|Current mood:|| depressed|
|Current music:||Dan Ingram, WABC New York, July 31, 1963 (restored)|
It's La Fête de la Bastille, You Bastards
I was in bed last night, minding my own business, reading the news on Suzette's...She's my Chef De Cuisine and Chief Executive Vice President In Charge Of Domestic Bliss but don't let those big fancy titles fool you because she's really just a scullery maid...3DBB...You kids call them iPads but they really are just inferior underpowered copies of Mr. Whoopee's 3DBB (If you want to see just how primitive and outdated all your "high tech" is, you can see a demo of the 3DBB here: http://baseballmusings.com/?p=54574)...when she started a stupid fight over nothing, just like she always does.
Just because I remarked that it was so unsurprising that Darryl Zanuck died again. Because he was always sore that Adolf Zukor lived to be 103 and he only made it to 77, so he obviously came back and lived quietly---So Adolf wouldn't get wind of it, come back himself and ruin the whole thing---somewhere for the last 33 years so he could die now, at the age of 110, thereby beating Adolf at his own game.
Then, I questioned the validity of the scheme because do those 33 years count as part of his previous life or must they, because he did die, and it was official, I saw the death certificate myself, in 1979, be considered a brand new life? And before I could even get fully into my theory that Darryl would win either way because Adolf never, as far as we know to this point, lived and died twice so, so no matter how you score it, Darryl would have more points, she cut me off with, "You would think that someone who makes so much money writing would learn how to read."
I know that most people think I make a lot of money just because I'm always signing multimillion dollar book and movie deals but Suzette has no excuse because she knows that Drusilla, my Agent, only gives me $8.50/hour to write...The rest goes to taxes, fees, commissions, expenses and shipping and handling charges...and that still sounds like a lot of money but it really isn't.
Not when you have big time grown-up expenses like me. Have you priced beer, baseball cards, car elevators and lap dances lately? If it weren't for my other job selling greeting cards, which the Chief only gives me $8.25/hour to do but every little bit helps, I'd be in the poor house but, as usual, I couldn't even get into that because she was already rambling on about a million more completely irrelevant things and I couldn't get a word in edgewise.
Have you ever noticed that Chef De Cuisines and Chief Executive Vice Presidents In Charge Of Domestic Bliss who are really scullery maids are often indistinguishable from DA's because they both like to start with a bogus trumped up charge that isn't even a crime and then tack on endless lessor charges that you didn't do either? If not, you should spend some time with Suzette because you would clearly see it in no time.
As if her dislike of people reading over her shoulder is somehow my fault, she blamed me for it. And not for the first time. Just how many millions of times do I have to tell her it's her problem, not mine? Then she said, "And keep your hands to yourself. When I want you to finger my Apps, I'll tell you." Then she went into this long pointless discourse about how it wasn't Darryl Zanuck who died, it was Richard Zanuck.
So then I asked her how she knew that Darryl didn't come back from the dead, live another 33 years and wreak his vengeance on Adolf Zukor by outliving him by seven years only to have all the publicity stolen by his show-off son who decided to die on the same day?
Of course, she didn't have an answer for that. Unfortunately, it didn't stop her from from rambling on for another half hour about every little thing that had nothing to do with the issue at hand. So when she finally paused long enough to take a breath, I said, "It's no wonder Sly Stallone killed himself. Because even when you figure out this insane impossible to live in world, people will still argue with you over the explanation and who wants to put up with that?"
And that just triggered another inane outburst from her, that even now, nearly nine hours later, has yet to end. And, as usual, I won this argument, because I never lose, but I'm left with the same old question, "Is it worth it?" Well, this time it sort of is because she left for Paris first thing this morning...She's been carrying on the never ending inane outburst via cell phone since then...but it feels hollow because she was going anyway because it's La Fête Nationale.
Well, it doesn't feel completely hollow because she didn't ask me to go with her this time. Her loss, too. Because now she has to eat her Le déjeuner sur l'herbe all by herself. And I don't have to go to the Opéra de Paris. Or the Bal du 14 Juillet. On second thought, forget hollow and unhollow, this is just like winning both showcases on The Price Is Right. And I didn't have to get all dressed up!
You know, if Sly had had one or two more good days like this one, he'd probably still be alive right now. Oh, if you are like some people such as Suzette that I could name but won't because I'm way above that sort of boorish low class behavior and think that I can't read or ever get anything right, including Sly's suicide, take a look at this: http://todayentertainment.today.msnbc.msn.com/_news/2012/07/13/12729510-sylvester-stallones-36-year-old-son-found-dead?lite. See? Right there, in black and white, Sly Stallone found dead. Apologize at your leisure or not at all, if you can live with yourself, because I'm not in this for me. I do it all for you.