There’s something in the air…

“…woe is me, there’s nothing like waking up to a barking dog that is not mine. And the screaming and wailing of five cats in continuous heat who beat the crap out of each other nightly on the roof of the same neighbor who owns the barking dog of which we spoke earlier.”

Edgar sneers at Virginia. “Stop yer whinin’ gal, I be daft in a split if ye don’t curb that enthusiasm. A dog be a sacred thing. A chain his gallery. Cats squaling are God’s way of reminding us to procreate. Making babies is what we are all here for…”

He turns his back on the poor lass and weaves his drunken way back to the vestibule where Spencer, two of NYC’s finest, and a rather large group of men dressed in white cotton uniforms wait his arrival, an open straight-jacket behind one man’s back. “That’s him, officer. He crawled in through the library window and began to read Shakespeare’s “Taming of the Shrew”, it was awful, I tell you, just awful.” Spencer begins to weep. Dear Margaret hears the mewling sounds of her husband and enters the room, distraught.

“Come with me, my darling. We’ll repair to the dressing room.” She takes his elbow and leads him by the ear out of the vestibule.

Upon seeing the policemen, Edgar begins to recite his favorite misconstrued “Friends, Romans, institutional respresentatives, and policemen … I come to bury Ceasar Romero, not to praise him. Cha cha cha, conchita.”

The policeman on the right turns to the policeman on the left and says, “He’s not crazy, he’s the governor of Lipstenstein. He gave a motivational speech last week in the main lobby of the Coronary Wing of Main Street Society. The man is brilliant. BRILLIANT I tell you.”

–dear readers, if this post has not yet rec’d photo illumination, please return shortly for the inclusion of illustration — vmac