NO TIME FOR ENEMAS

Based on a title suggested by Paul Rapp

Oleg Varushkin was running.  He was in a hurry.

He was going to die.           

Until today Oleg had lived simply, in a small apartment in beautiful downtown Zheleznovodsk, Russia. He lived alone so his apartment wasn’t very large.  It had a kitchen area, a sitting area where he could play video games and watch TV, a bathroom and a bedroom.  It was nothing special, but then again, neither was Oleg.   His father worked in the iron mines until he had to retire due to mine-related health issues.  Oleg swore he’d never go into mining.  Unfortunately there wasn’t much else to do in Zheleznovodsk with the exception of their excellent medical facilities.  But that took a lot of work and Oleg just wasn’t into that.  He continued not working in the mines or the medical field.  He was able to afford rent and video games by working overnight shifts at the stationary store.  Very few people came in to purchase cards at one in the morning, but the ones that did were very interesting.

On his 50th birthday, the apartment was filled with friends and friends of friends.  Mostly friends of friends.  Oleg had few actual friends.  Balloons bounced freely among the guests, who were laughing and drinking.  American pop music played from the iPod, which was plugged into a small set of powerful speakers.    Anja was sitting on his lap and the two of them were chatting with Dmitri, a coworker of Oleg’s.  They were talking about religion and politics, which made Oleg feel stupid.  He decided to refill his plastic cup with more Vodka.  Excusing himself, he inelegantly shoved Anja off his lap with a thud.   It was ok; she was laughing.  She was drunk.  Oleg wished he was that drunk.  That was partly why he had excused himself.  That and to get away from the conversation.

When he returned a few minutes later, Anja and Dmitri were lip locked.  Oleg knew they had more in common than she and Oleg ever would.  He watched them grope at each other for a few moments and then shuffled out to the balcony where all the smokers were.  Accepting the obligatory compliments for the party and for existing for 50 years, Oleg made his way around the crowd.  There, he was grabbed by the shoulders by a man Oleg did not recognize.  The man shouted Oleg’s name and hugged him.  He went on to ask what Oleg was doing here.  Oleg told the stranger that it was his apartment and his birthday party.  The stranger’s eyes got wide and he laughed.  He patted his own chest and told Oleg that he was Anton Yvgeny.  They had gone to school together.  Anton was here with a girl who had dragged him to a party (this one, as it turns out).  They caught up on all the old gang.  Anton asked about Oleg’s parents.  His parents liked Oleg’s friends, for the most part.  Their place became a hang out because his parents were so cool.  Oleg told Anton that his mother was living with her sister in Stavropol and his father was dead.  Anton was visibly saddened to hear this.  He asked for more details and Oleg told him how he had died.  He told him that his father went to the doctor regularly, ate right and exercised.  He had been shopping in downtown Zheleznovodsk, when a potato truck lost control and slammed into the tool shop he had been visiting, killing everyone inside.  He was only 50 years old.

He was only 50 years old.

Oleg hadn’t remembered it until just that moment, but his father died the day after his 50^th birthday.  The vodka decided to pick that moment to hit his brain and he promptly passed out.

When he awoke, he was on his couch in the living room.  The balcony window was open and there was a cold breeze blowing the balloons around the place.  The sky was dark and heavy looking.  It looked like it would snow today.  Slowly, he sat up and surveyed the scene inside the apartment.  It was a mess.  He decided he’d get to cleaning up before the end of the day.

The end of the day.

Why did that phrase haunt him?  He looked at the calendar.  He looked at his watch.  He was about six hours younger then his father when he died.  His heart began to race.  He knew what he had to do.  Luckily, Oleg was a real Russian and suffered no hangover.  He showered and dressed quickly, went downstairs and got on the bus to go downtown.  The bus stopped at almost every intersection to load and unload.  Time was passing.  Oleg cursed in Russian, which actually offends the ear less than English, believe it or not. 

