22 mai 08
big day
assalamualaikum warrahmatullahi wabarakatuh
now beat of my heart so fast
saturday is one of bad day in my life
why? cause there are same body as
my teacher always make me angry!
Hmmmmmm .... why i dont like him!
sometimes he is funny, but seldom
the primary problem is he always make me bad
in front of class!
but in this week
bad i miss bad feeling like that
heheheh, im so happy
jreng!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
i was buyed a note book by my lovely brother
heheheheheh!alhamdulillah allah!
this my dream,
finally my dream come true!
how about u?
i believe that allah will answer all
of ur wish
but dont forget
that allah would answer ur wish
if u obey in allah regulation
its fair right!
so,begin to try and more religius!
ok!remember allah love us, n always beside us
Senin, 26 Mei 2008
Sabtu, 24 Mei 2008
cerpen,short story,collection,teens
is my blog, im indonesianesse you know!!!!!
i have some story of my life
wont u know it?
of course, you all dont like.
this my story
murder by death short story mystery
My name is Lionel Twain and I will be your host for tonight’s dinner and book club meeting. Please, do sit down. May I bring you a glass of Port?
I have four regular guests for my monthly dinner parties, all of whom share prestigious occupations, flamboyant wealth, and an uncommon lust for two things: books … and murder. With that in mind, let me introduce the inmates…I mean guests:
? Mr. Googel, my blind butler (recently taken to calling himself Jeeves)
? Genny Champlaine, Senior Editor of the London Times (“The Whiner”)
? Special Guest: Mrs. Geraldine Cuddy, Genny’s mother
? Val O’Leary, owner of Oxford Books (a/k/a “pompous windbag”)
? Nicos Parapoulas, multi-millionaire and owner of Athens Cruise lines (“boozer”)
? Gigi Chandler, Board Chair of the British Museum (“lipstick goddess”)
Tonight’s Guest Chef is none other than a real Italian cook from the world famous Louie’s in Brooklyn where part of “The Godfather” was filmed. Sound divine? Well don’t get too excited. With four mentally unstable guests, a hundred year old woman, a blind butler and a Brooklyn mobster, I’m sure we’re in for some extraordinary madness.
*
“What in God’s name are you doing?” I ask Googel, who is aiming a semi-automatic pistol at the living room curtains.
“Don’t move or I’ll shoot!” Googel replies without turning in my direction.
“For God’s sake, put that down. It’s not a toy, you know.”
Val O’Leary tears in through the front door. “By George, what the devil‘s –”
Googel spins on the heel of his shoe and aims the gun at Val. “What’s YOUR problem, sir?”
Val glances sideways at me, and motions for Gigi and Nicos, standing agape in the foyer, to head into the dining room.
“He’s imitating our chef, I dare say.”
“Who is it? NYPD?”
“A mobster,” I whisper, checking the empty hallway behind me. “Everyone in the dining room, quickly.” I usher in Genny Champlaine, who’s pushing an old woman in a wheelchair. Everyone else is seated. Nicos is pouring wine into everyone’s glasses, and intermittently swigging directly from the bottle; Val’s lighting the candles.
“Googel,” I say, “please see if our chef needs any assistance.”
“Kindly get out of my face, sir!” The gun’s waggling in his long white hands.
I lower my head. “Googel, the ‘sir’ somewhat weakens the force of your threats.”
Google chuckles, slightly. “Oh, yes sir, I see what you mean, sir. I’ll see to the appetizers.”
Genny positions the old woman beside her at the table. “I would like you all to meet…” pauses, “my mother, Mrs. Geraldine Cuddy. I’ve just fetched her from Naples.”
“Nipples?”
“Ah, there you go. Geraldine Nipples.”
“Idiots!” Genny leans down to whisper something to the old woman. Her napkin falls on the floor, and when she leans down to reach for it, the strap on her bra slips off her shoulder and becomes visible on her bare arm.
“Speaking of which, hers are showing now,” Val points out. “Gigi, how about you getting in on this game?”
“Bite me,” Gigi replies.
“Where exactly would you prefer to be bitten? Or do you like surprises?”
Gigi’s eyes roll toward the ceiling. “I would no sooner have your mouth near my ---”
“I’m sor-ry,” Val says, “you must be mistaking yourself… for a nun. Who do you think you’re talking to? We KNOW who you are and what you do.”
