludwig's Interiors, owner of
the now infamous murder scene apartment, just upstairs on the second floor.
Ludwig the Second is in attendance today, not Mad Ludwig, whom we have
never met.
Yo, Lud, who died and how'd they do it, our no nonsense gambit.
Dick, goes Lud, don't breathe a word of this until you use your
tongue scraper, but my recent tenant was iced by persons unknown
who used a sharp object about thirty times, holes in body-wise.
Name of ( X, pending notification of Sixty Minutes ) and a singer with
the famed Lyric Opera of Chicago!
At this, our operatically inclined ears prick up considerably, wanting to know
if it could have been a Maria Callas fan, and thus perhaps deserving his fate.
He was a singer in the secondary chorus, continues Lud, most accommodatingly.
Friends found him when he failed to show for Saturday's performance.
Dick has still not looked at a Lyric schedule to check that title...maybe a hated
twelve toner or, worse, an early Verdi! Ugh!
So hows come the icing, Lud, we're all, like, going.
Bad vibes, there, Dick, goes Lud. Evil computing stuff has lead to this-
keyboard hijinks of an unknown variety.
With this, Lud shuts off the info tap, and we trekked the fifty paces
back to Dickville, AKA Dick's Famous Books ( Not Its Real Name! )
Soon, in walks Pete, camera man for channel five, warming up before
the big live sidewalk shoot. He buys two Elvis books and we hit it off,
him the owner of - get this- a Paul Reed Smith electric guitar, of
Santana fame. We talk axes for a while but never get around to knives,
him being a cameraman and not a man- tanned live air talent person.
So he splits, promising to return in two weeks with a VCR tape of some
famed Swedish guitarist giving lessons. ( As if! ) I am still in the
dark, dead guy wise, despite the odd coincidence of Streets and
Sanitation having come around with a cherry picker to change street
light bulbs about three p.m. I had to remove my American flag
from its position above the sidewalk so they wouldn't ground on it
and short circuit the whole 'hood.
Then it occurs to me, light bulb-wise!
This guy I know is an opera commentator on a local radio station:
why not buzz him up and look for new dope?
Buzz, I go.
Hello, he goes.
I lay it out on him.
Geez, he's like, tell me more!
Then he jumps on the horn and calls pals at the opera.
High octane dope pours into Dick Central, now becoming for the first time a
conduit of actual fact filled news stuff and not just second hand
hate mongering filter aimed at the disgusting Red Horde which is poised to
to wreck America forever.
So here's the stuff, and do't tell anyone because the cops are probably
keeping a lid on it for purposes of their poking about the sewers without
alerting the rats therein:
This guy, X, is a sex nut, hetero-wise, who can't get enough of it, or maybe
any, through normal channels, whatever they are these days ( Dick is over 60 ).
So he goes on the Net and he's like, hey, honey, here's the money,
where's your bunny?
Electronic solicitation, without fear of short circuits! Well grounded in his
sex site savvy!
So the deal is, his former associates say, he plays the rough trade field,
and it goes bad for him, they now surmise, whore-wise.
Body found with a blanket ( non-security type ) covering it, perhaps
a metaphor of some undiagnosed variety. Hiding it, maybe. Or some
native American thing, tree top burial wise...we may never know.
And I still don't know if I've lost a customer, because the name's
not familiar.."Bud" is the nickname, like on Father Knows Best ( Beast,
in this case ) or like "Hey, bud, where's that C note we agreed on?"
You won't get this on NBC, and it's probably true, courtesy of
The Dick Times: News that Bites!
Dick sez: hate all those typos? You try doing this after a
huge meal of pork tenderloin and baby spinach salad
with pear infused balsamic dressing, liberally (!) washed down
with lots of Australian Shiraz.
http://thedicktimes.blogspot.com
http://chicago.indymedia.org/newswire
Sunday, February 27, 2005
Murder most foul!
An unwelcome break from politics!
This note comes hot on the heals of a limited mailing
in which Dick whined about some drunk driving through
his bookstore window on Friday night at 3 a.m.
Okay, so today as the bookmobile swung into Ye Shoppe territory,
it occurred to Dick that there were far too many cop cars
parked on the block. I mean, the car through the
window was a lousy caper, but here we have six
blue and whites, serving and protecting,and seven or eight
of those dark, plain Crown Vics, blackwalls, municipal plates,
shit all over the floors, no Cubs bumper stickers.
Too much heat for one bashed in bookstore,right? So we swing
in to our favorite spot, the semi legal one outside of the metered area
but not prohibited by signage ( and we have successfully appealed
two tickets from that spot, so we know our semi legalities, here ),
and walk across the aptly named Eastwood Street
to the corner at the north end of Dick's Famous Books ( not its real name )
where we confront, first off, the same cop who took our
window crash complaint, it seems like, and was,
only yesterday. He is standing casually in a large knot
of his uniformed confreres, gabbing in cop-ease.
Yo, home, 'sup, we say. What's goin' down, five oh-wise!
Nothing, he says, beat it written all over him.
So I truck on down a few doors to the store, open up,
and wait for neighborhood gossip to fill in the giant gap.
It soon trickles down: an unsolicited assisted departure
from this veil of tears has transpired. Maybe up to
a week or more ago, a tidbit inferred by many who
observed the city employees in attendance all puffing huge stinky cigars,
the air freshening measure of choice with homicide dicks ( no
relation ) who are confronted with not so fresh evidence,
if you get my drift, smoke-wise.
The TV trucks arrive sometime later, but no smiley faces,
of the man-tanned variety, are posed on the sidewalk, for fear of bringing
free publicity to Dick's Books. Just some camera guys who
shoot a few minutes of the three story building, last known address
of Mr. X, whom Dick suspectsof being one of his customers,
but since it's cash only at the store there are not too many names
in the Rollidex.
So who really knows. In any civilized country, the stiff's
image would appear ASAP all over the media,
but here in god's own America we're sensitive.
So I'll never know if it's my guy or a non-reader.
Unless the landlord calls me to come down and clean out the library.
Your humble servant,
Mr. Sensitivity
This note comes hot on the heals of a limited mailing
in which Dick whined about some drunk driving through
his bookstore window on Friday night at 3 a.m.
Okay, so today as the bookmobile swung into Ye Shoppe territory,
it occurred to Dick that there were far too many cop cars
parked on the block. I mean, the car through the
window was a lousy caper, but here we have six
blue and whites, serving and protecting,and seven or eight
of those dark, plain Crown Vics, blackwalls, municipal plates,
shit all over the floors, no Cubs bumper stickers.
Too much heat for one bashed in bookstore,right? So we swing
in to our favorite spot, the semi legal one outside of the metered area
but not prohibited by signage ( and we have successfully appealed
two tickets from that spot, so we know our semi legalities, here ),
and walk across the aptly named Eastwood Street
to the corner at the north end of Dick's Famous Books ( not its real name )
where we confront, first off, the same cop who took our
window crash complaint, it seems like, and was,
only yesterday. He is standing casually in a large knot
of his uniformed confreres, gabbing in cop-ease.
Yo, home, 'sup, we say. What's goin' down, five oh-wise!
Nothing, he says, beat it written all over him.
So I truck on down a few doors to the store, open up,
and wait for neighborhood gossip to fill in the giant gap.
It soon trickles down: an unsolicited assisted departure
from this veil of tears has transpired. Maybe up to
a week or more ago, a tidbit inferred by many who
observed the city employees in attendance all puffing huge stinky cigars,
the air freshening measure of choice with homicide dicks ( no
relation ) who are confronted with not so fresh evidence,
if you get my drift, smoke-wise.
The TV trucks arrive sometime later, but no smiley faces,
of the man-tanned variety, are posed on the sidewalk, for fear of bringing
free publicity to Dick's Books. Just some camera guys who
shoot a few minutes of the three story building, last known address
of Mr. X, whom Dick suspectsof being one of his customers,
but since it's cash only at the store there are not too many names
in the Rollidex.
So who really knows. In any civilized country, the stiff's
image would appear ASAP all over the media,
but here in god's own America we're sensitive.
So I'll never know if it's my guy or a non-reader.
Unless the landlord calls me to come down and clean out the library.
Your humble servant,
Mr. Sensitivity
Monday, February 21, 2005
Titus Moronicus, part three
A few scenes from those remaining in the
Dick Times Morgue, previously published as an email
to a select group of elitist literattae and now made
available to the vast masses at no charge.
Our story, a dark light oprea, will soon be augmented
with fresh material, new characters,
and more stuff that really bites.
If you care to send a note to the author, thus encouraging him
to get on with the project, you may translate
this e mail address: malldotenteractatrcndotcom
Without your response there is no way of knowing
if anyone is watching. Remember, this service is free.
"And worth it!" ( Dick )
ACT TWO
scene one: a diner, The Airplane, in Potomia. Late at night.
Three grifters are in a booth with Seema, a fortune teller.
The waitress, Lily, approaches the table and addresses Seema:
Lily: Watcha havin’, hon?
Seema: Nothing for me, thank you, dear.
Lily: Fellas?
Grifter one: I’ll have a short stack.
Grifter two: Gimme the hamburg. Hold the mayo.
Grifter four, a new character, a swarthy, porcine individual: Oast-ray eef-bay, ashed-may otatoes-pay, reen-gay eans-bay, ASAP-pay, okay?
Lily: eBay o-fay abbu dabi, kemosabe.
( She departs with the order)
Grifter two: Now then, Seema, betimes methinks thee less a teller of fortunes than a fortune huntress, such has been thy quest for pellets of gold from these communal pockets ( gesturing to the grifters there assembled ) as well as golden nuggets of information, a commodity oft more marketable than a harder currency.
Seema (sings): Diner info confidential.
My opinions influential.
Dubus thinks I have potential
to make dough.
Work both sides against the middle!
Let that fool play second fiddle,
sit around and finger-twiddle,
do some blow.
Grifter one: Okay, so we give you the dope on the Croftus scam, you twist it into a pretzel so Dubus gets only part of it and chokes on the rest, then goes off and thinks he’s in on the whole deal and starts screwing it up for everyone.
Seema (sings) : Such is art of fortune telling!
Must be half true, what we’re selling,
otherwise the rube starts yelling
wiggles loose!
Feed the suckers tasty dope,
let them kindle faintest hope,
watch them as they knot the rope
make a noose.
Grifter four: Ub-day un-way ig-bay ool-fay.
