They say Solomon was the wisest guy who ever lived. But how wise can a guy who marries seven hundred women be? After all, that is seven hundred wives telling him to take out the garbage. Just where was he going to put all that garbage?
The garbage had started filling up the moat around Jerusalem sometime near 950 BCE. In Solly’s daddy’s time, Jerusalem had been a one-horse town. Not enough garbage to shake a stick at. But now Jerusalem was more like the Big Apple of ancient times. It had a dozen or so skyscrapers, and a temple too. The Donald Trump of that time, a Levite named Cohen Cohen, just kept building and building with all the money coming in from his monopoly of the sheep concession.
Why would a monopoly on sheep bring in so much cash? Well, I’m here to tell you that you can’t have a sacrifice to the Lord High God without a sheep. It just wasn’t done. And it couldn’t be just any sheep. It had to be a pure one. That is where Cohen Cohen came in. He had all the unblemished sheep in the land.
Anyway the garbage had been accumulating for quite some time. Solly’s wives were hearing all his bitching and moaning about it since he didn’t seem to have the time. He was too busy splitting hairs, playing the wise guy game. Like who gets the baby? Hannah or Maureen?
All the king’s men and all the king’s horses decided something had to be done about the garbage. So they went to the wives. The wives decided old Solly just wasn’t doing his job, like a good husband should. After all, it’s the husband’s job to take out the garbage. Right then and there they went on strike. Cut him off from his regular harem visits.
Solly was a virile man, a real manly man he was. A Schwarzenegger among kings. So, no harem visits for a couple of months, and he’s a raving lunatic. Called in the local prophet and demanded, yes demanded, some answers.
“You’re the wise guy around here,” prophet said. The prophet’s name was Spot.
“What does that mean?” Solly asked. “I’m the wise guy around here?”
“Just what it says,” Spot smarted back. Anybody else and Solly would have had his head, but it was No-chopping-off -the-head-of-a-prophet month.
Solly was so mad all he could say was, “Out, damned Spot.”
What to do? What to do? Solly wondered. If he was so wise, why couldn’t he figure this one out. Finally he begged one of his favorite wives to come see him. Her name was Betty # 32.
“Betty # 32?” you ask. Yep, Betty #32. Because Solly had a lot of wives. It was like he was Mickey Rooney and Brigham Young with a quite a bit of Errol Flynn all rolled into one guy. And he couldn’t remember their names. So he started calling them Betty and making them wear t-shirts with their number on it. When you’re a wise king, you can make snap decisions like that.
There was a good reason that Betty # 32 was one of his favorites. She had curves down to her toes. Her curves had curves. She could make Mae West look like a bean pole. That’s the kind of curves she had. And she had flair too. Instead of the old drab gray muumuus the other wives wore, she ran around the palace in a hot pink t-shirt, and it showed off those curves. Man, did it ever.
Betty # 32 got the call from her hubby. She wiggled her way into the king’s audience chamber with that come-hither smile on her face that he loved.
“What’s up, Doc?” She always called him Doc. No Sire-ing for her. It was her way of letting him know his place. Her family’s ancestry was a direct lineage all the way back to great-to-the-tenth-great grandpappy Jacob himself. If Solly was royalty, she was a blue blood of blue bloods. Her blue blood trumped his royalty any day.
Besides he was the son of a brigand and a shepherd. His daddy, Little Davie Crewcut, had only one claim to fame. His band beat out Goliath and the Philistines in a Battle of the Bands way back when. Only thing that put him on the throne was his audacious harp playing and his song-writing. Boy, that man sure could write some Psalms. All the Israelites said so.
So here in the audience chamber Solly and Betty # 32 had a little tit-for-tat. Finally Betty came to the point. “Take out the garbage. Darn it.”
As we all know, that was that. He sent that garbage downriver to one of the ‘burbs. Place called Sheol. The folks in Sheol were none too happy about that. It was such a nice neighborhood, and suddenly there’s all this smelly garbage. I mean, you did not want to be downwind to Sheol on a Thursday morning when Sol took out the garbage. Those folks swore they would get even. But they never did. They didn’t have time. They were too busy burning garbage.
The good news was that there was a hot time in the old harem that night. The next morning Solly took his place on his throne with a smile on his face. That was some smile.