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The Guru of Chappaqua

The wind was viciously blowing, even for Queens Boulevard, the Boulevard of Death. Nonetheless, I had to take a bicycle ride. I had just found my Schwinn Orange Krate.

I hadn’t seen it in years. I know that a man of 51 years old, 6' 2" tall and 240 plus pounds, looks absurd on a children’s bicycle, but I couldn’t resist. I was angry and needed a release. I had just finished listening to Anne Coulter spew her venom on the radio. Why do I listen to that garbage.
The wind kept getting worse and worse, I had to get home. Suddenly a giant gust took me over the Kennedy Building and I landed in a magical land that I’d never seen before. Wait, My God, I’ve hit someone. Oh No! I’ve landed on the Wicked Witch of the Far Right, Anne Coulter, herself! I know that I’ve got to get out before her cohort, the Big Fat Warlock of the Far Right comes flying in on his industrialized vacuum cleaner seeking revenge.
I hear voices. They’re singing.

We represent the ACLU
And in the name of the ACLU
We welcome you to fantasy land!

They advise me to go see the great Guru of Chappaqua. Only he will know how to get me home and out of the clutches of the Big Fat Warlock of the far right.
So I hop on the Whitestone Expressway. Somehow, my Schwinn is still intact, boy were those made well! Shortly before the bridge, I see a man in a Paul Stuart Suit, with golden cufflinks on his monogrammed suit.
Jello: You’re obviously a lawyer. So why do you look so happy.
Lawyer: I’m one of the lucky ones. The law school forgot to give me any ethics.
Jello: I’m going to see the Guru of Chappaqua, maybe he can give you some ethics.
Lawyer: You’re kidding aren’t you?
Jello: Naive as it may sound, it’s part of the script.

Lawyer: What would I do with ethics if I had them.

I don’t want to work Pro Bono
That’s always been my Credo
I need my Mercedes Benz
And My Haircuts they cost Plenty
So it’s really elementary
I have no need for any friends.

I take a large retainer
Financially I’m the gainer
Their futures I portends

With the money you’ll be rakin’
You’ll bring home all the bacon
and never make amends

Oh, I wear silken ties
And Thousand dollar suits
With the judges I am often in cahoots
So I win all the Lawsuits

I am just a bottom dweller
Can not accept a failure
I take any large stipends
So it’s ethics I avoid
I’ll never represent the unemployed
Or those who need to wear depends.

The lawyer sensing a possible personal injury suit, after all, a Schwinn on the Whitestone Bridge, agrees to come along.
As we get to the toll booth, we see a man a suit case. There is a sign on his back, that says “Kick Me.” Because I realize where this story is going, and that it won’t work without three companions, I decide to talk to him.
Jello: Sir do you realize that there is a sign on your back that say, “Kick Me.”
Salesman: Is that funny?
Jello: No, Of Course not. Don’t you have a sense of humor?
Salesman: That’s the problem. I was born without a funny bone. Do you know how hard it is to be a salesman who doesn’t understand a joke? Let me tell you!

When a Salesman has no wit
He’s nothing but a twit
And he cannot sell his wares
Just because I’m the fool
The one who’s always so uncool
I’m the one without fanfares

I’d be funny, I’d be charming
And often times even disarming
And laugh at Fields and Marx
I would have drinks with all the boys
And make fun of all killjoys
I’d have retorts for all remarks

Picture me a crowded bar
A raspy voice says low

Hey Moe, Hey Moe

I throw a pie, Oh My

Just to laugh at Charlie Chaplin, Buster Keaton, Woody Allen
My life would be awoke
Maybe understand the joyless
love of the French for Jerry Lewis
If I could only tell a joke

Jello: This fellow is an unethical Lawyer. I’m sure he’ll gladly find a way to take advantage of you. We’re off to see the Great Guru of Chappagua, maybe he can give you back your idealism. But I have to warn you, we’re being followed by the Big Fat Warlock of the Far Right.
Salesman: Is that a joke or can he really help me.
Jello: The worst that could happen is he’d make fun of me!
As we come to the Stadium (I know we went the long way) we see the largest man that I’ve ever seen, wearing a Yankee Uniform with Number 22 on the back. My God, It’s Roger Clemens. Obviously he was born without a plausible alibi.
Jello: Roger, did you take Steroids or HGH?
Roger: They were vitamins!
Jello: Roger, nobody gets bigger and stronger in their forties. Look at you, your 8 feet tall!
Roger: They were vitamins!

Yeah, The Sox, they wouldn’t sign me
It really was a whammy
I had nothing in reserve
Yet somewhere after thirty
Without ever being dirty
I added inches to my curve

I have tried all the ruses
I’ve got no plausible excuses
All strength I did conserve

I deserve the Hall of Fame

I’d be something more than lame

I sue anyone who dares to complain

If the Guru the Guru we deserve

If not I’m sure to get a case

A wit

Away from all of you

More Fame

So Roger came with us to get a plausible alibi!
As we ride up the Major Deegan, we hear on the radio the Big Fat Warlock of the Far Right:
My friends, the liberals have again attacked without
provocation our comrade Anne Coulter. All Dittoheads
must unite!

Is he kidding? Maybe he should have joined us for some veracity!
Finally we’ve reached the gates of the land of Clinton. Can he give us what we crave? Save us from the Big Fat Wicked Warlock of the Far Right! Give the Lawyer Ethics! Give the Salesman back his idealism! Give Roger a plausible alibi!
We’re granted an audience. A familiar voice from behind the curtain wants to know why he should grant his wishes. I can’t speak for Roger and the Lawyer, but both the Salesman and I voted for you twice. And I know if she gets the nomination, I'm going to vote for Hillary.
Strange noises are coming from behind the curtain. My God! He’s not alone! Monica is with him!
In the end none of our wishes were granted, except maybe the Guru’s wishes!


( 2 comments — Leave a comment )
Apr. 11th, 2008 11:41 pm (UTC)
Oops retry - 40ish bombastic NYer
Greetings, I saw your post on the newyorkers regarding internet rudeness, etc. I responded a bit there and decided to come here to say "hi" and slap you heartily on the shoulder as someone that also still struggles with the internet society. Read your entry here and realized that you're clearly a writer (and poet, lyricist) at heart. *grins*

Also saw your profile and am providing a loose parallel description for your reference:
I am a 50 forties year old dissatisfied Attorney and frustrated clerical grunt. (Is there any other kind?) I decided to write go to college finally in order to maintain or regain my sanity. Due to my age and alleged public grade school education and lack of productive mental stimulation otherwise there will be no internet abbreviations excessive use of bad grammar, syntax, and typing, suitably paired with a plethora of pretentious, tawdry, bombastic, grandiloquent, self-deluded sense of personal eloquence. Did I also mention loquaciously pleonastic? (George Orwell is writhing in his grave as I write this.) Here's to tedium!
Apr. 11th, 2008 11:58 pm (UTC)
Re: Oops retry - 40ish bombastic NYer
Thank you for your very thoughtful entries, both here and in the newyorkers community. I love to write. I love the rare comments, even when people don't appreciate what I write. As long as they aren't rude. I agree I think that it's a generational thing. Although there was nothing impolite about the other responses to my question.

Thank you again, clearly you too are a writer.
( 2 comments — Leave a comment )



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