Grifter two: Thou speakest a mouthful with thy mouth full, vulgarian.
Just then, Ralph Lauren enters the diner and goes to the table where the grifters and Seema sit. He is wearing white flannel trousers and eating a peach.
R.L.: I say, chaps, who’s for a chukker?
Grifter three: O-may o-fay! Am-scray, ook-may.
Grifter two: Indeed, sirrah, begone! Begin thy beguine upon the beach, and eat thy peach in solitude most riparian. (Ralph Lauren exits)
Grifter one, aside, to his compatriots: So here’s the deal: we give Seema twenty K and half of the Croftus story, she clues Dubus on the switcheroo, he opts to pop his pappy and Titus, they suspect Croftus put him up to it, the four of them start a war and we walk with the loot. About a hundred mil! Is that a beaut?
Grifter two: Oh, what bitter fruit for those our most pathetic marks to swallow. (to Seema) : We’ll follow through with our agreed arrangement. (he passes her a large envelope which she eyes greedily) A token taken by your hand assures us that you have his fullest confidence, and Dubus will your words and guidance heed with neither waver, weave, nor turn from this most crooked path you map for him.
Seema (sings): Dubus brushes teeth at night upon my nod.
He ties his shoes and crosses streets upon consulting.
If you believe he gets directions from some god,
then take your money back! Don’t be insulting!
Wife of old time Ronus guy did Seema’s bidding.
Never let him do a thing without my wink!
A can of ancient worms that you’re unlidding:
those times are best forgotten, don’t you think?
Grifter one: Amen squared to the fourth gigabyte, Sister!
Grifter two: A dark and ill-timed omen! For did not some who closely served that honored master find imprisonment was their reward, while he stepped free of scandal’s fetid breath? The memory of Bucksania’s collective mind now pays him homage, while stains still soil many who once warmed themselves within the orb of his avuncular smile. Nor has any leader since left such a drift of criminals
within our ship of state’s broad wake!
Grifter one: Right on, home!
(Lily returns with the check) Lily: So how was din-din, boys?
Grifter one: Whole batch down the hatch slick as slime or I’m not hip to hot potatoes, cutie!
Grifter four: Itto-day, illy-yodel-ay!
Grifter two: A most welcome and gastronomically sufficient repast dost thou provision, thee, a purest vision and fairest Lily of the garden.
Editor’s note: This repartee reinforces the socio-anthropological observation that a popular diner’s main attraction is often the sensual promise held out by its wait staff rather than the culinary delights of the menu. In other words, a load of semis does not a good meal make. Eschew the crowded parking lot.
Grifter three enters the Airplane and confronts the group of conspirators.
Grifter three: Arise, friends, walk by my side and look upon a most unsavory sight! This night is filled with portents of the fates that may befall all those who once stood tall among Bucksania’s shining lights!
The group leaves the table and follows Grifter three to the sidewalk where they soon come upon the prostrate body of Albertus. Although he is not dead, his metabolism has slowed to the point at which a rigor-like stiffness has invaded his entire body and disabled his musculature. He cannot speak but merely sighs heavily and utters a grunt-like moan, a protracted “Unnnnnnnnnnhhhhh” sound.
Grifter three: Behold! The bold pretender to the throne of Bushus! Now dragged to earth by heavy chains of unrequited love!
Grifter one prods the body with his foot, trying to get some response or a sign of recognition.
Grifter one: Albertus! Albertus! Can you hear me? Hey! Wake up!
Albertus: Unnnnnnnnnhhhhh.....
Seema (sings): Gored by horns of beast most bullish!
Losing never tasted sweet!
Now he lies here looking foolish,
a dormant doormat in the street.
Touched the sun!
Lost the run!
Now he’s done!
Not asleep but only resting,
a state that’s near to comatose.
And if old lessons need digesting,
here is one: he’s too verbose.
Have a look!
What a schnook!
Close his book!
Get....... the........ hooooooooooook!
Grifter one: Tell it, Sister Seema! Bring it home!
Grifter two: Albertus comes to rest too near our place of rendezvous! Think’st thou, my friends, there be connection, plan, or some design in this?
Grifter three: Some plot, a scheme, a failed attempt to spy, or make connections with the winning side?
Grifter two: Methinks coincidence is much too.........
His words are interrupted by Lily, who runs from the diner toward the group, screaming hysterically.
Lily: Albertus! Albertus! Darling Albertus!
She throws herself on the body, sobbing and repeating the name. Albertus emits another long moan: Unnnnnnnnnhhhhhhhhh........
Grifter two: Lily, calm thyself, for this man dieth not but is in mere faint, a temporary condition. Stand, child, give him room to capture air within his long o’ertaxed lungs! What knowest thou of him?
Lily: He loves me! He was going to meet me here at the end of the shift! We’re getting married!
Grifter four: Ag-gay e-may with an oon-spay!
Grifter one: Yo, mama, the dude’s already married, with kids and a mortgage and major campaign debt.
Lily: I don’t care! He loves me! We’ve been going together for twenty years, ever since he came to Bigsville and met me working here! He promised that if he didn’t beat Dubus in the last election he’d throw it all over and run away with me.
This was going to be our elopement night!
Grifter three: Aha! We witness an anxiety attack! A nervous trauma draining blood from brain and limbs, a hammer-blow brought on by clash of will and need and bald desire to seek one’s destiny beyond the narrow norm!
Seema (sings): Train from Chattanooga jumped the track!
Chances are he didn’t even bed her!
Reporters never put them in the sack,
so what are odds that he would ever wed her?
Grifter three: Ip-zay to a donut hole!
Seema resumes: He lies here on the sidewalk,
and they never went to bed!
What visions of this sugarplum
were dancing through his head?
To leave a wife of thirty years
and chase elusive bliss
would give the lie to TV shots
that lingered on “The Kiss”
The ensemble: The Kiss! The Kiss!
They lingered on The Kiss!
Amiss! Amiss! We thought it was amiss!
To leave a wife
and seek a life
of second marriage bliss
would prove that he was faking
when he lingered on The Kiss!
A statement they were making
when they lingered on The Kiss!
The cameramen were shaking
when they lingered on The Kiss!
We laughed so hard we’re aching!
Some record they were breaking!
We knew that he was faking when
he lingered on The Kiss!
MMMMMMMMM-WAH!( they blow a kiss )
Grifter two: Lily, dear, by thine own words you put
Albertus here this night to seek naught but your affection,
and for no ulterior purpose beyond this trifling tryst.
Lily: He loves me!
Seema: You must look quite young for your age, dear.
Lily: He loves me!
Grifter four: Ee-may, oo-tay, a-by-bay!
Grifter three: None among us denies thy considerable charms, Lily,
and doubtless Albertus succumbed as well, despite what would appear
to be a most unnatural resistance and reserve which oft
would stay his hand from reaching for a grander prize.
No offense, dear.
Grifter one: Yo,daddy, chill! Cat loves the fox-ee lay-dee!
Grifter two: So now the fog of mystery clears itself, and
we need fear no threat from this unhappy quarter!
Away, then, to groves where we may cultivate more
tasteful dates. (the Grifters and Seema exit)
Lily: He loves me!
Albertus: Unnnnnnnnhhhhhhhh.......
******************************
End of scene one of the Second Act
******************************
Scene two, further down the block.
Grifter four:Thus did I find him lying as I approached the diner only moments ago, made late for our appointment by a messenger from Croftus.
Grifter two: What news of that fellow?
Grifter three: O-may o-fay, yellow jello! (Spits into gutter)
Grifter four: His promise of a larger cut made good with this! (hands an envelope to Grifter three)
Grifter three: The twenty K returns un beckoned, and we recover our first interest on the scam much sooner than we reckoned!
Grifter one: But not enough to cover the Colombian outlay! We’re still way short!
Grifter number two: May fortunes lengthen with the day as we move up the chain and seek out Bushus! Off, now, and sleep, for dawn may bring a challenge greater than these weaker links that we have thus far met.
Exeunt
*********************
Scene three, the cave of the sorceress Bonitia, that same evening.
Dickus and Bonitia are in deep conference over a long and richly finished table which seems to glow with an inner light.
Dickus: Most excellent! Each puppet jumps to but the lightest touch of string, from Titus down to these four roustabouts! And pawns we’ve also made of Seema and the paltry postal clerk! Loser, indeed! Although her hunk assessment may tend to soften my appraisal of that lady...
Bonitia: In thy dreams, Dickus.
Dickus: A joke, Bonitia, though thou knowest more than any that the mind of Dickus has no focus save for bringing down this evil axis. Until then, sex is off the table!
Bonitia: On the floor then, if thou fearest higher planes?
Dickus: On the back burner, should we seek a wider range of options!
Bonitia: Then would we each be too hot to handle!
Dickus: As thou art now, a match head made in heaven! Now stop, please, for banter eases tension, and we walk a high wire with this grasping group! Any slackening of purpose could tip our hand and trip our feet.
Bonitia: So you would win this contest by default?
Dickus: Then I yield to you, as always, and bear the fault myself. (to himself) upon the shoulders of a hunk...
Bonitia: I heard that, fool! Thou hast forgotten in thy inflated self-appraisal that in our bond there are no bounds! I can read your mind!
Dickus: Oops!
Bonitia: Oops, indeed, and oops for many other times I’ve held my eyebrows at an even level.
Dickus: Ah well, I knew you were the best! The ants come with the picnic.
Bonitia: Say “Uncle” then, and end it!
Dickus: Touche’, touche’, it’s all relative! I give! (he bows deeply)
Bonitia: Then back to business!
They resume their examination of the table top, which appears to hold the destinies of all our players in its dark reflections, like the deep pool of an ancient and forbidding grotto filled with the souls of all who have ever lived. ***************************
end of scene three, act the second
***************************
Scene four of the Second Act
The sunlit patio of Just Desserts, summer home of Bushus and Barbarosa at the exclusive seaside community of Puerto Bunka, where only very expensive yachts are allowed to sail. Bushus and Dubus are reclining on canvas sling chairs, and each wears an ill-fitting white terry bathrobe embroidered with a “Ralph Lauren Polo” shield and coat of arms.
Bushus: Sure am glad you could make it up this weekend, son. Don’t see enough of ya these days.
Dubus: I like to spend my birthdays here, dad. Mom always makes my favorite cake, and I get to take the robes back to Bigsville when I leave.
Bushus: Sam’s Club, Dubus. Get ‘em by the bale. Give ‘em to everybody!
