Past Imperfect

Past Imperfect – #108: An Interactive Melodrama

Note: Years ago, when my “Crusty Pie” blog was in its formative months, I was hyper-invested in the goings on, often putting out three posts a day. (Granted, many of them were simple one or two-liners, but still.) At that inane rate of productivity, there were bound to be some clunkers. This is one of them. In the hopes of redemption, I am offering some alternative truths, and a challenge…

Original version:

Research has shown that working in Corporate America can affect your health…

Take 2:

Melania Trump awoke from her dream about off-shore bank accounts to find that her husband, after another round of angry sleep-tweeting, was apparently in the mood for some on-shore investing. She sighed and tossed aside the crossword puzzle she was working on to determine how many people her meandering mate had mauled in his misogynistic marauding. What was the point, really? Even the best calculators didn’t have the processing power to make an accurate assessment…

Take 3:                                                                                                                                                 

Beauregard was still a bit uncertain about the marriage arrangements his parents had made, and he approached the conjugal bed with a certain degree of dread. After all, livestock had been involved in the negotiations, and that did not bode well…

Take 4:

The Walking Fred…

Take 5:

Brian, before his first cup of morning coffee.

Take 6:

Architectural Tenet #7: Form follows function. Design the home to fit the client…

Take 7:

Mitch McConnell arrives for his nightly transfusion of the blood from even older White Southerners who still don’t understand who won the trophy in the American Civil War. (Mitch: “That war was not about slavery!” Everybody else on the planet with at least one brain cell: “Blow it our your ass.”)

Take 8:

Jebediah finally reached the point where his primary care physician had ordered one colonoscopy too many, and he began to make dark plans of retribution…

Take 9:

Sluticia Beaudelaire: “Girl, look at size of the hands on that hunk of man. You know what that means.”

Prudencia Pristinaire: “That he can plow the back forty without needing a horse?”

Sluticia: “Oh, honey. It means his bait and tackle is mighty fine.”

Prudencia: “So, he’s a fisherman?”

Sluticia: “No, you walnut. The bigger the hands, the bigger the plow.”

Prudencia: “I’m so confused. Are we fishing or are we farming?”

Sluticia: “I’m done with you. Go be friends with somebody that isn’t me.”

Prudencia: “Fine. But since we’re finally being honest with each other instead of all this pretentious air-kissing, the big hands theory doesn’t necessarily mean a big bang. I should know. I did a research paper in college, and most of the experiments were not even worth a footnote. Besides, why would you want something that creepy on top of you?”

Sluticia: “Scroll back up the page. Melania Trump doesn’t seem to mind a hideous Hindenburg trying to stick the landing.”

Prudencia: “Of course she doesn’t. She was the worst First Lady this country has ever had, including that one president who didn’t even have a wife. She’s somebody else not worth a footnote.”

Take 10:

Husband: “I have some bad news, my beloved. I had to sell our last goat to pay the rent.”

Wife: “You finally got rid of your mother? Glory be!”

Husband: “No, I mean an actual goat. We can’t make cheese anymore. Speaking of, where is my darling mother?”

Wife: “She’s in the cabinet on your right.”

Husband: “That seems a bit rude. Why did you put her in there? Did she try to bite you again? Are you testing our marriage? I just don’t understand the rules anymore.”

Wife: “I didn’t put her in there. She went in of her own free will. She had too much coffee and she thought it was a confessional. I was just happy that she was leaving me alone so I could watch ‘Real Housewives of the Serfdom’. But she’s been in there quite a while, so she really must have a lot to confess. No surprise to me.”

Husband: “I see. Well, I’m choosing to process this some other time. Right now I need to find a job. So I’m headed off to see if King Donald the Oppressor has any openings in the Sewage Management Department. I hear he’s had trouble keeping people on his staff, what with all the indictments and the fact that none of them were qualified to manage anything in the first place. Wish me luck.”

Wife: “Sure, knock yourself out. Have fun storming the castle!”

