Here Come "The Endies": Better Late Than Never

Funny story written by John Peurach

Tuesday, 18 May 2010

image for Here Come "The Endies": Better Late Than Never
NEXT STOP, WILL-WE-BE?: No doubt about it, we're all going to need another hat.

HOLLYWOOD - In a somewhat startling move that appears to have caught many industry sideliners completely off guard - especially those with either too much at stake in the immediate future and/or significantly less than the advised 20/20 with regards to seeing beyond what's left of any sort of once proud, reasonably understood, big picture - veteran TV comedy/variety show producer, C.F. "George" Vladivostok ("The Sandra Beach DeSoto Show," "Sis-Boom-Ya!," "Crazy 6 & 7/8's," "Real Dobermans," "Please, Pull This!," and "The Annual Western Hemisphere Cavalcade Of Humor Awards Show") has apparently inked a lucrative, one-shot, pay or play deal with Simple Sime-Time/End Of Days, Ltd., which puts him at the would-be helm of any possible post-apocalyptic, end-of-humanity (and all other forms of life) on planet Earth (as we have come to know it) awards show.

Tentatively scheduled to roll out whenever finally needed, if not sooner than that, "The Endies" (as they hopefully will forever be thereafter referred to, rather than as initially planned, "The History of Human Achievement on Earth Awards") will provide a more or less necessary celebratory humanized summation that, as specifically designed by Vladivostok and his longtime legendary crack team of award-winning anniversary/retrospective/variety show pros, should indeed offer up an altogether stirring, and appropriately everlasting, final salute look back at what in the world just went down, Earth-wise, and then some, during the extended just completed stretch of teamed-up time we, the people, were collectively on watch, and/or, otherwise afforded the extraordinary opportunity to be, more or less, left in somewhat temporary charge of steering our nearest available, no-place-like-home ship, so to speak, to its inevitable would-be final-like solution conclusion.

"No doubt about it, this is a deal of a lifetime," raved Vladivostok, during a rare moment of unexpected calm deep within the comfy shrouded confines of his now super busy West Hollywood production office. "It's just too bad that for something as special as this to finally kick off, into any sort of reasonably coherent reality for all to hopefully enjoy, it's going to wind up taking the game-over extinguishing of all humanity to, well, you know, in the end, realize such a no-brainer of a sure thing dream. But, well, what can you do? Since by then that'll be just about the only deal of the day left standing. I mean, of course, after we're all through looking in the mirror one last time, just long enough to pretend we didn't somehow get our hair mussed."

Meanwhile, despite the current thought to be long-range time-wise window until such a grand open-mouth kiss-off finale might necessarily be called on to unwind itself accordingly, Vladivostok and company have quickly chosen to operate under the assumption that, given the present state of worldwide turmoil, fiscal uncertainly, and anything but appropriately civilized manners in an ever increasing variety of both near and far regional locales, there exists the ever present lingering possibility that their big, splashy, thank-you-note to planet Earth (and, of course, the way we once upon all the time were, while spinning along with it) might potentially be rushed into full blown production mode with, it would seem, very little lead time before the whole gloriously inclined last act shebang would be required to be up and running for real, with, hopefully, a little more than just the usual song and dance (and/or over-stuffed, yet useless, goody bag) to properly entertain the all inclusive assortment of diversely assembled blank and distant stares, before any eventual full and complete animal, vegetable, and mineral post-life dispersion is ultimately achieved, and, from that there point thereafter, forever placed in a finalized state of "Ba-bye, and thanks for playing along" un-turnaround.

"It's definitely a tall order. And, certainly one we aren't about to take lightly," cautioned Vladivostok, while overseeing the now daily re-stocking of his subterranean storage vault with extra shipments of Hawaiian Punch, Calvin Klein Low Rise Hip Briefs, and Korean grown kumquats. "And because of this, earlier today I had the painless task of having someone here at the office make an emergency call to Howard Feller to inform him that, as of now, there's no chance that either I, nor any of my customarily well compensated and provided for hangers-on's, will be able to assist him any further with his current project, 'My Three Son-Of-A-Fun Guns.'"