Dubus: But this one was in gift wrap on my bed...
Bushus: That’s your mom, Dubus! A penny saved, ya know? And there’s still the cake, just for you! Have to order it a week in advance!
Dubus: Mom says she makes that cake!
Bushus: Makes the call, son. Only the call. Can’t stand to be around those girls in the kitchen!
Dubus: Who, Maria and Sonia? Why, mom raised those two like her own daughters, didn’t she?
Bushus: You were off at boarding school then, son. Read that homelife garbage in the magazines. All show! Girls lived in tool shed I cleaned up for ‘em. Slept in a wheelbarrow. Found ‘em down in Texilia one night out on the highway, and your mom says, “let’s take ‘em home, need the help!”
Dubus: But they seem so grateful and faithful!
Bushus: Illegals, Dubus. No cards, no documentation! Treat us like royalty so we won’t turn ‘em in!
Dubus: But it’s been thirty five years, dad!
Bushus: No social security, no pension, save a bundle there, son. Mom runs a tight ship! Gotta give her credit!
Dubus: Jeez Louise!
Barbarosa enters and tips over the lounge chairs the two men are seated in.
Barbarosa: Feet off the furniture, imbeciles!
Dubus: But mom, these are lounge chairs with footrests built in!
Barbarosa: Go to bed if you’re so goddam tired! And take off that bathrobe! Open your presents when the cake comes out! Spoiled little brat, can’t wait to grab, grab, grab, like those two in the kitchen! Gave ‘em everything, and it’s not enough! Now they want to go back to Texilia and find their family! Hah! We’re their goddam family. Dubus, get one of your people on this case! Immigration, I.R.S., whatever! Miserable ingrates! Make ‘em pay!
Bushus: Now, Rosa, hon, stuff rubs off, ya know. Too close to this one. Best to let it go, bite the bullet, swallow that pride of yours, sweetie.
Barbarosa: Swallow this, you gutless jackass!
With a sweeping gesture, Barbarosa lifts a water tumbler from a small table and throws its contents at her husband. He ducks, and the water hits Dubus, soaking his Ralph Lauren Polo Sam’s Club terry bathrobe.
Dubus: Aw, mom, my new robe!
Barbarosa: Not yours until the cake! The cake! Jee-sus Christ am I sick of you two imbeciles! (Barbarosa exits)
Dubus: Aw, shoot! Now I’m all wet!
Bushus: Sun’ll dry ya right up, kiddo. Here, let’s set these chairs back up and stretch out a bit.
Dubus: But mom said...
Bushus: No sweat, there, bud, she’ll forget all this in two shakes. Up to the bathroom, grab a smoke and a couple of shots and it’s back to Mayberry!
A cell phone rings and Bushus reaches into the pocket of his robe.
Bushus: How ya doin’!
Titus: Titus, here, guy. Can you talk?
Bushus: No can do, chief. Family event today. Love fest! Big birthday gathering!
Titus: Oh, god, that’s right! Dubus has a birthday this weekend! How in hell has he lived this long, anyhow, not run over by a bus or thrown off a horse? Or more likely vice versa!
Bushus: No idea, pal. Wonder the same thing. Mysteries of the universe.
Titus: Do you think he could have fallen from the crib as an infant?
Bushus: More likely a drop than a fall, mommy-wise.
Titus: He right there, now?
Bushus: Arm’s reach.
Titus: Well, okay, just wanted to tell you that it’s smooth sailing out here. Croftus and his four clowns are churning up the feed lot for the penny ante action, and Dubus is still so focused on that little ant hill that he can’t see the mountain being carried away underneath it. That your take on things?
Bushus: That’s my boy! (He winks at Dubus, who smiles broadly and waves back.)
Titus: Great, then. Over and out!
Bushus: Roger that, pal! (He rings off and puts away the phone)
Dubus: Who’s Roger, dad?
Bushus: Not a Roger, kiddo! Your Uncle Danno, called to wish you a many happy!
Dubus: Uncle Danno! Golly, I haven’t talked to him for weeks! How’s come you didn’t put me on the phone, pop?
Bushus: Wanted to, son, but he ran out of quarters and the Seven Eleven manager wouldn’t give him change. Said Danno shouldn’t be using the phone on company time.
Dubus: Oh, heck. He tell you they gave him a raise and then took it back because he drank too many of those Slurpee things?
Bushus: Yeah, the poor guy just can’t get ahead, can he?
Dubus: Well, gee, dad, with me the leader of the free world and all, I wish I could give him a really big job someplace in government! I ought to be able to help my friends. How’s come you say I shouldn’t?
Bushus: Son, you’re helping them more than you’ll ever know!
Dubus: In a spiritual way, you mean, right?
Bushus: And what could be more important than that, son? Why, that’s absolutely everything worth living for, isn’t it?
Dubus: You and Titus always say it is, and so far you’ve never been wrong.
Bushus: Hold that thought, kiddo, hold that thought.
*****************
Curtain, end of scene four of the second act
*****************
Dick Times Morgue, previously published as an email
to a select group of elitist literattae and now made
available to the vast masses at no charge.
Our story, a dark light oprea, will soon be augmented
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Without your response there is no way of knowing
if anyone is watching. Remember, this service is free.
"And worth it!" ( Dick )
ACT TWO
scene one: a diner, The Airplane, in Potomia. Late at night.
Three grifters are in a booth with Seema, a fortune teller.
The waitress, Lily, approaches the table and addresses Seema:
Lily: Watcha havin’, hon?
Seema: Nothing for me, thank you, dear.
Lily: Fellas?
Grifter one: I’ll have a short stack.
Grifter two: Gimme the hamburg. Hold the mayo.
Grifter four, a new character, a swarthy, porcine individual: Oast-ray eef-bay, ashed-may otatoes-pay, reen-gay eans-bay, ASAP-pay, okay?
Lily: eBay o-fay abbu dabi, kemosabe.
( She departs with the order)
Grifter two: Now then, Seema, betimes methinks thee less a teller of fortunes than a fortune huntress, such has been thy quest for pellets of gold from these communal pockets ( gesturing to the grifters there assembled ) as well as golden nuggets of information, a commodity oft more marketable than a harder currency.
Seema (sings): Diner info confidential.
My opinions influential.
Dubus thinks I have potential
to make dough.
Work both sides against the middle!
Let that fool play second fiddle,
sit around and finger-twiddle,
do some blow.
Grifter one: Okay, so we give you the dope on the Croftus scam, you twist it into a pretzel so Dubus gets only part of it and chokes on the rest, then goes off and thinks he’s in on the whole deal and starts screwing it up for everyone.
Seema (sings) : Such is art of fortune telling!
Must be half true, what we’re selling,
otherwise the rube starts yelling
wiggles loose!
Feed the suckers tasty dope,
let them kindle faintest hope,
watch them as they knot the rope
make a noose.
Grifter four: Ub-day un-way ig-bay ool-fay.
Grifter two: Thou speakest a mouthful with thy mouth full, vulgarian.
Just then, Ralph Lauren enters the diner and goes to the table where the grifters and Seema sit. He is wearing white flannel trousers and eating a peach.
R.L.: I say, chaps, who’s for a chukker?
Grifter three: O-may o-fay! Am-scray, ook-may.
Grifter two: Indeed, sirrah, begone! Begin thy beguine upon the beach, and eat thy peach in solitude most riparian. (Ralph Lauren exits)
Grifter one, aside, to his compatriots: So here’s the deal: we give Seema twenty K and half of the Croftus story, she clues Dubus on the switcheroo, he opts to pop his pappy and Titus, they suspect Croftus put him up to it, the four of them start a war and we walk with the loot. About a hundred mil! Is that a beaut?
Grifter two: Oh, what bitter fruit for those our most pathetic marks to swallow. (to Seema) : We’ll follow through with our agreed arrangement. (he passes her a large envelope which she eyes greedily) A token taken by your hand assures us that you have his fullest confidence, and Dubus will your words and guidance heed with neither waver, weave, nor turn from this most crooked path you map for him.
Seema (sings): Dubus brushes teeth at night upon my nod.
He ties his shoes and crosses streets upon consulting.
If you believe he gets directions from some god,
then take your money back! Don’t be insulting!
Wife of old time Ronus guy did Seema’s bidding.
Never let him do a thing without my wink!
A can of ancient worms that you’re unlidding:
those times are best forgotten, don’t you think?
Grifter one: Amen squared to the fourth gigabyte, Sister!
Grifter two: A dark and ill-timed omen! For did not some who closely served that honored master find imprisonment was their reward, while he stepped free of scandal’s fetid breath? The memory of Bucksania’s collective mind now pays him homage, while stains still soil many who once warmed themselves within the orb of his avuncular smile. Nor has any leader since left such a drift of criminals
within our ship of state’s broad wake!
Grifter one: Right on, home!
(Lily returns with the check) Lily: So how was din-din, boys?
Grifter one: Whole batch down the hatch slick as slime or I’m not hip to hot potatoes, cutie!
Grifter four: Itto-day, illy-yodel-ay!
Grifter two: A most welcome and gastronomically sufficient repast dost thou provision, thee, a purest vision and fairest Lily of the garden.
Editor’s note: This repartee reinforces the socio-anthropological observation that a popular diner’s main attraction is often the sensual promise held out by its wait staff rather than the culinary delights of the menu. In other words, a load of semis does not a good meal make. Eschew the crowded parking lot.
Grifter three enters the Airplane and confronts the group of conspirators.
Grifter three: Arise, friends, walk by my side and look upon a most unsavory sight! This night is filled with portents of the fates that may befall all those who once stood tall among Bucksania’s shining lights!
The group leaves the table and follows Grifter three to the sidewalk where they soon come upon the prostrate body of Albertus. Although he is not dead, his metabolism has slowed to the point at which a rigor-like stiffness has invaded his entire body and disabled his musculature. He cannot speak but merely sighs heavily and utters a grunt-like moan, a protracted “Unnnnnnnnnnhhhhh” sound.
Grifter three: Behold! The bold pretender to the throne of Bushus! Now dragged to earth by heavy chains of unrequited love!
Grifter one prods the body with his foot, trying to get some response or a sign of recognition.
Grifter one: Albertus! Albertus! Can you hear me? Hey! Wake up!
Albertus: Unnnnnnnnnhhhhh.....
Seema (sings): Gored by horns of beast most bullish!
Losing never tasted sweet!