“And how much you typically ‘do it’ for,” Nicos adds.
“Christ almighty,” I shriek, standing. “Could we have just ten minutes of propriety before we slink down to the gutter?”
Nicos bangs the table and Val’s wine glass topples over, spilling its contents onto the polished wood floor. “How about we play a game called ‘Nipple Identification,’ where all of the women bare their chests and the men have to guess—”
Genny sighs, rubbing her eyes. “We are literary professionals here, you know, intellectuals.” She places a hand over her mother’s ear. “This is NOT the Benny Hill Show!”
“No no,” Gigi interrupts, a sudden light in her eyes. “Let’s play Jerry Springer! It’ll be fun for everyone, and God knows we’ve got enough dysfunctional behavior here for an entire season.”
Nicos swigs the entire glass of wine and pours another. “I’m in! How do you play?”
Gigi stands. “Well, you see –”
“Pardon me,” I interrupt, “but aren’t we supposed to be talking about books? Who’s got something to report about newly published mystery novels?”
“Party pooper,” Gigi groans and sticks out her lower lip.
“I’ve just finished reading a fantasticly eerie thriller called The Bone Parade by Mark Nykannen. This art teacher named Ashley Stasser is a sculptor who—”
“Yes yes, I know, uses dead bodies in his sculptures,” Val replies. “It’s all I’ve been hearing about lately. Rather cliché, I venture. That surfer-boy, Chris Carter, did the same thing in an X-Files, you know, the gargoyle episode…”
“So you believe in aliens?” Gigi wonders, squinting curiously.
Val leans back in his chair. “You’re obviously one, unless all humans were intended to be composed entirely of chemicals, liposuction and silicone.”
“How dare you!”
Val and Nicos slap high fives. “Good one, mate.”
I tap the edge of my wine glass with my fork. The sound halts all conversation. “Please give your attention to our special guest, Chef Luigi Cannelloni of Brooklyn, New York.”
“Yo.” The chef, standing about five feet eight inches with greasy black hair and sideburns, starts ladeling soup into everyone’s bowls. “We’ll start with pasta fagioli.”
Genny raises her index finger. “Ar-are you a mobster, sir?”
“You mean Wiseguy, Genny, for God’s sake. Don’t you know anything?”
“Oh yes, I’m sorry. So tell me,” she addresses the chef, “have you… wacked many people in your life?”
The chef grins and steps back to appraise her, then moves his eyes to Gigi. “Here and there, but only when absolutely necessary.”
“What’s on the menu, mate?” Nicos stands and paces the floor.
“Horse head and cabbage as an appetizer, Luca Brassi fish stew, Corleone garlic bread and, of course, don’t forget the cannolis!” Chef Luigi tips his head back, laughing sardonically.
“I see a theme evolving here,” I say.
Nicos tips the wine bottle completely upside down, and when only a drop falls onto the linen tablecloth, he chucks the empty bottle across the room, which crashes into the far wall. “Good Lord, are we in the bible belt or something? Googel, quick, we’re having an alcohol emergency. Hurry, man. Hurry!”
Googel vanishes into the wine cellar to retrieve another bottle. Nicos, fumbling around the sideboard, finds a half empty bottle of Chardonnay and starts swigging directly from it.”
“How revolting,” Genny shrieks. “Mother, don’t look.”
Gigi stands and leans forward. “I demand that we play Jerry Springer. Come on, you old farts, it’ll be fun for everyone. Remember playing bullfighter last month? That was the most fun I’d had since…”
“…that striptease you did for the Royal Navy?”
“I did nothing of the sort. It was…an accident, purely.”
Val leans to Nicos, “An accident that her dress and pantyhose fell completely off her body and into the water. Right.”
I hear a thud in the foyer, and when I turn my head, Googel is dressed in a grotesque, all-white suit with a black tie and black shoes, two bottles of wine in the crook of his shoulder and holding a shotgun precariously in his spindly arms. “Go ahead, make my evening!” All heads turn to him.
“He’s trying to be Clint Eastwood again.”
“No, Al Capone.”
“Was Al Capone a hundred?”
“I thought he was forty when he died.”