His phone beeped in his pocket.  He pulled it out and looked at it.  He cursed again.  This time also in Russian.  It was his only language.  His calendar app was reminding him he had a physical in one hour.  He had forgotten.  A week ago, he had been at the doctor’s office, complaining of bowel irregularities.  The doctor prescribed some pills and told him to come in next week if he didn’t feel better, for an enema and an all-around physical, due to his age.  His stomach rumbled at the memory.  He thought about eating something.  He looked at the time and cursed again.  He had no time.  He had things to do. 

He had everything to do.

Oleg knew he was on borrowed time.  He understood it now.  He pushed through the crowd on the bus and exited.  He ran.  He ran to his job at the stationary store (where he’d stolen the balloons from.  Shh!) and called out his boss’s name, scaring the ladies looking at figurines.  One of them dropped one.  Another one used the distraction to slip one quietly into her bag.  When his boss emerged from the back room, still chewing his breakfast and wiping crumbs off his shirt, Oleg told him in no uncertain terms that he was a mean boss and a lousy person and that he, Oleg, was giving his two weeks notice.  Oleg’s boss loudly suggested that two weeks’ notice was not necessary and that he should feel free to commence his jobless existence forthwith.  But not in those words and with more yelling.  Oleg shrugged and left.

He ran.

He ran to Anja’s house.  Breathing hard, he pounded on the door.  Dmitri, unshaven, wearing a robe and holding a coffee cup, answered.  Oleg pushed past him and found Anja, naked on the couch.  He stared at her, his heart pounding.  She looked back at him, saying nothing.  He turned to face Dmitri and grabbed his face.  He pulled it to his own and kissed him.  The three of them spent the next hour making mad, passionate love.  Then he was gone.

His phone rang in his pocket.  He lifted it to his face and saw from the caller ID that it was his doctor’s office.  He rolled his eyes and put the phone back in his pocket without answering it. 

He ran to the bank and offered everyone in line 50 rubles to let him go ahead of them.  He handed the teller his slip and closed his account.  He took the stacks of cash and stuffed them into his jacket pockets.

Stepping outside, he was struck by how dark it had gotten.  The clouds were thick with snow, ready to let loose at any minute.  His stomach gurgled.  He ignored it.  He imagined the doctor in his office, looking at his watch, waiting for Oleg to show up.   The image tickled him and he laughed to himself.  

 He ran to the Chicago Prime restaurant uptown.  Finest American food in town.  He had only ever eaten there once, when his parents took him out to dinner to celebrate his graduation from college.  He’d never been able to afford to eat there with his salary at the card shop.  But now that he’d emptied his bank account and wouldn’t be paying rent or utilities or taxes again…why not?

            He strode right in, ordered the prime rib and a bottle of the best wine in the house.  The waiter looked askance at Oleg, what with his shabby clothes and haggard appearance.  Oleg reached into his pocket and threw a wad of rubles at the man, who scampered away contentedly.

The steak was tender and delicious.  The wine was elegant and refined.  He paid without waiting for the bill.  The tip was exquisite and superlative.

            He ran.

            His phone rang again.  He stopped running long enough to look at it and see the doctor had called again.  He let it go to voice mail.  Again.  Oleg wondered why the doctor couldn’t take a hint.

            He went skydiving.  He paid the instructor a thousand rubles to go immediately, lessons be damned.  It was not as thrilling as he had expected.  With the fear of death gone, there was no adrenaline rush.

            When he had exhausted the fulfillment his long-repressed desires, he walked to the park in the center of town.  It sat between the hospital and the police department and it was an oasis of green and natural beauty in the otherwise cold and grungy town.  Oleg sat at a bench to collect his thoughts and take stock.  He opened his wallet and saw he still had 2,000 rubles.  He decided he should do one last grand thing.  Maybe he would buy a boat.  Maybe build a statue in his own memory.