Now he lies here looking foolish,
a dormant doormat in the street.
Touched the sun!
Lost the run!
Now he’s done!
Not asleep but only resting,
a state that’s near to comatose.
And if old lessons need digesting,
here is one: he’s too verbose.
Have a look!
What a schnook!
Close his book!
Get....... the........ hooooooooooook!
Grifter one: Tell it, Sister Seema! Bring it home!
Grifter two: Albertus comes to rest too near our place of rendezvous! Think’st thou, my friends, there be connection, plan, or some design in this?
Grifter three: Some plot, a scheme, a failed attempt to spy, or make connections with the winning side?
Grifter two: Methinks coincidence is much too.........
His words are interrupted by Lily, who runs from the diner toward the group, screaming hysterically.
Lily: Albertus! Albertus! Darling Albertus!
She throws herself on the body, sobbing and repeating the name. Albertus emits another long moan: Unnnnnnnnnhhhhhhhhh........
Grifter two: Lily, calm thyself, for this man dieth not but is in mere faint, a temporary condition. Stand, child, give him room to capture air within his long o’ertaxed lungs! What knowest thou of him?
Lily: He loves me! He was going to meet me here at the end of the shift! We’re getting married!
Grifter four: Ag-gay e-may with an oon-spay!
Grifter one: Yo, mama, the dude’s already married, with kids and a mortgage and major campaign debt.
Lily: I don’t care! He loves me! We’ve been going together for twenty years, ever since he came to Bigsville and met me working here! He promised that if he didn’t beat Dubus in the last election he’d throw it all over and run away with me.
This was going to be our elopement night!
Grifter three: Aha! We witness an anxiety attack! A nervous trauma draining blood from brain and limbs, a hammer-blow brought on by clash of will and need and bald desire to seek one’s destiny beyond the narrow norm!
Seema (sings): Train from Chattanooga jumped the track!
Chances are he didn’t even bed her!
Reporters never put them in the sack,
so what are odds that he would ever wed her?
Grifter three: Ip-zay to a donut hole!
Seema resumes: He lies here on the sidewalk,
and they never went to bed!
What visions of this sugarplum
were dancing through his head?
To leave a wife of thirty years
and chase elusive bliss
would give the lie to TV shots
that lingered on “The Kiss”
The ensemble: The Kiss! The Kiss!
They lingered on The Kiss!
Amiss! Amiss! We thought it was amiss!
To leave a wife
and seek a life
of second marriage bliss
would prove that he was faking
when he lingered on The Kiss!
A statement they were making
when they lingered on The Kiss!
The cameramen were shaking
when they lingered on The Kiss!
We laughed so hard we’re aching!
Some record they were breaking!
We knew that he was faking when
he lingered on The Kiss!
MMMMMMMMM-WAH!( they blow a kiss )
Grifter two: Lily, dear, by thine own words you put
Albertus here this night to seek naught but your affection,
and for no ulterior purpose beyond this trifling tryst.
Lily: He loves me!
Seema: You must look quite young for your age, dear.
Lily: He loves me!
Grifter four: Ee-may, oo-tay, a-by-bay!
Grifter three: None among us denies thy considerable charms, Lily,
and doubtless Albertus succumbed as well, despite what would appear
to be a most unnatural resistance and reserve which oft
would stay his hand from reaching for a grander prize.
No offense, dear.
Grifter one: Yo,daddy, chill! Cat loves the fox-ee lay-dee!
Grifter two: So now the fog of mystery clears itself, and
we need fear no threat from this unhappy quarter!
Away, then, to groves where we may cultivate more
tasteful dates. (the Grifters and Seema exit)
Lily: He loves me!
Albertus: Unnnnnnnnhhhhhhhh.......
******************************
End of scene one of the Second Act
******************************
Scene two, further down the block.
Grifter four:Thus did I find him lying as I approached the diner only moments ago, made late for our appointment by a messenger from Croftus.
Grifter two: What news of that fellow?
Grifter three: O-may o-fay, yellow jello! (Spits into gutter)
Grifter four: His promise of a larger cut made good with this! (hands an envelope to Grifter three)
Grifter three: The twenty K returns un beckoned, and we recover our first interest on the scam much sooner than we reckoned!
Grifter one: But not enough to cover the Colombian outlay! We’re still way short!
Grifter number two: May fortunes lengthen with the day as we move up the chain and seek out Bushus! Off, now, and sleep, for dawn may bring a challenge greater than these weaker links that we have thus far met.
Exeunt
*********************
Scene three, the cave of the sorceress Bonitia, that same evening.
Dickus and Bonitia are in deep conference over a long and richly finished table which seems to glow with an inner light.
Dickus: Most excellent! Each puppet jumps to but the lightest touch of string, from Titus down to these four roustabouts! And pawns we’ve also made of Seema and the paltry postal clerk! Loser, indeed! Although her hunk assessment may tend to soften my appraisal of that lady...
Bonitia: In thy dreams, Dickus.
Dickus: A joke, Bonitia, though thou knowest more than any that the mind of Dickus has no focus save for bringing down this evil axis. Until then, sex is off the table!
Bonitia: On the floor then, if thou fearest higher planes?
Dickus: On the back burner, should we seek a wider range of options!
Bonitia: Then would we each be too hot to handle!
Dickus: As thou art now, a match head made in heaven! Now stop, please, for banter eases tension, and we walk a high wire with this grasping group! Any slackening of purpose could tip our hand and trip our feet.
Bonitia: So you would win this contest by default?
Dickus: Then I yield to you, as always, and bear the fault myself. (to himself) upon the shoulders of a hunk...
Bonitia: I heard that, fool! Thou hast forgotten in thy inflated self-appraisal that in our bond there are no bounds! I can read your mind!
Dickus: Oops!
Bonitia: Oops, indeed, and oops for many other times I’ve held my eyebrows at an even level.
Dickus: Ah well, I knew you were the best! The ants come with the picnic.
Bonitia: Say “Uncle” then, and end it!
Dickus: Touche’, touche’, it’s all relative! I give! (he bows deeply)
Bonitia: Then back to business!
They resume their examination of the table top, which appears to hold the destinies of all our players in its dark reflections, like the deep pool of an ancient and forbidding grotto filled with the souls of all who have ever lived. ***************************
end of scene three, act the second
***************************
Scene four of the Second Act
The sunlit patio of Just Desserts, summer home of Bushus and Barbarosa at the exclusive seaside community of Puerto Bunka, where only very expensive yachts are allowed to sail. Bushus and Dubus are reclining on canvas sling chairs, and each wears an ill-fitting white terry bathrobe embroidered with a “Ralph Lauren Polo” shield and coat of arms.
Bushus: Sure am glad you could make it up this weekend, son. Don’t see enough of ya these days.
Dubus: I like to spend my birthdays here, dad. Mom always makes my favorite cake, and I get to take the robes back to Bigsville when I leave.
Bushus: Sam’s Club, Dubus. Get ‘em by the bale. Give ‘em to everybody!
Dubus: But this one was in gift wrap on my bed...
Bushus: That’s your mom, Dubus! A penny saved, ya know? And there’s still the cake, just for you! Have to order it a week in advance!
Dubus: Mom says she makes that cake!
Bushus: Makes the call, son. Only the call. Can’t stand to be around those girls in the kitchen!
Dubus: Who, Maria and Sonia? Why, mom raised those two like her own daughters, didn’t she?
Bushus: You were off at boarding school then, son. Read that homelife garbage in the magazines. All show! Girls lived in tool shed I cleaned up for ‘em. Slept in a wheelbarrow. Found ‘em down in Texilia one night out on the highway, and your mom says, “let’s take ‘em home, need the help!”
Dubus: But they seem so grateful and faithful!
Bushus: Illegals, Dubus. No cards, no documentation! Treat us like royalty so we won’t turn ‘em in!
Dubus: But it’s been thirty five years, dad!
Bushus: No social security, no pension, save a bundle there, son. Mom runs a tight ship! Gotta give her credit!
Dubus: Jeez Louise!
Barbarosa enters and tips over the lounge chairs the two men are seated in.
Barbarosa: Feet off the furniture, imbeciles!
Dubus: But mom, these are lounge chairs with footrests built in!
Barbarosa: Go to bed if you’re so goddam tired! And take off that bathrobe! Open your presents when the cake comes out! Spoiled little brat, can’t wait to grab, grab, grab, like those two in the kitchen! Gave ‘em everything, and it’s not enough! Now they want to go back to Texilia and find their family! Hah! We’re their goddam family. Dubus, get one of your people on this case! Immigration, I.R.S., whatever! Miserable ingrates! Make ‘em pay!
Bushus: Now, Rosa, hon, stuff rubs off, ya know. Too close to this one. Best to let it go, bite the bullet, swallow that pride of yours, sweetie.
Barbarosa: Swallow this, you gutless jackass!
With a sweeping gesture, Barbarosa lifts a water tumbler from a small table and throws its contents at her husband. He ducks, and the water hits Dubus, soaking his Ralph Lauren Polo Sam’s Club terry bathrobe.
Dubus: Aw, mom, my new robe!
Barbarosa: Not yours until the cake! The cake! Jee-sus Christ am I sick of you two imbeciles! (Barbarosa exits)
Dubus: Aw, shoot! Now I’m all wet!
Bushus: Sun’ll dry ya right up, kiddo. Here, let’s set these chairs back up and stretch out a bit.
Dubus: But mom said...
Bushus: No sweat, there, bud, she’ll forget all this in two shakes. Up to the bathroom, grab a smoke and a couple of shots and it’s back to Mayberry!
A cell phone rings and Bushus reaches into the pocket of his robe.
Bushus: How ya doin’!
Titus: Titus, here, guy. Can you talk?
Bushus: No can do, chief. Family event today. Love fest! Big birthday gathering!
Titus: Oh, god, that’s right! Dubus has a birthday this weekend! How in hell has he lived this long, anyhow, not run over by a bus or thrown off a horse? Or more likely vice versa!
Bushus: No idea, pal. Wonder the same thing. Mysteries of the universe.
Titus: Do you think he could have fallen from the crib as an infant?
Bushus: More likely a drop than a fall, mommy-wise.
Titus: He right there, now?
Bushus: Arm’s reach.
Titus: Well, okay, just wanted to tell you that it’s smooth sailing out here. Croftus and his four clowns are churning up the feed lot for the penny ante action, and Dubus is still so focused on that little ant hill that he can’t see the mountain being carried away underneath it. That your take on things?
