The Last Pork Chop by Bayard- written version
Posted by Reader at 2/8/2008 2:57 PM 
Categories: uncategorized
Tags: haute couture transgender fashion pickles nonflammable sleepwear murder fiction rags children
Categories: uncategorized
Tags: haute couture transgender fashion pickles nonflammable sleepwear murder fiction rags children
The Last Pork Chop
I have a wife. I love my wife. I love football too. More than I love my wife but that isn’t why Sharone is divorcing me. I’ve got three wonderful, and I might add beautiful, children. You want to see pictures? I’ve got pictures. I’ve got more pictures than Campbell’s got soup.
Don’t believe me, ask Campbell’s.
This is Aaron my oldest. He’s going to be a lawyer. Abraham, the middle child, with middle child syndrome, his analysts tell me, his mother and I think might be a faigelah. Faigelah smaigelah. Abraham wants to be a doctor but he’s going to be a lawyer if it kills him and me both. This is our precious baby, Shamu.
Shamu is as beautiful as her mother. More beautiful but don’t tell Sharone I said so. She’s so emotional especially now what will all the hormone replacement therapy.
Shamu, bless her, when she isn’t eating looks up at me with those lovely eyes of hers, eyes as lovely as the eyes of Elizabeth Taylor say, and says, Daddy more than anything in the world I want to grow up and marry a lawyer, or two lawyers, maybe three lawyers.
I laugh and say, Shamu darling, three lawyers is better than one most days of the week, I’ll tell you.
Shamu is the darling of her mother and my eyes. Her mother and me are hoping the gastric bypass surgery is as successful as the hormone replacement therapy. Not just for baby Shamu but for all of us.
We’re doing gastric bypass on the family plan. Hormone replacement therapy too. Our healthcare covers us all with no copay, can you imagine? What a windfall.
As a family we’ve lost more weight per capita than most families living in the continental United States and still Sharone is divorcing me.
Sharone is divorcing me, my business is in bankruptcy with threats of corporate raiders raiding and forcing me out, my life is in a shambles and Charm Tantrum is the cause so I’m not as upset as one would think me to be that Charm Tantrum is dead.
If Charm Tantrum wasn’t dead I’d give serious thought to killing Charm. But then who hasn’t given serious thought to killing Charm. Show me any man has met Charm Tantrum and I’ll show you a man wants Charm Tantrum dead.
Honestly, I never set out to become the person I am or to lead the life I’m leading. My life is as much an accident of my own creation as Charm Tantrum was an accident of all creation.
You want to die of boredom! Get handed the infant inflammable sleepwear business your father and his brother were handed by their father who started out selling from a pushcart on the Lower Eastside.
To this day I am haunted by nightmares of Babalum Mo with his gimpy leg pushing his infant inflammable sleepwear cart through the cobbled streets of the Lower Eastside singing out it that wonderful cantorlike voice of his, Sleepwear, infant inflammable sleepwear, get your infant inflammable sleepwear, one hundred percent inflammable.
My father and Uncle Morty turned Babalum Mo’s sleepwear pushcart into Infant Inflammable Sleepwear International a truly boring business that kept me and my family fed and would see to it my sons got to law school.
Uncle Morty, bless his black heart, died of a massive heart attack, a report in The Journal of the American Medical Association said Uncle Morty’s heart attack was the largest heart attack ever to take place in the free world and considering the size of Uncle Morty’s heart it came as something of a surprise not just to Aunt Seal but to the rest of the family as well.
My father, never the clever one when it came to business, especially the family business, broken hearted at the death of his beloved brother Morty retired to Florida with his secretary and most, if not all of the business assets leaving my darling mother, and huge international debt, on my doorstep.
My darling mother and my beloved wife never got along to begin with and it was World War Three after the last pork chop.
The last pork chop!
You don’t take the last pork chop if my darling mother is at the table, in the room, or around the corner, not if you want to keep your hand and Sharone, unschooled, foolishly took the last pork chop.
My darling mother has been dead these ten years and from beyond the grave I’m still hearing, Irving, how could she, how could your bitch of a wife take the last pork chop?
With my father in his secretary in Florida, my darling mother on my doorstep, huge mounting international debt and my beloved wife Sharone eating pork, there was no one but my cousin Norma and me to get the business.
Me and Norma got the business in more ways than one.
And no one got the business more than me.
You want boring get handed the infant inflammable sleepwear business your father and his brother started up from their father’s Lower Eastside pushcart and get it handed to you to run with your unmarried cousin Norma.
Who would marry Norma? An uglier woman I have never seen and I’ve seen some ugly women in my time. You tell me infant inflammable sleepwear attracts beauties and I’ll tell you you need your eyes examined.
Infant inflammable sleepwear isn’t the worst business if you discount all those ugly women and that’s more discounting than you’ll see during market week.
Sure there are worse businesses but infant inflammable sleepwear has been good to me and my family for what seems like generations. Infant inflammable sleepwear has put food on our table, enough food so everyone in the family needs gastric bypass surgery. But as the television says over and over and over again, the family that has gastric bypass surgery together stays together.
So we’d tried gastric bypass surgery as a family. And Sharone is still divorcing me.
That’s the last time I listen to anything the television has to say.
Infant inflammable sleepwear is boring. My cousin Norma is boring. My beloved wife and my darling children are boring. But most of all I am boring. I admit it. I’m just deep down to the bottom of my shrunken soul boring. Don’t believe me, ask my shrunken soul.
Life was good. We led our boring lives and we were doing okay being bored. We were bored and getting along fine being boring but just when you think you’re going to die from boredom fate steps in.
Babalum Mo bouncing me on the knee of his gimpy leg used to say, Irving, fate steps in.
Babalum Mo after pushing his pushcart around the Lower Eastside selling infant inflammable sleepwear would huddle about with all the other Lower Eastside pushcart vendors at the Lower Eastside Pickle Emporium eating pickles and bragging what big profits they were taking in. Babalum Mo never failed to come home with a great big half garlic dill for his darling grandson, me.
Bouncing me on the knee of his gimpy leg Babalum Mo would say, Irving, what do you think your Babalum Mo has in his pockets for you my fat little boy?
I’d scream, A pickle! A pickle! A pickle! My darling Babalum Mo!
What kind of pickle does Babalum Mo have for his fat little Irving? Babalum Mo, his gimpy leg growing weary, would ask.
A great big half garlic dill Babalum Mo, I’d scream.
When I was courting Sharone years before she made me marry her we used to play the same game and Sharone would scream with as much delight as I did when Babalum Mo offered me his great big half garlic dill.
I can hear my Babalum Mo now, Irving, fate steps in.
It was the night of the Sleepies.
You know the Sleepies? The Academy of Infant Inflammable Sleepwear Arts and Sciences. The Academy Awards of infant inflammable sleepwear.
Norma had this big deal of a great idea wouldn’t it be fun if we had some of our garments made up not in sizes infant to toddler but in big sizes to fit us.