Prior Note: Previously published. The challenge at which I briefly hinted? In the comments, try to come up with a caption or micro story for the photo. Most of you will not, and that’s fine. But a few of you will. I’m hoping for five attempts. (In my dreams, I wake up tomorrow morning to find 37 sterling suggestions, something that would make me giddy with joy and faith in humanity, but I’m fully aware that dreams are often crushed in the Land of WordPressia.)

New Note: Substantial changes made. The song remains the same about the micro-story challenge…

Mother-in-Law: “Hey, who locked this confessional door? Is there anybody out there? Hello? Damn. I knew something was up when the goat disappeared…”

The Goat: “Trust, it’s not any better where I’m at. People keep pulling on my appendages and I’m not very happy about it.”

The Goat Cheese: “Oh, cry me a river. The people in France are sprinkling my ass on everything that comes out of the kitchen. I don’t have any control over my assets.”

Melania Trump: “And that’s why I signed a pre-nup. I might have appeared naked in a tabloid, but my finances are secure.”

Prudencia: “But is your dignity secure as well?

Melania: “I’m a Republican. Dignity has nothing to do with it.”

43 replies »

    • Sadly, Chad will continue to believe the Big Lie that any results of of his own actions or inactions are not his responsibility, and he will continue to blame the government for his own ineptitude. And with that, I welcome you to Texas… 😉

      Liked by 1 person

    • And #7 was a last-minute insertion that I added just to make an even number of 10 talking points. Which either proves that last-minute insertions can be admirable (get your mind out of the gutter, Prudencia) or that I should have tried harder with the other 9 points. I fear the latter might win this round… 😉

      Liked by 2 people

  1. I’m going with my usual lengthy remake because although you know I support you in every winning word you write, and find it all gold, I like to spin my own straw into some now and then.

    Nosferatu, tired of having idiots from America tread all over his copyright and trademark patents and never paying, opened his crypt door with a resounding boom. He glares around, his huge outsized hands giving certain folks a bit of a thrill. He sucks on his one tooth (vampires don’t have decent dental plans you know) and makes that smacking sound that we all do when we’re peckish. In the corner, behind that weird steamer trunk that does not belong in a crypt, but has been placed there for reasons best known to the director, who drinks heavily, we espy a very odd creature, hunched and withered, with a strange straw-like toupe that wouldn’t fool Helen Keller on its head and odd orange skin. This creature appears to be mumbling something about “Preccciouss” and rubbing its hands in a greedy manner. Or it might just be to get whatever rather scummy substance is on them OFF. Nosferatu, irritated further at being upstaged, flaps his huge hands (causing a lot of dust to fly around, and some truly ancient rat poop to stick in the straw toupee of tonight’s entree; and steps out into the cramped and cobwebby confines of the crypt.

    “I haf come to drink your blood,” sez he.
    Donald the Oppressor. “Oh goodie. Another subject to subjugate and stun with my outlandish spewings via Twitter and that orifice thingie below my nose that people are always telling me to shut!”
    Nos looking for a nosh. “Vat? You speak gibberish cretin. Bow down you orange-hued creature from beyond! You haf met your conqueror!”
    (It occurs to this ‘author” that she’s burst the confines of caption and is off into an actual vignette of silliness)
    DOPE (Donald the Oppressor for short): “We don’t recognize any other conquerors. We’s GOD, by God! So YOU bow down, you oddly bloodless white thingie, you! Also I’ll give you the number of my tailor. You need some new threads, man!”
    Nos: “Vat?”
    DOPE: “You hard of hearing? And “VAT’S” with that accent? I don’t recognize any lingo except American, son. It’s the PURE language! Don’t gimme any of that ‘Ve Are The Vorld” crap neither!”
    Nos: “%$@#!! I KNEW I should have taken the last train to Clarksville. At least there they understand how things should vork. Let me outta here!” The creature of the Night turns and flees into the dark confines of the crypt, slamming the odd door behind him, and leaving a faint smell of mildew and mothballs behind him. And squashed dreams.”
    DOPE: “Another successful coup. Now where was I? Oh yesssss….my preciousssss…he continues rubbling whatever it is and making that fat lady (me) in the front row sick at her stomach because of the implications.