Bushus: That’s my boy! (He winks at Dubus, who smiles broadly and waves back.)
Titus: Great, then. Over and out!
Bushus: Roger that, pal! (He rings off and puts away the phone)
Dubus: Who’s Roger, dad?
Bushus: Not a Roger, kiddo! Your Uncle Danno, called to wish you a many happy!
Dubus: Uncle Danno! Golly, I haven’t talked to him for weeks! How’s come you didn’t put me on the phone, pop?
Bushus: Wanted to, son, but he ran out of quarters and the Seven Eleven manager wouldn’t give him change. Said Danno shouldn’t be using the phone on company time.
Dubus: Oh, heck. He tell you they gave him a raise and then took it back because he drank too many of those Slurpee things?
Bushus: Yeah, the poor guy just can’t get ahead, can he?
Dubus: Well, gee, dad, with me the leader of the free world and all, I wish I could give him a really big job someplace in government! I ought to be able to help my friends. How’s come you say I shouldn’t?
Bushus: Son, you’re helping them more than you’ll ever know!
Dubus: In a spiritual way, you mean, right?
Bushus: And what could be more important than that, son? Why, that’s absolutely everything worth living for, isn’t it?
Dubus: You and Titus always say it is, and so far you’ve never been wrong.
Bushus: Hold that thought, kiddo, hold that thought.
*****************
Curtain, end of scene four of the second act
*****************
Monday, February 14, 2005
Titus Moronicus, part two
Part the second: Titus Moronicus, a history play
presented by The Dick Times: News that Bites!
Note to readers: this issue and a few that follow are
reprints of three year old material. New characters
and scenes will soon be added, thus bringing
everything up to date so that it still really bites.
For dramatis personae and earlier scenes please
see part one, an earlier posting. No synopses will
be provided as the serial continues to appear.
ed.
*************************************
Scene four, the book lined study of Dickus.
Dickus is reading a manuscript of the first
three scenes of a history play, “Titus Moronicus”.
Dickus, to himself: This is so cool I can’t stand it!
Sophia Loren, offstage : Dickus, cara, please come back to bed.
I miss you so much!
Dickus: Later, baby, and please don’t bother me
while I’m reading Scene Five, a garden apartment in Bigsville. Dubus and Laurinia are seated at a crude wooden table in the the kitchen. Dubus is drinking a root beer float through a straw.
Laurinia: Dubus, dear, please don’t make those disgusting sucking noises at the bottom of the cup. If you’re still hungry we can get you another one.
Dubus: Oh, foo! I don’t care about this treat or about anything else, except for what Ronus Balonius told me.
Laurinia: Oh, don’t worry about that cranky nut, Dickus. No one really knows that he’s alive, and besides, the few people that do read his trashy propaganda wind up throwing it away without passing it along to like minded literate friends.
Dubus: Well, I guess so, but with so much riding on this Croftus deal it seems like a bad time to take chances. There are millions at stake here! Maybe even as much as twenty million!
Laurinia: Wow, sweetie, that’s more than I make at the nail salon, for sure!
Dubus: Jeez Louise! Tell me about it!
******************************************
Scene Six, the counting room at Moronicus, Inc., a secret off -shore corporation out in the Gulf Stream someplace where only very important yachts are allowed to sail. Titus Moronicus and several close associates are going over the books.
Titus: Okay, Anderson, what do you come up with here?
Anderson: Well, boss, it looks like we’ve got about 500 billion loaded in and at least that much more on the way if that sap Dubus doesn’t catch on or screw up.
Titus: Don’t worry about that half wit! He still counts on his fingers and toes, so twenty of anything is about as far as he can get.
A cell phone rings, and Titus takes the call.
Titus: Speak.
Bushus, on the phone from Puerto Bunka: Titus, it’s me, Bushus. How ya doin’
out there in the old Bermuda Triangle?
Titus: Bushus! Great to hear from you! How’s that angel of yours, Barbarosa?
Bushus: Oh, you know those gals, Titus! What would we do without ‘em!
Titus: Hey, I hear ya, pal. So what’s up?
Bushus: Just got a call from that son of mine, Dubus. Sounds worried! Been talking to clouds or some nutty thing. Got to keep our eyes on him. Not good. Might get worse. Croftus looks like he’s out to run a scam from the inside, try to skim from both ends, a flim flam skim scam. Man, oh man!
Titus: Does Dubus know anything about this skim scam?
Bushus: Nah, he’s still in jammies
when it comes to flim flamming!
Thinks the meter man collects quarters
from the fuse box!
Drops coins in slot I cut in footlocker!
When gas guy knocks on door to read usage,
Dubus sees to it locker’s full,
leaves key under mat, my guys get dough,
Dubus gets fuel bill in mail, sends in check,
rubs neck and goes “Hey... ! What the heck?”
Titus: And then forgets about it and does the same thing next month, right?
Bushus: Did we pick a winner here, or what?
Titus: You da man!
*************************************
Scene Seven, a branch post office in Roma Cosa Nostra (RCN), a shady middle class neighborhood of Bigsville. Dickus stands at the counter speaking with Kristus Bellus, the postmistress, who is also a government informer.
Dickus: Golly, Kristus, I don’t understand why I never get any mail.
Kristus Bellus: Well, Dickus, it’s because your account has been deactivated. You got so few messages that we gave your box number to Fox News, which was just overflowing!
Dickus: Oh. Gee. Well. Okay, then, g’bye. (exits to left)
Kristus Bellus, aside: Wow! That guy is kind of a hunk! Too bad he’s such a loser.
Kristus Bellus reaches into her handbag and withdraws a sleek new state-of-the-art cell phone. She hums an A flat below middle C and the pre- programmed number of Croftus is sent into the ether. A buzzing indicates that contact has been made.
Croftus: Big Cee, here.
Kristus Bellus: Big Cee? Kay Bee.
Just saw writer guy.
He whined to know why
none buy into Dubus bashing.
I keep trashing his mail,
won’t fail to keep smashing his ego down,
but to no avail if you clowns don’t stop
thrashing in the water,
making waves so sharks smell fear,
queer Potomia deal !
Croftus: You gonna squeal?
Kristus Bellus: Lips sealed !
Won’t reveal a thing
if you peel off more dough,
give me ring to come pick up my share.
Don’t care about fool Dickus,
just want my cut of fat nut you’ve got for Bushus.
Croftus: And Dubus?
Kristus Bellus: He’s non compos mentis!
**************************************
**************************************
End of Act One!
**************************************
Entre Acte, a delightful musical interval
**************************************
Three minstrels, Goofus, Doofus, and Bandoneon
appear on stage, wave engagingly to the audience,
and begin to sing :
*
A mess of mass proportions
set in motion by these crooks!
They’ll steal us into bankruptcy
and keep it off the books!
And those who point a finger,
blow a whistle,
or make waves,
are painted as seditious
by these avaricious knaves!
Are painted as seditious!
A calumny most vicious!
Are made to seem seditious
by these avaricious knaves!
*
In every fair election
there are bound to be mistakes!
But now the state that gave us Gators
sends us poison snakes!
We’re climbing through a family tree
to see who’s most corrupt,
and squeezing all the fruits we find
until they all erupt!
So carefully we’re climbing!
So freely are we sliming!
And we’ll continue with our rhymes
until they all erupt!
*
We read the papers every day
to look for fresh examples,
It never takes us very long
to find revealing samples!
So many revelations of
a scandal in the press!
How deep the roots of rottenness
is anybody’s guess!
Our fingers black and inky!
The stories are so stinky!
And where this train is taking us
is anybody’s guess!
We know we sound malicious!
Of Dubus we’re suspicious!
We’ll do what’s deemed propitious
to redeem us from this mess!
We need some whistle tooters
and special prosecutors
to bust these pinstripe looters
and redeem us from this mess!
We hope we have your blessing!
The news is so depressing!
And if they start confessing,
they’ll redeem us from this mess!
Redeem us!
Redeem us,
please redeem us from this mess!
******************************
The minstrels exit to delirious applause.
*******************************
Intermission
presented by The Dick Times: News that Bites!
Note to readers: this issue and a few that follow are
reprints of three year old material. New characters
and scenes will soon be added, thus bringing
everything up to date so that it still really bites.
For dramatis personae and earlier scenes please
see part one, an earlier posting. No synopses will
be provided as the serial continues to appear.
ed.
*************************************
Scene four, the book lined study of Dickus.
Dickus is reading a manuscript of the first
three scenes of a history play, “Titus Moronicus”.
Dickus, to himself: This is so cool I can’t stand it!
Sophia Loren, offstage : Dickus, cara, please come back to bed.
I miss you so much!
Dickus: Later, baby, and please don’t bother me
while I’m reading Scene Five, a garden apartment in Bigsville. Dubus and Laurinia are seated at a crude wooden table in the the kitchen. Dubus is drinking a root beer float through a straw.
Laurinia: Dubus, dear, please don’t make those disgusting sucking noises at the bottom of the cup. If you’re still hungry we can get you another one.
Dubus: Oh, foo! I don’t care about this treat or about anything else, except for what Ronus Balonius told me.
Laurinia: Oh, don’t worry about that cranky nut, Dickus. No one really knows that he’s alive, and besides, the few people that do read his trashy propaganda wind up throwing it away without passing it along to like minded literate friends.
Dubus: Well, I guess so, but with so much riding on this Croftus deal it seems like a bad time to take chances. There are millions at stake here! Maybe even as much as twenty million!
Laurinia: Wow, sweetie, that’s more than I make at the nail salon, for sure!
Dubus: Jeez Louise! Tell me about it!
******************************************
Scene Six, the counting room at Moronicus, Inc., a secret off -shore corporation out in the Gulf Stream someplace where only very important yachts are allowed to sail. Titus Moronicus and several close associates are going over the books.
Titus: Okay, Anderson, what do you come up with here?
Anderson: Well, boss, it looks like we’ve got about 500 billion loaded in and at least that much more on the way if that sap Dubus doesn’t catch on or screw up.
Titus: Don’t worry about that half wit! He still counts on his fingers and toes, so twenty of anything is about as far as he can get.
A cell phone rings, and Titus takes the call.
Titus: Speak.
Bushus, on the phone from Puerto Bunka: Titus, it’s me, Bushus. How ya doin’
out there in the old Bermuda Triangle?
Titus: Bushus! Great to hear from you! How’s that angel of yours, Barbarosa?