For years, or what now only seems like forever, Vladivostok has been attempting to help usher this semi-long, thought-to-be-can't-miss, would-be comedy series of Feller's through an assortment of necessary mine fields surrounding many of the more unlikely entrance ways to any sort of possible network and/or cable sitcom promise land.

Loosely based on the strange but true, yet entirely wacky, mid-'80s summertime misadventures of comedians Jon Stewart, Freddie Stoller and Colin Quinn, while they did laugh out loud double-time duties as indentured weekend performers, and full-time Long Island cabana boys, for legendary New York comedy club maven, Caroline Hirsch, "My Three Son-Of-A-Fun Guns" has only recently been given some strong consideration by HBO, plus, two sorta thumbs-up from extra-hot "It" girl, Megan Fox, who, as luck and an uncertain amount of hubba-hubba fate would have it, appeared to genuinely like (except for the female lead who came off too much like Carol Leifer, instead of the actual true life inspiration - Judy Gold) Feller's lengthy pilot script, when it was read to her by an otherwise attentive CAA underling during a flight from New York to L.A. because she, Fox, was under the mistaken assumption that he, Feller, was dour-faced, heavily eye-browed, manic madman, Ben Stiller, when, as it happened, he was really still only the he, who accidentally just dropped said script as he abruptly exited the first class restroom and rushed past her, that is Fox, to return to his seat in coach after the pilot had apparently put the seat belt light back on due to some sort of soon to be arriving turbulence, while he, Feller, was otherwise indisposed utilizing the in-flight facilities.

But now, with Vladivostok's quick exit from Feller's dream project all but written in stone (and, as such, no doubt soon to be permanently etched across the burly forehead of mutual business manager, G. Alfredo Garcia) it's back to the drawing board (and a small, largely unfurnished hovel in Kew Gardens) for the lanky, awkward featured, former sidekick announcer of "The Jon Stewart Show" - the now highly regarded, yet then seldom seen, '90s-era yuk-it-up talk-show gig, that the toplining William and Mary educated funnyman was momentarily preoccupied with during a brief wide spot in his hilarious roadshow assent to super duper stardom, just prior to his eventual industry-wide anointment as Chairman of All Faux News and (Wink-Wink/Nudge-Nudge) Knucklehead Commentary, via his long running, award-winning association with Comedy Central mainstay, the Winstead/Smithberg created, "The Daily Show."

"I'm certain that, given the nature of most of our past successful associations (Vladivostok and Feller co-own several lucrative New Jersey area urology clinics, plus, one muffler shop in West New York that recently was shut down following a shoot out between rival Cuban gangs attempting to otherwise settle an ongoing squabble that originated during a hotly contested CYO soccer match in nearby Cliffside Park) Howard fully appreciates the rock and hard place I'm presently in, what with having just assumed full Executive Producer responsibility for "The Endies," and all it might possibly turn into. Especially now that both Leo DaVinci and Mike Todd have seen fit to throw in their towels and jump ship, after having taken so many full-swing turns at burying one of Lizzie Borden's lesser used hatchets into each other following their initial pre-pre-show start-up dispute about what to do with already locked-in Robert Schumann if, as rumored, Johannes Brahms keeps insisting on showing up to the big last dance party just long enough to cause some more of his typically lyrical, yet tortured as all get the "F" out of Dusseldorf, sort of not-so-hidden romantic stink."

Vladivostok went on to assure anyone (not yet already in the process of answering any incoming texts, or following whoever's latest report via Twitter, about the not-so-surprising short-fall weekend gross of "Robin Hood") that even if HBO bails (as might be expected considering their sometime tenuous, at best, relationship with Feller ever since his abortive attempt several years back to sell his "Three Wise David's Holiday Showcase Spectacular " - a jaw-dropping Christmas special featuring the somewhat nauseating musical, vocal, and just plain peculiar stylings of David Foster, David Johansen, and David Lynch - to the anything goes premium cable television network, after Vladivostok - who had exited under similar rush-rush conditions, mainly because either Lola Falana or Vic Damone had apparently returned one of his many calls - was replaced at the last minute by sleepy-eyed bowling buddy, Steve Mittleman) there's still an outside chance someone at either Showtime, FX, or TV Land might step in and keep things alive and swell for Feller, and, in turn, far, far away from the nearest lost and never found shelf of no return.