That’s a whole lot of polyester, I told Norma but Norma said, Irving, we got polyester to spare.
At the time, and confidentially off the record I still think Norma’s big deal of a great idea was one of the stupidest ideas ever thought of in human history but Norma went ahead and had these giant snuggly sleepsuits made up for us to wear to the Sleepies.
The night of the Sleepies was a night I will never forget because it is a night that changed my life forever.
The Sleepies were being held, as they are every year, in the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion Lunchroom in the Grand Ballroom of the Howard Johnson’s on Route 87 in Paramus, New Jersey.
The Dorothy Chandler Pavilion Lunchroom in the Grand Ballroom of the Howard Johnson’s on Route 87 in Paramus, New Jersey is a lovely room. Sharone and I are giving serious thought to staging baby Shamu’s debutante cotillion in the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion Lunchroom in the Grand Ballroom of the Howard Johnson’s on Route 87 in Paramus, New Jersey when all her surgeries are complete and she is a beautiful, normal looking girl.
Norma insisted I wear this great big snuggly sleepsuit. Talk about ugly and would sell in the hundred millions, if it had been made up for little girls infant to toddler but what grown man wants to be seen in a giant pink snuggly sleepsuit pickered all over with wild strawberries.
You don’t know Norma. You don’t want to know Norma. No one wants to know Norma and speaking in a biblical sense no one ever will and that is a mercy. But what Norma wants Norma gets and to shut Norma up once and for all I put the damn giant pink snuggly sleepsuit pickered all over with wild strawberries on and Norma and me waddled down to the bus stop to catch the Number Forty Two Express Bus that would let us out right in front of the Howard Johnson’s.
Me and Norma was standing at the Number Forty Two Express Bus Stop when this car full of guys I went to high school with, guys I used to play football with, guys still driving around in the same Trans Am they drove around in in high school pulls up alongside the Number Forty Two Express Bus Stop and starts making fun of me and Norma. They were shouting things like, Nice outfits but Halloween is in October not July you stupid fags!
I was laughing along like I’d done most of my life, like I’d done in high school. I understood about the guys shouting about the nice outfits, about Halloween being in October and not July but why were they calling us fags. Norma has always been rather butch but that’s no reason to call us fags.
I didn’t understand it.
Were we fags because we were dressed up in giant pink infant inflammable sleepwear pickered all over with wild strawberries on our way to the Sleepies at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion Lunchroom in the Grand Ballroom of the Howard Johnson’s on Route 87 in Paramus, New Jersey?
It didn’t make sense. To me, to Norma, to you? But then the guys I went to high school with, the guys I used to play football with, the guys still driving around in the same Trans Am they drove around in in high school, never did make much sense. To me. To Norma. To you?
There are more fags than you can shake a stick at, and how those fags like to shake their sticks, in the fashion industries but not in infant inflammable sleepwear. Especially not in Infant Inflammable Sleepwear International.
We had a great big sign out front of our factory in China.
FAGS NEED NOT APPLY.
I don’t mind being called a fag. What’s the big deal being called a fag? If you aren’t a fag and someone you went to high school with and played football with and still drives around in the same Trans Am they drove around in in high school calls you a fag, what after all is the big deal if you aren’t actually a fag.
In high school when I’d come home crying that these same boys I went to high school with, played football with, drove around in their Trans Am had called me a fag, my Babalum Mo would ask, Are you a faigelah, Irving?
I’d cry, No Babalum Mo, I ain’t no faigelah.
Babalum Mo would snap, Irving, don’t use ain’t! Ain’t ain’t a real word, and add, If you ain’t no faigelah what do you care if these faigelahs call you a fag for?
My Babalum Mo could sure make sense when he needed to make sense and add comfort when comfort was due what with that giant half garlic dill pickle he kept in his pockets.
What I didn’t like and what I don’t like to this day, is having someone I went to high school with and played football with and still driving around in the same Trans Am they drove around in in high school saying, Halloween is in October not July, especially as the Sleepies, the Academy Awards of infant inflammable sleepwear, take place in October so it was October and not July and I got hot under the collar and when I get hot under the collar there’s no telling what I am capable of doing.
Don’t believe me, ask Norma.
I was hot under my collar, those giant snuggly sleepsuits were so damn uncomfortable, there was no telling what I was going to do, so I stuck my tongue out. Out of heat prostration, sheer frustration or at our assailants I don’t recall, all I know is my tongue came out of my mouth.
That’s when friendly taunting went from fun to frantic.
Okay, okay. To be truthful I was the kid always chosen last for football. No one, especially not this lot, wanted me on their team. But when these guys I went to high school with and played football with got out of the Trans Am they had been driving around in since high school with baseball bats I was like, Guys, I can’t play ball with you now.
Norma who is generally not a passive person in any way, shape or form was barking at me, Irving, I don’t know who is stupider, you or your stupid friends who want to play ball when we’ve got a date with destiny at the Sleepies. This is a night we will remember for the rest of our lives. So if you ignore these yutzes maybe like a bad dream they will go away and we can get on with the great business of infant inflammable sleepwear.
I tried to ignore these guys. I did my best to ignore these guys. I had been doing my best to ignore these guys ever since high school. Only Norma, these guys just didn’t ever go away.
What a bunch of guys driving around in a Trans Am as old as Norma and me combined was doing with buckets of hot tar in the trunk of the Trans Am they have been driving around in since high school I will never know and someone will have to explain to me.
This is a mystery as mysterious as Charm Tantrum.
Hot tar! I didn’t mind hot tar. It was a rather cold October night and I didn’t mind the feathers that followed though I’m allergic and started to bloat and sneeze not to mention all the giant red welts starting to come up all over my face. What I did mind was being hit repeatedly with the baseball bats, especially in the head where it hurt and being called a big fag bird.
Look at these big fag birds, the guys I went to high school with and played football with, the guys still driving around in the same Trans Am they were driving around in in high school, was laughing. Two great big fag birds! An emu and an ibis.
Like these retards even knew what an emu and an ibis was unless emus and ibises had been the topic on some reality television series the night before.
I suppose things could have been worse. The subject on the reality television series could have been sparrows and blue tits.
Can you imagine, I can’t, being called Sparrow and Blue Tits Glamorous? That would never have done.
There we were, me and Norma in our giant snuggly sleepwear covered in tar and feathers, me with giant red welts coming up all over my face just as the Number Forty Two Express Bus comes along.
Me and Norma didn’t have time to change. Didn’t have nothing to change into. We were late as it was and had to get to the Howard Johnson’s for the Academy of Infant Inflammable Sleepwear Arts and Sciences, also known as the Sleepies. Infant Inflammable Sleepwear International was up for Inflammable Infant Inflammable Sleepwear of the Year and we couldn’t miss that. Could we? You tell me. Could we?
