Another Dubious Selection from The Boy's Book of Bathos:
The Further Adventures of Whatsisname
Once upon a time, in a far-off corner of one of the least accessible, most remote areas of the Generally Accepted Narrative, there lived and traveled the quasi-legendary Whatsisname, renowned Not-That- Fat Person, Extra-Fabulous True Wag, Loquacious Dispenser of every imaginable variety of political wisdom known to mankind, which frankly didn’t amount to all that much, but it was the way he said everything that made it seem so important, especially to him.
Every couple of weeks, Whatsisname dressed himself to the nines with the fervidly fussy assistance of his loyal sidekick, Elliott, and announced to his publicist that he planned to venture “out of town” for a few days to gallivant flamboyantly yet correctly along the highways and by-ways of his native land. He arrayed himself in the sartorial splendor that only a man of his stature could achieve, wearing not only his best clothes but all of his clothes at once, carrying simultaneously a beach umbrella of obvious foreign manufacture and toting a commodious canvas bag filled with cheap plastic souvenirs of his impending visit which he would endeavor to bestow upon his admirers for a small fee.
Approaching the outskirts of a typically forgettable rural precinct and eager not to be taken for granted by the inhabitants, Whatsisname quickly fluffed his clothing into a suitably lavish display and strode boldly into the crowds of bystanders, who just happened to be in the neighborhood, loitering expectantly for such a Celebrity to show up and give agency and purpose to their empty lives.
He mingled garishly among them for some time, chatting noisily but pointlessly to several of his would-be admirers while casting asides and aspersions in the direction of his uncaptured audience:
"Lo, for I am a short man. How pleased I am to walk and talk among you again as I may have done for many years. See this burnoose? Uh, I don't remember where I got the burnoose. See this shirt? This shirt was given to me by a tall man named Maurice for no apparent reason. I wear it wherever I go.
I should have it laundered, I know, and perhaps someday I shall; but for now, isn't it amazing that I am free to meander ostentatiously if somewhat aromatically throughout the countryside.?"
Whereupon the stunned listeners, simultaneously overwhelmed by the vacuous pronouncement as well as his malodorous personage, threw themselves, along with a variety of earthy pejoratives, at his feet as he passed gaseously among them.
Whatsisname's purportedly awesome yet questionable powers of rhetoric and exposition became known far and wide throughout the country, even farther on clear nights. He was a tireless self-promoter with a part-time staff working long hours researching up and copying down important-sounding epigrams with which to inspire his supporters and disconcert his detractors, occasionally coming out with a pamphlet of sick or twisted yet highly marketable witticisms which he would foist off on a functionally illiterate yet ravenously curious populace. Late one memorable night, after gulping down a plateful of dodgy cheese blintzes and a half liter of warm store brand cola, he turned to his wall calendar and blurted to no one in particular.
"What?? No Chinese!!?
Suddenly struck by an urge to broadcast to the unenlightened his theories regarding the origins of both the Sublime and the Ridiculous, Whatsisname accosted his sleepy aide, beseeched him to pack three tearfully thick onion sandwiches into his kit bag, and immediately set out for one of the more civilized yet still possibly remunerative population centers of the country. As was his habit during these clandestine missions, Whatsisname went out of his way to avoid conversations with foreigners and other such types, furtively squinting into a dilapidated photo viewer whenever a suspicious-looking passerby glanced in his direction .
Whatsisname appeared fully turned out in all his most inappropriate yet somehow still fabulous gear to blather among his credulous constituents, the Troglodytes. He swanned nimbly among his industrious friends, stopping every so often to ask the more egregiously glabrous, in his most serious disguised voice:
"Why be bald?"
The Troglodytes, not knowing any better, shrugged their shoulders and went back to figuring out how to make zippers for the Italians. Whatsisname, quickly appreciating the scope of their dilemma, smiled benevolently upon their consternation, and chuckling in an avuncular manner, remarked:
"Oh well, I think I see what the problem is here”
Then, cleverly wiping the results of their expectorated derision from his face with the last unsoiled corner of his camel hair vest, he stooped sarcastically to show them that they had the instructions upside down. He assured them in no uncertain terms that much of what he was about to say follows.