Although, to be perfectly honest here, the jury is still out if Feller remains (as he's so steadily been in the past) dead set on having either former roommate Sue Kolinsky, or longtime unrequited crush job Jann Karam, portray the forever fun-loving, high-living, dynamic Gotham guffaw goddess, Ms. Hirsch, in his better late than never Valentine to happier days gone past (for him, and us) way too speedily soon.

So, considering the caught-with-your-pants-down alternative (something Vladivostok has repeatedly found a way to more or less avoid, ever since a well documented weaker than usual late '60s moment when his first wife Connie Consuelo found him doing anything but card tricks - actually it was his then traditional party stopping "One-Armed Violin Player" bit, sans slacks, and everything else, except for his nattily bearded, fox-in-the-hen-house-grin - for the late-night benefit of water-logged "Laugh-In" chanteuse Judy Carne, while each did what they could to pass some upstairs downtime at the Rosarito Beach Hotel during what was supposed to be the taping of a Jim Nabors TV special for NBC) it's no wonder that, until further notice, Vladivostok and his trusty production staff are quite prepared to remain scurrying every which way as they sort through a series of highly exhaustive lists, clip reels, and news clippings in search of just the right person (or persons) to properly host such an end-of-all-time gathering to, you guessed it, mark the end of all, like time.

At the moment, besides the usual suspects for the always grueling full-show host chore (Goth emperor Theodosius, Henry V, Eastern Empire emperor Justinian, Charlemagne, Vasco da Gama, Pope Clement VII, Peter The Great, Henry Fielding, Frederick Douglas, Lola Montez, Leon Trotsky, and Billy Crystal) three new names from the past keep popping up on everyone's short list for possible inclusion into the ongoing MC derby.

Surprisingly enough they are:

  • Joseph (yes, that one), who it seems was something of a notorious cut-up around the local Nazareth Ace Hardware Store. Although, not right off the bat, as it took him some time (plus a somewhat miraculous whale of an order for assorted cabinets and shelves during one of the bi-annual ruling family palace remodel jobs) to get over the creepy feeling that even though everyone seemed to laugh at all the right places during his many lengthy rants about the price of nails and the fact that his kid was more trouble than he was worth down at the shop, there did still seem to be a whole lot of unnecessary winking going on in any gathered around crowd every time his wife's name came up during one of his many killer bits about coming home early and always finding her waving out the back window at no one in particular.
  • Lou "The Shoe" Sandleman, longtime sea voyage cobbler/on-land blacksmith, from points unknown, who was thrust into the unexpected spotlight during the last leg of Ferdinand Magellan's circumnavigate the world expedition, after the ill-fated navigator found himself on the business end of an out of control Filipino luau, all because he mistakenly misinterpreted the way a local chieftain's daughter quickly devoured a banana during their moonlit stroll following another long evening of tribe-wide look-in-the mirror-play-along. Luckily, for all that made it on board for the mad rush back to Spain via the Cape of Good Hope, Lou was around to keep things decidedly lively and all the way upbeat. Especially during the small below deck mutiny that came about because everyone involved insisted that ship cook, Maynard Fontainebleau, had consistently failed to properly spice a week's worth of broken plate specials, which usually consisted of boiled shoelaces on a bed of lime-soaked kerchiefs and/or bandanas, or just plain buttons and bows trimmed off many of Magellan's left behind smoking jackets. Needless to say if it weren't for Lou's somewhat timely "Never had a dinner" and "Some of my best friends are Portuguese" routines, the surviving members of the weary as all get out round-the-world crew wouldn't have gotten back to Sanlucar de Barrameda in time to immediately catch up with the first good dose of autumnal clap, already then well on its wicked way to sweeping through the port city in southern Spain, just as the celebrated voyagers finally hit the deck running, most likely for the nearest piece of Terra's firma you know what.
  • Woody Woodbury, goofball dirty joke punster, who couldn't help but do it all - nightclubs, supper clubs, Canadian Clubs, TV talk shows, movies, comedy records, summer stock, riverboat lounge revues, supermarket openings, supermarket closings, Julie Newmar, Tuesday Weld, and, two nights in the Fort Lauderdale hoosegow because he once drove his Mercury Comet into the Everglades drink during a failed attempt to come to a complete stop after being pulled over by the authorities for speeding on Alligator Alley - during his stand out career. A nifty man of many talents, that's for sure, one of which was his somewhat commendable persuasive ability to keep sometime sidekick, Robert Ridgley's noticeably responsive wild horse in the barn, so to speak, every time Tina Louise or Inger Stevens stopped by to chat and, of course, point things out accordingly on his all but forgotten mid-sixties syndicated afternoon talk show.