Inflammable Infant Inflammable Sleepwear of the Year would be a first for Infant Inflammable Sleepwear International and would mean a huge rise in business. Infant Inflammable Sleepwear International could expect three to four percent more business if we won Inflammable Infant Inflammable Sleepwear of the Year and that three to four percent would mean the extra surgery my family needed, required and deserved.
In the ensuing scuffle, what with my tongue, baseball bats, the tar, the feathers, Norma barking, We’re not big fag birds, I managed to lose my eyeglasses and Norma, always too vain to wear hers was squinting something awful like she always does and when we got to the Howard Johnson’s dressed as we were, we were haphazardly escorted not into the Academy of Infant Inflammable Sleepwear Arts and Sciences, also known as the Sleepies, but into the Haute Couture Fashion Association of America’s big breakfast luncheon.
Suddenly and rather unexpectedly me and Norma were superstars. Headlines flashed across the front page of Women’s Wear Daily:
EMU AND IBIS GLAMOUR INTRODUCE THE NEW LOOK.
I was all for dismissing the entire episode and getting back to business as usual but Norma was busy barking, Irving, we’ve been handed an opportunity like the opportunity handed to our fathers by Babalum Mo and it is time to leap blindly into the big time.
Without so much as a backward glance, suddenly we’re no longer Irving and Norma of Infant Inflammable Sleepwear International but Emu and Ibis Glamour of Glamour US a glamorous division of Glamour International.
From the lowest of the low end of the garment business thrust by providence into the highest of the high end of the rag trade what could Norma and me do but run with the ball we’d been handed.
Suddenly, quite suddenly and most unexpectedly, I’m no longer a married man but a fag. That’s fashion, my friends. Low end you got your slubs of married men, high end you got your spectacular fags doesn’t matter if you’re a fag at the low end or a married man at the high end, at the low end you’re a slub of a married man and at the high end you’re a spectacular fag. That’s how fashion works. Don’t believe me, ask the fags.
Look, the money is much better at the high end, during a good season and Ibis, don’t dare call her Norma now, and I were having many good seasons, and if the money is good, do I care if I’m a fag or a married man?
I don’t know where we got the moxie, the gumption, or the nerve but I could hear Babalum Mo laughing in the background, Sleepwear, infant inflammable sleepwear, get your infant inflammable sleepwear, one hundred percent inflammable.
Babalum Mo used to sigh as I was sucking on his giant half garlic dill, If you’re going to do something do something right Irving.
Ibis and I were at the high end. We had to act high end even if our low ends were showing how high end we weren’t.
You’ve got to put on a good show. It’s all about a good show. Ibis and I had a fabulous season planned. We were high end fags, everything had to be fabulous, even if it wasn’t. But everything was fabulous, trust me, I wouldn’t lie. Why would I lie?
Don’t get me wrong I never designed anything in my life. We hired fags to do the designing. Had to take down the FAGS NEED NOT APPLY sign out front of our factories in China cause aside from all those things I don’t want to think about that fags do to each other the one thing fags know the rest of us haven’t got clue one about is design.
You want something designed and designed fabulously hire yourself a fag. Fags know more about design than they know about anything we can talk about in a family medium.
Ibis and I had a staff of fags designing away for Glamour US. But having a high end staff of high end fags designing high end glamorous garments for you when you’re high end isn’t always enough. Having a great gimmick couldn’t hurt.
That’s my Babalum Mo. Bouncing me on the knee of his gimpy leg while I sucked on that giant half garlic dill pickle of his Babalum Mo, used to say, Irving, having a great gimmick is like having a giant half garlic dill, it can’t hurt.
I’m not much on the uptake in a downward market but there I was sitting in my great big recently redesigned powder pink with all that lace office in my giant pink, pickered all over with wild strawberries infant inflammable sleepwear appliquéd with tar and feathers lounging suit reading Women’s Wear Daily, okay I wasn’t really reading I was just looking at the pictures, looking for pictures of myself so I could read about myself, when I came across a picture of Kayla and Karla Kunstmusee.
You must have heard of the Kunstmusee twins. They’ve been in all the papers. Global news stories. Bigger than the death of that guy in Rome that wears all those dresses I tell you I wouldn’t mind redesigning, all that filigree, all that beading, all that hand sewn lace, makes my head swim and my nipples as hard as if I was swimming in ice water. Don’t believe me, ask the ice water.
Huge news the Kunstmusee twins. You never heard of the Kunstmusee twins. Where have you been living under a rock? Siamese twins! Only you don’t call them Siamese twins no longer, at least not in the fabulous global world of haute couture.
Here in Haute Coutureland you call them conjoined. Conjoined twins.
Kayla and Karla Kunstmusee conjoined at the breasts.
These young ladies had been making headlines since their birth what with being conjoined at the breasts but here they were beautiful young ladies blossoming into womanhood and they had grown apart if you get what I am trying to tell you.
Doctors worldwide had been consulted and consulted and consulted again and again and again. And three out of four doctors agreed separating the twins now that they were a thirty eight double D apart from each other on both sides would not in anyway endanger their TVQ though it might seriously imperil their lives.
The surgery performed by world famous, world renowned television evangelist Dr. Angus Spalpeen was a gargantuan success in sheer numbers alone.
The press the separation of these conjoined young ladies was causing, bigger than the separation of those badly dressed, excessively ugly, so ugly they could have worked in infant inflammable sleepwear, royals over in England I would have loved to design for caused, would have made up for their deaths if indeed they had died but they didn’t. They were alive.
Alive!
The Kunstmusee Twins, not necessarily the royals, and as successful as their surgery had been the surgeries me and my little family had been partaking of made me feel more than a kinsmen of Kayla and Karla Kunstmusee.
Norma, I screamed through the office intercom after reading of the Kunstmusee Twins’ successful surgery, We’ve got to sign these girls.
Norma, screaming back through the office intercom, like Norma needed an intercom, when Norma screamed the fags we’d been hiring in China could hear her screaming in our factories in China, screamed, Don’t you ever scream Norma at me again, Emu, my name is Ibis, Ibis Glamour and don’t you forget it you stupid fag.
The financials alone could have bankrupted Infant Inflammable Sleepwear International and Glamour US a glamorous division of Glamour International both but in the long run what is money against the fabulosity of art and all would have been worth every rotten cent of the expenditure if Charm Tantrum hadn’t come sneaking upstaging upon the scene.
Look, I had nothing against Charm Tantrum. Who was Charm Tantrum? Glamour US a glamorous division of Glamour International had signed the Kunstmusee Twins with all their press and publicity were destined to be the next huge, great big fashion explosion. Only Ibis and I heard through the high end grapevine and our high end spies, you want the best a spy can offer you hire a high end fag spy cause no one likes to gossip about insider gossip more than high end fag spies, Charm Tantrum was being signed by our direct competitor Fabulous US a fabulous division of Fabulous International, who if you looked closely used to make low end hosiery and elastic undergarments for diabetics, to compete with our signing Kayla and Karla Kunstmusee.
