fiction, funny stories, humor, ideas, silliness

A very special double repost…

I’m running short on ideas today, and I’m feeling a bit silly. I ran across this post from October 2018 on my original blog. It’s a ridiculous story idea I had back then involving Pernell Roberts, Howard Keel, and Mr. Yuk. I used to write a lot of fiction stories to pass the time, as well as to creatively express myself when people got on my nerves. I don’t write much fiction these days, but since these two posts made me laugh, I’ve decided to share them today. I doubt anyone will read them, but at least they won’t cause controversy.

An erotic story involving Pernell Roberts, Howard Keel, and Mr. Yuk… (originally written October 10, 2018)

I’m sure I could find any number of outrageous news stories to rant about today. I will probably do just that in a little while. It’s just that I’ve noticed my blog is not as much fun as it has been in the past. I’ve been dealing with a little depression and anxiety lately, which has had a noticeable effect on my writing.

Yesterday, I had a random idea of writing a fiction story about the late actor, Pernell Roberts. I know him best from his years as Trapper John, M.D., but other people remember him from Bonanza. I remember he also starred in a Lassie movie back in 1978. In that film, he played a bad guy.

Sexy Pernell Roberts… there was a time when my dad could sing sort of like this. I can appreciate it now, but didn’t so much when I was growing up. Pernell Roberts had a lovely singing voice, though. Many people thought my dad had a lovely voice, too. He probably did and I just didn’t like it because of our fucked up father/daughter relationship. Oh… and the fact that he wasn’t trained.

I think Mr. Roberts is on my mind because I somehow wound up subscribed to a YouTube channel honoring him. Someone uploaded a bunch of episodes of Trapper John, M.D. and I started watching them last night because Bill is in Italy. He’ll be back tonight– it was just a one night trip– but I’ll still be alone until after bedtime. Maybe I’ll watch more Trapper John, M.D., or maybe I’ll make music. Who knows? Or maybe I’ll spend the day writing silly stories for those who enjoy my warped sense of humor.

Anyway, I noticed that a number of female commenters on the YouTube videos were saying they thought Pernell Roberts was “sexy”. I have to admit, now that I am myself middle aged, I agree that he was rather sexy in those days. Of course, Trapper John was a typically strong male character on the TV show. He was authoritarian, particularly with his female patients. Some women are turned on by a strong man who tells them to get in bed and stay there. Actor Gregory Harrison, who played hospital Lothario Gonzo Gates, was probably there for the younger crowd. Both of them were such caring dudes… and so skilled as they saved their patients from whatever devastating malady they had while romancing them under the sheets.

Then, as I started thinking about Pernell Roberts, I remembered the late actor Howard Keel and how he always reminded me of a horse peeing on a rock. I mean, he was really tall and probably made a lot of noise because of the length his whiz had to drop. I remember seeing him in Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, which was filmed in the 1950s, when he was young and studly. But as a child of the 70s and 80s, I remember him best when he was on Dallas, playing Clayton Farlow. Maybe it was because all of the horses they used on that show and the fact that I’ve spent a lot of time around horses and know what they sound like when they pee… especially the geldings.

Damn… I would love to have a horse that did this! Cleaning up horse pee is no fun, especially when it’s hot outside.

The guy who officiated at my wedding, then a Presbyterian minister and now a Certified Nurse’s Aide and Catholic, asked me if my erotic story involving Pernell Roberts would involve surgical instruments or horses. And that just made me think of Howard Keel peeing on a rock again.

Oh my God… speaking of piss. This is probably one of the most cornball pop songs of the 1980s. What in the hell possessed Howard Keel to sing this over any one of the classic standards he did in his prime?

So then, just as I was gathering ideas about other things I could put in my erotic story, I caught this clip from 1988, starring the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders. Front and center is current Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader Director, Kelli Finglass, back when she was in her prime and still on the squad…

I was about 16 when they did this. Look at that hair! And those shorts look almost like granny panties compared to what they wear today. My hair was never quite that big. For the record, I prefer Kelli’s hair the lovely shade of red it is now. Frosted, frizzy blonde doesn’t flatter her.

Finally, someone shared this picture of Brett Kavanaugh, who will always be a glorified frat boy to me…

And I was reminded of this… I wonder if Kavanaugh has ever made this face before having sex with someone. I wonder if anyone has ever made this face before having sex with him…

Wow… they could be brothers.

Maybe I should write a story involving all of these people. It wouldn’t even have to be erotic. I could probably have some fun with it, kill some time, and stay out of trouble. I do have a very strange mind sometimes, especially when I’m bored.

My latest book is about the East German police, so it’s probably just as well if I write some fiction or something, before I start having nightmares about the Stasi. Shit… I might as well do it.

And here it is…

Mr. Yuk gets a treatment he’ll never forget… (written later on October 10, 2018)

Let’s see where my warped imagination takes me… This story is pure fictional nonsense, pulled straight from the bowels of my mind. It took about an hour to write this and it probably shows.

It was an unseasonably cool, fall afternoon at San Francisco Memorial Hospital. The year was 1982. Dr. John McIntyre, otherwise known as Trapper, was looking dashing in his surgical scrubs, having just removed Clayton Farlow’s appendix. He was feeling pumped up, because he’d just told Farlow to go to bed and stay there. It gave Trapper a rush to tell people what to do, especially guys who were taller and more famous than he was.

Farlow was lying in bed, groaning because the incision where his appendix had been removed was a little itchy. But because Trapper was both authoritarian and a little kinky, he’d had Farlow’s wrists tied to the bedrails. It was only because Farlow was just coming out of the anesthesia and might try to monkey with the tubes and such.