The hope is that by jump-starting any pre-show planning now, powerhouse producer Vladivostok (with a rumored valuable assist or two from P.T. Barnum, Allan Carr, and Harold Prince, plus, some extra-necessary shape and re-shaping from the long distance likes of Jane Austen, Aristophanes, Anatara Ibn Shaddad al-'Absi, Samuel Beckett, Mel Brooks, Anton Chekhov, Confucius, Dante Alighieri, Charles Dickens, Henrik Ibsen, Carl Jung, Herman Melville, Sherwood Schwartz, Voltaire, and Charlie Kaufman) can somehow tap into whatever collective memory might still remain, either reasonably fresh and/or hopefully, for the most part, as clear as might possibly be expected, within the eventual wait and see hearts and minds of all those hankering to, when the time comes, stick around for a spell and give things one long final rear view look-see before the big shove off is otherwise complete, and thus, as would be expected, be the new, now and forever, done deal for the remainder of all, would-be existing, unfulfilled-like eternity.

All of which may indeed be a bitter pill for some to choke down. Especially once the final tally curtain comes down on what was (we're not sure why, maybe just because) and the only thing at that point holding the cat in the bag is the last minute hope that any post-existence partying might quickly commence, hopefully before the final shoe is either dropped and/or used to further kick any slow moving departers as they slip out the back door to the next front yard frontier universe.

With that in mind Vladivostok and company seem certainly ready to tackle whatever heap of right now work appears to be just waiting out there somewhere to be done in semi-anxious preparation for this well deserved, beyond the end of days, ungracious pat upside proverbial backside to finally occur before all us other Elvises officially leave behind the big round building, we thought we knew so well, but must exit in mass nonetheless in order to re-hook ourselves up with all the others that came and went their particular that-a-way's prior to our anything but glorious, soon-to-be fade-out/fade-way finale.

"Of course it will be a kick to get Roosevelt, Churchill, and Stalin back together again," said Vladivostok during a closed restroom door meeting with his musical selection committee following his usual mid-day snack of oysters, Pop Tarts, marshmallows, Doritos with a horseradish dip, a Greek Salad, and a room temperature Tab. "Plus, providing he doesn't say much and is reasonably apologetic, I'm sure there's some out there who wouldn't mind catching Hitler off guard, or at least in the unprotected marble sack, during our planned for 'Bean Bag The Dictators and Despots' audience participation contest, which the Fuhrer has consented to maybe join in on, if, and only if - as he's made it so clearly known through a variety of carefully rehearsed emissaries, including, surprisingly enough, Dick Shawn, his high wire nitwit interpreter in the original 1968 version of 'The Producers' - both Eva Braun and bosomy bombshell Jayne Mansfield each get ringside seats for the entire duration of, if not the entire show, then at least significantly more than his so-far only planned-on one segment."

As things begin to jell even further, Vladivostok promises to consider and re-consider anyone who was anyone in hopes of coming up with the kind of show that will be the total talk of the town while what's left of the world is allowed to sink into its next evolving phase before a well earned date with permanent oblivion.

