Flooded with Offers

A chance to perform before a live audience has again arisen, for I may be asked to join a comedy group. The gig (if—) would be on October 24, 2007, at Don't Tell Mama. Short notice.

The topic, I'm told, should be addressed to the Baby Boomer Generation, which troubles me a bit, since nothing nettled me more as a wee bairn than performers who spoke only to the geriatric crowd. Still . . .

My contact suggested doing something anent Viagra, but the thought of doing so much work left me, well . . . limp. So I went to the trunk and pulled out an ancient parody of a single chorus of California, Here I Come, regarding the American preoccupation with plastic surgery. Here's a draft of one verse:

Too much beer and too much sitting,
And my backside's getting pretty wide;
Every pair of pants is splitting—
Which is none too healthy for my pride.
Callipygia, nothing less—that's the Key to Happiness!
Just last week, I had a fitting,
And my tailor simply up 'n' died;
So—

Callipygia, here I come, etc.

Lyric © Nathaniel DesH. Petrikov

I have no idea what I'll do for music, though. This may not happen.