“Don’t worry, Kid,” Trapper had told him as he tenderly adjusted Farlow’s oxygen mask, “we’ll untie your wrists when you have your wits more about you. I’ll be back later.”

Farlow grimaced as he watched his sexy doctor prance away. Farlow wasn’t into men sexually, but he’d been in show business longer than Trapper had and learned to appreciate the beauty in everything and everyone. Besides, whatever drugs Trapper had given him were wonderful, even if his incision was a little itchy.

For all of his fame on Broadway and primetime television, Farlow had not managed to score a private room. Lying in the bed next to his was a guy popularly known as Mr. Yuk. His name was actually Brett, though, and he was quite the whiny brat. Farlow cast a disapproving look at the young man– all of seventeen years old– lying in his hospital bed looking really disgruntled and bored. He looked like this…

Farlow wanted to ask Brett why he was so yucky. The boy had a constant scowl on his face, like he smelled something disgusting or had just walked in on his parents having sex. But the oxygen mask prevented Farlow from saying anything intelligible and he was embarrassed about his wrists being restrained. So Farlow remained curious while Brett clicked the remote control on the boxy TV, trying to find something interesting to watch. He finally stopped on a channel featuring a certain female collie named Lassie.

“Yeah…” Brett snarled. “This is more like it. I like watching bitches on TV.”

Good entertainment for the sick…

Farlow rolled his eyes as he recognized familiar faces… There was Mickey Rooney, Pernell Roberts, who looked a whole lot like Trapper, James Stewart, Alice Faye, and music by his old friends, Pat Boone and daughter, Debby. Good old fashioned, wholesome, kid friendly entertainment! It was just what the doctor ordered!

“I really could use a beer.” Brett snarled to himself. “Fuck being stuck in the hospital. This place sucks!”

Just then, a pretty nurse named Kelli came into the room. She was all smiles and had a figure that could stop traffic! Her hair was as big as her smile was, and Brett could see that her starched white nurse’s uniform was just a little shorter than it should have been. Casting his eyes downward, he could see the nurse’s adorable knees covered by her white tights. He looked at her shoes. They were sensible nurse’s shoes, showing that the woman was just as intelligent as she was sexy.

“Hello Mr. Farlow.” Kelli chirped as she checked his vital signs. She moved like a dancer, her catlike grace surprisingly apparent as she moved about the tight quarters, cleverly keeping her sweet ass away from Brett’s reach. “You’re looking much better today.” she said, checking his temperature. “Your fever is almost gone! Trapper will be happy to hear this! Yea!”

Farlow looked hopefully at his wrists, but the nurse didn’t seem to notice his distress. Instead, she adjusted the oxygen mask one last time and turned her attention to Mr. Yuk, aka Brett the brat.

“How are we feeling?” Nurse Kelli asked as she recorded Brett’s blood pressure.

“This place sucks. I have so many calendars I need to update. I need to get back to school. I’m missing so many keggers it’s not funny.” Brett whined. “I’m being held against my will.”

“I’m sure you’ll be out of here before you know it.” the nurse said. “You know, once you’re eighteen, you can check yourself out whenever you want. For now, we have to wait for the doctor and your parents to say it’s okay.”

Kelli turned away from Brett, who then took the opportunity to pinch her ass.

“Ouch!” Kelli yelped. “I see why they call you Mr. Yuk now!” she scolded as Brett’s face turned into that familiar scowl. “You really are a naughty boy. We’ll have to see what we can do about that.”

“Stop trying to impugn my character.” Brett snapped.

“I’ll be back later.” Kelli promised. “Enjoy the movie.”

With a heavy sigh, Brett turned his attention back to Lassie and her young master, on the run from Pernell Roberts’ evil character, Jameson. He was about to start singing along with Pat Boone when Trapper barged into the room. He started checking Farlow and then untied the man’s wrists.

“You seem ‘with it’ now.” Trapper said as he patted his patient on the head, patronizingly.

Farlow eagerly reached up and pulled the mask off his face. “Can we get rid of this damned thing too? It feels like a gag.” he complained.

Trapper frowned a bit, looked concerned, and said, “Well, not so fast… let’s not rush things… You’re going to be in here for a week. What’s your hurry?”

He glanced up at the television and saw Pernell Roberts chasing Lassie, calling her Heatherbelle. “Man, I hope that guy gets his dog back.” Trapper said under his breath.

Trapper moved over to Brett, who was looking really disagreeable. “Fuck this place.” Brett muttered. “I just want a motherfuckin’ beer.”

“Now now, young man…” Trapper said. “Take it easy. You’re in a hospital. Time to rest. Let Kelli take care of you.”

“Tell her to bring me a beer… and pizza. This hospital food sucks.” Brett said with a scowl.

“Young man, your attitude could use some adjusting. Perhaps it’s time I prescribed a treatment to help you with your problem.” Trapper suggested.

“Fuck that, and fuck you. I need to get out of here and on with my life. I have social ladders to climb and women to plumb.” Brett hissed.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” Trapper asked incredulously. “You don’t realize you’ve entered another dimension.”

“The only other dimension I want to enter is a beer and nurse Kelli’s vagina.” Brett snapped.

“I see…” Trapper said, his voice steady. “Well that makes me think you really do need treatment for your problem. I may have to introduce you to another doctor… a woman who really knows your mind.”

“I don’t need that. I just want to party.” Brett said. “Why is that so hard to understand? And why do I have to stay in this Godforsaken place? My home is on the East Coast, with all the other snot nosed brats.”

“I see. Well, I think it would do you some good to talk to Dr. Ford.” Trapper said. “She’s a maverick in her field, but I think she can straighten you out… maybe get that yucky look off your face.”