Maybe he…

            Suddenly, Oleg was hit with the worst pain in his life.  His gut felt like he had been stabbed by several hot daggers.  He collapsed to the ground, grasping his belly and wailing.  He opened his eyes to seek help.  He saw his phone on the ground, buzzing.  Then he saw nothing.

            He awoke, confused.  He was back in bed.  Was today all a dream?  His mind raced with possible explanations; some bringing comfort and some dread. There was light coming from a window.  It was blindingly white.  Was it the afterlife?  He tried to roll over but his belly felt strange.  Pulling back the sheets, he saw bandages separating his top half from his bottom.  It was then that he noticed the gown he was wearing and deduced that he was in a hospital bed.  Looking around the room confirmed this deduction.  He used the little button thing to call a nurse, who, in turn, called the surgeon, who was now sitting in a chair to Oleg’s right side.

            The surgeon explained to Oleg what had happened.  He had been suffering from volvulus in the small intestine.  His guts were twisted so that he could not complete the digestion process.  You know what I’m talking about.  Yeah, that. 

            They had performed emergency surgery and he was now out of danger.  Oleg explained his death situation and asked about the blinding light from the window.  The surgeon laughed.  He would not be laughing later that evening when he found his wife had run away with an anesthesiologist, but for now he was laughing.  The surgeon kindly explained that it all Oleg had needed to do was to irrigate his bowels.  If he had done this early enough, the intestine would not have volvulized as it did.  An ounce of prevention and all that.  Also, it had snowed while he was in surgery and recovery.  A thick blanket of white covered the entire town and the sky was blue again.

            Oleg was disoriented.  He had spent all day believing he was done and now, according to the surgeon, there was no reason why he shouldn’t live another 50 years.  With a new, unexpected, lease on life, Oleg began to rebuild it.  He took care of himself.  He ran daily.   Not to hurry through life, but to prolong it.  He got annual checkups and physicals.  He took a job at Dmitri’s design studio.  He became an apprentice designer and sculptor.  He rose through the ranks of Russian design circles.  There is such a thing. 

            He had money, a home and a secure future.   He had made a name for himself designing unusual bridges, apartment complexes and office buildings.

            When he died (the day after his hundredth birthday), his hometown of Zheleznovodsk mourned for a week.  At the end of that week, the mayor held a town meeting in the park between the hospital and police station.  The entire town showed up.  The mayor said some very kind and inspirational things.  The crowd applauded and wiped their eyes.  She then directed their eyes to a large, cloth-covered lump behind her.  It was about the size of a small adult or a large child.  The mayor read a prepared statement from Oleg, written before his death.  Obviously.  It was short and well worded and brought tears to the eyes of many.  It concluded with a short poem, which the mayor read with gravitas and emotion.  The mayor then announced that the figure behind her was one last gift from the great Oleg Varushkin.  With a great flourish, she snapped the cloth off the bronze sculpture.  It was resplendent.  An enormous enema bulb, held aloft by three smiling cherubs.  The inscription on the base was in Russian, but it translates to English as:

 “Always Time For Enemas” 

           

            And no one in Zheleznovodsk ever died from volvulus of the intestine again.

The Great Chinchilla Mystery of 1969

By Rob Lichter, based on a title by Russ Lichter

 

 

… -in the other room!

I just started recording

Did you record the thing I was just-

No, No, I just hit it just now.

OK, I just don’t want…you know, the, um…

No, it’s fine.  You want me to rewind and play it back for you?

I guess not.  No, it’s fine. Ok, whenever you’re ready.  (deep breath)

OK, so just start from you’re the beginning of your involvement.

(long pause)  I can’t really say I was involved.  I just know about it all.  I mean, I didn’t do anything, myself. (pause)  So we were coming into Woodstock…I mean into Bethel.  (sigh) We  were going to be performing at Woodstock, which was in Bethel.  We were staying in Bethel.  I mean, before the concert.  Is this really important?

Please.

