A NIGHT AT THE (SOAP) OPERA – Act IV

As the curtain rises on Act IV, we pick up where we left off in Act III:

We’ve come at long last to the denouement (aka the point in the presentation where it’s time to wrap up the plot before the popcorn runs out): Fiorello and Tomasso abduct and gag lead tenor Alasprairie during the onstage uproar and take him to a site out of sight, where he’s fit to be tied. Gottliebchen is in a bind: a replacement tenor is needed to quiet the affronted audience, as well as those seated in the rear. Ricardo Macaroni happens to be handy. Gottliebchen gives in. Ricardo and the lovely Rosa Grossa sing an aria. The audience is enthralled. Miraculously, everything has worked out in….

THE END?

But as we all know, it’s not the end until the fat lady sings — a requisite which is unaccountably missing in this opera. Fortunately for our fannies, the fat lady who doesn’t sing in this opera did sing to end this earlier opera, which will serve our purpose here:

Now that’s what I call leaving on borrowed time.

 

A NIGHT AT THE (SOAP) OPERA – Act III

When last we met, leaving our three stowaways on the good ship Lollipoop, Tomasso had cut the beards off of three Russian aviators, and he, Fiorello and Ricardo had assumed their identities….or so you were left to assume. But you don’t have to take my word for it….

Having escaped from the speakers’ platform outside City Hall with plainclothes detective Henderson in pursuit, the stowaways and Driftwort take refuge in a nearby hotel, where they have a flat and retire. In the a.m., they have room service send up their breakfast.

Just when you thought the opening night of the opera season would never arrive, it does….and so does Driftwort, only to learn that he has been fired by Missis Playpool for associating with riffraff (how riffraff got into the act, I’ll never know). Not to be denied, Driftwort (together with Tomasso and Fiorello) goes to Gottliebchen’s office, locks him in a closet, replaces Gottliebchen as Missis Playpool’s escort, and delivers the opening night address, which is the same as the day address, but not as easy to see:

Is there no end to this madness? For the answer to that question, you will have to return for Act IV. Until then….

A NIGHT AT THE (SOAP) OPERA – Act II

SCENE: A ship sailing from Wherever to New Yurt
TIME:   A day or two after Whenever
CAST:   The usual suspects (same characters as Act I)

As the curtain opens on Act II, we find Opus E. Driftwort, Missis Playpool, Hermano Gottliebchen, renowned tenor Rodolpho Alasprairie, and beautiful soprano Rosa Grossa, who has been selected as the leading lady, onboard the good ship Lollipoop (which was pirated from an earlier opera set in the deep South titled BRAT EYES, starring Surly Temper as the leading child). The ship is about to depart for New Yurt, where the famous New Yurt Opera House is believed to be located.

Sadly, tenor Ricardo Macaroni (Allan Jonesboro), who is in love with Rosa (and her with he), is being left behind on the dock, leading to this heart-breaking parting of the ways:

Shortly thereafter, Driftwort enters his cabin and proceeds with the tusk of opening his trunk, only to find it packed with hungry stowaways Fiorello and Tomasso Marxista and Macaroni.

Later, following much more merrymaking, music, and muddled madness, the stowaways are caught and confined to quarters for a change. Fiorello subsequently tires of listening to Tomasso’s kazoo and tosses it out the porthole. Tomasso leaps after it into the ocean, from which a lifeline lifts him into the stateroom of three bearded Russian aviators taking a nap. Tomasso then takes to his scissors, leaving three Russian aviators beardless and three stowaways becoming bearded Russian aviators Chicoski, Harpotski and Baronoff.

Bear with us — we’re off until Act III.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A NIGHT AT THE (SOAP) OPERA

SCENE: Wherever
TIME: Whenever

CAST:

Groucho Marxisto        OPUS E. DRIFTWORT
Chico Marxisto             FIORELLO BLOWHARDO
Harpo Marxisto           TOMASSO PASTO
Margaret Dontmont    MISSIS PLAYPOOL
Sig Rumanboardo       HERMANO GOTLIEBCHEN
Kitty Carlisimo            ROSA GROSSA
Allan Jonesboro          RICARDO MACARONI
Walter Wolf Kink        RODOLPHO ALASPRAIRIE
Roberto O’Connor      POLICE DETECTIVE BANDITO MUSOLINI HENDERSON

ACT 1

Missis Playpool , millionaire dowager and high-society wannabe, has been stood up for dinner at a fancy restaurant by Opus E. Driftwort, gold-digging entrepreneur. After being discovered dining with a gorgeous blond at the next table, Driftwort worms his way out of the situation and sits down with Missis Playpool for a second dinner, during which he professes his undying love for her. Repulsed, he then proposes a plan to get her into society by investing $200,000 (in round figures) in the New Yurt Opera Company.