“I don’t want to talk to her.” Brett sniveled.

“Okay… well then maybe Nurse Kelli can give you an enema to help kill the bug up your ass.” Trapper suggested. “You seem a bit constipated.”

“Hmmmph.” Brett huffed, sullenly turning his eyes back to the TV.

Farlow was watching this scene with interest, although he really needed to pee. He somehow found the energy to ask Trapper for help going to the bathroom.

“Sure pal.” Trapper said. “Usually, I’d let the nurses handle this, but I can see you’re a man’s man.” The bearded, distinguished doctor came over and helped Farlow out of bed. He was grateful Nurse Kelli had already removed the man’s catheter. They went into the bathroom and Farlow let out a long and very loud stream of piss that reverberated throughout the semi-private room.

“For God’s sake!” Brett complained. “Do you have to be so loud? You sound like a horse peeing on a rock!”

“Sorry… I really had to pee.” Farlow apologized.

“Well do you have to be so fucking loud?” Brett scowled. “No fucking class!”

Farlow gave Trapper a grateful look as he rolled his eyes.

“That kid is such a brat.” Trapper said sympathetically. “Sorry you have to share quarters with him.”

“No worries… I once shared a house with six brothers.” Farlow said. “And they were all horny because they were looking for wives.”

“I think that’s Brett’s problem, too. He’s a spoiled, horny, little bastard.” Trapper said. “And he’s also a drunk. He needs a good spanking to teach him some manners. I’m tempted to let Nurse Kelli practice some procedures on him, but he’d probably enjoy that too much.”

“I’ve never seen anyone scowl so much.” Farlow admitted as he washed his hands. “He really is very unpleasant indeed.”

“Nurse Kelli will fix him… with help from Dr. Ford.” Trapper promised as he walked his patient back to bed.

Farlow was safely tucked into bed, where he nodded off. He was right in the middle of a pleasant dream in which he was at Southfork Ranch, making mad passionate love with Miss Ellie, when he was awakened by a blood curdling scream.

“GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!” Brett was screaming. He had climbed out of bed and was cornered by a couple of beefy orderlies who were holding a straitjacket.

“Now, now, Mr. Yuk…” one of the orderlies soothed. Farlow blinked his eyes and realized the head orderly was a very muscular woman. She was flanked by two huge guys who looked like they could be linebackers for the Dallas Cowboys. Behind her was Nurse Kelli with a syringe at the ready. A cameraman stood in the corner, filming everything. It looked just like a dramatic scene on Trapper John, M.D.

“Get away from me! I haven’t given you CONSENT!” Brett fumed.

The head orderly advanced at her patient, and with one swift move, pinned him to the bed. He shrieked in fear as another orderly placed his hand over the young man’s mouth and the other orderly efficiently wrapped him up in the straitjacket. Nurse Kelli then gave him an injection that rendered him more compliant.

“Wha…” Brett stammered. “What are…”

“Shhh…” Nurse Kelli said, her Pepsodent smile radiating across her pretty features. “It’s just part of your treatment. Dr. Ford will be with you in a moment. Just got to wait for you to relax a bit. That way it won’t hurt as much.”

The orderlies tucked their patient into bed, put up the siderails, and left the room while Nurse Kelli stood by, monitoring the young man with the Mr. Yuk scowl.

“This would go so much better if you’d just cooperate.” Nurse Kelli said. “Take your medicine like a good boy.”

“Fucking bitch!” the young man shrieked. “I’ll get you for this.”

“Right… I’m sure you will. Just relax. Dr. Ford will see you at her convenience.” Nurse Kelli said. “If you’re lucky, she won’t make you wait for what’s coming to you.”

Brett scowled again as he glared at the nurse. Her chirpy demeanor and perfect smile were pissing him off even more as he struggled against the rough canvas of the straitjacket. Farlow glanced over at the spectacle, suddenly glad his own medical bondage scene had been short lived.

A minute later, the door opened and there stood a middle aged blonde woman in a very stylish business suit. She wore glasses and sensible heels as she strode over to her unruly patient.

“Hello Dr. Ford.” Nurse Kelli said, her voice rich with admiration.

“Nurse…” the doctor said. “So this is the patient. He’s permanently scowling, isn’t he? Needs a little help with his attitude…”

“Yes, I think so. I’ve heard you can do amazing things with the mind.” Nurse Kelli gushed. “I would love to study under you…”

Brett and Farlow both looked at the attractive psychologist and thought the same thing. But Farlow was smart enough to keep his mouth shut and Brett was too busy scowling to make his feelings known.

“You know…” Dr. Ford said. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to reach him with just simple conversation. I think it’s time we forced him to watch something other than Lassie.” She nodded at the television. “Change the channel… Lifetime should do it. A nice long marathon of movies about women who have been sexually harassed and date raped ought to be a good start.”

Nurse Kelli’s eyes widened. “Do I get to stay in the room and supervise him?” she breathed.

“I’m not opposed to it.” Dr. Ford shrugged. “That’s just the beginning… we’ll start with Lifetime TV, then move on to Dr. Phil. Then a steady diet of Kathie Lee Gifford…”

“What?!” Brett shouted. “I’ve never even heard of these things!”

“Lucky for you, I’m from the future.” Dr. Ford said. “You’re going to get a headstart on the 1990s and the 2000s. Then I’ll go back to the future.”

“Why?” Brett asked plaintively.

“Because big things are in store for you… and if you don’t get straightened out now, you will fuck up a lot of lives.” Dr. Ford said, smoothing her blonde hair.