Bushus: Oh, you know those gals, Titus! What would we do without ‘em!
Titus: Hey, I hear ya, pal. So what’s up?
Bushus: Just got a call from that son of mine, Dubus. Sounds worried! Been talking to clouds or some nutty thing. Got to keep our eyes on him. Not good. Might get worse. Croftus looks like he’s out to run a scam from the inside, try to skim from both ends, a flim flam skim scam. Man, oh man!
Titus: Does Dubus know anything about this skim scam?
Bushus: Nah, he’s still in jammies
when it comes to flim flamming!
Thinks the meter man collects quarters
from the fuse box!
Drops coins in slot I cut in footlocker!
When gas guy knocks on door to read usage,
Dubus sees to it locker’s full,
leaves key under mat, my guys get dough,
Dubus gets fuel bill in mail, sends in check,
rubs neck and goes “Hey... ! What the heck?”
Titus: And then forgets about it and does the same thing next month, right?
Bushus: Did we pick a winner here, or what?
Titus: You da man!
*************************************
Scene Seven, a branch post office in Roma Cosa Nostra (RCN), a shady middle class neighborhood of Bigsville. Dickus stands at the counter speaking with Kristus Bellus, the postmistress, who is also a government informer.
Dickus: Golly, Kristus, I don’t understand why I never get any mail.
Kristus Bellus: Well, Dickus, it’s because your account has been deactivated. You got so few messages that we gave your box number to Fox News, which was just overflowing!
Dickus: Oh. Gee. Well. Okay, then, g’bye. (exits to left)
Kristus Bellus, aside: Wow! That guy is kind of a hunk! Too bad he’s such a loser.
Kristus Bellus reaches into her handbag and withdraws a sleek new state-of-the-art cell phone. She hums an A flat below middle C and the pre- programmed number of Croftus is sent into the ether. A buzzing indicates that contact has been made.
Croftus: Big Cee, here.
Kristus Bellus: Big Cee? Kay Bee.
Just saw writer guy.
He whined to know why
none buy into Dubus bashing.
I keep trashing his mail,
won’t fail to keep smashing his ego down,
but to no avail if you clowns don’t stop
thrashing in the water,
making waves so sharks smell fear,
queer Potomia deal !
Croftus: You gonna squeal?
Kristus Bellus: Lips sealed !
Won’t reveal a thing
if you peel off more dough,
give me ring to come pick up my share.
Don’t care about fool Dickus,
just want my cut of fat nut you’ve got for Bushus.
Croftus: And Dubus?
Kristus Bellus: He’s non compos mentis!
**************************************
**************************************
End of Act One!
**************************************
Entre Acte, a delightful musical interval
**************************************
Three minstrels, Goofus, Doofus, and Bandoneon
appear on stage, wave engagingly to the audience,
and begin to sing :
*
A mess of mass proportions
set in motion by these crooks!
They’ll steal us into bankruptcy
and keep it off the books!
And those who point a finger,
blow a whistle,
or make waves,
are painted as seditious
by these avaricious knaves!
Are painted as seditious!
A calumny most vicious!
Are made to seem seditious
by these avaricious knaves!
*
In every fair election
there are bound to be mistakes!
But now the state that gave us Gators
sends us poison snakes!
We’re climbing through a family tree
to see who’s most corrupt,
and squeezing all the fruits we find
until they all erupt!
So carefully we’re climbing!
So freely are we sliming!
And we’ll continue with our rhymes
until they all erupt!
*
We read the papers every day
to look for fresh examples,
It never takes us very long
to find revealing samples!
So many revelations of
a scandal in the press!
How deep the roots of rottenness
is anybody’s guess!
Our fingers black and inky!
The stories are so stinky!
And where this train is taking us
is anybody’s guess!
We know we sound malicious!
Of Dubus we’re suspicious!
We’ll do what’s deemed propitious
to redeem us from this mess!
We need some whistle tooters
and special prosecutors
to bust these pinstripe looters
and redeem us from this mess!
We hope we have your blessing!
The news is so depressing!
And if they start confessing,
they’ll redeem us from this mess!
Redeem us!
Redeem us,
please redeem us from this mess!
******************************
The minstrels exit to delirious applause.
*******************************
Intermission
Monday, February 07, 2005
Titus Moronicus, a history play
Here follows the serialized republication of Titus Moronicus,
a dramatic effort that was interrupted two years ago ( a case
of Titus Interruptus ) and has not yet concluded. More episodes
will be posted as they are written.
From Lincoln Avenue,
THE DICK TIMES
NEWS THAT BITES!
PRESENTS:
TITUS MORONICUS, A HISTORY PLAY
IN A FEW ACTS AND
SEVERAL PERMUTABLE SCENES
The players:
Titus Moronicus, a purveyor of fragrant oils
Dubus, his bagman
Bushus, father to Dubus
Barbarosa, wife to Bushus
Croftus, an evil schemer and
water carrier to Dubus
Dickus, a noble scribe
Laurinia, a concubine
Bonitia, a sorceress
Ronus Balonius, a ghost
Goofus, Doofus, and Bandoneon, three minstrels
The Cattae, two house pets
Kristus Bellus, a postmistress
and assorted drifters, grifters, and innocent gapers
The place: Bigsville, capital of Bucksania, a country truly blessed
The time: this afternoon
Scene one:
Dubus is lying on the grass in front of Casa Blanca, a large white mansion which Dubus thinks of as his own, but which was actually stolen by Titus Moronicus in a Florida land swindle.
White fluffy clouds float across the sky, and Dubus, a fellow of rich and fanciful imagination, tries to assign anthropomorphic names to the cloud shapes.
Dubus: Popcorn ball....no, cotton candy!.....No, snowball...no, scoop of vanilla, yeah, that’s the ticket! Dubus loves vanilla!
The Cloud: No, Dubus, not ice cream, but I, Ronus Balonius, ghost of Casa Blanca past and mentor to thy father, Bushus.
Dubus, in disbelief: Get the (*) outta here!
Ghost: No, Dubus, I communicate only the truth, or I am not a world war two combat veteran.
Dubus: You’re not anyhow! You just played one in the movies!
Ghost: Just as you, Dubus, have only played at being chief of Casa Blanca, while it is well known that your father, Bushus, appointed Titus to run Bucksania. You are but a figurehead, like those wooden carvings on old sailing ships, or like a wooden cigar store Indian, or like Pinocchio, Charlie McCarthy, Jerry Mahoney, Howdy Doody, or....
Dubus: All right! So what? Who cares, anyhow?
Ghost: Very few care now, Dubus, but Dickus is trying to engage the public in a critical dialogue regarding thy faux stewardship in Casa Blanca. Do you know Dickus?
Dubus: That old fool? Who listens to him withal.
Ghost: His audience grows, Dubus, and with it his daring and ambition! Take precautions to guard thyself from his pernicious mischief.
Dubus: A viscous handkerchief? A vicious indian chief? What's that to me? He's just some crackpot with a pen. Why, down in Texilia we'd have him thrown off a cliff. Or frame him for tax evasion. Or inject him in the Big House!
Ghost: You're not in Texilia anymore, Dubus. Guard thyself! Guard thyself! Guard.....
The voice fades as the cloud drifts off and dematerializes in a vaporous and insubstantial haze, its natural state.
Dubus, appearing anxious and somewhat agitated, arises from the lawn and exits while speaking to himself: Must tell Laurinia, must tell Laurinia.....
**************************************
Scene Two, in which we meet new characters in a new venue,"Just Desserts", an elegant but tastefully restrained villa in Puerto Bunka by-the-Sea, the summer home of Bushus and his wife, Barbarosa.
These two are found seated at an umbrella shaded table, drinking sun tea from a recycled institutional size Sam's Club kosher pickle jar.
Bushus: Tea tastes kinda funny, Rosa.
Barbarosa: Well, that goddam new maid we brought up from Texilia keeps breaking the crystal tea jugs! We should fire the stupid bitch!
Bushus: Can't do it, hon. Need the Texilia vote in the box for Dubus come next election. Can't go on counting on a cracker meltdown forever.
Barbarosa: Goddammit! Look at that rotten little mongrel! He's digging in the zinnia again! Go get the shotgun, you idiot!
Bushus: Now, hon, bad press, there. Can't do it. Too much noise and blood. Folks out there like their pets.
Barbarosa: Stinking little dog! Half witted son, Dubus! Idiot husband! Do I deserve all this crap?
Bushus: Rosa, hon, you've been just the best wife and mommy a family could ever hope for. We all love ya, Rosa, hon. Do anything for ya.
Barbarosa: Then drop dead, you pathetic fool!
Bushus: Can't do it, hon.
****************************
Scene Three, a street corner in Potomia, Bigsville's most notorious slum.
Croftus is in serious negotiation with three degraded and disheveled looking men dressed in tattered chalk stripe suits and greasy yellow "power" ties. Croftus wears a curious headpiece made from a skullcap with a bill-like curved eyeshade projecting form its lower edge. The front of the cap is decorated with an illumination which bears the legend “Feces occursum est”.
Croftus: Bless you, brethren, but thy lucre,
though certainly filthy enough,
is vastly insufficient to the task at hand.
Grifter number two: Croftus, thou deceitful hypocrite! This fortnight past did’st thou extract from us four stone’s weight of purest Colombian as good faith on the prospect currently to hand, and now the price has risen threefold! And by thy whim or fancy,
but for no cause beyond thy most capricious greed!
What sayest thou to this charge
of most pernicious perfidy?
Croftus points to his hat.
Grifter number two: Speak, mute,
hold not thy tongue from twisting in upon itself
to form an auger which shall only serve
to bore more holes through further tales
of self- incriminating obfuscation.
Croftus points to his hat.
Grifter number three: Croftus, thy cap doth prove thee false,
for what a man weareth tells nothing of the inner self,
while hats that talk can but make sport of truth’s divinity!
Croftus points to his hat.
Grifter number two: Forsooth, thou art forsworn
by such a juvenile adornment!
Speak aloud! Give natural voice
to all the lies that Dubus bids you to convey!
Croftus points to his hat.
Grifter number three: Would that some exalted god
whose wisdom fathoms far beyond
the depths that we mere crawling, mewling worms
can comprehend now whisper to my ear
the reason why a crown of such exalted excellence
should lie upon a head so low as that of Dubus!
Croftus points to his hat.
