Past Imperfect

Past Imperfect – #504

Brian, left: “What the hell are you doing? I’m standing here looking incredibly sexy even though there seems to be something neutered going on with my pants.”

Mary, right: “I’m just so fed up with people I want to scream and bang on something loud.”

Brian: “Okay. Are these people you don’t like off to our right? What are you looking at? Is there a script over there? Because I’m not really sure where we’re going with this scene.”

Mary: “No, Neuter Pants. I’m checking to see if I have a pop-up on my laptop.”

Brian: “That sounds like a medical condition. Do I need to call somebody? And what would I tell them if I did?”

Mary: “You seem a bit slow, so this might not sink in, but I have it set up so that every time there’s a new post on Crusty Pie or Bonnywood Manor I get an alert.”

Brian: “That sounds like a medical condition and an insane asylum. Why do you care what happens there?”

Mary: “Because he gets me.”

Brian: “Is he a bounty hunter? Have you done something that I should know about?”

Mary: “You are really starting to annoy me. Can you go be pretty somewhere else?”

Brian: “Well, actually, no. I sold the shirt off my back just so I could get another beer on Bourbon Street and now I don’t have any money for the city bus. So I’m stuck here until we get free public transportation or the writer of this piece figures out where the story is going.”

Mary: “Hmm. You sound a little bit like Brian right now.”

Brian: “Probably because my name is Brian.”

Mary: “No, not you Brian, the other Brian, the one who writes the two blogs I just mentioned mere seconds ago in this dialogue. Why is it so hard for you to keep up?”

Brian: “Probably because I’m just a guy in a random black-and-white photo that is being forced to speak dialogue that he never would have uttered just so some random blogger can vainly try to up his traffic stats. This is getting far too meta for someone without a shirt to comprehend. And yet… I feel compelled to participate in this cavalcade of surrealism.”

Mary: “That’s the clincher! Brian… well, the other Brian, seduces you with his twisty ways until you become addicted, at least in his own mind, and you can’t help but yearn for another fix. And like I said, he totally gets me. I can rant away about how Not-My-President Trump is a tiny-fingered psychopath and Brian is right there clicking his approval like a woodpecker.”

Brian: “Brian seems amazingly sage and wise. Does he know why you’re wearing a royal gown and a crown?”

Mary: “Oh, that. Well, he might not be quite up to speed with this development, but in order to deal with the outrage of Trump, I had to create my own country where I could live until he’s impeached or the mothership transports him back to Planet Cheeto. And since I took the time to create this other country, I think I should be the queen of it, right?”

Brian: “Well, I don’t really know about that. But I do know that you look strikingly similar to a young Jessica Tandy.”

Mary: “And you look like a younger Marlon Brando. Weren’t they in a play together a couple of centuries ago? Something to do with New Orleans and poor choices and a streetcar named… what was it?”

The Other Brian: “Desire. Or Hope. Or Change. Or Why the Hell Can’t People Just Do the Right Thing Instead of Being Self-Obsessed Wankers without Compassion for Their Fellow Man.”

Brian: “I rather like him.”

Mary: “Yeah, well, don’t get too enamored. He has his moments, but he can be a little crotchety sometimes.”

 

Note 1: Previously published, tiny changes made.

Note 2: This post was a shout-out to Mary at “It’s All in Perception”. She hinted that she would like to appear in a Past Imperfect, and I knew a guy who could make that happen. Sadly, Mary’s blog is no longer available, and I miss her creative and magical posts. Those of us who have been around WordPress for a while know quite well how it feels when someone in our digital family decides to move on to other things. We wish them luck, but it’s a melancholy wishing.

Note 3: My stockpile of inspirational photos for future Past Imperfects is growing a bit thin, so if you have an old-school image that you would like me to gently desecrate, feel free to send them to BonnywoodManor@gmail.com . Just be sure to give me a heads up that you have done so in the comments of this or any of my posts. I rarely check that account unless I’m expecting something.

By the way, if you follow a blogger that you really enjoy, be sure that they know you appreciate them, in whatever way you can.

Cheers.

 

30 replies »

    • Actually, I really enjoyed his older work, especially the early 50s through the mid-60s. Of course, he also made a lot of movies just for the money, with his ego thinking he could “save” the movie. That wasn’t always the case, and I suspect you may have watched one of his ego trips….

      Liked by 1 person

    • Well, friend, as I’m sure you can imagine, there’s a massive waiting list of folks wanting to take advantage of the Witless Protection Plan, so it might take a bit. Of course, I know a guy who knows a gal who knows one of the booking agents, so maybe we can make a deal. How about you start the negotiations by letting me have that delicious flower pot that I’ve been lusting after…. 😉

      Liked by 1 person

    • Well, now, your forceful bravado has me a bit tingly. And the possibility of polyester? I’m swooning.

      Not over the top, at all. In fact, I think I might over-top your not-over-the-top by pulling something out of the archives to toss the appreciation right back at ya. Stay tuned… 😉

      Liked by 1 person

  1. So, wait. That wasn’t Marlon Brando up in that photo? O_o Damn. The 60s were good to me, even if I was just a tiny child when they were wafting up their free love and drugs for everybody message… You know of my vast admiration for you and all that you send forth, and now it’s out there so everyone else knows too. ❤ I don't have any photos (sadly and alack), but I can direct you, if direction is required, to several royalty free sites where you can glean to your heart's content… I think.

    Liked by 2 people

    • First, that IS Marlon in the photo, and that is Jessica Tandy, in the Broadway production of “A Streetcar Named Desire”. (1947, if you desire a time-stamp.) Jessica was replaced by Vivien Leigh in the film version, 1951.

      Second, I cherish our mutual admiration, but I’ll stop here before I get too sappy and somebody whips out a violin.

      Third, I know you could find some terrific photos. As long as they’re old enough, there’s a strong chance that the copyright expired years ago and the photo is now in the public domain. Do a little bit of keyword magic and see what you can find.

      Fourth, the 60s were about free love and drugs? I had NO idea… 😉

      Like

    • The entire plot is in jeopardy any time Brian shows up. That’s just life at Bonnywood.

      I wish I could say things like “I used to teach Streetcar”. I mean, we did a read-through of such during one of my college courses, but that pales in comparison. And there were no costume changes, damn it. Just a roundtable workshop, and you don’t get a SAG card for that… 😉

      Liked by 1 person

  2. Method Acting for Males 101. More rumpled brow than Joey Tribiani. Method Acting for Women 101.. Unblinking immobility with a hint of attempting to not pass gas. And if I discover something I like, I’ll Like it even if it is only one post or even an apt comment on a post. Sometimes everyone needs a little flickering light in the blogging darkness.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Hi, Brian — a new fan here. Yesterday I sent you a couple of emails with photos that perhaps you can use for Past Imperfect pieces. If you like them, let me know and I can deluge you with more. S.A.

    Liked by 1 person

    • I enjoy impersonating Marlon, but at times it can be a bit tricky, as he was considerably shorter than me and his clothes pinch a bit…

      Sigh, yes, November seems so far away, but it’s really just three months. Three. Months. More. Of this mess. Okay, I need to work on my inspirational comments…

      Liked by 1 person

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