“I don’t have time for this.” Brett sneered.

“We’ll see that you make time. And if you’re difficult about it, I can think of some very fun ways to make you comply.” Dr. Ford said. “Don’t try me, young man.”

Brett sighed heavily. “Yes Ma’am… Let the re-education begin.”

“I’m sure you’ll be good and ready for the future after a few Lifetime movies. Every man should watch them so they can learn proper respect.” Dr. Ford said.

END

And here is the one comment I got on this tripe…

I like it, an instant story! Write more.

Maybe I should… especially now that my former monitor is no longer monitoring me.

bad TV, book reviews, fashion, fiction, narcissists

A review of The Wig, The Bitch, & The Meltdown, by Jay Manuel…

In a recent blog post, I mentioned that I was reading Jay Manuel’s 2020 novel, The Wig, The Bitch, & The Meltdown. In that post, I wrote that I understood and appreciated what Jay Manuel was doing with his first novel. He was processing trauma by turning it into a fun fictionalized read. I’ve done the same thing on multiple occasions, so I already had a warm feeling about Manuel’s debut into fiction.

I also can’t stand Tyra Banks, even though I watched her reality show for years. My devotion to America’s Next Top Model was less about idolizing a retired supermodel than watching a trainwreck. I don’t actually care much about fashion, and those who have seen me in person can attest to that. I just find narcissists fascinating, even if I want to keep them at an arm’s length. ANTM was chock full of narcissists, and its resident Queen Bee, Tyra Banks, was the most toxic of them all… as far as I can tell, anyway. Obviously, I’ve never met Tyra in person, but I have heard what she says and observed how she behaves. She makes my N chimes ring even louder than Meghan Markle does.

I downloaded Jay Manuel’s satirical novel about reality TV modeling competitions back in January 2022. I decided to read the book when I started watching episodes of ANTM while Bill was away in Bavaria. As I watched ANTM and cringed, I read up on Jay Manuel and his now non-existent relationship with Tyra Banks. I remembered that they once used to be friends. What happened?

Well… Jay wrote his book, and that sure didn’t help their friendship. But there was a lot that led up to the book being written, and having been around a lot of narcissists myself, I spotted all of the red flags in The Wig, The Bitch, & The Meltdown. Clearly Mr. Manuel had loads of experiences and incidents to fuel his creativity when he penned his novel. If only a fraction of the crazy in this novel has any basis in truth, Jay Manuel went through Hell to birth this book. And the price of writing the book was losing his “friends” from ANTM, as it was reported that Tyra Banks was angry about the novel. She allegedly asked people from ANTM not to interact with Jay, or help promote the book. Apparently, people from ANTM value relationships with Tyra enough to grant her request/demand.

I can understand why Tyra Banks would be upset about Jay Manuel’s novel. The novel is clearly based on Jay Manuel’s relationship with her and others from ANTM, even though the book is fiction. I’m sure she sees him as disloyal, and narcissists can’t abide disloyalty. Moreover, Jay Manuel really took the piss out of Tyra, including plots that were obviously based on things that actually happened on the show. The end result, for a reader like me, is pure entertainment and occasional laugh out loud moments. Obviously, Tyra Banks doesn’t want to be laughed at, and even though she’s made a lot of money and become very powerful in the entertainment business, she doesn’t want to be upstaged in any way.

Jay Manuel is still not as powerful as Tyra is– or was– (like Donald Trump, she seems to have lost some of her popularity). However, writing this book probably boosted his prestige. I was definitely impressed by the imagination and creativity he showed in his novel. There’s a good reason why Jay Manuel was the creative director on ANTM for so many years. On the other hand, a lot of what he writes was obviously inspired by crazy stuff that actually happened on the show.

So… on with the plot…

Pablo Michaels (Jay’s alter ego) is the silver haired, silver eyed creative director of a reality show called Model Muse. It’s a rip off of America’s Next Top Model, set in the present. I mention that the novel is set in the present because Manuel mentions a lot of technology that didn’t exist when ANTM started in 2003, or even when it finally ended in 2018. He seems particularly wedded to Apple products, as he mentions them a lot in the book.

Pablo is not naturally silver eyed or silver haired. This is a look that the supermodel he works for, Keisha Kash (Kash is perhaps a play on the last name, Banks?), wants him to look that way. Pablo and Keisha met when they were both a lot less famous, and they were friends. Over the years, they had shared a lot of pints of Dulce de Leche ice cream. Pablo had become Keisha’s rock, fixing things that went wrong, and always having Keisha’s back. She started her reality show, and he was the one person she trusted to be the creative director. She was right to trust him, though the job means that he never gets any time to himself, nor can he do things that he wants to do.

Pablo and Keisha work with other “legends” from the fashion industry. Noted British fashion photographer, Mason Hughes (modeled after Nigel Barker) is onhand, as is the world’s “first” supermodel, Sasha Barenson (Janice Dickinson). Miss Thing (J. Alexander– Miss J.) serves as a judge and a runway coach. Joe Vong (perhaps Ken Mok) is an executive producer. And De La Renta (perhaps Sutan and/or Christian Marc combined) is in charge of hair and makeup.

Sasha still wears a size four dress, even though she’s in her 60s. But she constantly nurses a sippy cup full of “water” that smells a lot like Chardonnay. Mason is “happily married” to a boyish looking Indian woman, although he seems to like men. Miss Thing is hilarious and witty, but also a bit catty and two-faced. Joe Vong has created many successful reality TV shows, but is completely dictatorial and manic. And De La Renta, like Pablo, seems to be one of the “good” guys who cares about the models somewhat. Keisha’s mother Brenda Paris (Tyra’s mom, Carolyn London) is in prison for trying to steal jewelry from a safe at the morgue where she worked as a photographer. Carolyn London, in real life, is a medical photographer. Tyra always presented her mother as wonderful, but in Jay’s novel, she’s a criminal.