    DOPE has once again driven good taste and sensible, mildly scary literature to the bonfire and beyond. Even if he sides with the South and doesn’t realize he didn’t win the trophy either, this time around.

    Liked by 1 person

    • First, this is terrific. (And you knew I would love it. Siblings have an innate bond, yes?)

      Second, it thrills me immensely when folks completely run with their imaginary winds, letting things land where they may. I realize I’m geing a bit naive when I say this, but I think the world would be a much better place if we would all get as far outside of The Box as we can.

      Third, “Lord of the Rings” references?. Total win, always.

      Fourth, movie directors always drink. They have to do so. How else do you deal with pretentious actors who think they are all that, just because they appeared in that one hugely-popular movie where the real star was the production team who made all those explosions happen?

      Fifth, “DOPE”. I’m stealing this forever. I’ll send you a nice fruitcake as compensation… 😉

      Liked by 2 people

  2. Caption:
    Dracula – Is this the confessional?
    Priest – How may I help you, my child?
    Dracula – Well that’s just it. Are you my real father?
    Priest – Are you suggesting something untoward?
    Dracula – Ummm, I just want to know if you’re my dad.
    Priest – Now, young man, enough of this. It’s not a good idea to cross me.

    Liked by 2 people

  3. ‘Ugh, The Real Housewives of the Serfdom is a rerun again. I can’t wait for the reunion, rumors are that Lord Van Helsing was having an affair with  Countess Luann and the peasants revolted and took over their land.  Apparently, Count Dracula spilled the tea on the Blood Is The Life podcast.’

    Liked by 2 people

    • Oh, I am SO looking forward to that reunion, what with Van Helsing helping himself to Countess Luann’s breakfast tray. And I understand that Luann broke a nail during the revolt, so I’m sure there will be a lengthy segment concerning that atrocity, with lots of tears and drunken accusations. I’d better go make sure my DVR is set up correctly. Hang on…

      Liked by 1 person

  4. He opened the door and she knew he was back on the junk.
    Ellen: Roll up your sleeves, Orlock. Roll them up now.
    Orlock: honey baby come on you know I’m clean. Can’t you see I’m home before dawn, just like I promised.
    Ellen: you lying sack of bloody stool. How stupid do you think I am?
    Orlock: (whistling, looks innocently around) Did you stop dusting again? The castle looks like the walking dead live here!
    Ellen: don’t you gaslight me. You know that crazy help you hired from the asylum isn’t worth his weight in railroad steaks. He spends all day sleeping. Just like you. When do you think we’re suppose to work on our relationship between your all nighters and you sucking on my neck you weirdo! I swear, men. You’ve all got such crazy obsessions. We haven’t had any sex since it was “that time” of the month. If you think I can’t see those blood stains on that hideous black robe you refuse to take off you’re dead wrong! I know you’ve been out with those harlots all night doing opium and drinking bloody Mary’s!
    Orlock: (looking nervous as the sun starts rising behind Ellen’s head through the window.) screw you and your insane ranting. I’m going to bed alone. I’ll be taking my supper after sundown and don’t you dare wake me until then! Do you hear me? Otherwise I’ll turn you out without a mask during this godawful pandemic. Which is not my fault! So you tell that real estate agent trying to find us a proper castle that he needs to stop spreading rumors or he’s fired.
    Ellen: oh the big Count! Who the hell would do something to lose a good commission. Fine go to bed – and sleep in the attic I want to use our bedroom today if you don’t mind.
    Orlock: you spoiled little bitch. Goodnight! (Laughs to himself thinks Lucifer, has the world gotten even dumber during lockdown?)
    Ellen: get some color some day you look green for gods sake, and don’t forget we have company tonight so take a bath you smell like old fish and blood sausages!
    Orlock creeps off to bed and just in time to beat the sun up – however, Ellen being the passive aggressive pain in the neck she’s got to ask him whether or not he’s going to want blue beef again for dinner and if the red wine he’s been making is aged enough for their guests, which happen to be her twin sisters Stella and Doro. Earlier the twins were whining about how they seem to have synchronized menstruation again this month and are suffering from terrible cramps. Orlock overheard her telling the messenger to bring them post haste to share some juicy gossip and she’d have Orlock mix some tug up in the lab for their pitiful cramps. He licks his lips and turns over in his casket to not pop the top open with his blue veined throbber.
    But as he does the casket tips off the platform and cracks open on the attic floor – causing Ellen to come running
    Ellen: what the hell is wrong with you sleeping in a casket now? What is your malfunction! And opens a window to see if he’s hurt himself
    Orlock: no Ellen!!! No the sun it burns it burns
    Ellen: well you need some color anyway you disgusting so called count.
    Cut away to a funeral where Ellen and her twin sisters stand and their teal estate agent locks eyes with her as Orlock – now just a small pile of ash is lowered into the ground.