Hermano Gotliebchen, impresario of the opera, happily accepts Missis Playpool’s money with intent to hire celebrated Italian tenor Rodolpho Alasprairie, who beats his valet, Tomasso Pasto, for trying on one of Rodolpho’s costumes before the opera which Missis Playpool attends, after which she and Gotliebchen agree to sign the tenor to a contract. Got that?

Enter Fiorello Blowhardo, who claims to represent the “greatest tenor in the world” (Ricardo Macaroni, a little-known singer in the chorus). Driftwort, thinking Blowhardo represents Alasprairie, tries to get Blowhardo to sign a contract in which Driftwort gets $990 of the $1,000-a-week contract for the “greatest tenor’s” services….but the contract has too many disagreeable clauses, which they agree to rip out until they’re down to the last clause, which happens to be the sanity clause. Of course, Blowhardo claims there ain’t no Sanity Claus, and that’s the end of Act One.

There will now be a short intermission, during which you are free to check out the commercials, or go to the fridge for a beer, before we resume with Act Two.

 

 

ROBOCALLERS FOR TRUMP

Your phone rings for the umpteenth time today. You pick it up.

YOU: “Trump re-election campaign headquarters. How much would you like to donate today?”

ROBOCALLER: Hangs up. Dials again.

YOU: “Trump re-election campaign headquarters. How much would you like to donate today?”

ROBOCALLER: “Are you sure this is Trump re-election campaign headquarters?”

YOU: “No, THIS is Trump re-election campaign headquarters. Man, are you mixed up. But that’s OK — we love people like you. Now, how much would you like to donate today?”

ROBOCALLER: “Blankety-blank-blank-blank-blank!!!!”

YOU: “Maybe you’re right. Maybe you’re Trump re-election campaign headquarters — who else could be so clueless? But if you think I’d help re-elect a President who hires ignoramuses like you, you’ve got another think coming. And you can tell your boss I said so.”

You hang up. Two minutes later, your phone rings again. Another robocaller?

YOU: “Trump re-election campaign headquarters. How much would you like to donate today?”

CALLER: “YOU’RE FIRED!

A PAIN IN THE NECK

PAIN IN THE NECK: Someone or something that is annoying or difficult to deal with –Cambridge English Dictionary

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Friends, we all know someone who is a pain in the neck (or, at the bottom end of the species, a pain in the ass)….as distinguished from someone who HAS a pain in the neck. Unfortunately, mistermuse (aka me) HAS a pain in the neck, so today I went to see an orthopedist, who took X-rays and diagnosed my affliction as….a pain in the neck!

Naïve soul that I am, I was hoping to learn the cause of my weeks-long pain in the neck, but at least my self-diagnosis was confirmed, so I suppose I should feel good about myself….at least, that part of myself that doesn’t hurt like crazy (like the part that grew out of my neck). Fortunately, it only hurts when I’m up and when I’m in bed, so it could be worse.

Anyway, to make a long neck story short, I’ve been prescribed a muscle relaxant and an appointment with a physical therapist in the same building….and ‘there a pissed’ mistermuse will return next week for treatment. I may be sticking my neck out, but I’m hoping for relief at slightly less than break-neck speed.

 

MISTERMUSE FOR PRESIDENT!

So, ladies and gentlemen, I am officially running for President of the United States, and we are going to make our country great again.” –Donald Trump, June 16, 2015

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That was then; this is now.

Fringe, Morons, Countrymen, lend me your rears. I am officiously running for President of the Disunited States, because I feel like it….and who isn’t in favor of doing what they feel like? Now, we know that The Donald feels likewise, but let’s face it — he’s an asshole.

I can hear some of you Trumplodytes saying, “He may be an asshole, but at least he’s my asshole.” Sir — or ma’am, as the base may be — I admit that you’re entitled to your own asshole, but if you don’t mind my saying so, your asshole is full of shit….and after three-plus years of the shit fitting the man, enough of him is too much (and vice versa).

Friends, you and I both realize that, though the Dems’ heart may be in the right place, they’ve been letting the bullying GOP kick their cajones from here to South America for too long. That is why, in addition to slumming for Pres, I am announcing the formation of a new political party called The Fair And Respectful Treatment Party (or FART for short), because that’s what the American people deserve — and when I become President, they will get the FART they’re entitled to.

It’s not going to be easy, friends. I’m getting a late start, and the dollar three twenty five I have in the bank is just enough to cover my ass until my unemployment compensation kicks in. So I’ll be counting on your support and the support of my billions of blog followers to finance my campaign. If you can’t afford to send money, other assets will be gratefully accepted so long as they pass the smell test.

And although the Democratic party may no longer be the party of kick-ass Presidents like FDR, his campaign theme song is still just the ticket for me:

P.S. Highest donor gets to head my campaign and handle the money (just keep it under your hat).