Pablo Michaels is doing all he can to keep the show together, as Keisha and the rest of the cast misbehave in a multitude of ways, showing a complete lack of regard for those who aren’t narcissists. Pablo ties to be the voice of reason as Keisha does everything she can to make more money, become more famous, and expand her brand. Manuel really went to town on this– bringing up Tyra Banks’ memorable foray into the music business by making Keisha release a song, even though she’s tone deaf. In real life, Jay Manuel studied opera, and presumably, he can sing. I’ve heard Tyra’s song, and as a musician myself, it didn’t impress me.

I dunno about this… This was one of the challenges for the models, but she barely used them. The video was all about Tyra.

Manuel also covers Tyra’s attempts at writing, as he has Keisha write a novel. Tyra also famously wrote a novel for teenagers. I have it downloaded, but I can’t seem to bring myself to read it. Maybe I’ll punish myself by reading it soon.

Throughout the book Manuel skillfully illustrates the classic ways of a malignant narcissist, to include having Keisha have a huge meltdown in panel. Tyra Banks also famously screamed at a contestant in Cycle 4, angry that the young woman wasn’t “upset” enough about being cut. The circumstances of Keisha’s meltdown are somewhat different, but the behavior he describes is the same as what all ANTM fans witnessed when they watched that episode.

More outrageous behaviors are described, and if you were a viewer of ANTM during its prime years, when Mr. Jay and Miss J. were on it, you will easily recognize some of the contestants. Manuel blends some of them into new people, including some famous and memorable statements some of them uttered during the show’s run. Some of the incidents are clearly based on things that happened on the show, but others are pretty diabolical (and hilarious) mashups based on things that a malignant narcissist supermodel might do. The part about the wig, for instance, is pretty scandalous. If you’ve ever seen one of Tyra Banks’ famously crappy makeovers, you might have a good laugh… as you also cringe in horror.

Manuel’s writing is often pretty snarky, and there’s a lot of objectionable (but believable) language in this novel. Sometimes, I wish he’d hired an editor. He misspells some words and names. For instance, he repeatedly refers to Mommie Dearest (the book and movie about Joan Crawford, written by her adoptive daughter, Christina Crawford), but he spells it Mommy Dearest. He refers to “door jams”, rather than “door jambs”. He also employs some words that are what one might call “fifty cent words”. At times, he doesn’t quite use them correctly, or he uses them when a simpler word would better suffice.

I got a kick out of how Manuel describes Keisha, who is obviously based on Tyra in almost every way. He repeatedly writes about Keisha’s “creepy” little girl voice. If you’ve seen ANTM, you know what he’s referring to, as Tyra does the same thing. He describes what she looks like, and her tendency to not like contestants who look, in any way, like her. Manuel also makes Model Muse rigged– blatantly stating that the winners were chosen long before the runway show at the end of the season. I don’t know if that’s actually how it worked on ANTM, but I’ve always suspected that the winners were ringers. What’s sad to me is that a lot of the young women, who tried out for that show, legitimately thought it would open doors for them. Although some contestants went on to form careers in entertainment, only a few became legitimate working models.

Overall

I enjoyed Jay Manuel’s book, The Wig, The Bitch, & The Meltdown. I found it a fun and entertaining read. I’ve seen a lot of people saying that Manuel isn’t much better than Tyra Banks is. I don’t know if that’s true, but he does appear to have some real talents. I think it would be pretty difficult for him to have an ego larger than Tyra’s. Moreover, while I think Tyra has some talents in terms of self-promotion, I also think she totally got off on being worshiped by the contestants on the show, even when she gave bullshit advice, contradicted herself, or cut them for ridiculous reasons. Jay, at least, seemed to have some sensitivity… and he has the excuse that he wasn’t the boss of the show. Tyra was. He was working at her behest.

I found some of the elements of Jay’s personal story– which he weaved into Pablo’s story– fascinating. Jay Manuel was born in the United States and grew up in Canada. He was adopted when he was a baby, and he puts part of that story into the book. Jay also has a very interesting racial makeup; many people think he’s Hispanic, but he’s actually got Italian, Czech, and South African ancestry and thinks of himself as Black.

I think I’d give The Wig, The Bitch, and The Meltdown four stars out of five. I don’t read a lot of novels anymore, but I legitimately enjoyed Jay’s snarkfest. I laughed out loud several times, or just exclaimed in disbelief; I think that counts for a lot. I also liked the ending. I found it very satisfying.

I’m taking off a star for the editing glitches, although I am impressed by how well-written the book is, given that Jay Manuel isn’t primarily a writer. I hope he’ll write another novel, and next time, hire an editor to give it some polish. And I hope he’s as likable in real life as he is in his writing and on television… although I’m sure those who knew him on Top Model are probably no longer sending him any emails. 😉

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fiction, music, politics, true crime, Trump

Trump… the doddering old fool who simply won’t go away…

I’ve had an idea for a satire story rattling around in my head for the past few days. I shared it with Bill the other day, and he was enthusiastic about it. In fact, this morning, he offered an idea of his own– characters I could create and flesh out for the story. In the past, that would have been enough for me to sit down at my computer and start typing. I would compose the story as it came to me, and I would do it not for money or fame, but because it was a lot of fun.

