Friday, January 5, 2018

Station Master-book (excerpt)


Piper/Piker?

 

Proud Piper pronounce, “My gold doeth mankind rule!”

Pleased Piker profess, “No law obeyed, is my news, Fool!”

 

My fortune stole by such small lie

Sweet freedom profit, my spirit-fly

 

All so love me, even spouse seven

I love Almighty “reign” of heaven

 

Mansion mountain reflect in private lake

Warm shack creek-side for my home sake

 

Silk three-piece suit fit tailor-made

Virtue-reward from toil with spade

 

Nose high declare deserves royal elite air

Re-sew tight seams, accommodate derriere

 

Above the lesser, I self-proclaim

Alone the leper in abject distain

 

When ’ere I speak, men best close listen

Erudite words aplenty, all content missin’

 

  “E”-go in fancy chauffeured car to private jet

Respect have I for “Scoundrel”, my dog-pet

 

I made it, self-worth is in the “B’s”

Self-portrait mirrors is all he sees

 

Where be the shoes? Socks mismatched

Best laid plans can be so rotten-hatched

 

Proudly admit I’m great and do better live

Humble pray I! Dear Lord! My sins forgive

Amen!

 

 

 

What Royalty-Elite?

 

 

 

 

Flittering around the sixty-eighth floor suite which served as her bedroom, just two levels below the palatial entertainment theater with a panoramic city light show from her penthouse suite, the illustrious debutante debated the wisdom of inviting the count to her next soiree. He was such a bore, but extremely handsome. The soon to be potentate might do great things for her in his new position; he had certainly been obliging on previous personal encounters. It was true that he was only on the “B” list for her infamous dinner parties; impromptu promotions were always in order.

As to her “debutante” status, she was many decades over the limit for such an adornment in name. But, the myriad face lifts had served her well; even her detractors confessed that her skin was “tight as a drum”; in her expert opinion of herself, you could not get any better than that. Narcissism might be a disease of conceited people of lesser stature than she; royalty was bred beyond such bourgeois tendencies of the climbing “wanna be” losers. This latter clan, the rest of the world, made neither the “A” nor the “B” dinner list. She smiled at her wit.

Her late husband, the baron, Armond, by name, correctly pronounced in the continental French accent style, the “r” cleared in the throat like the sound made when choking on a popcorn hull, severe nasaling of the “on” and ignoring the “d”, seventh to whom she had been officially wed, had left her very well-secured; upwards of eight hundred million well-secured! Someone once commented that not even she could spend all that money; she intended to try; time was short.

The first six had not been pikers, either. All tolled and tallied, she did quite well for herself, outliving each and garnering a tidy little sum. It was impolite to speak of amounts when one was truly rich. To know, one and all, that the pile totaled well over an enviable “B” was quite enough! She had bought this very building with some of those gains, and tastefully remodeled it, too, in a style befitting her status and stature, above and beyond the hoi polloi. Breeding always showed!

Testing her taut chin in the gold-veined mirrored reflection, she returned her eyes to the guest list and they fell upon the royal name of her intimate friend, the count. Yes! She would move him to the “A” list in place of…she could not remember the boorish upstart’s name.

“Oh!” She shook her head. That late night T.V. dimwit who had insulted her. He never would have been invited if her social secretary had not had this thing for him. She had only given in because she dearly loved the girl and good help was so difficult to find. As to the alleged attributes the weird personality possessed, she had spent un-quality time with him and found him, to say the least, inadequate. She smiled, knowingly.

The kiss of death for him, of course, was his indiscretion of making a joke of her unfortunate inappropriate offense, which most certainly had not been her fault. She had excused herself to the powder room at one of her gala dinner parties in the presence of all the important people, even one from some country or another who was an ambassador. The gown she wore had cost twenty-five thousand dollars and while the rear hem was somewhat short and revealing, the one-of-a-kind “tails” covered almost everything just fine. The problem was that as she returned from tending her needs, she paraded to her prominent position at head of the table past all her imperative guests with the fancy accouterments of the tails untidily tucked into her pantyhose. The episode was, in itself, bad enough, but, then, the boorish comedian made a joke of the unfortunate event on his television show referring to it as two hams trying to escape a nylon sack.

