A Few Minutes with Betty, Chapter 9: "Elvis Was a Mass Murderer" (or, "Easter Transfiguration and Fish with Big Eyes")

"Happy Saturday!"

"Hi there, Betty. And how happy it turns out depends on what you have brought to greet me with in addition to your lovely smile and sparkling personality."

"Well, I think that 'just me' is more than enough for anyone."

"And four out of five doctors agree."

"And the fifth one is dead. Blunt force trama."

"Well that's what happens when a free swinging pelvis hits your forehead at 15 miles per hour."

"Elvis was a mass murderer."

"Other than spelunking with Dr. Stickybritches, and creating yet another Elvis theory, whatcha doing?"

"Elvis just thought the women were fainting. In actuality, he was killing them. I'm in my PJs, drinking coffee. And lamenting the rain."

"Yes, we had rain last night, and more predicted for today."

"It's pouring here."

"I need to build an ark, but I Googled the specs, and can't find anything; something about cubits, I remember."

"Ah. Then let everything drown, and the fish shall rule the world!"

"Exactamente; no more what to do about the Big Three automakers. Good time to be a Pisces, I guess."

"Well I'm screwed then. Although I do love the water."

"Isn't George working?"

"Yes, he has a 10:00 a.m. appointment."

"Well then 'screwed' is only figurative. Besides, you'd spill your coffee."

"And you consider yourself to be a Humorist? Puh-leeze. Plus, I would not spill my coffee, I'm talented like that."

"Even with your uber-limberness?"

"You'd be surprised."

"I'll say."

"Although, I am sick, so that messes me up a bit."

"Yes, but the sick and twisted part of you has always been attractive, in a way."

"Snort."

"'Yeah, you know Betty always looked so NORMAL?.'"

"Bite your tongue. I've never been normal."

"Okay, but I told you not to clamp down."

"Smart ass. You are going to have to do a helluva lot of humorizing to this story, buddy."

"I've been at it a long time, I was bound to get good at something."

"If you sit too long, does it make you stupid?"

"Sometimes, although if you stand too quickly, I know it does."

"So what are you up to today?"

"Not a lot; got a story to research for next week, some calls to make."

"I have nothing to do today. It's nice."

"Well, yes; children all boxed up, are they?"

"Yesterday was busy, busy. My kids making crafts, which will give me a huge mess to clean, but it's all for a good cause."

"Well that would only be better if they were making crafts in another state."

"But hey, two out of three."

"I'll take what I can get."

"Exactamente; you are, after all, chatting with me."

"Snort."

"Twofer twofer! I made you snort twice."

"Yeah, Michael hasn't been on in awhile, so I'll settle for you."

"Yeah, since like 1999."

"Huh?"

"Michael. He's lost his touch. He now swims in a testosterone-free environment, surrounded by females."

"And he loves every minute of it."

"He's become one of those bottom of the ocean fish, with the bigger eyes, because there's no light down there."

"I just pictured that."

"See? That's our old pal Michael now. Transfigured. On Easter."

"He's all housebroken."

"He is whipped, domesticated. No longer the wild-eyed madman."

"Somewhere, where ever he is, he's shuddering."

"Well, okay, maybe the eyes are still wild, since they are bigger. No light down there in Estrogenville."

"That's my house right now. My boy is hating life."

"Maybe that's why his feet are growing at a remarkable rate: he knows eventually, he is going to have to kick some ass, and he just wants to be prepared."

"No, he wants to make sure he can wear my heels before his sisters. He's a pretty, pretty princess."

"Ah, but that mascara can be tricky. Read the instructions carefully, young man."

"He doesn't need it. He's cursed with those lovely lashes."

"Oh my, it sounds like he will be putting the bop in the bop-bop-aloo-bop."
"Something like that."

"I'm not sure I know which is more impossible: imagining your parents having sex, or imagining your children having sex."

"Um, either one creeps me out. Hang on a second, George is on the phone and I've got to give him directions."

"You are such a good spouse. 'First, George, turn the lights down, and lay on the bed.'"

"You have no idea."

"Oh, that's right, you swing from the lights, you don't want them turned down."

"No, George is the monkey, not me."

"Well then he needs good light to see, unless Michael is directing him with his big eyes -- 'No, she's over there George, in the dim corner of the room, dammit.'"

"Well good luck juicing this one up, Shakespeare. You will be working on this one for a long time."

"Yeah, thanks for all your help, Betty."

"Hey, for what you pay me, this is it, buddy."

"Talk to you tomorrow then, when hopefully you will be funnier."

"Maybe. If your check comes in the mail."



April 18, 2009.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.