DESIRE in CHAINS

Story

Abbott v Costello

March 20, 2020 Writing

Abbott was a straight man. The heavy. The ladies’ man. And he couldn’t take the pressure. In the end, he would become irate when Lou shouted his name at him to get his attention. Somehow he made it work. For him.

Moana Wheeza

Hey, Abbot… Hey, Abbot…

Then Abbott began viciously slapping Lou in the face for saying his name over and over. Lou said Abbo… —slap, Abbo…— slap —repeatedly until Lou was winded and Abbot’s inner rage was appeased. It shouldn’t have been like this. They were like brothers. Or something. Lived in the same flop house. They were having an argument about Betty Grabble. Betty! Both men were just batty about her. And for some reason they had repeated run-ins with America’s sweetheart, confounding all.

But do not bring up baseball to them. They are fans but they don’t understand the strange nicknames the players have these days such as Who or What, or Ida Know.

And the whole thing made many a vaudevillian angry, as the bit had been community property. But now it was identified only with Bud and Lou, who had not originated it, though with it they had made it. Big. That was the curse of radio and film. The question of just who was on first.

“Please don’t hit me anymore Abbot,” said Lou. It was an abusive relationship. It would never fly today. People would not stand for it. And if they did stand, they wouldn’t clap. Certainly. And if they clapped they wouldn’t laugh. Unless everyone else did. In that case all bets were off. Societal pressure.

Buy War Bonds, won’t you?

A bone to pick with the Donner party

March 14, 2020 Writing

A man came into the Mercantile searching for a map. He was looking to light out into the wilderness.
The Shopkeep, a woman short on words, stood on a ladder doing inventory. Last thing she needed was a customer to bring her down.
She looked at the man. “Get lost!” was what she said.
That man’s name was Alfred Packer. No one remembers the shopkeep. She never done nothing of note.

Behold, The beholder’s eye!

February 3, 2020 Writing

I am a practitioner of ancient magic. Some would say it’s old hat. These people have lost their sense of wonder. This is why they disappear. There is nothing in my hands. My hands are clean. Goodnight.
– A wicked good magician

What’s in a name? Everything.

February 1, 2020 Writing

‪Bonnie & Clyde. They put her name first. It has a better ring to it. And because they were ahead of their time. ‬

‪Ringling Brothers Barnum & Bailey. The position of these names was chosen in a street brawl.‬ A goof off.

‪Abbott and Costello. Abbott had a gun. He was a straight man. The heavy.‬ The ladies’ man. And he couldn’t take the pressure. In the end, he would become irate when you shouted his own name at him to get his attention. Somehow he made it work. For him.

Head’s Up

December 29, 2019 Writing

The mattress queen
Stood resiliently
Her head held high
It was the head
Of a mannequin
The very best one,
Lifted to the sky.
She’d popped it
Right off
As the sun
Did rise
Though this act she did
Despise
But how else
This modern era
We share
Could she
Head
This body
Of state.

Ho Ho Ho, Away We Go

November 23, 2019 Writing

It is winter, you see, in candy-land, frosting spread everywhere. Snowmen stand at cold attention whilst Miss Velcro is fit to be tied. The city goes crazy all night my friends, long as Mr. Claus goes a-wandering. Yes, Anything goes in candy-land a land where anything can happen.

On Xmas eve Mrs. Claus goes wild. Lets it all come loose. In Candyland. The elves know, but do not tell. All is well, the saying goes, all is swell. ‬

Aghast in three rings

November 22, 2019 Writing

Take me to the circus

Where the devils dare

To balance at the precipice

Up there in mid-air

Sitting like a thinker

Ass upon a chair

Did I leave the stove on?

The devil’s mind declared.

Below the clown was crying

Nose up sniffing in the air

Now the daredevil is lying

To himself up on that chair.

Whoa is me, whoa is me!

Said the dog faced boy

Ordinarily without a care

The dancin’ bear watched helplessly

As the Barker was struck

By a falling chair.

A square duel

September 19, 2019 Writing

Here lies the town liar.
Laid low in a comic quagmire.
Caused by lack of social graces.
Got shot at approximately 40 paces.
A fair number, give or take.
If one doesn’t ruminate.