************************
a dramatic effort that was interrupted two years ago ( a case
of Titus Interruptus ) and has not yet concluded. More episodes
will be posted as they are written.
From Lincoln Avenue,
THE DICK TIMES
NEWS THAT BITES!
PRESENTS:
TITUS MORONICUS, A HISTORY PLAY
IN A FEW ACTS AND
SEVERAL PERMUTABLE SCENES
The players:
Titus Moronicus, a purveyor of fragrant oils
Dubus, his bagman
Bushus, father to Dubus
Barbarosa, wife to Bushus
Croftus, an evil schemer and
water carrier to Dubus
Dickus, a noble scribe
Laurinia, a concubine
Bonitia, a sorceress
Ronus Balonius, a ghost
Goofus, Doofus, and Bandoneon, three minstrels
The Cattae, two house pets
Kristus Bellus, a postmistress
and assorted drifters, grifters, and innocent gapers
The place: Bigsville, capital of Bucksania, a country truly blessed
The time: this afternoon
Scene one:
Dubus is lying on the grass in front of Casa Blanca, a large white mansion which Dubus thinks of as his own, but which was actually stolen by Titus Moronicus in a Florida land swindle.
White fluffy clouds float across the sky, and Dubus, a fellow of rich and fanciful imagination, tries to assign anthropomorphic names to the cloud shapes.
Dubus: Popcorn ball....no, cotton candy!.....No, snowball...no, scoop of vanilla, yeah, that’s the ticket! Dubus loves vanilla!
The Cloud: No, Dubus, not ice cream, but I, Ronus Balonius, ghost of Casa Blanca past and mentor to thy father, Bushus.
Dubus, in disbelief: Get the (*) outta here!
Ghost: No, Dubus, I communicate only the truth, or I am not a world war two combat veteran.
Dubus: You’re not anyhow! You just played one in the movies!
Ghost: Just as you, Dubus, have only played at being chief of Casa Blanca, while it is well known that your father, Bushus, appointed Titus to run Bucksania. You are but a figurehead, like those wooden carvings on old sailing ships, or like a wooden cigar store Indian, or like Pinocchio, Charlie McCarthy, Jerry Mahoney, Howdy Doody, or....
Dubus: All right! So what? Who cares, anyhow?
Ghost: Very few care now, Dubus, but Dickus is trying to engage the public in a critical dialogue regarding thy faux stewardship in Casa Blanca. Do you know Dickus?
Dubus: That old fool? Who listens to him withal.
Ghost: His audience grows, Dubus, and with it his daring and ambition! Take precautions to guard thyself from his pernicious mischief.
Dubus: A viscous handkerchief? A vicious indian chief? What's that to me? He's just some crackpot with a pen. Why, down in Texilia we'd have him thrown off a cliff. Or frame him for tax evasion. Or inject him in the Big House!
Ghost: You're not in Texilia anymore, Dubus. Guard thyself! Guard thyself! Guard.....
The voice fades as the cloud drifts off and dematerializes in a vaporous and insubstantial haze, its natural state.
Dubus, appearing anxious and somewhat agitated, arises from the lawn and exits while speaking to himself: Must tell Laurinia, must tell Laurinia.....
**************************************
Scene Two, in which we meet new characters in a new venue,"Just Desserts", an elegant but tastefully restrained villa in Puerto Bunka by-the-Sea, the summer home of Bushus and his wife, Barbarosa.
These two are found seated at an umbrella shaded table, drinking sun tea from a recycled institutional size Sam's Club kosher pickle jar.
Bushus: Tea tastes kinda funny, Rosa.
Barbarosa: Well, that goddam new maid we brought up from Texilia keeps breaking the crystal tea jugs! We should fire the stupid bitch!
Bushus: Can't do it, hon. Need the Texilia vote in the box for Dubus come next election. Can't go on counting on a cracker meltdown forever.
Barbarosa: Goddammit! Look at that rotten little mongrel! He's digging in the zinnia again! Go get the shotgun, you idiot!
Bushus: Now, hon, bad press, there. Can't do it. Too much noise and blood. Folks out there like their pets.
Barbarosa: Stinking little dog! Half witted son, Dubus! Idiot husband! Do I deserve all this crap?
Bushus: Rosa, hon, you've been just the best wife and mommy a family could ever hope for. We all love ya, Rosa, hon. Do anything for ya.
Barbarosa: Then drop dead, you pathetic fool!
Bushus: Can't do it, hon.
****************************
Scene Three, a street corner in Potomia, Bigsville's most notorious slum.
Croftus is in serious negotiation with three degraded and disheveled looking men dressed in tattered chalk stripe suits and greasy yellow "power" ties. Croftus wears a curious headpiece made from a skullcap with a bill-like curved eyeshade projecting form its lower edge. The front of the cap is decorated with an illumination which bears the legend “Feces occursum est”.
Croftus: Bless you, brethren, but thy lucre,
though certainly filthy enough,
is vastly insufficient to the task at hand.
Grifter number two: Croftus, thou deceitful hypocrite! This fortnight past did’st thou extract from us four stone’s weight of purest Colombian as good faith on the prospect currently to hand, and now the price has risen threefold! And by thy whim or fancy,
but for no cause beyond thy most capricious greed!
What sayest thou to this charge
of most pernicious perfidy?
Croftus points to his hat.
Grifter number two: Speak, mute,
hold not thy tongue from twisting in upon itself
to form an auger which shall only serve
to bore more holes through further tales
of self- incriminating obfuscation.
Croftus points to his hat.
Grifter number three: Croftus, thy cap doth prove thee false,
for what a man weareth tells nothing of the inner self,
while hats that talk can but make sport of truth’s divinity!
Croftus points to his hat.
Grifter number two: Forsooth, thou art forsworn
by such a juvenile adornment!
Speak aloud! Give natural voice
to all the lies that Dubus bids you to convey!
Croftus points to his hat.
Grifter number three: Would that some exalted god
whose wisdom fathoms far beyond
the depths that we mere crawling, mewling worms
can comprehend now whisper to my ear
the reason why a crown of such exalted excellence
should lie upon a head so low as that of Dubus!
Croftus points to his hat.
************************
Thursday, February 03, 2005
The Fate of the Union
The Dick Times:News that Bites!
Dateline the Capitol, 2 Feb. year of the post turtle
Chinese “Capitalism renews all energies” calendar
The Fate of the Union!
George Bush Deuce recites the gospel
Rove hath writ
in hopes of writing history
as he sees fit.
Red horde shouts “Hallelujah, lord!”
and climbs on board the bus to Dubbyville
as Bush continues spooning up
more irritating swill.
Our nation is now safer
with the fourteen hundred dead
the war has cost so far
and purple fingers wave in unison to prove it!
The moms whose kids have died protecting them
from bad Saddam
might wonder where the weapon that he had
to kill us all has gone:
did Rumsfeld secretly remove it ?
Our triumph over evil in Iraq
reduces disappointment
with the fact
that one who started all this rolling
in ought one
is still at large:
all six foot four of him.
Chances that Bin Laden will be caught
are slim to naught
given that he’s bigger
than the Beatles
in his land.
More close to hand, the fiscal dice are rolling down the felt
and all our S.S. numbers
may soon melt away,
but many Wall Street brokers will rejoice the day
this C.C. Rider made his play
(that’s Compashnit Cornserv’tive to ya’ll)
Dying broke now good for you, sez Dub
so older folks who didn’t rake it in
through corporate sleaze
will no more rest at ease
through medicaid-
Team Bush now pushes for
a cut in benefits to save four billion
in the next ten years,
the cost of six months fighting wars
to make the world safe for Halliburton,
Baptists, and a franchise for G.E.
The god stays in the picture for the G.O.P.
and what Saint Paul
and Calvin once proclaimed
is fast becoming carved in D.C. stone
or destined for the constitution
This pious simpleton and acolytes
have lied and schemed
to show us what the good old days
we never had
were like
when wars were worthy of our lives
and we all slumbered under Ike
before the negroes acted up
and kids decided not to die
because some state department
said they should.
Dick sez: would you risk your life for Rice?
Does that come with lobster bisque?
http://thedicktimes.blogspot.com
Dateline the Capitol, 2 Feb. year of the post turtle
Chinese “Capitalism renews all energies” calendar
The Fate of the Union!
George Bush Deuce recites the gospel
Rove hath writ
in hopes of writing history
as he sees fit.
Red horde shouts “Hallelujah, lord!”
and climbs on board the bus to Dubbyville
as Bush continues spooning up
more irritating swill.
Our nation is now safer
with the fourteen hundred dead
the war has cost so far
and purple fingers wave in unison to prove it!
The moms whose kids have died protecting them
from bad Saddam
might wonder where the weapon that he had
to kill us all has gone:
did Rumsfeld secretly remove it ?
Our triumph over evil in Iraq
reduces disappointment
with the fact
that one who started all this rolling
in ought one
is still at large:
all six foot four of him.
Chances that Bin Laden will be caught
are slim to naught
given that he’s bigger
than the Beatles
in his land.
More close to hand, the fiscal dice are rolling down the felt
and all our S.S. numbers
may soon melt away,
but many Wall Street brokers will rejoice the day
this C.C. Rider made his play
(that’s Compashnit Cornserv’tive to ya’ll)
Dying broke now good for you, sez Dub
so older folks who didn’t rake it in
through corporate sleaze
will no more rest at ease
through medicaid-
Team Bush now pushes for
a cut in benefits to save four billion
in the next ten years,
the cost of six months fighting wars
to make the world safe for Halliburton,
Baptists, and a franchise for G.E.
The god stays in the picture for the G.O.P.
and what Saint Paul
and Calvin once proclaimed
is fast becoming carved in D.C. stone
or destined for the constitution
This pious simpleton and acolytes
have lied and schemed
to show us what the good old days
we never had
were like
when wars were worthy of our lives
and we all slumbered under Ike
before the negroes acted up
and kids decided not to die
because some state department
said they should.
Dick sez: would you risk your life for Rice?
Does that come with lobster bisque?
http://thedicktimes.blogspot.com
Sunday, January 30, 2005
Dick Reviews the week!
The Dick Times: News that Bites!
Dateline Dee Cee, 30 January, year of the post turtle
Chinese “New Entrepreneurs” calendar
News ot the week in review!
Rice crosses fingers twice in double oath taking!
Two swearing- ins required
to make her keep her word
to save us from
all enemies, both foreign and domestic.