(sound of lighter clicking, then deep inhale)  We were in a crappy little motel in Bethel, NY in August of 1969.  We were going to be performing on the second afternoon.  After John Sebastian. (pause) Shit!  Can you cut that part out?

Nobody knows who John Sebastian is, let alone who played before or after or whatever.  Don’t worry about it.  Go on.

Ok, right.  Where was I?  Oh yeah, the chinchilla guy.  He was-

You didn’t get up to that.  You were talking about the motel.

I was?  I thought I got past that when I was (unintelligible)  Alright, the motel.  I said we were all in the same room, right?

No.  You didn’t say anything about that.

I was testing you!  (laughes, coughs)  No, I stayed in one room with (pause) someone.  And the other (pause) people were (pause) in a different room. So it’s just me and (pause, sigh) This is hard to do when I can’t-

I know, just do the best you can.

I’ll just call them, like, Groucho and shit, is that OK?  I don’t mean it was the Marx Brothers.  I’m just, like, using, like, code names, dig?

Sure.

So Groucho and me (laughs), So Groucho and me was in our room and we’re just smoking and resting up for our big gig in two days, right?  So Groucho gets a little too rested, if you know what I mean.  I mean, we was all too rested, right? (laughs)  But, no, Groucho was out.  Like, zonked, man.  Like, put a mirror under my nose, will ya please? (laughs, coughs)  So I knock on the wall, cause it’s like paper thin, right?  And I’m like, “Hey Harpo, man, what are ya doin?”  And he’s all like laughing and shit so I’m like fuck this and leave Groucho alone and go into the other guys’ room.  ‘Course it’s unlocked and shit, cause it’s 1969 and free love and whatever. 

Right.

So yeah, Harpo’s there, Chico’s there, (pause) um (pause) Zeppo?

Mm Hmm.

Zeppo’s there and some chick I forget her name.  She’s there, too.

So, who are you?

What?

If Groucho, Chico, Harpo and Zeppo are there, which Marx Brother are you?

(long Pause)  Oh shit, man.  (pause) Like, (long pause)  Who am I, right?  Whoa.

Forget it, I was just-

No, I’ll get it, hold on (long pause)  Mickey?  Shit.  Um (long pause)  Marco?  What the fuck, man?  Marco or some shit, it doesn’t matter, right?

Marco’s fine.  Whatever.

Man!  (lighter clicks)(long inhale)  So Marco and Zeppo are like-

You’re Marco.

What?

You’re Marco.

You’re polo!  (laughs) Right, whatever.  So them dudes are all akimbo on the bed and whatnot and (pause) one of them goes, “Let’s go get some food, man,” and we’re all like, “yeah, man” so we all get up and go walking down the road, looking for, like, a hamburger place, right?  So the chick, what’s her name again?

You didn’t-

So she goes all (high pitched) I don’t eat hamburgers cause, like, I’m a veteritarian (sic) and whatnot.  So her and (pause) Zeppo or whoever it was (pause) Harpo?

You know what?  Forget the Marx Brothers thing.  Just say “one guy” or “this dude” or something like that, OK?

Yeah, man, like, calm down, it’s cool.  This dude and this chick go back to the hotel and we’re all like (makes whipping sound), right?   But the rest of us get to this, like, diner or whatever and get a seat.  ‘Course everyone’s looking at us like we’re a bunch of dirty hippies, right?  Well, fuck them, we were dirty hippies alright?  (laughs) buncha old rednecks.  But this one guy, right? (pause)  I don’t mean one of my guys.  Some other guy who we ain’t never seen before, right?  He comes over to us all walking funny.  He’s like, this old man with four teeth and he’s all dirty and whatnot.  And he comes to our table and sits down!  I mean he just sat down at our table like he knew us!  It was freaky! (lighter click) (deep inhale) (long pause)

And?

Jesus!  You scared the shit out of me!  Don’t do that, man!

The old guy at the table?