In a business coup that involved, treachery, sexual gymnastics, blackmail and insider fashion espionage rattling the very foundations of the high end fashion world Ibis and Emu Glamour stole Charm Tantrum from Fabulous US a fabulous division of Fabulous International for Glamour US a glamorous division of Glamorous International for our superstar stable and were proud to boast both Charm Tantrum and Kayla and Karla Kunstmusee, the Kunstmusee Twins during a Fashion Week to rival any Fashion Week ever before or to ever come again.
Assured a tremendous, award winning, globally syndicated success even if our fabulously gorgeous gowns looked like infant inflammable sleepwear appliquéd with tar and feathers, Ibis and I knew we were going to have trouble with Kayla and Karla Kunstmusee.
Teenagers! Teenage girls, no less, with breasts to rival the breasts of any mature sex goddess, breasts like Sharone wanted to buy for herself, only Kayla and Karla Kunstmusee’s breasts were real not plastic like the breasts Sharone wanted to buy with my money for herself.
Charm Tantrum came from a very strict religious background. Ibis and I expected Charm to be a proper young lady except when Charm Tantrum was being a proper little gentleman.
I don’t care what you heard from those gossiping high end fashion fags, I may have been slipping it to Kayla and Karla Kunstmusee but I was not having an affair with Charm Tantrum.
Not that I wouldn’t have liked to. Charm Tantrum was the most beautiful young woman you have ever seen or are likely ever to see. Except when Charm Tantrum was being the most handsome young man you have ever seen or are likely ever to see.
There is no denying I wanted my piece of Charm Tantrum only Charm Tantrum was a messy, horrible tease taunting, No way Irving. No way you are ever going to get a bigger piece of me than you’ve already got. That’s the trouble with short, fat, balding little dwarves like you, Irving, your anger at being short, fat, balding little dwarves that can never be me or be with me makes them so, what is the word, oh I know, impotent.
That was Charm Tantrum. A star of global proportions but one hell of a rotten little bitch. If you had asked me back at the Number Forty Two Express Bus Stop before the Sleepies if I’d ever spend so much time on my knees in the men’s room begging Charm Tantrum for just a little taste I would have said you were a crazy. And if it ever gets out how much time I spent on my knees in the men’s room Sharone will be able to get her divorce and probably most of the business. Don’t believe me, ask my lawyers.
I’m in the high end of the fashion industries, I’ve got to say, actually I’m mandated to say, I don’t mind about all the sex. There’s a whole lot of sex, sex you have no idea takes place and sex you’ll need a dictionary to define.
Off the record I was getting my share of some of the best the industry had to offer. I was fucking the most beautiful woman in the world and it wasn’t my wife Sharone and I was fucking most of her friends. Only sometimes I wasn’t so sure I was fucking the most beautiful woman at all.
Charm Tantrum was like that. Changeable. One day this, one day that, every other day something else. Don’t try to pin Charm Tantrum down. That’s something no one will ever do.
I’d heard from my high end fashion spy fags what Charm Tantrum and Kayla and Karla Kunstmusee were up to. Borrowing, copying and selling Glamour US a glamorous division of Glamorous International’s designs out from under us. I don’t understand why they were doing what they were doing or why they were doing it to me.
What I’ve heard also involves drugs. I don’t like the idea of drugs especially not around my business and there are a lot of drugs around the high end of the haute couture world but what I understood most was business was good. No, not good, great! So like Jesus, I could happily turn the other cheek and hire hit men to break their legs.
Fuck around all you like with anyone you like I don’t care but when you fuck around with my business you fuck around with me.
As you no doubt read as erroneously reported in Women’s Wear Daily I held a knife to Charm Tantrum’s throat and said, You fuck with my family and I’ll slit your nasty throat!
What those PR people won’t think of next to get the public’s attention.
It was all lies. All make believe fairytales. A publicity stunt to help with sagging sales.
What I said as I held that knife to Charm Tantrum’s throat was, You fuck with my business and I’ll slit your nasty throat!
Charm Tantrum claimed our contract had a proviso concerning a percentage of the take and a bonus. There was no proviso I remember having made. I may have made promises but I’m a man who has never kept a promise in his life. Especially not when it comes to business. Or my married life.
Don’t believe me, ask my wife, Sharone.
My darling mother, rest her soul, said, Irving you should be a politician.
Frankly being a politician could have been a good life only I had the infant inflammable sleepwear business thrust upon me.
Charm Tantrum with all those underhanded, backbiting, sneaky thieving ways, threatened to let the hot air out of my business, threatened to defect to the other side, said some horrible things about how I was just some balding, fat, little dwarf envious of his or her beauty. That I, Emu Glamour of Glamour US a glamorous division of Glamour International was a bitter broken disappointed little man because I couldn’t be or be with Charm Tantrum.
Of all the mean, nasty, horrible things anyone could say Charm Tantrum said the meanest, nastiest most horrible thing anyone could say, even if it was true, but I wasn’t going to see the business I had thrust upon me and built into a global international award winning concern go down in flames all because some freaked out, bipolar, transgendered, drug addict wanted a percentage of my take.
It was the last pork chop. And the last pork chop was mine!
Oh, yes, I wanted Charm Tantrum dead. I’m glad Charm Tantrum is dead. The press we have been getting has added percentages to our annual grosses and those percentages mean the extra surgeries me and my family need, require and desire to lead normal wholesome lives.
Thought about killing Charm! Who hasn’t thought about killing Charm? I’d spend my days barricaded in my frilly powder pink lace strewn office plotting and planning ways in which to rid the world and Glamour US a glamorous division of Glamorous International of Charm Tantrum.
I’d come up with a killer of a great plan. Picture it, Fashion Week, the eyes of the world on the center ring of the world of the fashion elite as Charm Tantrum fabulously attired in the latest Emu and Ibis Glamour of Glamour US a glamorous division of Glamour International had to offer the world sashayed as only Charm Tantrum could sashay down the catwalk when suddenly! What is this? One of those giant, heated, burning hot and weighing more than all the anorexic models the world has to offer combined, has come loose and fallen like a burning meteorite crushing Charm Tantrum dead.
In front of the world press no less.
The job would have been simple to rig. There would have been no questions asked. An accident. An accident killing Charm. I thought about the accident. Planned the accident. Went so far as to hire contractors to make the accident happen. But I didn’t kill Charm Tantrum.
What reason did I have to kill Charm Tantrum? None. Don’t believe me, ask Charm Tantrum.
You’ve got nothing on me can prove I had anything to do with killing Charm. And let me caution you now, you come up with something ties me to Charm Tantrum’s death, I’ve got more lawyers than a fag can shake a stick at and my fag lawyers love to shake their sticks. Don’t believe me, ask my boys, Aaron and Abraham.