“Jerry Springer, Jerry Springer, let’s all play Jerry Springer!!!!” Gigi’s taken to jumping up and down, an action that causes a breast to fall out of the confines of her dress.
Nicos and Val are salivating across the table. “Yes, dear, we’ll play it if you like, but, what’s that now, I think a large spider’s just crawled inside your dress. You’d better…”
“What?????”
"Yes yes, pull it right off, dear, we don’t want you to get stu-"
“A s-s-spider? D-did you see it? Where did it come from?”
Val looks at Nicos and tries to keep a straight face. “Well, perhaps it fell from the ceiling or the heat vent. Hard to say where they come from, pesky little things. BIG things, I mean, not little, BIG. Which is why it’s imperative that we spot check you for spider bites. They CAN be poisonous, you know. Lionel, back me up here.”
I feel the sudden urge to bash my head into the dining room table.
Gigi tears off her dress and squirms feverishly, slapping every inch of her exposed flesh for possible spider infiltration. All six of our male eyes are glued to her.
Val says to Nicos, “This is exactly what she wanted.”
“What do you mean?”
“Jerry Springer. Starving intellectuals tearing off their clothes for fear of venom by invisible arachnids.”
“Oh yes, all we need now is a transvestite cowboy, their transsexual gay lover, a mechanical sheep, and some oppressive father figure to look down on all of them and make them cry.”
“Don’t forget the wildcard character,” Nicos adds, “I mean, not that I’ve actually watched the show before…”
Val shakes his head. “What do you think the transvestite is? You don’t see them every day, you know.”
Gigi, climbing back into her dress, gives Val an evil eye from across the table. Slurping up a spoonful of the Luca Brassi fish stew, she raises a brow. “Well no, one doesn’t actually ever see them, if they’re doing it right, that is. Don’t you think so, VAAAAAAL?”
Val’s eyes widen. He quickly reaches for his water goblet.
Nicos peers at Gigi, then at me, studying our faces. “You’re trying to tell us that Val’s a, you know, a…transformer????”
Genny now. “God, we’re not talking about UFO’s again, are we? I hate all that X-Files crap.”
I dare say, one more meeting like this and we can just start having them directly at Bellevue. Leaning toward Genny’s mother, “I would like to apologize for all of my guests. We’re not usually quite –”
“Oh yes we are,” Gigi corrects me. “In fact, last month, we had a rodeo clown as a guest chef and played ‘ride the horsie all night in the nu’…wait…oh no, that was my meeting with my accountant, that’s right. Forgive me.”
Googel returns with two unopened bottles of wine, which Nicos absconds the minute he sees him. “Many thanks, old chap.”
Googel, still in the white suit, disappears and returns a moment later with a large tray of cannolis. “Take one and pass them around,” he instructs, handing the tray to Genny.
“Googel,” through gritted teeth, “these are not ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall! I pay you to actually serve the food.”
“And I invite you to kiss my Devonshire ass, sir. No one tells me what to do!”
Nicos grabs a cannoli off the silver tray, passes it to Val, and peers suspiciously at the filling. What the bloody hell’s in here? Spackle?”
“Whipped cream, I think.”
“No, it’s caulking glue or grout or something, look – it’s all pasty.”
“Pastie? Who’s wearing pasties?” Gigi perks up.
Nicos has grotesquely removed half of the cannoli filling with his meaty paws.
“Yo.” Chef Luigi steps in. “The cannolis are filled with moscarpone cheese. It’s my grandmother’s recipe.”
“Pony cheese? Is that like the horsie game Val plays with his vile friends?”
“Horse cheese? There was a rather significant scene in The Godfather with a horse, wasn’t there?”
As I bite cautiously into the edge of a cannoli, all of the filling spills out and runs down my face. Bloody hell, look what I’ve done now.
“Dear,” Nicos whispers to Gigi, “I think another spider’s fallen down your –”
“Zip it, Aussie whino. I fell for it once, that’s all you get.”
“Any excuse to take your clothes off Gigi, really,” Genny says, staring at Gigi.
Nicos, Val and I stop and stare at the two women, eagerly awaiting Gigi’s response.
“Slut,” Genny adds under her breath. “That’s all that’s ever on your mind is taking your clothes off and thinking of ways you can do it without SEEMING like you actually want to.”
God help us, Genny’s about to cry.
