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Story #17

Okay, so my quest to get caught up on Classics continues.  Because I am at work and unable to do a lot of writing at the moment, I am going to completely ignore the June 21st date when I should have written a new story, and instead publish the Classic that should have been up the following week, on June 28th.  Maybe I’ll actually make it to July’s stable of Classics before July is over (of course, I am also completely ignoring the fact that today is the third Thursday of JULY, meaning I should be writing another new story today.  Please see the aforementioned “because I am at work” caveat).  It is amusing for me to note that this week’s Classic begins with another apology for lateness, once again proving that I’ve just never been able to do anything on time here at the club.  Hooray for me.

All that being said (typed), I just wanna put out the call to any artists out there who may be reading (is anybody reading anymore?): I would love it if someone would contribute some art based on this weeks Classic.  Primarily because there are tarantulas in it.  And tarantulas are awesome.

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Subject: FOR THE LOVE OF. . .  (story #17)
Date: Tue, 18 Oct 94  10:34:42 EDT

BRO-MAN’S STORY OF THE WEEK

    Well, sorry about the postponement, although I realized after sending the postponement notice yesterday that nobody (except possibly Liz Crowder at Va. Tech) would even be checking their mail until Tuesday night at the earliest, and probably later than that, actually. Oh well, it’s not like I could have lied and said it was on time, though, cuz the date’s on the mail. Like anyone would really pay that close attention. Ah, hell with it let’s just get to the story.

This week’s story is a love story. I know you’re probably expecting some weird twist here, but nope; it’s just a regular old love story.

    With a lot of tarantulas in it.

FOR THE LOVE OF ROCCOCO

    Once upon a time, there was a beautiful woman named Elsinore (her parents were REALLY into Shakespeare). She lived in upstate New York, but she travelled to Pennsylvania a lot. On one of her trips there, she stopped off at the local Pennsylvania Mall That Doesn’t Exist in Real Life, and went into the record store. As she browsed through the CD singles, she looked up and saw the man behind the counter. He was an ugly fat bald man, so she looked away real quick. She couldn’t find anything she wanted, cuz that’s what usually happens to people in record stores, and she decided to leave. Actually, she just didn’t like the looks of the fat man behind the counter, she just rationalized it to herself by saying she couldn’t find anything. Why, if she’d looked in the back of the store, she would have seen the special “Just for Elsinore” section they had just put up the week before. Silly girl.

Just as she walked out into the mall, she saw a man coming towards her. He was looking in the opposite direction and didn’t see her. Well, poor Elsinore just stood there expecting that the man would turn around and see her (just getting out of the way never crossed her mind). But, nope, the guy just ran right into her, knocking her over and falling right smack-dab on top of her. Now, this was a bad thing for two reasons: 1. They were in the middle of a mall laying on top of each other on the floor, which is a pretty compromising position if you think about it, and 2. I can’t think of anything funny to say about it.

So they got up and the man said, “Oh,excuse me,” and started to walk away.

“Hey, wait!” Elsinore called.

The man turned. “Yes?” he said, a bit confused.

“Look,” said Elsinore, “I’m not gonna beat around the bush here. Didn’t you read the set-up before the story? This is a love story, you nincompoop. If we don’t meet and fall in love, then this boring introductory section of the story is gonna go on forever, so get yer ass back here.”

“Gee, I’m sorry,” said the man, “I forgot to read that. My mistake.”

So everybody waited while the man read the intro before the story. Some people, I swear.

*****

   So (obviously) Elsinore and the man, whose name was Roccoco, fell madly in love. She started making more and more frequent trips to Pennsylvania just to see him, and they had many fun times together. Like this one time when they went to the Pennsylvania Museum of Pennsylvania stuff. There was an old man selling flowers outside, and Roccoco bought a dozen of them for Elsinore. They were carnations, though, what the hell’s up with that. Then there was the time they went for a picnic at the local Pennsylvania lake place, and rented a paddle-boat and ate sandwiches and stuff like that. Then there was the time when they were playing around with black magic, and Elsinore accidentally cast a spell that ripped all the flesh off Roccoco’s body. That was something. What a mess. But, good old Roccoco, he was a sport about it. “Now, honey,” he said, as she began to cry, “I know it wasn’t your fault, okay? We can fix me up. Here, you start picking up my skin and I’ll go get the sewing machine.”

Then there was this one time when Elsinore went over to Roccoco’s house and let herself in while he wasn’t home with the key he’d given her. When she got inside she saw about forty tarantulas crawling all over everything. She stood there, terrified, rooted to the spot, until Roccoco came home and found her with tarantulas crawling up her legs.

“Hey, what’s up?” he said genially.

“I’m covered in spiders,” she said, “why the hell do you have so many spiders?”

Roccoco looked confused. “Well,” he said finally, “you’re the one who told me to read the set-up before the story, right? So I went out and bought them yesterday.”

“I hate spiders,” she said.

“Well, then, next time be careful what you tell me to read,” he said.

Then there was the time that Roccoco went with Elsinore to New York to meet her parents. That was funny, cuz all they did was read Shakespeare to him all night.

“You know,” he said to Elsinore as they left, “I really didn’t like your parents much.”

“That’s okay,” said Elsinore, “neither do I.”

“You know what?” Roccoco said as they got into the car.

“What’s that?” Elsinore asked as they pulled out of the driveway and headed for Pennsylvania.

“This really isn’t a very good story,” Roccoco said, looking out the window, “I mean it’s not very funny, it doesn’t make a lot of sense, and it doesn’t seem to be going anywhere. Are you sure that I was the guy you were supposed to meet?”

“Well,” said Elsinore, “there hasn’t been anyone else in the story, you know?”

“Well, there was that fat guy in the record store. . . . “ said Roccoco.

“Shut up,” said Elsinore, “you read too much.”

“Okay, well, if it wasn’t him, then what if you were s’posed to meet someone else after me, and you didn’t because you were always with me?” Roccoco asked, frowning. “I mean, my name wasn’t even actually Roccoco, it was Julius, but you made me change it ‘cuz of the title of the story, and I didn’t really feel like stopping to talk in the mall either, but you said that’s how it was s’posed to happen. Well, what if you were wrong?”

Elsinore looked at Roccoco out of the corner of her eye. “Is this just a really silly way of breaking up with me?”

“Yes,” he replied.

“Well, shit,” she said.

So, they went their separate ways. Elsinore stayed in New York, and Roccoco, I mean Julius, stayed in Pennsylvania. You see, kiddies, that what happens when you try to force love. You get nothing, and the other person gets forty tarantulas.

THE END

    Well, folks, that’s the story for this week. And, yes, I’m just as confused as you are.

In 6,

Bro-man

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