Category: The Unquestionably False Yet Undeniably True…

Queen Briana was used to getting her way. From the moment her little nine year old feet slowly walked down the aisle to meet her husband, the now King Harold, her life had been a storybook. The world was there for her to use, to command, to obtain and right now what she wanted more than anything else was to meet the little boy talking with the delightful black woman on the screen. Queen Briana hollered for her royal assistant, Fred and told him to set up a meeting at once.
Continue reading “Chapter 8 – The Fine Art of Tonguing Down”

The next post probably won’t be up till this weekend

But if you’re new here and want to see what the hype is all about scroll to the bottom and work your way up.

Someday I’ll figure out how to set up proper links…

till then enjoy my REAL life

TOM

My fifteen minutes of fame had begun. All three major channels used me as their lead story night after night. Walter Kronkite said my story affected him more than Vietnam. Tom Brokaw tried to form a bond with me based on our shared name. Since my last name is Starita, not Brokaw, I rejected his advances. Peter Jennings offered to fly me to Winnipeg, Canada in coach if I gave him an exclusive. USA Today ran a poll in their paper showing that 63% of Americans would use me as a grandfather clock, 38% as a bear skin rug and only 13% as an ashtray. Eleven years before the O.J. trial, and fifty something years since the Lindbergh baby trial, my life as an ottoman had captivated the nation.
Continue reading “Chapter 7 – Beatnik doesn’t mean “great lawyer” in French”

Seven months…

For seven months I anxiously awaited the day I would hear “Eso Beso” blaring from the speakers of The Beatniks – Gloria and Solomon. The days would pass as they would dance their little Beatnik dances to such luminous tracks as “It’s Time To Cry” and “Summer’s Gone.” After two months had passed we had reached track 15 – “Love Me Warm And Tender” and I was confident “Eso Beso” would be just around the corner. This thought helped me get through the nights where I was the bearskin rug. Such dreams enabled me to block out the pain of being an ashtray. And most importantly, it helped to ease my tears when The Beatniks – Gloria and Solomon had found the dead body of Mr. Beard under the couch and casually put him out with the trash. I was a surreal version of Andy Dufresne, acting out my own personal “Shawshank Redemption.” Except I didn’t have a Red to get me a poster of Rita Hayworth. Instead I had Dusty, the dust ball in the corner of the room, and the only thing he ever gave me was a mild form of asthma.
Continue reading “Chapter 6 – Dead Men Don’t Wink”

The party was a rousing success. Mr. Beard played his part perfectly, berating the guests, coloring all over the walls, food and even the face of an extremely young Drew Barrymore. The man who later went on to play Mr. Belvedere was disturbed so deeply by Mr. Beard that he suddenly began speaking in a British accent. The Beatniks – Gloria and Solomon couldn’t have been prouder. Their new art had produced the kind of buzz, hippy Beatniks like they were could only dream about. Child furniture was like playing checkers. In finding a deranged homeless guy with a disgusting beard, they had elevated their artistic game to chess.
Continue reading “Chapter 5 – Eso Beso”