Bless Dick if he doesn’t think
she’s a double-crosser!
*****************************************
And! Hillary climbs new heights of double-talk
and balks at all-out fight to back abortion rights!
Her aides stay up at night to parse these speeches
and she reaches out to move the hearts and minds
of those who hate her most
as ghost of Clintons past!
******************************************
And! Iraqi voters file gallantly to polls to cast their votes
thus making world safe from U.S. presence there!
It’s on the square and up and up says Bush
in push to give his boys a chance to bail-
we hope.
******************************************
And! Executives at DuPont voice objections
to talk of U.S. pullout
fearing fall in future orders for body bags
if killing lags behind market projections!
They seek congressional protections
of Viet Nam variety
when Napalm was the scent du jour:
it smelled like victory.
******************************************
Dick sez: when all this is history
will it still be so much fun?
Dateline Dee Cee, 30 January, year of the post turtle
Chinese “New Entrepreneurs” calendar
News ot the week in review!
Rice crosses fingers twice in double oath taking!
Two swearing- ins required
to make her keep her word
to save us from
all enemies, both foreign and domestic.
Bless Dick if he doesn’t think
she’s a double-crosser!
*****************************************
And! Hillary climbs new heights of double-talk
and balks at all-out fight to back abortion rights!
Her aides stay up at night to parse these speeches
and she reaches out to move the hearts and minds
of those who hate her most
as ghost of Clintons past!
******************************************
And! Iraqi voters file gallantly to polls to cast their votes
thus making world safe from U.S. presence there!
It’s on the square and up and up says Bush
in push to give his boys a chance to bail-
we hope.
******************************************
And! Executives at DuPont voice objections
to talk of U.S. pullout
fearing fall in future orders for body bags
if killing lags behind market projections!
They seek congressional protections
of Viet Nam variety
when Napalm was the scent du jour:
it smelled like victory.
******************************************
Dick sez: when all this is history
will it still be so much fun?
Tuesday, January 25, 2005
Dick does take-out
The Dick Times: News that Bites!
Dick does take-out!
Dateline the Capitol, 24 January year of the slug
revised Chinese calendar
Brown Rice is steamed by liberals
but doesn’t soften!
Dick sez: I often add some olive oil
to tenderize; try the extra virgin
Condoleezza rigid under rising tide
of criticizing!
Dick sez: not surprisingly, fried rice becomes
real crispy if it’s overcooked.
Some senators imply she should be booked
for passage out to Leavenworth!
Dick sez: when the server brings it to you overdone,
say “Hon, you suffer from a dearth of common sense;
this stuff’s too tough to chew!”
Bush sez tough Rice is good for you!
Dick sez: that guy knows beans about cuisine!
Scrape it off the plate and order menu number seventeen:
“Dim Dub Go Bai”
And: The Diquiz!
George W. Bush’s “war on terror” has thus far cost
the nation over three hundred B billion dollars in funds
spent or committed.
If Carl Sagan and Johnny Carson
were up in heaven now, would Carl make vivid to Johnny
the size of this pile by describing it as a stack of one dollar bills
reaching out to the edge of the solar system?
Dick does take-out!
Dateline the Capitol, 24 January year of the slug
revised Chinese calendar
Brown Rice is steamed by liberals
but doesn’t soften!
Dick sez: I often add some olive oil
to tenderize; try the extra virgin
Condoleezza rigid under rising tide
of criticizing!
Dick sez: not surprisingly, fried rice becomes
real crispy if it’s overcooked.
Some senators imply she should be booked
for passage out to Leavenworth!
Dick sez: when the server brings it to you overdone,
say “Hon, you suffer from a dearth of common sense;
this stuff’s too tough to chew!”
Bush sez tough Rice is good for you!
Dick sez: that guy knows beans about cuisine!
Scrape it off the plate and order menu number seventeen:
“Dim Dub Go Bai”
And: The Diquiz!
George W. Bush’s “war on terror” has thus far cost
the nation over three hundred B billion dollars in funds
spent or committed.
If Carl Sagan and Johnny Carson
were up in heaven now, would Carl make vivid to Johnny
the size of this pile by describing it as a stack of one dollar bills
reaching out to the edge of the solar system?
Wednesday, January 19, 2005
Hail Siezure!
The Dick Times: News that Bites!
Dateline Fortress DC, 20 January, year of the monkey, cont.
Hail Seizure!
So easy lies the head that sits beneath his crown
and this, the winter of our discontent,
will see no summer ‘til a new day dawns
in four more years.
In tears we’ll watch the army posting guard
so he can once again proclaim
“Bein’ president is real hard work!”
and all around the globe the world’s citizens
can scratch their chins and wonder
how a jerk like Dub could win the hearts and minds
of folks unduly blessed with everything
but common sense.
Dick sez: a mensa candidate he ain’t.
Dateline Fortress DC, 20 January, year of the monkey, cont.
Hail Seizure!
So easy lies the head that sits beneath his crown
and this, the winter of our discontent,
will see no summer ‘til a new day dawns
in four more years.
In tears we’ll watch the army posting guard
so he can once again proclaim
“Bein’ president is real hard work!”
and all around the globe the world’s citizens
can scratch their chins and wonder
how a jerk like Dub could win the hearts and minds
of folks unduly blessed with everything
but common sense.
Dick sez: a mensa candidate he ain’t.
Sunday, January 16, 2005
Dick Dubs an emperor!
The Dick Times: News that Bites!
Dateline DC, January ought five
Agenda frenzy in the offing
and Dick doffs cap to newly Dubbed
Faux George Third the Second
who now goes on to wreck the nation
by donning purple for inauguration!
With Darwin still in schools
and Jesus not yet on a twenty
there’s plenty for the Reds to work on
in the next four years!
Queers run rampant in our streets,
some New Deal stuff that still requires beating back,
no lack of sin to rail against and prayers to post
on court house doors!
Many wealthy still are taxed,
and death row inmates need to die
to learn their lesson!
Smith and Wesson wants us all
to own a gun
for sport,
and other sorts of Christian teachings
need to reach some stubborn ears!
Now that we have triumphed in Iraq
the troops will soon be back
to help keep order
should the Blues require
education
with the help of new best selling
Little Red Book.
Dick sez: look for that one soon at Borders.
And! The Diquiz!
How many elected Republicans does it take
to turn on a light bulb
over the head of the Democratic party?
Dateline DC, January ought five
Agenda frenzy in the offing
and Dick doffs cap to newly Dubbed
Faux George Third the Second
who now goes on to wreck the nation
by donning purple for inauguration!
With Darwin still in schools
and Jesus not yet on a twenty
there’s plenty for the Reds to work on
in the next four years!
Queers run rampant in our streets,
some New Deal stuff that still requires beating back,
no lack of sin to rail against and prayers to post
on court house doors!
Many wealthy still are taxed,
and death row inmates need to die
to learn their lesson!
Smith and Wesson wants us all
to own a gun
for sport,
and other sorts of Christian teachings
need to reach some stubborn ears!
Now that we have triumphed in Iraq
the troops will soon be back
to help keep order
should the Blues require
education
with the help of new best selling
Little Red Book.
Dick sez: look for that one soon at Borders.
And! The Diquiz!
How many elected Republicans does it take
to turn on a light bulb
over the head of the Democratic party?
Monday, January 10, 2005
Not so Speedy, please
The Dick Times: News that Bites!
Dateline The Rabbit Hole January ought five
Alice would have felt at home in Bush’s U.S.A.!
A weasel gets the senate’s nod for Justice Chief!
He personifies the metaphor “banality of evil”
in answers to the soft ball questions
on his take on torture!
“Oh, sure,” he says,” it’s easy to be gentle
to a gentleman, but don’t let’s spare
the red hot irons when guys are really bad!
A needle underneath the fingernail won’t kill you,
and if you’re innocent the pain will pass.
After all, this is the information age.”
This worm in human form is Dubby’s final answer
in the line of Red Horde A.G. picks!
Dick flicks his middle finger at Gonzales
and asks you to consider all these names below:
John Mitchell
Ed Meese
John Ashcroft
How many places were set at
The Mad Hatter’s tea party?
When will the Democrats arise
and finally, effectively, with some
degree of unanimity say
“Off with their heads!”
Oh, sorry, that would be capital punishment,
and three Democrats might not believe it’s
a deterrent to crime...( and as a consequence
probably won’t be reelected. )
Dateline The Rabbit Hole January ought five
Alice would have felt at home in Bush’s U.S.A.!
A weasel gets the senate’s nod for Justice Chief!
He personifies the metaphor “banality of evil”
in answers to the soft ball questions
on his take on torture!
“Oh, sure,” he says,” it’s easy to be gentle
to a gentleman, but don’t let’s spare
the red hot irons when guys are really bad!
A needle underneath the fingernail won’t kill you,
and if you’re innocent the pain will pass.
After all, this is the information age.”
This worm in human form is Dubby’s final answer
in the line of Red Horde A.G. picks!
Dick flicks his middle finger at Gonzales
and asks you to consider all these names below:
John Mitchell
Ed Meese
John Ashcroft
How many places were set at
The Mad Hatter’s tea party?
When will the Democrats arise
and finally, effectively, with some
degree of unanimity say
“Off with their heads!”
Oh, sorry, that would be capital punishment,
and three Democrats might not believe it’s
a deterrent to crime...( and as a consequence
probably won’t be reelected. )
Monday, January 03, 2005
Dick Times warning signs!
The Dick Times: News that Bites!
Dateline Indian Ocean, 2 January
RED ALERT! RED ALERT!
Jeb takes steps to larger stage
as Dub engages him in diplomatic role!
Another foal of guy from CIA
expresses his concern
in ways he learned
when hurricanes happened hard
in Florida!
The next red candidate for king
is stepping to the plate
before the latest crown is dropped
on brother’s sloping brow!
Dick sez: What now? Is this the “vision thing”
their old man talked about?
Could even Bobby Fischer
see this many moves ahead?
Dateline Indian Ocean, 2 January
RED ALERT! RED ALERT!
Jeb takes steps to larger stage
as Dub engages him in diplomatic role!
Another foal of guy from CIA
expresses his concern
in ways he learned
when hurricanes happened hard
in Florida!
The next red candidate for king
is stepping to the plate
before the latest crown is dropped
on brother’s sloping brow!
Dick sez: What now? Is this the “vision thing”
their old man talked about?
Could even Bobby Fischer
see this many moves ahead?
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