I love my wife. You love your wife. Your wife need eveningwear? Sexy sleepwear? Not as a bribe mind you. It’s no problem for Emu Glamour. You want eveningwear, sexy sleepwear. I can get it for you… and get it for you… wholesale.
I have a wife. I love my wife. I love football too. More than I love my wife but that isn’t why Sharone is divorcing me. I’ve got three wonderful, and I might add beautiful, children. You want to see pictures? I’ve got pictures. I’ve got more pictures than Campbell’s got soup.
Don’t believe me, ask Campbell’s.
This is Aaron my oldest. He’s going to be a lawyer. Abraham, the middle child, with middle child syndrome, his analysts tell me, his mother and I think might be a faigelah. Faigelah smaigelah. Abraham wants to be a doctor but he’s going to be a lawyer if it kills him and me both. This is our precious baby, Shamu.
Shamu is as beautiful as her mother. More beautiful but don’t tell Sharone I said so. She’s so emotional especially now what will all the hormone replacement therapy.
Shamu, bless her, when she isn’t eating looks up at me with those lovely eyes of hers, eyes as lovely as the eyes of Elizabeth Taylor say, and says, Daddy more than anything in the world I want to grow up and marry a lawyer, or two lawyers, maybe three lawyers.
I laugh and say, Shamu darling, three lawyers is better than one most days of the week, I’ll tell you.
Shamu is the darling of her mother and my eyes. Her mother and me are hoping the gastric bypass surgery is as successful as the hormone replacement therapy. Not just for baby Shamu but for all of us.
We’re doing gastric bypass on the family plan. Hormone replacement therapy too. Our healthcare covers us all with no copay, can you imagine? What a windfall.
As a family we’ve lost more weight per capita than most families living in the continental United States and still Sharone is divorcing me.
Sharone is divorcing me, my business is in bankruptcy with threats of corporate raiders raiding and forcing me out, my life is in a shambles and Charm Tantrum is the cause so I’m not as upset as one would think me to be that Charm Tantrum is dead.
If Charm Tantrum wasn’t dead I’d give serious thought to killing Charm. But then who hasn’t given serious thought to killing Charm. Show me any man has met Charm Tantrum and I’ll show you a man wants Charm Tantrum dead.
Honestly, I never set out to become the person I am or to lead the life I’m leading. My life is as much an accident of my own creation as Charm Tantrum was an accident of all creation.
You want to die of boredom! Get handed the infant inflammable sleepwear business your father and his brother were handed by their father who started out selling from a pushcart on the Lower Eastside.
To this day I am haunted by nightmares of Babalum Mo with his gimpy leg pushing his infant inflammable sleepwear cart through the cobbled streets of the Lower Eastside singing out it that wonderful cantorlike voice of his, Sleepwear, infant inflammable sleepwear, get your infant inflammable sleepwear, one hundred percent inflammable.
My father and Uncle Morty turned Babalum Mo’s sleepwear pushcart into Infant Inflammable Sleepwear International a truly boring business that kept me and my family fed and would see to it my sons got to law school.
Uncle Morty, bless his black heart, died of a massive heart attack, a report in The Journal of the American Medical Association said Uncle Morty’s heart attack was the largest heart attack ever to take place in the free world and considering the size of Uncle Morty’s heart it came as something of a surprise not just to Aunt Seal but to the rest of the family as well.
My father, never the clever one when it came to business, especially the family business, broken hearted at the death of his beloved brother Morty retired to Florida with his secretary and most, if not all of the business assets leaving my darling mother, and huge international debt, on my doorstep.
My darling mother and my beloved wife never got along to begin with and it was World War Three after the last pork chop.
The last pork chop!
You don’t take the last pork chop if my darling mother is at the table, in the room, or around the corner, not if you want to keep your hand and Sharone, unschooled, foolishly took the last pork chop.
My darling mother has been dead these ten years and from beyond the grave I’m still hearing, Irving, how could she, how could your bitch of a wife take the last pork chop?
With my father in his secretary in Florida, my darling mother on my doorstep, huge mounting international debt and my beloved wife Sharone eating pork, there was no one but my cousin Norma and me to get the business.
Me and Norma got the business in more ways than one.
And no one got the business more than me.
You want boring get handed the infant inflammable sleepwear business your father and his brother started up from their father’s Lower Eastside pushcart and get it handed to you to run with your unmarried cousin Norma.
Who would marry Norma? An uglier woman I have never seen and I’ve seen some ugly women in my time. You tell me infant inflammable sleepwear attracts beauties and I’ll tell you you need your eyes examined.
Infant inflammable sleepwear isn’t the worst business if you discount all those ugly women and that’s more discounting than you’ll see during market week.
Sure there are worse businesses but infant inflammable sleepwear has been good to me and my family for what seems like generations. Infant inflammable sleepwear has put food on our table, enough food so everyone in the family needs gastric bypass surgery. But as the television says over and over and over again, the family that has gastric bypass surgery together stays together.
So we’d tried gastric bypass surgery as a family. And Sharone is still divorcing me.
That’s the last time I listen to anything the television has to say.
Infant inflammable sleepwear is boring. My cousin Norma is boring. My beloved wife and my darling children are boring. But most of all I am boring. I admit it. I’m just deep down to the bottom of my shrunken soul boring. Don’t believe me, ask my shrunken soul.
Life was good. We led our boring lives and we were doing okay being bored. We were bored and getting along fine being boring but just when you think you’re going to die from boredom fate steps in.
Babalum Mo bouncing me on the knee of his gimpy leg used to say, Irving, fate steps in.
Babalum Mo after pushing his pushcart around the Lower Eastside selling infant inflammable sleepwear would huddle about with all the other Lower Eastside pushcart vendors at the Lower Eastside Pickle Emporium eating pickles and bragging what big profits they were taking in. Babalum Mo never failed to come home with a great big half garlic dill for his darling grandson, me.
Bouncing me on the knee of his gimpy leg Babalum Mo would say, Irving, what do you think your Babalum Mo has in his pockets for you my fat little boy?
I’d scream, A pickle! A pickle! A pickle! My darling Babalum Mo!
What kind of pickle does Babalum Mo have for his fat little Irving? Babalum Mo, his gimpy leg growing weary, would ask.
A great big half garlic dill Babalum Mo, I’d scream.
When I was courting Sharone years before she made me marry her we used to play the same game and Sharone would scream with as much delight as I did when Babalum Mo offered me his great big half garlic dill.
I can hear my Babalum Mo now, Irving, fate steps in.
It was the night of the Sleepies.
You know the Sleepies? The Academy of Infant Inflammable Sleepwear Arts and Sciences. The Academy Awards of infant inflammable sleepwear.
Norma had this big deal of a great idea wouldn’t it be fun if we had some of our garments made up not in sizes infant to toddler but in big sizes to fit us.
That’s a whole lot of polyester, I told Norma but Norma said, Irving, we got polyester to spare.