Her volatile temper flared at the insult. After all, she did diet and exercise. And, to be sure, her highness’ stockings were, most assuredly, silk. Thank you!

She called him, personally, which she seldom ever did. Venting her wrath at his unprofessional offense, she called him a “chauvinist pig”, and, meaning to humble him, added that he might just “oink!”. Deftly, he replied, derisively, with a most annoying snort, “Yeah, I might. But, I will never---‘bark!’.” He abruptly hung up on her, a personal affront and grievous insult. Then, he told that story on his T.V. show, never revealing her name; she would sue at the drop of a hat!

So, the count was in; the trash was out---for good!

Quickly, on to more pleasant thoughts as she primped in front of the mirror. Ah! Still beautiful and desirable.

Her personal secretary, Gaylord, a darling of a boy young enough to be her grandson, had informed her that he had been approached by a white house aid on behalf of the President, who wanted an invitation to one of her dinner parties! Oh! That would turn some heads and get proper press coverage. Oh! Yes! The President! Certainly, she would grant him an audience. How perfectly exciting! She felt ten years younger just thinking of her luck. She began to plan what promised to be her most successful extravaganza.

He would be allowed to utilize the express elevator to the penthouse, the one for her own private use only. Very few had access to the “Pleasure Rocket”, her personal nickname for the conveyance which brought late night visitors for clandestine private entertainment. Most had to use the regular tube to reach the forty-sixth floor, then disembark to be screened and photo I.D.’ed at the security desk, the only piece of furniture on the otherwise vacant floor, before being allowed to enter the secure elevator to the seven story penthouse suite where her highness resided. The voided floor served as a security zone; not just anyone was allowed access to royalty, even to a queen of a self-crowned pretend coronation. One had to keep their distance from the riff-raff.

She always set the agenda for topics of conversation at her elaborate get-togethers: world peace, global warming, immigration, health care issues, child hunger, crime, gun control, anti-hunting.

The mere thought of a furry little cuddle of a fuzz ball murdered by a brute hunter with a dirty gun at over a mile distance made the hair at the nape of her neck stand on end and brought a tear to her eye. Uh! She had lambasted that pig of a producer-director type who had attended one of her parties; the only time he had been invited. It was common knowledge that he had a six hundred thousand dollar gun collection, but, of course, none of the “right” people ever mentioned it; such a disgusting hobby. Why couldn’t he collect---oh!…I don’t know. Wives! That, at least was cultured, and, acceptable.

When, in the middle of a most pleasant feast, he bragged about his boorish objects, she lost control. Practically screaming her outrage at him, his weapons of destruction and his trophy room, his distasteful practice of killing helpless, defenseless animals for his own personal pleasure and amusement, she nearly choked on a mouthful of one hundred and fifty dollar a bite Beluga black caviar. The fact that the delicacy, fish roe taken from Caspian Sea sturgeon, further threatened an already endangered species, was totally lost on her “Highness“. She had properly, albeit indelicately, put him in his place; he was asked to leave; her request enforced by security.

Really! These peon upstarts with their easy perversion toward security! Why! These persons had nothing of which to be proud. Mon Deue!

And, she was not evil! She was privileged, elite, titled and…thereby…entitled. She had won the big lottery---Seven times! Unknowingly, she was the personification of “pernicious” while remaining blissfully ignorant of the meaning of the word. As unaware as she was of true values!

Why! She went out among the masses and was not once harassed. Only today, she had broached the park for some sun and greenery inspection and no one had accosted her; in fact, no one seemed even to notice her at all. Really! Her bodyguard commented on the lack of people in the sanctuary. The masses’ fetish with self-protection was truly absurd! They owned nothing worth stealing and should a few million or even billion die, well, so be it. The famous deserved life and all the fineries her inherited money could buy. She had earned her way, paid her dues. She was worthy.

C’est la vie!

 

“And the truth shall set you free.”

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