“Genny, dear, it’s perfectly alright to get angry. Gigi’s made a fool of you over and over again.”
“Yes,” Val adds to Nicos’s warped logic, “are you going to let her get away with it?”
Genny, wiping an eye, throws her napkin down. “As a matter of fact,” staring at Gigi now, “NO!!”
“Ha! Here we go now…” Nicos laughs, rubbing his palms together. He drags his chair out, pulls out three more for myself, Val and Chef Luigi, and arranges them audience-style in the center of the floor. Over here girls, gently now, we don’t want anyone to get hurt (much). Now let’s be fair about it – try talking about it first before anyone strikes. Genny, how about telling Gigi how you really feel about her.” To Val, “I’d make a good host on one of those tabloid shows, wouldn’t I?”
“I might omit that from your resume.”
I try again to bring the evening around to a wholesome place. “I don’t suppose anyone would like to hear about Steve Altman’s latest book Resurrection? It’s due out this month and is the sequel to his bestseller, Domain that came out last year.”
Val turns toward me. “Lionel, hear my words now. You DO understand what’s going on here, don’t you? We are about to behold a formal, orchestrated, bona fide cat fight, like a real LIVE one.”
“You mean with real cats, sir?” Googel pipes in. “I’m afraid animals are not allowed in the mansion.”
“Dear me, Googel, I’d sacrifice a month’s salary for you to be able to see this.”
Googel, brandishing another small pistol, says, “I see it up here, sir,” pointing to his forehead. But he points at himself with the gun in his hand, which accidentally discharges, shooting the chandelier off the ceiling. Two more shots come from the kitchen.
“What happened? Nobody move,” says Chef Luigi with a shotgun in his hands.
Gigi points, for inexplicable reasons, to the moose head on the wall over the table.
Chef Luigi shoots the moose head and it too falls on the floor.
“What the devil are you doing?” she asks him.
Nicos swaggers to the taxidermy mount. Chef Luigi follows him. “Yeah, sorry. I didn’t mean to kill him.”
“The moose?” I ask, incredulous. “I’m fairly certain he was already dead.”
Meanwhile, Googel, who has just unwittingly inflicted a gunshot wound upon himself, uses the tablecloth to mop up the pool of blood gushing from his head…
“Oh!”
“Mister Googel, are you al—”
Gigi shoves Genny out of the way. “Oh yes, fine, dear,” she mocks, “and don’t mind that bloody gash on the side of his head. Idiot. Get a towel, quick!”
When I go to Googel’s side, though, I notice right away that he’s not breathing! One down, four to go…
* * * * *
So until next time, I remain your host, Lionel Twain.
i have some story of my life
wont u know it?
of course, you all dont like.
this my story
murder by death short story mystery
My name is Lionel Twain and I will be your host for tonight’s dinner and book club meeting. Please, do sit down. May I bring you a glass of Port?
I have four regular guests for my monthly dinner parties, all of whom share prestigious occupations, flamboyant wealth, and an uncommon lust for two things: books … and murder. With that in mind, let me introduce the inmates…I mean guests:
? Mr. Googel, my blind butler (recently taken to calling himself Jeeves)
? Genny Champlaine, Senior Editor of the London Times (“The Whiner”)
? Special Guest: Mrs. Geraldine Cuddy, Genny’s mother
? Val O’Leary, owner of Oxford Books (a/k/a “pompous windbag”)
? Nicos Parapoulas, multi-millionaire and owner of Athens Cruise lines (“boozer”)
? Gigi Chandler, Board Chair of the British Museum (“lipstick goddess”)
Tonight’s Guest Chef is none other than a real Italian cook from the world famous Louie’s in Brooklyn where part of “The Godfather” was filmed. Sound divine? Well don’t get too excited. With four mentally unstable guests, a hundred year old woman, a blind butler and a Brooklyn mobster, I’m sure we’re in for some extraordinary madness.
*
“What in God’s name are you doing?” I ask Googel, who is aiming a semi-automatic pistol at the living room curtains.
“Don’t move or I’ll shoot!” Googel replies without turning in my direction.
“For God’s sake, put that down. It’s not a toy, you know.”
Val O’Leary tears in through the front door. “By George, what the devil‘s –”
Googel spins on the heel of his shoe and aims the gun at Val. “What’s YOUR problem, sir?”