That guy?  He was freaky!

You said that.

Yeah, man.  It’s true!  So he starts babbling about shit like, the government’s got radios in his teeth so he took em out and crazy shit like that.  But me and the guys, we’re like, cool about people, right?  Like, we all got our journey, man, so live and let live and whatnot.  So we feed the poor guy and let him hang out with us.  And yeah, he was pretty cool.  So one of my guys gets up from the table to go pee, right?  So it’s just me and the old dude and one of my guys at the table.  Then the old guy looks at, right?  Like, really looks at us.  Like, in our eyes or something.  And he goes, “Come with me out back.  I want to show you something.  But you can’t tell anyone.”  And he looks around, all paranoid, like.  My guy gets all weirded out and starts calling him a fag and leaves me all alone with this old guy.  But, like, I’m cool about people, right?  Like, we all got our journey, man, so live and let live and whatnot.  And we are nothing but the sum of our experiences so I was like, lemme go check this guy’s little guy and see what’s what.  (whispering) I won’t get, like, in trouble if I said we left without paying, will I?

(laughs) No, don’t worry about it.

Well, we did that.  I’m not proud of it.  We just did it, is all I’m saying.  It was a different time, man. 

I know.

So he takes me out back and looks around all paranoid, like, again and he puts his hand down the front of his overalls and pulls out this fucking thing. 

What kind of thing?

It was like a giant mouse or something.  It was a alien, right?  No shit, this guy shows me this moon alien and tells me this whole story about how he was one of the astronauts who went up to the moon, only nobody ever told, like, the public about him.  Everyone knows Buzz Baldwin and Neil Armstrong and the other guy but apparently they also took this old dude, too.

Wait, the old guy went to the moon with Buzz Aldrin and Neil Armstrong and the other guy?  In Apollo Eleven?

Baldwin.  but Yeah, man, you listening or what?  He tells me all about this thing.  It’s like, a big mouse or a hamster, but it’s totally grey so it can blend in with the moon, right?  That’s why we ain’t never seen ‘em in the pictures, man.  They’re like, camouflaged.  And get this.  They don’t like water.  Weird, right?  I mean, all animals like water.

Not cats.

(pause)  Cats aren’t aliens.

No, I’m just saying.  Not every-  Never mind, go on.

You’re weirding me out a little, man.  You ain’t a cop, right?  ‘Cause you gotta tell me if you’re a cop.

You know I’m not a cop, come on, now.  Can we just-

Apparently, these things take baths in dust.  You get me?  DUST?  What the hell, right?  But dig it.  There’s no water on the moon.  Only dust!  (pause) I don’t know what the guy’s name was.  He wouldn’t tell me.  But he gave me the thing and looked into my eyes.  He says to me, he says, “Keep them together,” and he splits.  Never saw him again.  I take the little guy back to the hotel, but I’m, like, hiding him from the other guys.  It wasn’t easy.  That thing was squirming and squeaking and whatnot.  But hey, I got it, right?  I put it under the bed, in my suitcase.  'cause my clothes are all in the drawers already, right?  So we go to sleep.  But then, in the middle of the night, like Harpo, or whatever his name is, his old lady is freaking out because her organic stash is gone.  Like she was eating granola and vegetables and all that jazz.  Only it was gone and she was pointing fingers at us all.  Like I’m eating her rabbit food, right? (laughs)  But here’s the thing.  I don’t know if they got vegetables or anything on the moon, but I come back to my room and my favorite martian is chomping on some lettuce!  I didn’t feed it no lettuce!  But then I sees the paper bag next to it, right?  It’s all tore up and there’s, like, nuts and barley or some shit all over the floor and this guy is chowin’ DOWN!  Like he ain’t never eaten before or something.  So I keep it all quiet from the guy I’m rooming with and it’s cool ‘cause he’s, like, always unconscious, you know?  But this chick keeps giving me the stink eye.  I know I didn't take her shit but I still got the guilty face, I guess.  So next day we go do the gig.  I mean, fucking Woodstock, right?  ‘Course we never made the record or the movie or nothing.  Tried to put it on our gig posters, like, “played at Woodstock!” but nobody believed us.  They were saying, “No, man, I got the record.  You ain’t on the record!”  It was a real drag, man.  Like, really.  Yeah. (long pause)

Still with me?

