Solly and the Garbage

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.

Near 500 words: Skeezer

Skeezer was the founder of the Radicals. She was the one who gave the group edge. Always a smile on her face, she had founded the group as an outlet for her creativity. First of all she was a musician. She played the harmonica and she played a mean harp. She would have given Willie Dixon a run for his money if he was still around.

Then there were the songs. Nobody in the city had heard lyrics like hers. She could make up a lyric and have it tied up in a song in less than five minutes. How she got this facility came from reading the dictionary like others read a romance or a mystery. Asked why she loved reading the dictionary, she answered, “It’s the mystery of it all. You never know what word is going to turn up.”

But what she became famous for was The Dance. The Dance was the day she and the four other young women of the Radicals showed up in Central Park and danced modern dance for an hour. That wasn’t unusual. There were groups all the time showing up. But these women showed up in their skimpy dresses on a day when it had just snow and the temp was not above 10.

When they did it for a second year on February 1, the City went crazy. A large crowd showed up. That was the year the video of their dance went viral. Over thirty million peeps on Youtube. Because they posted the video, they made a chunk of change. That was Skeezer’s idea as well. She was one heck of a business woman.

But she resisted going solo. She thought it was rude and she wasn’t about to abandon her Sisters. They were her friends and you just don’t do that to friends.

By the time Skeezer made it into her thirties, the Radicals had their own office and recording studio and rehearsal space downtown. After ten years, many started thinking of the women as Old Skool. Skeezer wasn’t having that. She’d worked too damn hard to lose their image as radicals.

So she invited in five of the best jazz musicians around. She had an idea for an album of tunes that would blow the head off the music scene. The CD did what it was supposed to do. Called “Dirty Words”, there wasn’t a dirty word on any of the songs if you could call them songs. Actually it was an epic poem, telling of the deeds of the Radicals. How they snuck into New York City in a wooden horse. How they faced down the mayor who happened to be named Priam. The final song was a celebration called “Blast”.

The piece de resistance was the performance. The Radicals, now six, performed it in the nude. The second night they were busted for indecency. They called in the news media and protested they were a free speech movement. Then they stripped and yelled, “Oh Fuck.” “Oh Fuck” became a You Tube hit.

Skeezer always knew how to make a ruckus. If she had not been an artist, she might have been a gangster. After all, her hero was John Lennon. Once she discovered his “Instant Karma”, “Gimme Some Truth” and “God” at twelve, she was changed. She knew what she wanted to be. She was going to be a prophet. And her prophecy would be her art.

Skeezer turned forty and left the Radicals. It was time. The group had become an institution. It was time to go to the mountains and seek. So she went off on a pilgrimage to climb the holy mountains around the world.

The last time we heard from Skeezer word was that she was climbing Mount Everest. Some say she died up there, and some say she didn’t. Then there is that small group who have come to believe that Skeezer will be coming down with Jesus in the Rapture. Who knows? All most of us know is we sure miss The Radicalist Radical of Them All.