Val glances sideways at me, and motions for Gigi and Nicos, standing agape in the foyer, to head into the dining room.
“He’s imitating our chef, I dare say.”
“Who is it? NYPD?”
“A mobster,” I whisper, checking the empty hallway behind me. “Everyone in the dining room, quickly.” I usher in Genny Champlaine, who’s pushing an old woman in a wheelchair. Everyone else is seated. Nicos is pouring wine into everyone’s glasses, and intermittently swigging directly from the bottle; Val’s lighting the candles.
“Googel,” I say, “please see if our chef needs any assistance.”
“Kindly get out of my face, sir!” The gun’s waggling in his long white hands.
I lower my head. “Googel, the ‘sir’ somewhat weakens the force of your threats.”
Google chuckles, slightly. “Oh, yes sir, I see what you mean, sir. I’ll see to the appetizers.”
Genny positions the old woman beside her at the table. “I would like you all to meet…” pauses, “my mother, Mrs. Geraldine Cuddy. I’ve just fetched her from Naples.”
“Nipples?”
“Ah, there you go. Geraldine Nipples.”
“Idiots!” Genny leans down to whisper something to the old woman. Her napkin falls on the floor, and when she leans down to reach for it, the strap on her bra slips off her shoulder and becomes visible on her bare arm.
“Speaking of which, hers are showing now,” Val points out. “Gigi, how about you getting in on this game?”
“Bite me,” Gigi replies.
“Where exactly would you prefer to be bitten? Or do you like surprises?”
Gigi’s eyes roll toward the ceiling. “I would no sooner have your mouth near my ---”
“I’m sor-ry,” Val says, “you must be mistaking yourself… for a nun. Who do you think you’re talking to? We KNOW who you are and what you do.”
“And how much you typically ‘do it’ for,” Nicos adds.
“Christ almighty,” I shriek, standing. “Could we have just ten minutes of propriety before we slink down to the gutter?”
Nicos bangs the table and Val’s wine glass topples over, spilling its contents onto the polished wood floor. “How about we play a game called ‘Nipple Identification,’ where all of the women bare their chests and the men have to guess—”
Genny sighs, rubbing her eyes. “We are literary professionals here, you know, intellectuals.” She places a hand over her mother’s ear. “This is NOT the Benny Hill Show!”
“No no,” Gigi interrupts, a sudden light in her eyes. “Let’s play Jerry Springer! It’ll be fun for everyone, and God knows we’ve got enough dysfunctional behavior here for an entire season.”
Nicos swigs the entire glass of wine and pours another. “I’m in! How do you play?”
Gigi stands. “Well, you see –”
“Pardon me,” I interrupt, “but aren’t we supposed to be talking about books? Who’s got something to report about newly published mystery novels?”
“Party pooper,” Gigi groans and sticks out her lower lip.
“I’ve just finished reading a fantasticly eerie thriller called The Bone Parade by Mark Nykannen. This art teacher named Ashley Stasser is a sculptor who—”
“Yes yes, I know, uses dead bodies in his sculptures,” Val replies. “It’s all I’ve been hearing about lately. Rather cliché, I venture. That surfer-boy, Chris Carter, did the same thing in an X-Files, you know, the gargoyle episode…”
“So you believe in aliens?” Gigi wonders, squinting curiously.
Val leans back in his chair. “You’re obviously one, unless all humans were intended to be composed entirely of chemicals, liposuction and silicone.”
“How dare you!”
Val and Nicos slap high fives. “Good one, mate.”
I tap the edge of my wine glass with my fork. The sound halts all conversation. “Please give your attention to our special guest, Chef Luigi Cannelloni of Brooklyn, New York.”
“Yo.” The chef, standing about five feet eight inches with greasy black hair and sideburns, starts ladeling soup into everyone’s bowls. “We’ll start with pasta fagioli.”
Genny raises her index finger. “Ar-are you a mobster, sir?”
“You mean Wiseguy, Genny, for God’s sake. Don’t you know anything?”
“Oh yes, I’m sorry. So tell me,” she addresses the chef, “have you… wacked many people in your life?”
The chef grins and steps back to appraise her, then moves his eyes to Gigi. “Here and there, but only when absolutely necessary.”
“What’s on the menu, mate?” Nicos stands and paces the floor.