    Moral of the story – having patience enough to tell someone to go to hell and being able to wait for them to make the trip.

    Liked by 3 people

    • First, and I’ve said this before so you’ll have to deal with the repeat, your imagination is just as twistedly-wrong as mine. Naturally, I think this is a good thing, but many therapists would not. Screw them.

      Second, I count four different obscure movie references, and you know that warms my heart. If you weren’t actually aiming for that and have no idea what I’m talking about, just accept the win and move on.

      Third, men always think no one else can see the stains, but they’re wrong. Clearly.

      Fourth, Ellen Stella Doro may have won this round, but they will not fare as well in the sequel, I just sense it.

      Fifth, despite Orlock’s mindless allegiance, Lucifer is not interested in Orlock’s thoughts on any matter, nor his continued or non-continued existence. He is much more concerned with an exorbitant property-tax bill in San Luis Obispo.

      Sixth… well, damn. I had a delicious additional comment a mere two seconds ago and it just flew out of my head. I’ll have to get back to you.


      Liked by 1 person

      • Oh the references were intentional I suffered through this as a snobby college student pretending to love Merneau and I now have an actual appreciation, especially when large symphony orchestras in tier three cities – Southwest Airlines built their original model on flying to and from cities without any major league teams – football, baseball, basketball or otherwise – and lots of local theater players a la Waiting for Guffman – play big music by big names like Beethoven and Mozart – to the silent scare fest. The great irony is it’s actually a scary movie and before it’s time but I digress. (By the way I answered your last awesome comment in response to my comment too and dropped my phone in the toilet actually losing a long rambling gushing reply and magically the phone survived. )

        Oh and you probably forgot with good reason my early posts in which refer to Nosferatu as Canferatu – a really bad metaphor but I was a mere blogstress infant at the time and probably scared more people than made laugh. I guess cancers not come to the heights of comedic satire yet. Oh, if I had my way. Laughter is of course the best medicine.

        Off to the vampires of my oncologists team to have my blood drawn.

        Liked by 1 person

      • Oh and I left Lucy out purposely. I cannot stand her Cindy Brady like innocence but thank god these were in the days pre talkie when we wouldn’t have to suffer through a lispy little girl voice in any language. And thank you – my twisted humor is genetic. My dad and I started having pun-off competitions from the time I was knee-high to a basketball player (you know I’m 6 feet tall) and as I got older they’d go on for months leaving messages on answering machines and then texts as we graduated to cell phones. He’d be proud.

        Liked by 1 person

  5. “Prudencia Pristinaire”. What a name? LOL. She pretends to be dumb, doesn’t she? I don’t know how to feel about this, but he could win in 2024 for another 4 years. Your title picture is quite foreboding. 😢😒

    Liked by 1 person

    • One of my favorite things when it comes to writing my little stories is coming up with just the right character names. If you choose wisely, your story is already halfway written…

      I really can’t see The Orange One having a chance in 2024, but I’ve been wrong before. What I CAN envision? He won’t be able to run because he’s in jail. Time will tell…

      Liked by 1 person

      • You are a genius in coming up with whimsical names that are always pun-like but still very much like a real name. LOL. I feel sick even thinking of orange 2024 (or orange 2016 that’s thankfully already passed).

        Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.