The Magician’s Assistant

It’s Halloween and time to celebrate. So here’s a Halloween story.

Brooks and Frank were not brothers although others thought they could be. No one could remember them when they were not together. Brooks was a magician; Frank was a fireman. Or at least, he liked to dress up as a fireman.

Brooks was often on stage, showing the world his trick of sawing a fireman in half. Usually magicians saw a woman in half, Brooks sawed Frank in half. People loved the trick. Frank showed up on the stage and Brooks introduced him to the box. Frank wore his fireman’s uniform. Once Frank was in the box safe and secure, Brooks set the box on fire. Then the sawing began.

Frank always thought of himself being like the one the knife thrower threw the knives at. It took steady nerves to stand there and let those knives come at you. He thought that the knife thrower’s partner could dodge bullets if she had to. She had that kind of concentration. So he worked on his concentration.

All was well and good for quite some time. Then it happened. It happened just as Brooks and Frank became a sensation and started to fill larger venues. Frank met Darla.

Darla was a tall, slender dark-haired beauty with only one ambition. She had spent years wanting to be a magician’s assistant. She saw Brooks on stage. She just knew what he needed. He needed Darla to hand him the saw. It was a matter of faith. Every magician needed a Darla.

One night during the show, Darla walked onto the stage. She had the saw in her hands. She lifted it above her head. Then she handed the saw to Brooks.

At first surprise, Brooks was taken aback. How dare this woman interrupt his performance. When he heard the applause, he changed his mind. As the three of them walked off the stage, Brooks whispered to his new assistant, “I can’t pay you much.”

Darla just smiled. She was happy her dream had come true.

Frank took one look at Darla and he was smitten. Cupid aimed his arrow, and kwhack, it hit Frank in the heart.

For several performances, the act went on perfectly. Brooks introduced the box. Frank walked out onto the stage in his fireman’s costume and crawled into the box. Brooks locked the box. Darla brought out the fire starter and set the box on fire. Then she raised the saw above her head. And the trick went off without a problem.

Frank couldn’t keep his love to himself. One night just before a performance, he walked up to Darla and whispered, “I love you.”

Well, Darla was having none of this love thing. She knew it could blow a good act. She had seen other acts go up in flames because of the jealousy. So she let her partner-in-crime know she wasn’t interested in a gentle sort of way.

Frank walked onto stage with tears in his eyes. He crawled into the box like always. Darla set the box on fire. Brooks took the saw from her hands. Things were going well just like usual. But Frank couldn’t concentrate. He just couldn’t concentrate.

 

haiku for the day: sleep

There are nights I just can’t sleep. Some of it is that I am a late night kind of guy. Seems I get a new shot of energy right after midnight. Often this is the time I have been my most creative. If you have to get up early the next morning for an appointment or for work, you’re going to be tired. Because you didn’t get enough sleep. It’s a burden that I seem to have carried my entire life. But what can a fellow do? Wonder if Hamlet faced this dilemma.

to insomnia
or not to insomnia
such speculation

Uncle Bardie’s Spotlight Creator: Friendship

Once a week on Friday, Uncle Bardie celebrates the creativity in others by shining a Spotlight on a movie, a song or a creator. In honor of All Hallow’s Eve, this week’s Spotlight Creator is the celebration of friendship between the great horror actors, Christopher Lee, Peter Cushing, Vincent Price:

Vincent Price was to Boris Karloff as Gene Kelly was to Fred Astaire. Peter Cushing was the Abbott to Christopher Lee’s Costello in the Hammer Horror films.

And here’s Vincent Price honoring his good friend, Christopher Lee:

And here’s Peter Cushing:

And one final time for Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing:

It does seem an odd time to celebrate friendship, and yet why not? These three were such wonderful entertainers. Not only that. They were gentlemen (in the old fashion term) as well.

It is rare to find a friend with whom you can be your complete self. With whom you can let down your mask and let them whole heartedly into your heart. Maybe their gift was friendship. I would like to think so.

So, remember them for all the joy they brought us. And remember them for the role models of friendship they were.

 

 

haiku for the day: roofs

No house lasts forever. They must be maintained, renovated, repaired. We go about our renovations and we forget that greatest of all mantras, first do no harm. Soon our renovations turns into renovating our renovations. No matter how hard we try, it’s always a struggle. Very often the house wins. And wins big time. If you don’t believe me, buy a house. Either that or see “Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream House” or “The Money Pit”.

scattered roof shingles
jigsaw puzzle on the ground
near a camphor tree

Lady Wimpleseed-Prissypott # 37: Prime Minister Executes His Plan

Previous, the Prime Minister met with the Queen. 

