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- Xref: sparky rec.arts.poems:13200 rec.arts.books:23244
- Path: sparky!uunet!uiunix!donz
- From: donz@uiunix.ui.org (Don Zirilli)
- Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems,rec.arts.books
- Subject: Well Met in Manhattan
- Message-ID: <397@uiunix.ui.org>
- Date: 24 Dec 92 17:23:54 GMT
- Followup-To: rec.arts.poems
- Organization: UNIX International, Parsippany, NJ 07054
- Lines: 68
-
- as a final xmas gift to rab and rap, I though I would conclude the true
- story of rabble and rappers meeting in Manhattan. (though of course
- there's no accounting for epilogs)
-
-
- Cardinal Taranto took a deep breath and spoke:
-
- "I suppose everyone has one sin they've committed that seems especially
- heinous. Perhaps its very importance is the way in which it defines our
- beliefs simply by being contrary to them. I shall now tell you mine,
- and you may infer my character however you like.
- "It began in 1967. Yes, the Summer of Love. A few friends and
- myself were sharing the Herb of Happiness when a young girl came upon
- us. 'What's your name, child?', I asked her. She replied, 'H-Henderson'
- and asked if she could partake with us. Amused by her nervous stutter,
- I passed the pipe to her. Perhaps you think this is my sin, but no--
- it gets much worse.
- "Henderson inhaled deeply and her eyes took on a familiar, distant
- look. She overheard our plans to chain ourselves to the Anthropology
- building at [Name Deleted] College and wanted to join us."
- "'Cool,' said Abby."
- "'Far out,' said Allen."
- "'I'm hip to it,' said Tim."
- "Only one refused her, and that was me. I told her this was a
- job for men, for tough guy revolutionaries. This act of blatant sexism
- was my greatest sin, my most unforgivable sin. The look of pain in her
- eyes was unmistakeable.
- "And from the pain, I watched in awe as her eyes moved into the
- realm of anger. Her teeth sharpened and bat wings shot out from her
- back. 'FASCISTS!' she screamed, 'Fucking hypocrites!'
- "I blackened the soul of an innocent. What is more unforgiveable?"
-
- Of course, by now the Cardinal was on his knees in supplication to his
- Lord (whoever that might be), and weeping profusely on the sidewalk.
- Did I say sidewalk? Yes. While rapt by his eloquent speech no one had
- noticed that we had been un-seanced and were now back in Manhattan.
- Sheila was patting Taranto's silver beanie. "See, Don? He's not
- so bad."
- "Perhaps not," I replied, "but he's still dangerous." (And I was
- still--and remain--a coward)
-
- Saying that, we quickly retreated home to my Italian chalet for
- one more night of quadebauchery before Sheila and John returned home.
- They had not been satisfied in their quests, but sufficiently confused.
- (This is always my goal)
-
- Now that I'm done, I beg the other participants to make emendations
- wherever necessary in order to promote Accuracy and Fairness.
-
- One more note: I want to make it explicit that Tom Wachtel is NOT, I
- repeat NOT, the Void Man, which some people mistakenly inferred from
- this series, "Well-Met in Manhattan". And before you ask me who Void
- Man is, that's just the point: I don't know! I need ANSWERS, not
- QUESTIONS. (though in general, I much prefer a good question to a
- good answer.)
-
-
- Yours, Merry Solstice, and I shall be usenetless for an entire week
- and three days,
-
- Posthumous O'Toole, Defender of the Realm
-
-
-
- --
- Chucklehead awaits the return of his .sig
-
- Aaron Radomski, where are you???
-