“Horse head and cabbage as an appetizer, Luca Brassi fish stew, Corleone garlic bread and, of course, don’t forget the cannolis!” Chef Luigi tips his head back, laughing sardonically.
“I see a theme evolving here,” I say.
Nicos tips the wine bottle completely upside down, and when only a drop falls onto the linen tablecloth, he chucks the empty bottle across the room, which crashes into the far wall. “Good Lord, are we in the bible belt or something? Googel, quick, we’re having an alcohol emergency. Hurry, man. Hurry!”
Googel vanishes into the wine cellar to retrieve another bottle. Nicos, fumbling around the sideboard, finds a half empty bottle of Chardonnay and starts swigging directly from it.”
“How revolting,” Genny shrieks. “Mother, don’t look.”
Gigi stands and leans forward. “I demand that we play Jerry Springer. Come on, you old farts, it’ll be fun for everyone. Remember playing bullfighter last month? That was the most fun I’d had since…”
“…that striptease you did for the Royal Navy?”
“I did nothing of the sort. It was…an accident, purely.”
Val leans to Nicos, “An accident that her dress and pantyhose fell completely off her body and into the water. Right.”
I hear a thud in the foyer, and when I turn my head, Googel is dressed in a grotesque, all-white suit with a black tie and black shoes, two bottles of wine in the crook of his shoulder and holding a shotgun precariously in his spindly arms. “Go ahead, make my evening!” All heads turn to him.
“He’s trying to be Clint Eastwood again.”
“No, Al Capone.”
“Was Al Capone a hundred?”
“I thought he was forty when he died.”
“Jerry Springer, Jerry Springer, let’s all play Jerry Springer!!!!” Gigi’s taken to jumping up and down, an action that causes a breast to fall out of the confines of her dress.
Nicos and Val are salivating across the table. “Yes, dear, we’ll play it if you like, but, what’s that now, I think a large spider’s just crawled inside your dress. You’d better…”
“What?????”
"Yes yes, pull it right off, dear, we don’t want you to get stu-"
“A s-s-spider? D-did you see it? Where did it come from?”
Val looks at Nicos and tries to keep a straight face. “Well, perhaps it fell from the ceiling or the heat vent. Hard to say where they come from, pesky little things. BIG things, I mean, not little, BIG. Which is why it’s imperative that we spot check you for spider bites. They CAN be poisonous, you know. Lionel, back me up here.”
I feel the sudden urge to bash my head into the dining room table.
Gigi tears off her dress and squirms feverishly, slapping every inch of her exposed flesh for possible spider infiltration. All six of our male eyes are glued to her.
Val says to Nicos, “This is exactly what she wanted.”
“What do you mean?”
“Jerry Springer. Starving intellectuals tearing off their clothes for fear of venom by invisible arachnids.”
“Oh yes, all we need now is a transvestite cowboy, their transsexual gay lover, a mechanical sheep, and some oppressive father figure to look down on all of them and make them cry.”
“Don’t forget the wildcard character,” Nicos adds, “I mean, not that I’ve actually watched the show before…”
Val shakes his head. “What do you think the transvestite is? You don’t see them every day, you know.”
Gigi, climbing back into her dress, gives Val an evil eye from across the table. Slurping up a spoonful of the Luca Brassi fish stew, she raises a brow. “Well no, one doesn’t actually ever see them, if they’re doing it right, that is. Don’t you think so, VAAAAAAL?”
Val’s eyes widen. He quickly reaches for his water goblet.
Nicos peers at Gigi, then at me, studying our faces. “You’re trying to tell us that Val’s a, you know, a…transformer????”
Genny now. “God, we’re not talking about UFO’s again, are we? I hate all that X-Files crap.”
I dare say, one more meeting like this and we can just start having them directly at Bellevue. Leaning toward Genny’s mother, “I would like to apologize for all of my guests. We’re not usually quite –”
“Oh yes we are,” Gigi corrects me. “In fact, last month, we had a rodeo clown as a guest chef and played ‘ride the horsie all night in the nu’…wait…oh no, that was my meeting with my accountant, that’s right. Forgive me.”
Googel returns with two unopened bottles of wine, which Nicos absconds the minute he sees him. “Many thanks, old chap.”