"Needless to say, two or three, or maybe even all five - I can't announce yet for sure - of the primary religious instigators of the world that we've contacted so far, have gotten back to us already with some of their obvious concerns, and indirect requests for further creative involvement with regards to their potential go-to segments," said Vladivostok with a raised eyebrow and a wicked sort of grin, which, when combined, seemed to reconfirm his earlier reminder that as far is this really big show is concerned, it's all in, and anything goes, as long as there's room for all sides of the perennial theological debates and invariable poorly disguised mudslinging.

"But just to be on the safe side," he cautioned, "we're seriously trying to corral all of the standard and worthwhile Kahns, you know, Genghis, Kublai, Shahrukh, Mirwais, Chaka, Aly, Madeline, and James, in hopes that such an imbalance of worthwhile talent might, in fact, help pick up some of the slack should any of the faithfully followed God-of-their-own-choice-squad decide to either play hard to get, or insist on too much reshuffling of any of our as yet undetermined intellectual property."

In a further development, brought out during some extensive round the clock brainstorming, Vladivostok research associate, Sigmund Floyd, informed us that all sorts of interrelated personal connections are being discovered during the course of their endless rounds of back and forth historical spitballin'.

"Case in point, for instance, who really knew that Amerigo Vespucci was actually the stage name for Bert Wunderlich?" asked Floyd, still obviously way overly excited by this startling nugget of previously unreported evidence. "Fact is, we now know that he was nothing if not a deceptively handsome Germanic would-be new world traveler, who repeatedly felt the need to goof on any number of Italian voyage outfits, once he discovered that they only dished out any worthwhile sea fairing assignments to legitimate homeboys with, as it were, a more swarthy and/or olive tinted demeanor."

"Surprisingly enough," Floyd quickly continued, "by digging even further into the subsequent lifeline connections of Mr. Wunderlich, we stumbled upon the somewhat "no way!" fact that he's actually a long distant relative of not only Bruce Willis AND Ashton Kutcher, but also steady, yet unspectacular, former New York Yankees utility infielder, Phil Linz, as well! Which, when doing the math, might help explain why Demi Moore has consistently demonstrated a noticeable aversion to harmonicas and/or just about anything else that currently exists within the mouth organ family. Now all we got to do is figure out why Dead End Kid Huntz Hall's name is on her birth certificate and maybe she'll finally get a good night's sleep for a change, who knows?"

All in all, because of such wall-to-wall snooping by Vladivostok's necessary nuts and bolts in-house people, there should indeed be enough sizzle to go around for whoever's still in the mood to let 'er whoop accordingly, either on stage as part of the show, or out amongst the washed and/or heavily pre-misted during the planned for final-as-all-get-out run through.

"As it stands now, we're quite prepared to tackle this thing the way most traditional award shows have been presented throughout both the recent and distant past," said Vladivostok, during a quiet moment of contemplative early afternoon yoga inside the bright and cheery, industry award laden, penthouse suite high above his production office, which besides providing him with a perfect every day view of the sun as it sinks behind a clump of impressive palm trees, also gives him full view of what goes on in the nearby parking lot of a well known, yet perfectly non-descript, high-priced S&M dungeon.

"So of course," he went on to say, "we'll have all the usual important things such as, Best Film, Best Actor and Actress, Best Director, Best Song, Costumes, Art Direction, and so on. But, because of the nature of the beast here, we're also are in a perfect position to give things a major extra added boost, so as to make things more people and worldwide friendly. You know, with things like, Best Revolution, Best War, Best Leader, Best Hero, Best Villain, Best Dictator, Best Hidden Agenda, Best Celebrity Lawyer, Best "you name it," we got it! And if not, we'll just keep adding more on till we get it. Best Novel, Best Play, Best Opera, Best Visual Artist, TV Drama, Technological Invention, Medical Advancement, Lady-In-Waiting, Mass Murderer, Pastry Chef, Cab Driver, Tax Accountant, hell, even Best Community Activist, if you can believe that. Really, anything at all. Seriously, I'm not kidding. But wait, there's moreā€¦.."

