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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