Those Were the Salad Days, although These Are Good, Too

I woke up this morning, in my spacious three-bedroom apartment on the Upper West Side, groggy from a night of alcohol-soaked sleep. I was reminded of my younger days, those days that I spent in an Off Off Broadway theater troupe. I worked as their "gofer," there to fetch their coffee, their bagels, their morning fare, their fuzzy bunny slippers. Often, I was persuaded to join their sexual games. "Pass The Dildo," "Hot Dildo," and "Where Have You Gone, Sweet Dildo?" were among their favorites. I gained valuable insight and experience in the life of a creative genius. I was the right hand man of our director, Luke "No Balls" Johnson. No Balls had a knack for developing young talent and he saw something in me. No Balls took me under his wing and we spent a glorious year together touring the country with our troupe. Among the no talent actors in my troupe were John Cassavettes, Sir Laurence Olivier, Tony Randall, and Billy Dee Williams. I remember remarking to myself that Olivier had potential. I often wonder what became of him. He must be dead by now.

I am reminded of something that the stunning Lauren Bacall told me while we were engaged in our steamy 2 year affair. She looked deeply in to my eyes and said, "True genius knows no bounds. Be a slave to your talent. It will not mislead you. Now get out of my house, you cocksucker." We had a love-hate relationship. In any event, I chronicled these salad days in my novel Pickle This! An excerpt:

We boarded the bus, our heads sunken and our loins silenced. Another night of miserable crowds, poor lighting, oppressive heat and no money had finally gotten the best of our youthful vigor. We were no match for the heartache that road brought. I turned to Billy Dee Williams, seeking the large smile and bottle of Colt 45 that generally accompanied the long bus ride to the next city. The well was dry.

‘I done got none left, Rev," Billy Dee said to me, slipping out of the stage voice he used.

Billy Dee’s comment spoke volumes. I gazed around the bus and I could feel my heart break inside my chest. Indeed, the whole troupe had none left. But what could I do? There was but one answer. It would be a bold move, for I was merely their bagel/coffee/slipper fetcher. However, I recalled my days in Arabia. The sultan had told me to follow my talent. To not be afraid. He had told me that his penis was 12 inches long. I could not submit to the misery that enveloped the bus like an envelope. I would spend all night working on it, but Mr. Pucker’s Pickle Problems would be ready for the stage tomorrow …

… I informed the cast and crew that there would be no need for them to prepare this evening. I was giving them the night off. I left them for the stage with this impassioned speech:

“Friends, I love you all very much, and I hope that I have been able to spread a little bit of my love to each of you, as I am so very capable in that arena of my life. Tonight, I give my heart and my passion to the stage. It is my one-man show. I have poured my heart on to these pages. I dedicate it to you, my friends. For it is you that have shown me so much over the past 6 months that we have spent together. I have brought you bagels, this is true. Now I bring you the lifeblood that flows through the cockles of my heart. I ask you merely to gaze longingly on my Herculean form, bask in the glory of my ability, relent to the will of my song. It is true that I am more talented than you but do not forget, you are all gifted, especially you Billy Dee. Now I am off. Wish me well, my friends.”

The cheers from my troupe swelled. No Balls beamed with pride. And I, I was about to unveil my masterpiece to the world. Well, Dubuque, Iowa anyway…