Читать книгу Decline of the Lawrence Welk Empire - Poe Ballantine - Страница 4

Characters from Mr. Ballantine’s God Clobbers Us All weigh in on his dashing new novel, Decline of the Lawrence Welk Empire:

I’M DRUNK AS I WRITE THIS and I wish I would’ve never left San Diego. San Diego is PARADISE. Billings, Montana is a PIMPLE ON MYBUTT. Edgar, Edgar, I loved you, why did you run away to a desert island? And why didn’t you take me with you? I would’ve fought by your side. I would’ve drank with you all night and waited tables at that hotel. Jesus the booze there is cheap. When I called your parents they said you’d gone to New YORK. How was I going to reach you? And why didn’t you mention me more than once in your new novel about love and betrayal in the jungle? I thought I was your best friend, Edgar. I feel so bad about Bev. Oh, Edgar, Edgar, please forgive me (and put me in your next book, OK?)

—Big Pat Fillmore

DEATH REVELATIONS? What would you know about death, young man? There are no Deborah Kerr movies here and I haven’t seen my brother once. It was interesting to learn, however, that I died at the Knickerbocker Hotel because I had no idea where I was. That boy said he was going to put a letter opener in my throat. Do you know how wicked men are and how glad I am to be gone? You should’ve never given me those drugs, though I don’t blame you for what happened. I know you didn’t want to see me dead. I think your jungle book, even if it’s not about Lawrence Welk, will be a great movie. I love all the birds, the madman in the grave-yard, your Johnny Weismuller imitations, the deserted coves full of warm green rain, and Mountain Moses, who reminds me so much of my brother, God rest his soul.

—Beverley Fey

YOU’RE LUCKY YOU RAN OFF to that island, Edgar, you pinche pendejo. Chingada, I’m still pissed and if you ever show your face around here again I’ll kick you in your pajarito. My husband is gay and it was your fault. I’d still like to know what you did to him.

—Chula La Rue

I’M FAT NOW,Edgar. I’m a blimp. I married this navy guy, do you believe it, and we’re living at my mom’s house on Mt. Helix. I see you’re still drinking too much. And then you fall off a cliff and I can’t stop crying. I’m so unhappy. Adrian told me about Bev. It wasn’t your fault. Why do we have to grow old? Why can’t we have another chance?

—Norma Padgett

A LITERAL “FALL FROM PARADISE” STORY, very clever. I like Tobackoo, your drunken M.D. He probably got sued out of practice in the States. I’ve been hit with my third malpractice lawsuit of the year, some conniving hypochondriac who claims I fused her vertebrae. Most of us would kill for a chance to escape to Paradise. Instead you drank and dreamed your way into another debacle. I saw Norma at the racetrack last year, by the way, and she was enormous. You should’ve married her. It would’ve done you both good. At any rate your Lawrence Welk book is a treat, you’re a funny guy with a strange philosophy. Keep up the good work. And don’t feel the need to put me into any more scenes, as you apparently think I’m a heartless dago.

—Dr. Adrian De Persiis Vona