Now, I’m finding it a bit harder to be motivated about creative writing. I’ve already written about this trouble I’ve been having recently, with having the desire to sit down and focus. But, at least the ideas are coming back to me. I do think I would enjoy writing something snarky, funny, and fictional. I don’t know who would read it, but I think I would delight in writing it… especially if Bill helped me. We can be pretty entertaining when we’re working together. I think I’ll take some more time to come up with more of a plot. If one ever develops, I may put up yet another one of my fictional stories in this blog. Maybe it will be a good way of escaping the horrors of the news cycle today.

I noticed, as I was waking up, that there was yet another shooting in the United States. This time, it was at Greenwood Park Mall in Indianapolis, Indiana. Four people died, including the shooter. At this point, I see that two people were injured during the attack, which was evidently stopped by a “good guy with a gun”. The “good Samaritan” was a 22 year old man who was lawfully carrying a weapon and managed to stop the shooter just as he was getting started.

I’m glad that there was finally a “good guy with a gun” who was available and willing to use his weapon to stop the latest gun toting freak from killing more innocent people than the three souls who were unlucky enough to be in his range. At the same time, I’m horrified that people feel like they need to carry guns wherever they go, because we have unhinged nut jobs who want to hurt and kill people. I don’t see how anyone can feel relaxed in the United States right now. There doesn’t seem to be much of a rhyme or reason to these incidents. They are completely unpredictable, and that is terrifying.

In other news, a friend of mine commented on a pretty cringeworthy video of Donald Trump dancing at a rally held in May of this year.

He’s a doddering old fool.

The comments on the above video were divided between the willfully ignorant Trump supporters, who can’t wait for him to be re-elected, to people like me and my friend, who are devastated at the idea that he might win again. Personally, I doubt Trump will ever be president again, although he won’t stop trying to be re-elected until he’s dead. Why do I think this? It’s because I think the most powerful people in the Republican Party don’t want him to be re-elected. They’ve already seen what he does when he’s in power, and they don’t like it.

Trump doesn’t take direction from more experienced or smarter people. He doesn’t follow orders. He acts on his own whims. He’s a loose cannon who thrills people who don’t really care about his shortcomings, but just find him entertaining and charismatic. Yes, that crowd can bring in the votes to get Republicans in power, but there’s a price to be paid for their loyalty. Quite a lot of those folks are willing to break the law to force their wills on everyone. I don’t think the likes of Mitch McConnell or Lindsey Graham necessarily want to consort with the Proud Boys. They want rich, compliant, religious people who will believe their lies about family values and less government overreach, as they hide the real motives for their policies behind noise that keeps everyone distracted.

Besides, Trump has proven that he’s not loyal to anyone but himself. If he gets back into office, there will be no controlling him. He would like to be a dictator who never leaves office. I don’t think that’s what the Republican Party really wants. They want someone who will do their bidding. I think they would rather have Ron DeSantis as president. I also think DeSantis would really suck as the POTUS… but at least at this point, I think he would be more willing to cooperate with other politicians. Trump just wants to be the most powerful man on Earth again. He doesn’t give a fuck about anyone but the man looking back at him in his gaudy, gilded mirror. Moreover, he would certainly not perform better than Biden has. He would just bluster more. People want to hold Joe Biden responsible for all of the bad things in the world right now. But the fact is, inflation, high gas prices, and violence are global problems.

*Boy, do I wish Trump supporters would wake the fuck up…*

It makes me sad to see how blind people are to who Trump really is. And if he was terrible in his first term, he will be absolutely insufferable in his second. What I hope happens is that he will run as an Independent. People will vote for him, and that will take votes away from DeSantis. I also hope that the Democrats have a different candidate, other than Joe Biden. I appreciate Biden’s work, and I don’t blame him for the problems we’re having right now, which are clearly global issues, but we need someone younger, more dynamic, and with more courage. Biden is simply too old to handle the job.

But mostly… I sit here thinking sometimes that the people who wind up getting murdered might be the lucky ones. They don’t have to sit by and watch this colossal shit show anymore. It’s depressing to see how messed up the USA is, and how it’s not getting any better. But… I try to maintain some hope, since I know there have been many very dark eras in history. They eventually passed. This will, too.

I think the whole abortion debate is keeping everyone distracted from the big picture. While we’re all outraged, arguing about women’s rights, which I agree are very important, there’s other stuff going on that we aren’t paying as much attention to right now. I fear that those things will become more apparent later, as people start to realize how the abortion bans are going to make huge problems that will affect everyone. The bans are going to lead to higher healthcare costs, more provider burnout and shortages, more incarcerations, and more mortality and morbidity. Moreover, people will not stop fighting or arguing over this issue, so it will keep a lot of folks distracted from the big picture– you know, things that will make life more equitable for everyone, not just rich, white people.

Ah well… at least I’m 50. Before long, I’ll be old enough to exit this nightmare. For now, I think I’ll enjoy beautiful music, Bill’s company, and whatever else brings me pleasure. And maybe I will get around to writing that satire piece that is stuck in my head. Usually, these things end up being so compelling that I just sit down and do it. At least there are still boys with beautiful voices around, to remind us all that the world is full of wonders. But it’s easy to forget that, when we have people like Donald Trump refusing to ride off into the sunset or to Hell, where he belongs.

Here’s a little “Deep Peace” for everyone. We could all use it.

