Wasabisoft

I am not making up any of this in any way. Prepare to be amazed… or find me even stranger than usual.  Either way, it’ll be funny.

I was listening to and singing along with Richard Cheese’s first CD on my way home from work this evening.  Richard Cheese, if you don’t know, performs lounge-style covers of popular songs that are in no way even CLOSE to the lounge genre.  It’s really, really good stuff, mellow, dirty and uplifting all at the same time.  I was halfway through Buddy Holly as I exited my car and entered my apartment; I finished it upon getting inside, cracked open a beer, and then proceeded to deliver the following monologue totally ad-libbed out loud in my apartment in (what I felt was) a nearly pitch- and pacing-perfect Garrison Keillor voice.  It felt like a natural extension of the pitch of Buddy Holly, so I went with it, and it turned out pretty decent, though the timing is definitely from his older-school, more deliberate pace, the one with which I grew up.  I will admit some Eddie Izzard started to creep in around paragraph four, but I got it out by the end.  Who cares, I’ve got beer.

Here’s as much as I can remember; punctuation denotes vocal timing as opposed to grammatical correctness.  Try reading this aloud in your OWN Garrison Keillor voice, you’ll see what I mean.  And if you’re really, really lucky I’ll find a way to post an actual audio version of this soon.

“That was my, National, Public Radio, Garrison Keillor, Lake Wobegon rendition… of the song, Buddy Holly… as covered by, Mr. Richard Cheese.  Richard Cheese is a delightful individual, full of insight, wit, and mirth… whom I have the great and… dubious, pleasure of knowing.

“I first met Mr. Cheese one summer long, long ago, on the shores, of Lake Wobegon; at a little known, and secluded summer camp – a co-ed camp – called Lake… Kemoniwanaleiu, where Richard and myself, spent many a long, and… steamy night, softly singing sweet serenades… some smooth, sensual… smarmy strains; sure to surreptitiously secure… the surrender of, Sally’s… smorgasbord.

“And I remember many a time, when Richard and myself, left the warm, glowing embrace, of the campfire’s light, with one, and sometimes two, of, nature’s nicer reminders, of why it’s just really great, to be part of a species with two genders.  And Sally, and Michelle, and myself and sometimes Christine… would adjourn to the quiet, solitude, of my tent; to discuss high-brow matters of philosophy… such as: “how does one remove, a bra, from the front, with only one hand”… and “does wearing a thong… feel like you have an enormous wedgie all the time”.

“And I now, seem to recall… an equally, frequent, number of times… when, at about this point, in our narrative, one of the girls… let’s say, Sally… would pose the timeless… age-old question: ‘what are those, unearthly shrieks of delight… and forbidden pleasure found… coming from, the rough location, of Richard’s tent perhaps… us three girls, should go investigate… posthaste.’

“So quickly, do they depart, that I am left, protesting… to myself, rather pathetically, really… ‘Don’t go, oh… don’t go… we were having such a nice time, here, in my tent, and… Richard’s got three girls of his own, over there, already… surely it’ll be crowded?, I… go home tomorrow, I would prefer to, not be, burdened with… my virginity, at that time.’

“But I don’t bear a grudge, against Richard… for denying me, an, experience… that I’m now quite certain, would have resulted in my, breaking the cycle of reincarnation… and shedding my fragile, human form, for a body of pure energy and knowledge NO, no grudge… because despite the fact that Richard’s raw, animal prowess, in the sack… meant that, I, once again, spent an evening alone, crying… and indulging in, just, a little bit… of self-improvement… it was still nice, having Richard around… because it meant, that for the first time, in a long time… I, wasn’t the boy… with the silliest last name, in our peer group.

“So I dedicate that song… and this story… to Richard.  In honor of the fact, that he reminds us, everyday… of what Weird Al Yankovic would look like… if he couldn’t play an instrument, and had even, worse hair.  Mr. Cheese, I salute you… with what Sally, confidently assures me… is a much larger penis than yours.  Goodnight.”