Googel, still in the white suit, disappears and returns a moment later with a large tray of cannolis. “Take one and pass them around,” he instructs, handing the tray to Genny.
“Googel,” through gritted teeth, “these are not ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall! I pay you to actually serve the food.”
“And I invite you to kiss my Devonshire ass, sir. No one tells me what to do!”
Nicos grabs a cannoli off the silver tray, passes it to Val, and peers suspiciously at the filling. What the bloody hell’s in here? Spackle?”
“Whipped cream, I think.”
“No, it’s caulking glue or grout or something, look – it’s all pasty.”
“Pastie? Who’s wearing pasties?” Gigi perks up.
Nicos has grotesquely removed half of the cannoli filling with his meaty paws.
“Yo.” Chef Luigi steps in. “The cannolis are filled with moscarpone cheese. It’s my grandmother’s recipe.”
“Pony cheese? Is that like the horsie game Val plays with his vile friends?”
“Horse cheese? There was a rather significant scene in The Godfather with a horse, wasn’t there?”
As I bite cautiously into the edge of a cannoli, all of the filling spills out and runs down my face. Bloody hell, look what I’ve done now.
“Dear,” Nicos whispers to Gigi, “I think another spider’s fallen down your –”
“Zip it, Aussie whino. I fell for it once, that’s all you get.”
“Any excuse to take your clothes off Gigi, really,” Genny says, staring at Gigi.
Nicos, Val and I stop and stare at the two women, eagerly awaiting Gigi’s response.
“Slut,” Genny adds under her breath. “That’s all that’s ever on your mind is taking your clothes off and thinking of ways you can do it without SEEMING like you actually want to.”
God help us, Genny’s about to cry.
“Genny, dear, it’s perfectly alright to get angry. Gigi’s made a fool of you over and over again.”
“Yes,” Val adds to Nicos’s warped logic, “are you going to let her get away with it?”
Genny, wiping an eye, throws her napkin down. “As a matter of fact,” staring at Gigi now, “NO!!”
“Ha! Here we go now…” Nicos laughs, rubbing his palms together. He drags his chair out, pulls out three more for myself, Val and Chef Luigi, and arranges them audience-style in the center of the floor. Over here girls, gently now, we don’t want anyone to get hurt (much). Now let’s be fair about it – try talking about it first before anyone strikes. Genny, how about telling Gigi how you really feel about her.” To Val, “I’d make a good host on one of those tabloid shows, wouldn’t I?”
“I might omit that from your resume.”
I try again to bring the evening around to a wholesome place. “I don’t suppose anyone would like to hear about Steve Altman’s latest book Resurrection? It’s due out this month and is the sequel to his bestseller, Domain that came out last year.”
Val turns toward me. “Lionel, hear my words now. You DO understand what’s going on here, don’t you? We are about to behold a formal, orchestrated, bona fide cat fight, like a real LIVE one.”
“You mean with real cats, sir?” Googel pipes in. “I’m afraid animals are not allowed in the mansion.”
“Dear me, Googel, I’d sacrifice a month’s salary for you to be able to see this.”
Googel, brandishing another small pistol, says, “I see it up here, sir,” pointing to his forehead. But he points at himself with the gun in his hand, which accidentally discharges, shooting the chandelier off the ceiling. Two more shots come from the kitchen.
“What happened? Nobody move,” says Chef Luigi with a shotgun in his hands.
Gigi points, for inexplicable reasons, to the moose head on the wall over the table.
Chef Luigi shoots the moose head and it too falls on the floor.
“What the devil are you doing?” she asks him.
Nicos swaggers to the taxidermy mount. Chef Luigi follows him. “Yeah, sorry. I didn’t mean to kill him.”
“The moose?” I ask, incredulous. “I’m fairly certain he was already dead.”
Meanwhile, Googel, who has just unwittingly inflicted a gunshot wound upon himself, uses the tablecloth to mop up the pool of blood gushing from his head…
“Oh!”
“Mister Googel, are you al—”
Gigi shoves Genny out of the way. “Oh yes, fine, dear,” she mocks, “and don’t mind that bloody gash on the side of his head. Idiot. Get a towel, quick!”
When I go to Googel’s side, though, I notice right away that he’s not breathing! One down, four to go…
* * * * *
So until next time, I remain your host, Lionel Twain.
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