I sure do miss the days when I was complacent about politics. I miss the days when I didn’t care about politicians, because they all seemed to be the same, regardless of the party. Donald Trump is a completely different beast. He’s done criminal things. He owes billions of dollars. He would never get a security clearance if he were a regular person, looking for a government job. Why so many so-called God fearing, red blooded Americans want this obvious morally deficient con man and criminal back in the White House, I will never know. I wish they would wake up. You want to vote Republican? Fine. But let us, please, get someone in office who has a moral compass, for the good of EVERYONE.

fiction, movies, music

Diamonds in the rough…

The other day, I was sitting on the patio drinking beer in the late afternoon sun. It occurred to me that Little Orphan Annie had a lot in common with Maria von Trapp. Both were musical theater heroines from musicals set in World War II (edited to add: Annie was set in the Great Depression— thanks to mphtheatergirl for catching the error). Both came from poverty– Annie was an orphan who lived in an orphanage, while Maria was a young novitiate at a convent. Both were spunky and friendly, as they turned the households of wealthy men upside down with their charms. Both were musical and used their musical gifts to brighten lives.

So I mentioned this on social media, and a friend who is into musicals piped up, saying her “musical theater brain just exploded”. Actually, she used an exploding emoticon to make her point. But I got the idea that she hadn’t thought about how similar the stories of Annie and Maria are kind of similar.

And now, as I sit here writing this, I realize that both of those stories also have something in common with Pretty Woman, a 1990 film that starred Julia Roberts as a woman named Vivian who went from being a prostitute to being Richard Gere’s character of Edward’s main squeeze. And Pretty Woman was kind of My Fair Lady— man turns woman from the wrong side of the tracks into something better and classier. Of course, Vivian and Annie also had red curly hair in common, and lots of spunk and positivity. Julia didn’t sing as Vivian, so I don’t know if they also had music in common.

In all of those stories, the cultured, wealthy, crotchety men are ultimately charmed by females who show them that they just need a little more love in their lives. It’s an appealing story, which is probably why it gets told in various ways so often. We all like the Cinderella story, featuring scrappy young women who climb out of adversity and onto something bigger and better. But then, each of these stories are not just about women making it on their own. They’re also about men who have a higher station, pulling them up. Maybe they would have pulled themselves up eventually, but being attached to a wealthy older man has its advantages, I guess.

She won his heart…

So why am I writing this now? I’m not gonna lie. It’s mostly because I can’t stand to look at that screenshot from my duet video yesterday. This was something intriguing that floated through my mind a couple of days ago and I wanted to write it down. It occurred to me that a lot of formulas of popular stories are really the same story set with different characters and situations.

I first thought about how similar Annie and Pretty Woman were a few years ago, as I was watching Pretty Woman on Netflix. I listened to Vivian giving Edward a pep talk and realized that she was only supposed to stay with him for a week– just temporarily– so he could seal a business deal. Annie, likewise, was only supposed to have a week with Daddy Warbucks. He’d even wanted a boy instead of a girl. But in the course of a few days, both of these characters had won over their wealthy male benefactors in a heartwarming Cinderella story in which they live happily ever after. Maria von Trapp, likewise, was supposed to be a temporary governess for Captain von Trapp’s seven children. She ends up charming everyone, despite being annoying to the captain at first. And Eliza Doolittle, initially annoyed with her Cockney accent, manages to win over Henry Higgins as she catches on to what he’s trying to teach her and becomes a beautiful young lady… a diamond in the rough, just like Vivian the prostitute, Annie the orphan, and Maria the nun in training.

Isn’t that interesting? Maybe I should log off and watch some of these warm and fuzzy movies today. In a matter of days, we’ll probably be emerging from our house, at long last. I might not have the time or inclination to hang out watching movies a week from now…

fiction, silliness

Don’t Say It’s Quiet… another kinky short story for Sara…

A few days ago, I wrote a post called “Call the COVID Coven“. Originally, I meant to write a short story for my friend, Sara, who works on the COVID-19 unit at the Mayo Clinic in Minnesota. I had written another story for her back in May, when she complained about the excessive personal protection equipment she must wear every day to take care of patients with COVID-19.

But the day I tried to write the newer story, WordPress was being wonky and wouldn’t let me post. The mood passed, and I didn’t get around to actually writing the story. I just wrote about the preliminary idea I had to write one. Well… last night, Sara posted today’s featured photo and I was blessed (or cursed) again with the urge to write something creative. So here goes. This one’s for you, Sara. Hope you’ll still want to be friends.

When last we left our heroine, Sara, the COVID-19 warrior, she was being tortured by Nurse Echo, a sadistic and kinky nursing supervisor who thought Sara needed a lesson in empathy. Day after day, marathon shift after marathon shift, Nurse Echo stood over Sara like Sergeant Blast, forcing her to wear ever more hot and oppressive PPE as she tended to patients. It would have been bad enough if the PPE were the normal kind. But Sarah’s PPE was kinky, which could be a good or a bad thing, depending on one’s tastes.

Nurse Echo wasn’t big on back talk, and she had a talent for design. Because she was tired of hearing her nurses complain about typing notes with gloves and face shields, she came up with a required face mask that also served as a very effective gag. Sometimes, if she was feeling especially charitable, Nurse Echo would let the nurses choose which type of gag they preferred: ball gag, ring gag, or penis shaped. Sara hated them all, but she needed her job. Besides, Nurse Echo wouldn’t let her leave the unit until every task was done to her satisfaction. And it seemed that Nurse Echo was never satisfied. She always felt things could be done better, and she would not back down when her nurses protested her slave driving style of management.

They had a strict rule on the COVID-19 floor at Kaputnik Hospital. “Don’t say it’s quiet.” The minute anyone ever said that, all hell would break loose. The craziest people would come in, their eyeballs hanging out of their sockets, or their noses bleeding incessantly, or vomit and diarrhea spewing from both ends… The nurses at the hospital knew. If things were slow, just enjoy it and eat bean dip and bon-bons. Things would inevitably pick up again, but maybe no one would be splattered with piss or pus or any of the other body fluids that show up on a busy hospital ward.