At the time, and confidentially off the record I still think Norma’s big deal of a great idea was one of the stupidest ideas ever thought of in human history but Norma went ahead and had these giant snuggly sleepsuits made up for us to wear to the Sleepies.
The night of the Sleepies was a night I will never forget because it is a night that changed my life forever.
The Sleepies were being held, as they are every year, in the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion Lunchroom in the Grand Ballroom of the Howard Johnson’s on Route 87 in Paramus, New Jersey.
The Dorothy Chandler Pavilion Lunchroom in the Grand Ballroom of the Howard Johnson’s on Route 87 in Paramus, New Jersey is a lovely room. Sharone and I are giving serious thought to staging baby Shamu’s debutante cotillion in the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion Lunchroom in the Grand Ballroom of the Howard Johnson’s on Route 87 in Paramus, New Jersey when all her surgeries are complete and she is a beautiful, normal looking girl.
Norma insisted I wear this great big snuggly sleepsuit. Talk about ugly and would sell in the hundred millions, if it had been made up for little girls infant to toddler but what grown man wants to be seen in a giant pink snuggly sleepsuit pickered all over with wild strawberries.
You don’t know Norma. You don’t want to know Norma. No one wants to know Norma and speaking in a biblical sense no one ever will and that is a mercy. But what Norma wants Norma gets and to shut Norma up once and for all I put the damn giant pink snuggly sleepsuit pickered all over with wild strawberries on and Norma and me waddled down to the bus stop to catch the Number Forty Two Express Bus that would let us out right in front of the Howard Johnson’s.
Me and Norma was standing at the Number Forty Two Express Bus Stop when this car full of guys I went to high school with, guys I used to play football with, guys still driving around in the same Trans Am they drove around in in high school pulls up alongside the Number Forty Two Express Bus Stop and starts making fun of me and Norma. They were shouting things like, Nice outfits but Halloween is in October not July you stupid fags!
I was laughing along like I’d done most of my life, like I’d done in high school. I understood about the guys shouting about the nice outfits, about Halloween being in October and not July but why were they calling us fags. Norma has always been rather butch but that’s no reason to call us fags.
I didn’t understand it.
Were we fags because we were dressed up in giant pink infant inflammable sleepwear pickered all over with wild strawberries on our way to the Sleepies at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion Lunchroom in the Grand Ballroom of the Howard Johnson’s on Route 87 in Paramus, New Jersey?
It didn’t make sense. To me, to Norma, to you? But then the guys I went to high school with, the guys I used to play football with, the guys still driving around in the same Trans Am they drove around in in high school, never did make much sense. To me. To Norma. To you?
There are more fags than you can shake a stick at, and how those fags like to shake their sticks, in the fashion industries but not in infant inflammable sleepwear. Especially not in Infant Inflammable Sleepwear International.
We had a great big sign out front of our factory in China.
FAGS NEED NOT APPLY.
I don’t mind being called a fag. What’s the big deal being called a fag? If you aren’t a fag and someone you went to high school with and played football with and still drives around in the same Trans Am they drove around in in high school calls you a fag, what after all is the big deal if you aren’t actually a fag.
In high school when I’d come home crying that these same boys I went to high school with, played football with, drove around in their Trans Am had called me a fag, my Babalum Mo would ask, Are you a faigelah, Irving?
I’d cry, No Babalum Mo, I ain’t no faigelah.
Babalum Mo would snap, Irving, don’t use ain’t! Ain’t ain’t a real word, and add, If you ain’t no faigelah what do you care if these faigelahs call you a fag for?
My Babalum Mo could sure make sense when he needed to make sense and add comfort when comfort was due what with that giant half garlic dill pickle he kept in his pockets.
What I didn’t like and what I don’t like to this day, is having someone I went to high school with and played football with and still driving around in the same Trans Am they drove around in in high school saying, Halloween is in October not July, especially as the Sleepies, the Academy Awards of infant inflammable sleepwear, take place in October so it was October and not July and I got hot under the collar and when I get hot under the collar there’s no telling what I am capable of doing.
Don’t believe me, ask Norma.
I was hot under my collar, those giant snuggly sleepsuits were so damn uncomfortable, there was no telling what I was going to do, so I stuck my tongue out. Out of heat prostration, sheer frustration or at our assailants I don’t recall, all I know is my tongue came out of my mouth.
That’s when friendly taunting went from fun to frantic.
Okay, okay. To be truthful I was the kid always chosen last for football. No one, especially not this lot, wanted me on their team. But when these guys I went to high school with and played football with got out of the Trans Am they had been driving around in since high school with baseball bats I was like, Guys, I can’t play ball with you now.
Norma who is generally not a passive person in any way, shape or form was barking at me, Irving, I don’t know who is stupider, you or your stupid friends who want to play ball when we’ve got a date with destiny at the Sleepies. This is a night we will remember for the rest of our lives. So if you ignore these yutzes maybe like a bad dream they will go away and we can get on with the great business of infant inflammable sleepwear.
I tried to ignore these guys. I did my best to ignore these guys. I had been doing my best to ignore these guys ever since high school. Only Norma, these guys just didn’t ever go away.
What a bunch of guys driving around in a Trans Am as old as Norma and me combined was doing with buckets of hot tar in the trunk of the Trans Am they have been driving around in since high school I will never know and someone will have to explain to me.
This is a mystery as mysterious as Charm Tantrum.
Hot tar! I didn’t mind hot tar. It was a rather cold October night and I didn’t mind the feathers that followed though I’m allergic and started to bloat and sneeze not to mention all the giant red welts starting to come up all over my face. What I did mind was being hit repeatedly with the baseball bats, especially in the head where it hurt and being called a big fag bird.
Look at these big fag birds, the guys I went to high school with and played football with, the guys still driving around in the same Trans Am they were driving around in in high school, was laughing. Two great big fag birds! An emu and an ibis.
Like these retards even knew what an emu and an ibis was unless emus and ibises had been the topic on some reality television series the night before.
I suppose things could have been worse. The subject on the reality television series could have been sparrows and blue tits.
Can you imagine, I can’t, being called Sparrow and Blue Tits Glamorous? That would never have done.
There we were, me and Norma in our giant snuggly sleepwear covered in tar and feathers, me with giant red welts coming up all over my face just as the Number Forty Two Express Bus comes along.
Me and Norma didn’t have time to change. Didn’t have nothing to change into. We were late as it was and had to get to the Howard Johnson’s for the Academy of Infant Inflammable Sleepwear Arts and Sciences, also known as the Sleepies. Infant Inflammable Sleepwear International was up for Inflammable Infant Inflammable Sleepwear of the Year and we couldn’t miss that. Could we? You tell me. Could we?
Inflammable Infant Inflammable Sleepwear of the Year would be a first for Infant Inflammable Sleepwear International and would mean a huge rise in business. Infant Inflammable Sleepwear International could expect three to four percent more business if we won Inflammable Infant Inflammable Sleepwear of the Year and that three to four percent would mean the extra surgery my family needed, required and deserved.
