Saturday, January 16, 2016
Sally and Mr Adventure
took a while to do it, so her girlfriend changed the
topic from sex to bs.
His latest: Cultural Correspondent for several
European papers.
Sally asked the girl in her smartphone about Surrealism.
Friend Dorothy later became enraged re a fur-lined urinal.
“Most disgusting thing I ever heard!”
Mr Adventure turned to Hollywood Stars he knew, with
detailed accounts of queer behavior. So, titillating.
The girl in the phone didn’t know the special pervert
from silent days, languishing in The Old Actors Home,
but still scandalously active. Somehow.
His account of climbing Everest followed. Oxygen.
Near Death. Sherpas!
Uh huh?
When Sally, in the midst of a tiff over his drinking
gallons of coffee and getting up to pee every
hour or so, scoffed about Mountaineering,
Mr Adventure slapped down his top card with
equal fire.
CIA.
If she revealed a thing of what he told her, she could
be killed!
Early on, so she didn’t ask the smartphone. What say? Russia?
His frenzy led to pneumonia.
Her old grammar school chum, Betsy Loper, RN, let her in
before work, and she mostly stared at him in the Oxygen Tent.
One gray morning with just the light coming in from the glass
pane of the door, he held up a sign he had prepared:
GREAT BULLSHITTER!!!
Sally then made one herself.
GREAT GUY!!!!!!!
Dorothy teared up after she told her.
“That was a super nice thing!”
“And I haven’t done enough of them. Don’t try to persuade
me otherwise.”
Her cell sounded then. Theme from Star Wars. The sister
who had just flown in from Portland. He was dead.
Sally swore off men after. But Mr Earl managed to break
through eventually. He proved truthful, one dull account
after another.
Labels: affair, bs, bullshit, deathbed conversion, humanity, Romance