What?  Yeah, man.  So, like, we do our thing, right?  We play our music for a million beautiful people.  So, we're walking off the the stage and fuckin Carlos Santana is hanging out, rapping with some chick,right?  So I pull out a joint and just, you know, stroll on up to them like I know them, right?  If I learned anything from business school, it's networking, man.  Like, the other guys?  They split.  But I saw an opportunity, here, you know?  I mean, don't get me wrong, I dig Santana and all.  Don't mean I can't try to get something out of him, right?

What did you want to get out of him?

You thick or something?  I strike up a conversation with Carlos Santana, we get to talking, he's captivated by my charm and good looks (laughs, coughs) and next thing you know we're touring Europe with Carlos Santana and his band of merry men.

You toured Europe with Santana?

(Pause). No, man.  I'm just sayin that was my, you know, thought process.

Oh.

Hey man,you ever play Woodstock?

No.

Alright then.  Can I finish my story now?

I hope so.

What?

Nothing, please continue.  You were sneaking up on Carlos Santana.

I wasn't sneaking up on him, man!  Jesus!  he's talking to some chick and I just stroll on into the conversation.  He's talking all kinds of weird shit, right?  Like, he's talking about the universe and the conscious self and other worlds and shit and this chick, she's like, out of it.  Like, she's standing up and looking at him and all but ain't no lights on in the attic, dig?  So all I gotta do is look interested and Carlos switches his attention to me.  I'm smoking and nodding my head but I ain't paying attention.  Not really.  I was thinking about that European tour.

The one that never happened.

(Loudly). Yeah, man!  The one that never happened!  Let it go, man.  Let it go.  So my head's buzzing with possibilities and something he said cut through my fog and I hear him say something about they found life on the moon.  I get all excited cause, like, I got a story now.  So I lay it down how this astronaut gave me the secret moon mouse and his eyes get all big.  I thought he was ODing on me but then he goes, get this, "you have the other chinchilla?"

The...other chinchilla?

That's what I said!  Cause remember the old dude said "keep them together?"  So now shit's coming together.  I tell him about my little secret friend back at the hotel and he starts laughing, dig?  Then he grabs me by the shoulder and he pulls me back, way behind the back of the stage, past the sound guys and all and we go into this little tent thing he's got set up.  Inside there's all the band's gear.  He opens a guitar case and fuck if my little alien friend isn't sitting right there!

How did Carlos Santana get your chinchilla?

See, that's the thing.  He didn't have my chinchilla.  He had the other chinchilla.  Like what the space guy said.  Keep em together, he said.  Long story short we end up back at the motel.  It's just me and Carlos.  Only we're all wet cause of the rain.  And back in 1969, none of us smelled great on a good day, dig?  (Laughs) but we smelled like wet, sour diapers or something. (Laughs).  But I had some patchouli in my stuff and a dry towel and we start cleaning up.  Now, I don't know what it was, but the smell of that oil got our little moon men hopped up!  My guy comes running out from under the bed and Carlos' guy pokes his head out from the guitar case and the two of them just start tussling and shit.  Finally we get the two guys into the guitar case and Carlos snaps the thing shut, trapping them inside. 

Wow.

Yeah.  So the noise in the case finally dies down and me and Carlos start relaxing.  We smoke and start talking.  I weave my magic and then Carlos goes, 'hey man, we're touring Europe next month.  Why don't you come and open for us?'  I played it cool.  Like I wasn't sure it was a good idea.  He keeps pushing me and finally I said yes.