The Prime Minister was in the loveliest of moods as he stepped into his carriage to return to Number 10. The ride from Buckingham Palace back to his residence was one of the happiest he had ever made. Usually he was in a foul mood. The audiences with Her Majesty had always gone at the very least not well. This one had gone extraordinary well. Now all he had to do was implement the plan he, Pip and Sir Myles had worked out in secret the last evening at the Prime Minister’s Table in the Commons Diner.

For an autumn day, the sun was especially warm, shining down its favoritism upon him. He drove through St. James Park and watched the pelicans. The lake was an especially lovely shade of blue that autumn day as his carriage made its way down the Mall and past Whitehall and on.

As his carriage arrived at Number 10, Sir Myles was waiting for him at the door. “Are they all in there?” he asked.

“They are indeed, Argyle,” Sir Myles said, shaking his friend’s hand. “They are indeed. Did Her Majesty agree to The Plan?”

“She did. Every last line of it. She thinks it is a great strategy. And I am now completely in her favor. So, let’s go and do our dirty work. I am going to enjoy this.”

The Prime Minister, followed by Sir Myles, walked into his Cabinet Room. All his ministers stood.

“Prime Minister, what is he doing here?” the Chief of Defense Staff demanded.

“Sit, gentlemen,” the Prime Minister said. “I most assuredly am going to sit. I hate to do dirty work standing.”

His Cabinet took their places at the big round wooden table that some attributed to going back to the Round Table at Camelot. The men were very unsettled. What was going on?

“Prime Minister, I asked you a question?” the Chief of Defense Staff demanded a second time, gesturing toward Sir Myles sitting at the Prime Minister’s side.

“Oh, Sir Myles has a new portfolio,” the Prime Minister said, his hands resting peacefully on the round table made of sturdy oak. “He will be assuming the duties of the Defense Ministry and the Defense Staff. He will be both the Defense Secretary and the Chief of the Defense Staff.”

The Cabinet was stunned.

“What? You can’t do that, Argyle Mactavish,” the Defense Secretary protested.

“That’s right,” the Chief of the Defense Staff joined in. “Your government will fall if you lose our support.”
“’Tis true,” Prime Minister said. “My government will fall. But you know what? You are both sacked. And so are the rest of you. You have plotted against my government for the last time. I demanded your loyalty and you gave me treason. Tomorrow morning Her Majesty will announce the dissolution of Parliament and the call for new elections.”

“Her Majesty can’t do that,” the Chancellor of the Exchequer stood up and shouted. “She does not have the power. The public will go mad.”

“Oh, but she does have the power,” the Prime Minister said smiling. “She has not exercised that power in many years. We are, after all, a constitutional monarchy, and Her Majesty is still the Head of State.”

“The public won’t stand for it,” the Chancellor sat back down. “Besides you need our support to win an election. Without it, you are a done-for.”

“I’m afraid, Thurston,” the Prime Minister addressed his Chancellor of the Exchequer directly, “that you will be the done-for. When the public finds out what you had in store for Lady Wimpleseed Prissypott, how you plotted to take her life, you gentlemen will be the done-fors.”

“But you can’t prove that,” the Defense Secretary interjected.

“Oh, yes, I can, Charles.” The Prime Minister reached down into his briefcase and pulled out several cables addressed to the British Ambassador in Spain. They instructed him to instruct 007 James Bond to carry out the order of The Times to make her ladyship disappear. One way or another.

“You bastard,” the Personal Assistant to the Prime Minister said. “How dare you?”

“No, P. A., how dare you? So, gentlemen, you have till midnight to have your desks cleaned out. We, the queen and I, are making a clean sweep. Tomorrow is about to be a new day.”

Each of the Cabinet members stood and marched out the door. The Home Secretary stopped and turned back to the Prime Minister. “I am sorry, Argyle,” he said. There were tears in his eyes. “The devil made me do it. And you know what a taskmaster he can be.”

“Holsteen, you should have listened,” the Prime Minister said to his former friend, “to the angels of your better nature. For your own good and for the good of your country.”

The Personal Assistant was the last to leave. “Prime Minister, I promise you that you will regret this,” he said, glaring at his former boss. “I promise you that. The Times will destroy you.”

“P. A., before it’s over,” Sir Myles said on behalf of his friend, “The Times will no longer be The Times. I assure you of that.”

Next week, To Rescue or Not to Rescue.