Ginger: “Wow, we’re really flying across this dance floor!”
Fred: “I told you, it’s always good to eat a lot of broccoli before an important number and let the power of digestive gasses give you that extra zip. Now, get ready for me to toss you in the air so you can do the splits and land on my back.”
Ginger: “Oh, I don’t know about that. My exhaust pipe is a bit tainted at the moment. I think I may have even melted my panties.”
Fred: “Oh, don’t worry. I’ve seen worse. As a child, my father worked at the Stolz Brewing Company in Omaha, and if I can survive what came out of him at the dinner table every night, I’m good.”
Ginger: “I don’t think you understand. There’s a new bubble in my belly right now that could take out one of those small countries in Europe that trips up people on trivia quizzes.”
Fred: “Stop worrying. We’re professionals, and we’ll get through it. Ready for the toss?”
Ginger was not, rumbling and percolating and very concerned about the propulsion of her privates.
But tossed, she was.
And she did not come back down, although a section of the studio ceiling did, with shingles and tarpaper landing at Fred’s feet instead of Gassy Ginger, indicating that somebody was on a journey that had not been noted on her itinerary for the day.
Fred looked up through the new moonroof in said ceiling, and he noted that the Big Dipper now had an extra pinpoint. “Well, look at that. She always wanted to be a really big star. Good for her. I guess I better call Cyd Charisse so we can finish shooting this movie.”
Note 1: This is Exhibit #27 in Bonnywood’s March Madness. Details found here.
Note 2: This is another one where I messed with it a bit instead of just using the original, thus disqualifying it from true “March Madness” status. Sometimes I can’t help myself, as if such wasn’t already abundantly clear.
Categories: Past Imperfect