That's incredible!

(Laughs). Wait.  Next thing I know, it's morning and Chico is waking me up.

You mean Carlos?

No, man, what did I say?  Chico, right?  What are you a racist, man?

What???

Like all Spanish names are the same or something?

What are you talking about?

What are you talking about?  Right?  Think on that while I go pee.

(Machine clicks) (pause) (machine clicks)

Now that I got that out of my system, (laughs). Where were we?

Carlos was waking you up.

No, man, Chico.  The guy in the band who I can't say.  Carlos?  Santana?  He split.  Like, gone.  Chico's waking me up 'cause it's tomorrow now and we gotta split, else we pay for another day in the motel.  I look around and Santana?  He took off with the guitar case (pause) and its contents!  Dig?

The chinchillas were gone?

Ding!  We have a winner.  But no problem, right?  'Cause I'll just see Carlos when we play Europe together.  Yeah, only he left no note or anything.  Remember what year it is?  No Googlenet, no cell phones.  I got no way to find him. 

Right, right.  So what did you do?

Not go to Europe, for one thing.  I never told the guys about so I just shut up and after a while I kinda forgot about it.

How do you forget about something like that?

Listen, the Sixties?  There was a lot going on that felt like a dream.  Most of it was, I think.  The edges kinda get blurry after a while, dig?

(Loudly) So this was all a dream?  Or some drug trip?

No, man, listen.  That winter, I get my Rolling Stone in the mail.  I remember it was winter cause it was cold.

That sounds like winter.

Yeah.  So, inside there's a concert review.  Guess who?

Why do we care about The Guess Who?

(Pause) No, man!  Like, I'm asking you!  Guess who it was about?

Santana.

Yes!  Excellent job.  So who's opening up for him?

The Who opened for Santana?

No, man!  Jesus!  I'm asking, again.  You know what, forget it.  I'm not asking you nothing anymore.  The opening act was not us.  That's the first thing.  But I guess you guessed that already 'cause I said I didn't go to Europe.

Yep.

Some French chick called Regine opened for him.  Never heard of her but apparently she was big in France back then.  Anyways, I never spoke to Carlos again.  But I did finally make it to Europe.  Nineteen Seventy five, me and your mom took a boat to Portugal and hitchhiked all across Europe.

Really?

I mean, most of it.  But one day we're bumming around in France and I see this groovy record store.  We go in and there's this big display 'cause Santana's got a new album out.  So that reminds me of that time at Woodstock, and that reminds me of that Rolling Stone review.  So I ask the guy at the store, I says, 'Oo et la Regine musique?'  That was good, right?  It means, 'where are the Regine records?'  I'm looking through some forty-fives, when what do I see?  Don't answer me, it was rhetorital.  This chick?  Regine?  Put out a record called Patchouli Chinchilla.  When?  Nineteen Sixty Nine.  (Long pause). I mean.  I mean come on!

Santana showed the chinchillas to Regine?

I don't think so, man.  I think Regine stole them from Carlos.  I think Regine is a spy.  The French didn't have no space program so they were, like, jealous of Americans.  They sent Regine to woo Carlos like Mata Hari and steal his aliens.  Get it?  That's why we never got to tour with him!

Because of international spies and aliens.

Right!  (Laughs). Makes sense now, doesn't it?  (Pause).

So why are there chinchillas all over the place now?  And how have I never heard of this before?

Well now, that's the mystery, isn't it?

Is it?

It is.  Ask yourself.  What would France have to gain by breeding chinchillas in secret?  (Pause). Fur coats!  Don't you see?  They harvested the aliens for their fur!

(Pause) so that's it?

That's the whole story.

Ok.  (Pause).  But he's the problem I have.  I'm supposed to write a report about a relative, and you won't let me use your name (getting louder) or give me a story that makes any goddamn sense!

(Lighter clicks). But it's a good story, (exhales) right?

(Machine clicks)