In the ensuing scuffle, what with my tongue, baseball bats, the tar, the feathers, Norma barking, We’re not big fag birds, I managed to lose my eyeglasses and Norma, always too vain to wear hers was squinting something awful like she always does and when we got to the Howard Johnson’s dressed as we were, we were haphazardly escorted not into the Academy of Infant Inflammable Sleepwear Arts and Sciences, also known as the Sleepies, but into the Haute Couture Fashion Association of America’s big breakfast luncheon.
Suddenly and rather unexpectedly me and Norma were superstars. Headlines flashed across the front page of Women’s Wear Daily:
EMU AND IBIS GLAMOUR INTRODUCE THE NEW LOOK.
I was all for dismissing the entire episode and getting back to business as usual but Norma was busy barking, Irving, we’ve been handed an opportunity like the opportunity handed to our fathers by Babalum Mo and it is time to leap blindly into the big time.
Without so much as a backward glance, suddenly we’re no longer Irving and Norma of Infant Inflammable Sleepwear International but Emu and Ibis Glamour of Glamour US a glamorous division of Glamour International.
From the lowest of the low end of the garment business thrust by providence into the highest of the high end of the rag trade what could Norma and me do but run with the ball we’d been handed.
Suddenly, quite suddenly and most unexpectedly, I’m no longer a married man but a fag. That’s fashion, my friends. Low end you got your slubs of married men, high end you got your spectacular fags doesn’t matter if you’re a fag at the low end or a married man at the high end, at the low end you’re a slub of a married man and at the high end you’re a spectacular fag. That’s how fashion works. Don’t believe me, ask the fags.
Look, the money is much better at the high end, during a good season and Ibis, don’t dare call her Norma now, and I were having many good seasons, and if the money is good, do I care if I’m a fag or a married man?
I don’t know where we got the moxie, the gumption, or the nerve but I could hear Babalum Mo laughing in the background, Sleepwear, infant inflammable sleepwear, get your infant inflammable sleepwear, one hundred percent inflammable.
Babalum Mo used to sigh as I was sucking on his giant half garlic dill, If you’re going to do something do something right Irving.
Ibis and I were at the high end. We had to act high end even if our low ends were showing how high end we weren’t.
You’ve got to put on a good show. It’s all about a good show. Ibis and I had a fabulous season planned. We were high end fags, everything had to be fabulous, even if it wasn’t. But everything was fabulous, trust me, I wouldn’t lie. Why would I lie?
Don’t get me wrong I never designed anything in my life. We hired fags to do the designing. Had to take down the FAGS NEED NOT APPLY sign out front of our factories in China cause aside from all those things I don’t want to think about that fags do to each other the one thing fags know the rest of us haven’t got clue one about is design.
You want something designed and designed fabulously hire yourself a fag. Fags know more about design than they know about anything we can talk about in a family medium.
Ibis and I had a staff of fags designing away for Glamour US. But having a high end staff of high end fags designing high end glamorous garments for you when you’re high end isn’t always enough. Having a great gimmick couldn’t hurt.
That’s my Babalum Mo. Bouncing me on the knee of his gimpy leg while I sucked on that giant half garlic dill pickle of his Babalum Mo, used to say, Irving, having a great gimmick is like having a giant half garlic dill, it can’t hurt.
I’m not much on the uptake in a downward market but there I was sitting in my great big recently redesigned powder pink with all that lace office in my giant pink, pickered all over with wild strawberries infant inflammable sleepwear appliquéd with tar and feathers lounging suit reading Women’s Wear Daily, okay I wasn’t really reading I was just looking at the pictures, looking for pictures of myself so I could read about myself, when I came across a picture of Kayla and Karla Kunstmusee.
You must have heard of the Kunstmusee twins. They’ve been in all the papers. Global news stories. Bigger than the death of that guy in Rome that wears all those dresses I tell you I wouldn’t mind redesigning, all that filigree, all that beading, all that hand sewn lace, makes my head swim and my nipples as hard as if I was swimming in ice water. Don’t believe me, ask the ice water.
Huge news the Kunstmusee twins. You never heard of the Kunstmusee twins. Where have you been living under a rock? Siamese twins! Only you don’t call them Siamese twins no longer, at least not in the fabulous global world of haute couture.
Here in Haute Coutureland you call them conjoined. Conjoined twins.
Kayla and Karla Kunstmusee conjoined at the breasts.
These young ladies had been making headlines since their birth what with being conjoined at the breasts but here they were beautiful young ladies blossoming into womanhood and they had grown apart if you get what I am trying to tell you.
Doctors worldwide had been consulted and consulted and consulted again and again and again. And three out of four doctors agreed separating the twins now that they were a thirty eight double D apart from each other on both sides would not in anyway endanger their TVQ though it might seriously imperil their lives.
The surgery performed by world famous, world renowned television evangelist Dr. Angus Spalpeen was a gargantuan success in sheer numbers alone.
The press the separation of these conjoined young ladies was causing, bigger than the separation of those badly dressed, excessively ugly, so ugly they could have worked in infant inflammable sleepwear, royals over in England I would have loved to design for caused, would have made up for their deaths if indeed they had died but they didn’t. They were alive.
Alive!
The Kunstmusee Twins, not necessarily the royals, and as successful as their surgery had been the surgeries me and my little family had been partaking of made me feel more than a kinsmen of Kayla and Karla Kunstmusee.
Norma, I screamed through the office intercom after reading of the Kunstmusee Twins’ successful surgery, We’ve got to sign these girls.
Norma, screaming back through the office intercom, like Norma needed an intercom, when Norma screamed the fags we’d been hiring in China could hear her screaming in our factories in China, screamed, Don’t you ever scream Norma at me again, Emu, my name is Ibis, Ibis Glamour and don’t you forget it you stupid fag.
The financials alone could have bankrupted Infant Inflammable Sleepwear International and Glamour US a glamorous division of Glamour International both but in the long run what is money against the fabulosity of art and all would have been worth every rotten cent of the expenditure if Charm Tantrum hadn’t come sneaking upstaging upon the scene.
Look, I had nothing against Charm Tantrum. Who was Charm Tantrum? Glamour US a glamorous division of Glamour International had signed the Kunstmusee Twins with all their press and publicity were destined to be the next huge, great big fashion explosion. Only Ibis and I heard through the high end grapevine and our high end spies, you want the best a spy can offer you hire a high end fag spy cause no one likes to gossip about insider gossip more than high end fag spies, Charm Tantrum was being signed by our direct competitor Fabulous US a fabulous division of Fabulous International, who if you looked closely used to make low end hosiery and elastic undergarments for diabetics, to compete with our signing Kayla and Karla Kunstmusee.