It was actually pretty quiet on the ward that night, as a trickle of sweat ran down Sara’s back under the rubbery gown she was forced to wear. She did feel confident that she would be able to finish her scut work earlier than usual. Maybe there would be time for a Gatorade and some Fritos before the next shift. But Sara was afraid to even think too long about how quiet it was. She had to get things done on time, or Nurse Echo would penalize her with extra thick gloves or an extra heavy visor on her helmet.

Shifting in her seat, Sara stole a glance at Nurse Echo. No one knew much about her. Where had she come from? Why was she so sadistic? She was an excellent nurse with meticulous skills, but she had the personality of a pissed off porcupine. Patients were lucky if she grunted “good morning” at them as she adjusted the tubes and wires that kept them connected to this life. Some of the patients who weren’t so sick whispered to Sara that Nurse Echo was scary. All Sara could do was nod in acknowledgment. She didn’t dare confirm the patient’s suspicions.

“Nurse!” Sara was jarred out of her reverie by the sound of Nurse Echo’s clipped British accent and the sound of her rubber pantaloons rubbing together as her thighs collided with each hobbled step.

Sara looked up at her boss, who was frowning, as usual. “Yes, Nurse Echo?” Sara responded, keeping her voice professional but betraying a certain timidness.

Nurse Echo scowled at her underling. She hated it when they sniveled. She hated it more when they were assertive.

“Are you finished with those notes yet? Mr. Trump has just made a huge mess in his bed and I expect you to clean it up promptly.” Nurse Echo snarled.

Sara rolled her eyes, thankful that the visor hid some of her deep resentment toward the orange haired cretin in room 432. He had recently been evicted from his housing and kicked out of his luxury hotel by his wife. After consorting with one too many Russian prostitutes, he had come down with the dreaded bug for the second time! But this time, no one at Walter Reed wanted to give him care.

“I’m almost finished Nurse Echo. It’s been a blessing tonight that things are so–” Sara said.

“Don’t you DARE say it!” Nurse Echo boomed. “Just for that, I think you need another layer of protection. Trade in that N95 for one of my special masks. NOW!”

“Aw… do I have to?” Sara whined. “I hate the taste of them.”

“You KNOW the rules! And clearly I can’t trust you to protect yourself by keeping quiet about–” Nurse Echo stopped herself just in time. There was one thing Sara did like about her boss. Nurse Echo never asked anyone to do anything she wouldn’t do herself. And if she had violated the rules, she too would need to “mask up”… and thensome.

Sara went into the medical supply room and found Nurse Echo’s special gag masks. She chose one that was shaped like a ring, covered it in bean dip, and was about to strap it on when she noticed the bottle of tequila in the corner. Feeling a little cheeky and more than a bit over Nurse Echo’s oppressive overbearingness, Sara quickly did a shot. Then she dutifully “protected herself” from more potentially ruinous outbursts, fastening the thick rubber straps around her head.

Nurse Echo smiled with satisfaction as she watched Sara stride resolutely toward Mr. Trump’s room. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door, gave herself a moment to recover from the bowling ball like way the stench hit her, and went into the room to deal with Mr. Trump’s trauma.

“Sorry…” Trump mumbled as Sara took in the mess. He wasn’t yet on a respirator, but his orange hair was complimented weirdly by the slightly bluish tinge to his skin. Sara smiled to herself as she realized that orange and blue are complementary colors. The mumbled apology didn’t sound the slightest bit sincere. She was surprised he’d said it. But then, he wasn’t very popular these days…

Unable to verbally respond to Trump’s “apology”, Sara willed herself to look kind as she nodded acknowledgment and cleaned up the mess. The many Big Macs and Whoppers Trump had enjoyed had really done a number. But Sara was a professional, and she had him clean and dry in no time.

She went back to her charting as Nurse Echo wandered the hall, looking in on patients, disciplining Sara’s co-workers, and tapping her ever present riding crop against her meaty hands. Nurse Echo was in a good mood, for once. She hadn’t yet made Sara wear the helmet, which was one of her favorite punitive garments for her nurses.

As she was typing the last notes into the computer, the doors to the COVID-19 unit burst open. Sara’s colleague, a young male nurse named Leon, came bursting on duty. Sara usually liked Leon. He was funny and energetic, and he worked very hard and at a high level of professionalism. But today, he said the dreaded words…

“Man! Why is it so quiet on the ward today?!” he boomed.

“On no…” Sara’s co-worker, Holly, moaned.

“What did I hear you say?” Nurse Echo growled.

“I didn’t mean it. Honest!” Leon moaned.

“You know what to do…” Nurse Echo hissed. Her eyes cast at the supply closet, and Sara knew that if Leon fucked up again, he’d be spending the night in the restraint wrap.

“Man, I wish I could quit this job…” Sara muttered behind the gag. “The money and hours are just too good to quit.”

“Move it!” Nurse Echo boomed as Leon scuttled away.

And just like that, the phones lit up and the first of many new patients arrived at the door. It was going to be a very long night. As Nurse Echo attended to the gasping young man who had just arrived on the hall, Sara noticed Mr. Trump’s call light blinking. She cast a furtive look at the private parts protector (PPP) Nurse Echo had designed expressly for patients like Mr. Trump, who wasn’t sick enough to stop grabbing women by the pussy. But Sara didn’t feel like suiting up…

She would come to regret that decision…

To be continued? Probably… but maybe not today.

The Overeducated Housewife

Just another boring blog about a boring housewife…

Category Archives: fiction