"I’m just glad I could help. I'm sure you must be wondering right about now just how I got to be as fabulous as I am. Hey, what do I know?"
Then he passed out in front of them, mumbling deep-adjacent thoughts that went unrecorded.
Whatsisname Journeys Throughout The Land
Seeking “Cash” and “Other Financial Considerations”
Over the course of many decades, Whatsisname traveled the length and breadth of the countryside, simultaneously dispensing his opinions for small stipends, while dispelling the rumors of his wisdom for free. Once, in a fit of benevolent zeal, he sauntered up to a flock of bewildered tourists casually milling about in front of a museum, and, throwing his arms wide, expostulated:
"Hey! Hey, say I: do not go out into the world to lounge around in rented rooms. Remember what the Great Conundrum said at the last moment: 'No two men can eat the same Danish'
Donations five cents please.”
--whereupon he embarrassed himself flatulently and vomited into his coat.
Once, while hoping for a taxi in a bad neighborhood, Whatsisname heard the unmistakable sound of teeth being gnashed. He whirled around, looking into several directions and blurted:
"What's that noise??"
--whereupon he happened to notice a Zealot sprawled beseechingly in front of him. He spied an overstuffed brown leather wallet spilling its contents onto the road near the supplicant's feet. Casually picking the wallet up, he almost asked the unfortunate:
"This yours??"
Immediately sensing the inappropriateness of the question, he quickly stuffed the wallet into a pocket in his burnoose and legged it from the scene.
Whatsisname Speaks To
The Assembled Multitude.
After a long albeit fruitless journey in search of peace of mind, vast wealth, and good cigars, Whatsisname retired from politics. Gathering together most of his domestic staff and both of his numerous friends, Whatsisname hauled himself to his feet, wiped his nose on the sleeve of his pajamas and announced in a somewhat cavalier fashion:
"Listen to me, for I am the one who is talking.
Do you see me whining and complaining, for crying out loud?
No! And you want to know why? Tell them Elliott "
--whereupon his loyal sidekick, still nursing a rib injury, took up his position in front of the crowd, adjusted his clothing, and explained:
I just flew in from Cleveland, and boy, are my arms tired!!
The assembled domestic staff, senselessly yet cautiously aswoon with what might be described as "awe" after being subjected to this as well as other prosaic bits of literary legerdemain (thankfully lost to history for the purposes of this narrative), slumped collectively to the ground as the morbidly dense mediocrity of Whatsisname, like some weird cosmic adhesive, flowed thickly over them.
Whatsisname Ponders The Meaning of Life
Near the end of his tempestuous and often unseemly life, the by-now-infamous Whatsisname, comfortably ensconced in his most palatial hovel, paused briefly from the Herculean task of sorting through the nasty parts of his memoirs and writing them down in permanent marker this time. He wanted to enjoy a cigar and spend a few hours seriously contemplating the Meaning Of Life and perhaps figure out what "It" was all about.
He piled up half a dozen dog-eared notebooks filled with his yet-to-be-collected impertinences, casually draped most of his substantial self over all of a cheap aluminum chaise longue and began to rummage desultorily through far too many unintelligible pages of supposedly clever cogitation that he had scribbled down over the course of a needlessly long lifetime. After several minutes of intense perusal, he grew bored, then faint, then very hungry.
Abandoning his search for deeper meaning in the diaries of his life, he rummaged for the sheaf of take-out menus stuffed into the pockets of his caftan. Eyes ablaze with the urgency of the truly ravenous, he pulled himself to his feet and bellowed with all the manufactured fervor still left in him:
"What do you have to do to get something to eat around here??"
--whereupon he belched, farted, and fell flat on his face into the pool.
END