In a business coup that involved, treachery, sexual gymnastics, blackmail and insider fashion espionage rattling the very foundations of the high end fashion world Ibis and Emu Glamour stole Charm Tantrum from Fabulous US a fabulous division of Fabulous International for Glamour US a glamorous division of Glamorous International for our superstar stable and were proud to boast both Charm Tantrum and Kayla and Karla Kunstmusee, the Kunstmusee Twins during a Fashion Week to rival any Fashion Week ever before or to ever come again.
Assured a tremendous, award winning, globally syndicated success even if our fabulously gorgeous gowns looked like infant inflammable sleepwear appliquéd with tar and feathers, Ibis and I knew we were going to have trouble with Kayla and Karla Kunstmusee.
Teenagers! Teenage girls, no less, with breasts to rival the breasts of any mature sex goddess, breasts like Sharone wanted to buy for herself, only Kayla and Karla Kunstmusee’s breasts were real not plastic like the breasts Sharone wanted to buy with my money for herself.
Charm Tantrum came from a very strict religious background. Ibis and I expected Charm to be a proper young lady except when Charm Tantrum was being a proper little gentleman.
I don’t care what you heard from those gossiping high end fashion fags, I may have been slipping it to Kayla and Karla Kunstmusee but I was not having an affair with Charm Tantrum.
Not that I wouldn’t have liked to. Charm Tantrum was the most beautiful young woman you have ever seen or are likely ever to see. Except when Charm Tantrum was being the most handsome young man you have ever seen or are likely ever to see.
There is no denying I wanted my piece of Charm Tantrum only Charm Tantrum was a messy, horrible tease taunting, No way Irving. No way you are ever going to get a bigger piece of me than you’ve already got. That’s the trouble with short, fat, balding little dwarves like you, Irving, your anger at being short, fat, balding little dwarves that can never be me or be with me makes them so, what is the word, oh I know, impotent.
That was Charm Tantrum. A star of global proportions but one hell of a rotten little bitch. If you had asked me back at the Number Forty Two Express Bus Stop before the Sleepies if I’d ever spend so much time on my knees in the men’s room begging Charm Tantrum for just a little taste I would have said you were a crazy. And if it ever gets out how much time I spent on my knees in the men’s room Sharone will be able to get her divorce and probably most of the business. Don’t believe me, ask my lawyers.
I’m in the high end of the fashion industries, I’ve got to say, actually I’m mandated to say, I don’t mind about all the sex. There’s a whole lot of sex, sex you have no idea takes place and sex you’ll need a dictionary to define.
Off the record I was getting my share of some of the best the industry had to offer. I was fucking the most beautiful woman in the world and it wasn’t my wife Sharone and I was fucking most of her friends. Only sometimes I wasn’t so sure I was fucking the most beautiful woman at all.
Charm Tantrum was like that. Changeable. One day this, one day that, every other day something else. Don’t try to pin Charm Tantrum down. That’s something no one will ever do.
I’d heard from my high end fashion spy fags what Charm Tantrum and Kayla and Karla Kunstmusee were up to. Borrowing, copying and selling Glamour US a glamorous division of Glamorous International’s designs out from under us. I don’t understand why they were doing what they were doing or why they were doing it to me.
What I’ve heard also involves drugs. I don’t like the idea of drugs especially not around my business and there are a lot of drugs around the high end of the haute couture world but what I understood most was business was good. No, not good, great! So like Jesus, I could happily turn the other cheek and hire hit men to break their legs.
Fuck around all you like with anyone you like I don’t care but when you fuck around with my business you fuck around with me.
As you no doubt read as erroneously reported in Women’s Wear Daily I held a knife to Charm Tantrum’s throat and said, You fuck with my family and I’ll slit your nasty throat!
What those PR people won’t think of next to get the public’s attention.
It was all lies. All make believe fairytales. A publicity stunt to help with sagging sales.
What I said as I held that knife to Charm Tantrum’s throat was, You fuck with my business and I’ll slit your nasty throat!
Charm Tantrum claimed our contract had a proviso concerning a percentage of the take and a bonus. There was no proviso I remember having made. I may have made promises but I’m a man who has never kept a promise in his life. Especially not when it comes to business. Or my married life.
Don’t believe me, ask my wife, Sharone.
My darling mother, rest her soul, said, Irving you should be a politician.
Frankly being a politician could have been a good life only I had the infant inflammable sleepwear business thrust upon me.
Charm Tantrum with all those underhanded, backbiting, sneaky thieving ways, threatened to let the hot air out of my business, threatened to defect to the other side, said some horrible things about how I was just some balding, fat, little dwarf envious of his or her beauty. That I, Emu Glamour of Glamour US a glamorous division of Glamour International was a bitter broken disappointed little man because I couldn’t be or be with Charm Tantrum.
Of all the mean, nasty, horrible things anyone could say Charm Tantrum said the meanest, nastiest most horrible thing anyone could say, even if it was true, but I wasn’t going to see the business I had thrust upon me and built into a global international award winning concern go down in flames all because some freaked out, bipolar, transgendered, drug addict wanted a percentage of my take.
It was the last pork chop. And the last pork chop was mine!
Oh, yes, I wanted Charm Tantrum dead. I’m glad Charm Tantrum is dead. The press we have been getting has added percentages to our annual grosses and those percentages mean the extra surgeries me and my family need, require and desire to lead normal wholesome lives.
Thought about killing Charm! Who hasn’t thought about killing Charm? I’d spend my days barricaded in my frilly powder pink lace strewn office plotting and planning ways in which to rid the world and Glamour US a glamorous division of Glamorous International of Charm Tantrum.
I’d come up with a killer of a great plan. Picture it, Fashion Week, the eyes of the world on the center ring of the world of the fashion elite as Charm Tantrum fabulously attired in the latest Emu and Ibis Glamour of Glamour US a glamorous division of Glamour International had to offer the world sashayed as only Charm Tantrum could sashay down the catwalk when suddenly! What is this? One of those giant, heated, burning hot and weighing more than all the anorexic models the world has to offer combined, has come loose and fallen like a burning meteorite crushing Charm Tantrum dead.
In front of the world press no less.
The job would have been simple to rig. There would have been no questions asked. An accident. An accident killing Charm. I thought about the accident. Planned the accident. Went so far as to hire contractors to make the accident happen. But I didn’t kill Charm Tantrum.
What reason did I have to kill Charm Tantrum? None. Don’t believe me, ask Charm Tantrum.
You’ve got nothing on me can prove I had anything to do with killing Charm. And let me caution you now, you come up with something ties me to Charm Tantrum’s death, I’ve got more lawyers than a fag can shake a stick at and my fag lawyers love to shake their sticks. Don’t believe me, ask my boys, Aaron and Abraham.
I love my wife. You love your wife. Your wife need eveningwear? Sexy sleepwear? Not as a bribe mind you. It’s no problem for Emu Glamour. You want eveningwear, sexy sleepwear. I can get it for you… and get it for you… wholesale.
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