At this point, Vladivostok appeared to suddenly either loose his breath, or become a little more dizzier than usual (as it turned out, because his assistant Algernon had mistakenly just used the combination of Vladivostok's three exacta choices for today's races at Hollywood Park as the restart-up code during his daily pacemaker re-adjustment), which immediately caused always nearby positioned Co-Producer Myrna Kaplan-Jerrico to quickly jump in to continue reading off what was already an impressive list of award worthy categories, while her now ultra-heavy breathing boss sat back and was promptly fanned off by two gender-unspecific Emerson College interns.

"Best Sports Legend, Best Mathematician, Best Psychoanalyst, Best Military Junta, Best Orthodontist, Best Plastic Surgeon, Best High School Guidance Counselor, Best Dog Groomer, Best Chief Cook and Bottle Washer, Best High-Priced Hooker, Best Gonzo Porn Star, Best Over-All Terrorist, Best Reasonably Well Adjusted Roman Catholic Priest Who Has Generally Been Known To Pretty Much Keep His Hands (Or Anything Else) To Himself," said Kaplan-Jerrico, with little, if any, outward emotion or concern that there appeared to suddenly be nowhere else to go except further into the deep end of society's seldom ever officially recognized gene pool. "Best Ballbuster, Best Glad Hander, Best Nit Picker, Best Screwhead, Best Overwrought Religious Zealot, Best Waste of Time, Best Gandy Dancer, Best Would-be Lone Gunman Assassin, Best Knuckle Dragging Mouth Breather, Best Holocaust and/or Otherwise Intentional Act of Systematic Genocide, Unilateral Ethnic Cleansing, or Overly Aggressive Nationalism on a Fairly Recurring Basis."

"Don't forget Best Reasonably Low-Priced Auto Mechanic, and, oh yeah, Best Stupid A** Mother******," said Vladivostok, obviously now recovered enough, once again, to keep things rolling right along.

"Although from what my people tell me, to really get that last one right, we may be forced into having to do a second show," he continued. "Either way, we'll be ready for anything, regardless. And, well, as much as it may sound selfish of me to say, the sooner the better. I mean, sure, why not? But seriously, that's probably just my excitement, and, of course, my overriding professional wherewithal showing there. A little too much, I suppose, but hey, what can I say, I'm really looking forward to pulling this thing off, you know? But, please, don't get me wrong. It's not like I'm going to start holding my breath, or anything, just waiting for the call to come down to give us the "go" word that we're now REALLY on the clock."

"Then again," he quickly added, "if by chance I find myself getting on an elevator with Le Petomane anytime soon, that might just be my best option during any hopefully short ride in either direction."

Meanwhile, despite what appears to be steadily growing interest from all those so far contacted to be potential participants in the (to-be-finalized-at-a-later-date) "Endies," very little in the way of firm, or even, tentatively possible, confirmations have apparently come trickling back Vladivostok's way. As it seems that more and more of the initial wave of hoped-for expected talent appears, for the moment anyway, still rather reluctant to otherwise commit themselves to such an endgame endeavor until it is further established as to who is either already on board, still undecided, or not yet been officially asked, and, of course, whether or not Anthony Newley is planning on singing "Who Can I Turn To?".

