Those “building self-confidence” tapes were a pretty bad idea when looked at in retrospect.
…grinds to a stop. Margo demands it!
Is it “No one ever suspects the baby-sitter.” or “Everyone always suspects the baby-sitter.”? Oh, well, as long as it IS the baby-sitter.
I used to be a wee bit embarrassed by having Dr. Ari act in such a randy manner, but considering the current story-line, with him consorting with a boozy, pill-popping married woman, perhaps I’m vindicated after all.
I also have to admit that I like the dialog in A3G. There are some times when it is very “real,” less sensationalistic than RMMD or JP, and far less stilted than MW or MT (but what would MT be without that?).
That doesn’t stop me, though…
(Yes, I will snark on real peoples’ real conversations. You have been warned.)
In the meantime, Tommie and Ari’s conversation devolves…
Poor Ari.
…that’s what we’re talking about here.
The city that never sleeps! The city with a million stories!
Most of them boring.
Somewhere in an apartment on the upper south side (maybe), Ruby, hairdresser, wedding planner and faded Southern belle, “keeps company” with her mystery man “Lyle”. As that isn’t a particularly popular men’s name, the speculation mounts:
Meanwhile, Music and Culture abound throughout the city. Then the hoi polloi shows up. Unfortunately it’s not the fun and funny Marx Brothers sort of hoi polloi:
So we’ve got Wilbur Weston’s mysterious “illegitimate son” going to meet his father. Too bad a mustachioed cab driver drove (heh) several Comics Curminions to bad memories of the most famous mustachioed Santa Royalian of them all!
Sort of like that Christmas ghost story that English dude Dickens wrote, huh?
Over in the Big Apple, Margo’s parents (who never married — yeah, Margo’s a bastard, too, as if that weren’t apparent) are cozying up during the holidays, and her dad Martin presents her mom with ruby earrings. Or something:
And CC’s own bourbon babe, unbuckled paid tribute to Mark Trail’s daring assault on Otis P. Cornpone, Sheriff of the Law in Backwater County, in an attempt to save Rusty before the tide came in or he was eaten by crabs or pelicans or sand fleas:
(As sung by Mark Trail)
I punched the sheriff
But I didn’t punch the deputy, oh no!
I punched the sheriff
But I didn’t punch the deputy,
Yeah! All around in this beach town,
They’re trying to track me down;
They say they want to bring me in guilty
For the punching of a deputy,
For the nose of a deputy.
But I say:
I punched the sheriff.
But I swear it was for Rusty’s sake.
I say: I punched the sheriff – Oh, gosh! –
And they say it was a big mistake.
Sheriff Stogie always hated me,
For breaking into that store:
Every time that I stole a jack,
He said hey, son, give that back –
He said hey, son, give that back.
And so:
I punched the sheriff.
But I swear it was for Rusty’s sake.
Where was the deputy?
I say: I punched the sheriff,
And I hope that Rusty’s still awake.
Of course, heartfelt lyrics like that absolutely demand chorus of backup singers. Suitably cute (so Mark doesn’t feel obliged to punch them, too):
The Holidays are a WHIRLWIND!!!
It doesn’t matter if Ari Papagapoloukamathekidos is a physician or a psychologist or a psychiatrist or a vet, it seems his medical cred is viewed with scorn by some.
Then again, it could just be his bedside manner.
Margo has returned home to Apt. 3-G, after losing her one true love Eric in a crevasse in Tibet or Timbuktu or the Andes (there were lamas or llamas involved). Lu Ann has returned from East Dakota. Rather than dwell on the death of Eric, Professor Poppycock suggests to Tommie that they remember Eric’s unflagging, derring-do spirit, like helping the Tibetan freedom cause and courting Margo.
Oh, yeah. That’s why you’re a Professor, right?
I have to admit, though, nothing is more fun than when it’s just the three gals together — no smarmy old goat, no confusing boyfriends. (Ruby can stay. Her killer bows rock!)
