Bet Your Bottom Bibby
"You bib your bottom, Betty," I observed. Although she didn't know it, her bottom bibbed and bobbed like a botty bosom.
"What's that mean?" she demanded suspiciously. "You're always making fun of me, you."
"It's good," I assured her. "I've always liked a bibbing bottom. How'd it get that way?"
"Oh, I just kept betting until my bottom went bibby."
"You bet your bottom bibby?"
"Well, what would you have done?" she asked defensively. "It was either that or batting my bosom blobby, and who wants a blobby bosom?"
"Who indeed?" I inquired gravely, although I knew full well that Frederick Chopin had always coveted a blobby bosom. As for Friedrich Nietzsche - well, everybody knows that story. But Little Red Riding Hood was story enough for Betty.
"How about a little assonance?" I suggested slyly.
"I don't know what you mean," she giggled. "I'll just slip into something terpsichorean and we'll see."
Now where did she learn a word like terpsichorean? Then it struck me. She'd been seeing Chopin all those nights she pretended to be visiting her lover. Damn Chopin and his piano chopsticks. He would pay dearly for this.
When I arrived chez Chopin it was already 1836 and he had an appointment to a chance encounter with George Sand. I hadn't realised he buttoned his waistcoat in that direction, and was somewhat relieved to find that Mr. Sand was, in fact, a baroness. If you must take the rough with the smooth, by far the best to take it from an aristocrat.
Chopin fired a defensive mazurka in my diection and my feet instinctively began to dance. It's the price I pay for being descended from an ape. I recognised the tune, I'd heard a cover version by Liszt. Did Liszt have a liszp? I wondered and, while I was engaged in my reverie, Chopin made his escape through his cunningly placed front door.
Back home in 2010, Baker Street, Betty had just emerged from the bedroom, and as promised was looking terpsichorean indeed. Together we placed bets on the bibbiness of her bottom. On the whole, a satisfactory evening, I concluded.
Comments
Ewan | February 12, 2010 - 08:20
What no Nurse? I like nurses. One especially. I hope Crackersville hasn't got writer's blockages. Can't he give them to you? I'm surprised the Nurse hasn't given him sennapods.
A significant departure in the Skunky oeuvre. Who are these fictitious people in this story? Your invented characters are less credible than Betty. Still, I always enjoy a story about a Chopin Liszt.
Randall P. McMurphy
Skunk | February 12, 2010 - 10:35
If Mr. McMurphy doesn't want to take his medication orally, I'm sure we can arrange that he can have it some other way. But I don't think that he would like it.
Nurse Ratched
Crackersville | February 12, 2010 - 10:54
Last night the Nurse's second best tiara said to me with an overly sarcastic tone "bollocadodledoo". So I decided to punish her entire tiara collection once and for all and straight away. I intended to put them all in Spartacus's fridge. But first my raccoons had to steal it. Nothing went according to plan, because Skunk's alter ego (the alter ego of Spartacus) woke up in a good mood and started to type feverishly.
Skunk | February 12, 2010 - 12:19
Don't believe all you read here. In fact, don't believe any of it. In fact, just don't believe. To be on the safe side, just don't.
Ewan | February 12, 2010 - 12:36
Just.
Crackersville | February 12, 2010 - 12:40
Just, in factum.
Ewan | February 12, 2010 - 12:41
Oh Nurse Ratched,
please don't tell all our secrets!
There is no dichotomy
- and I still love you -
in spite of the lobotomy,
what else can I do?
Randall P. McMurphy
Crackersville | February 12, 2010 - 12:46
Now look what you've done Chairman. You've upset all meta-nihilistic routines.
Ewan | February 12, 2010 - 12:51
I think I've got meta-nihilism, I can't last a day without a drink that doesn't really exist and isn't important anyway.
I'll try to keep Randall away from the computer, but it's damned difficult since the Injun jumped out the window. Just don't mention Nurse Ratched, Randall almost got the strait-jacket off yesterday.
Crackersville | February 12, 2010 - 13:03
We all know in factum it's because of the strait-jacket you bought from Titor Synod-girls want you, Chairman-EL, they're not interested in fajitas, pink toilet paper, green trailers, tunicas and Perl Harbor at all. Will the universe ever recover?
Ewan | February 12, 2010 - 13:12
From the Office Of Chairman-EL,
1st Reform Church of the Meta-Nihilist Proselytisers
Esteemed Mr Benedict Crackersville,
It seems that your communication has been re-routed in error to The 1st Reform Church of the Meta-Nihilist Proselytisers. His Existentialist Munificence Chairman-EL has asked me to inform you that the 1st Reform etc. has now and has never had any connection with any other religious institution, however similar the name might be. It is a quirk of the current interplanetary taxation laws that the 1st Reform etc has been in the habit of cashing Interplanetary Money Orders made out to anything containing the words Meta-Nihilist.
Please desist in communicating with His E.M. Chairman-EL in future, except by I.M.O.
Regards
Todd E. Lickspittle
Office of Chairman-El
Etc.
Skunk | February 12, 2010 - 13:14
Oh, you silly billies. Strum your banjos to the light of the silvery loon and see if I give a sixpenny lolly. Everybody knows the synod is a factotum pole and green trailers never tempted anybody to see a film about Pearl Harbour, even with John Wayne and the Waynettes in it.
Crackersville | February 12, 2010 - 13:32
Todd E. Lickspittle, you're not by any chance the notoriously unreliable Chairbarman at the pub Abductee?
Crackersville | February 12, 2010 - 13:40
Skunk, my boy, weren't alter-you supposed to be typing feverishly a brand new memorandum negatively correlated with meta-nihilism?
Highhat | February 12, 2010 - 18:43
Gone Chopin be Bach in a minuet
Honorine | February 12, 2010 - 19:38
I think I'll just get Brahms & Liszt because I reckon Chopin meant to give you mazuma instead of mazurka (interesting triple time reference to Darwin). So there we have it, I shall go and become a bibulous terpsichorean when the juice kicks in. Hic. wobble