In any case, as things currently stand, other than the aforementioned mood swinging classical music maestro Robert Schumann, the three primary World War II Allied Leaders, a whole bunch of Khans, and the several, as of yet, unspecified major religious figures of note, some of the actual choice biggies with seemingly either enough of a confident mind of their own (or, just kooky enough in their own right, as is) to so far give Vladivostok the kind of solid "Yes" reply that he needs now in order to plow ahead with a multitude of marketing and product placement schemes (specifically designed to tap into and, as always, feed and supply the eventual groundswell of almost certain wildfire-like, manic anticipation and indiscriminately obsessive outpouring of emotionally charged interpersonal confusion that should, if handled correctly, be there for all to exploit along the way, and, in the end, for once, try to enjoy) are, not so surprisingly: Marie Antoinette, Atilla, Honore de Balzac, Jack Benny, Ingmar Bergman, John Berryman, Pieter Brueghel the Elder, John Brown, Luis Bunuel, Aaron Burr, Albert Camus, Catherine Of Aragon, Jackie Chan, Geoffrey Chaucer, Roberto Clemente, Cleopatra, Merce Cunningham, Bette Davis, Catherine de' Medici, Rene Descartes, Marlene Dietrich, Peggy Eaton, Albert Einstein, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Guy Fawkes, Federico Fellini, Haile Selassie, David Hemery, Charlton Heston, Bill Hicks, Jimmy Hoffa, Judas Iscariot, Jack Johnson, Katja Kassin, Buster Keaton, Johannes Kepler, Patrice Lamumba, Lao-Tzu, T.E. Lawrence, Robert E. Lee, Roy Lichtenstein, Louis XVI, Martin Luther, Thomas More, Moses, Zero Mostel, Gary Mule Deer, Gamal Abdul Nasser, Issac Newton, Friedrich Nietzsche, Richard M. Nixon, Warren Oates, Bobby Orr, Blaise Pascal, Plato, Pol Pot, Gregory Rasputin, Jean Renoir, Mark Rothko, George Sand, Margaret Sanger, George Segal, Phil Silvers, Stephen Smale, David Steinberg, Jonathan Swift, Laurette Taylor, Johannes Vermeer, John Wayne, William Carlos Williams, K'ang Yu-Wei, Vyasa, Emil Zatopek, and Fred Willard.

Musical performers scheduled to appear include: Louis Armstrong, Johann Sebastian Bach, Bela Bartok, Beaux Arts Trio, James Brown, Maria Callas, Chic, Frederic Chopin, George Clinton, John Coltrane, Celia Cruz, Crosby, Stills & Nash, Daddy Yankee, Eric Dolphy, The Doors, Eric B. & Rakim, Fela, Judy Garland, Marvin Gaye, Glenn Gould, The Grateful Dead, Joseph Haydn, Coleman Hawkins, Jimi Hendrix, Elmore James, Louis Jordan, Lata Mangeshkar, Love, MC5, Jacob Miller, Liza Minnelli, Minutemen, Ethel Merman, Anne-Sophie Mutter, The New York Dolls, Nirvana, Laura Nyro, Gram Parsons, Rita Pavone, Edith Piaf, Pink Floyd, Maria Joao Pires, Bud Powell, The Ramones, Otis Redding, Franz Schubert, The Shangri-Las, Helen Shapiro, The Slits, Yma Sumac, Donna Summer, Ernest Tubb, Mitsuko Uchida, The Velvet Underground, Muddy Waters, Hank Williams, Stevie Wonder, Lester Young, and Archie Bell and The Drells.

Claudio Abbado, Gustav Mahler, Paul Shaffer and Chick Webb are, at this point, each preparing to take turns conducting the various orchestra, band, and choral arrangements, Co-Directors of the show will be Wolf J. "Orson" Ratskywatsky and Hal Gurnee, while Rowan & Martin, Mitch Hedberg, Benny Hill, Steve Landesberg, and Moms Mabley will perform as part of a five-ring opening act, as well as during any extended open-ended periods necessitated by various, yet to be determined, staging adjustments and/or unforeseen ego reconfigurations that might occur during the course of the show's ultimate duration.

"All in all, a little something for everyone," promised Vladivostok, after sinking into his big comfy office theatre viewing room couch to watch this evening's broadcast of "The Big Bang Theory." "Which only seems fair, since by then, we'll all be in this thing together, except maybe a little more alone than usual."

In other words, we shall see what..... well, what we were all meant to see, regardless. With any luck there will be enough seats to go around, plenty of quick moving refreshment lines, and, what one can only assume, will be an enormous amount of appropriately installed restroom availability for all concerned.

As to do otherwise at that point in, soon-to-be-then-running-out-of-time time, would indeed be, not only rude, but, for the most part, highly uncalled for, considering the unknown, and quite possibly, less than fun road up ahead for whoever's, by then, of a mind to pack up and move on, more or less, with the rest of the parade accordingly, in what one would hope could be conducted in a most orderly fashion, and, for the most part, remain as pleasantly amusing as possible until further notice. Or, at which time it is finally determined, for any and all, just how much postage is, or will be, soon enough due, before the final big royal flush.

In still other words, my compliments to the chef.


The funny story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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