Gassing the glitterati

I wrote this like five years ago. Never posted because the missus didn’t like it.

Went to a fancy benefit dinner last night. A gala to raise money for some hospital. Somebody else bought a table and we went. Frank Jackson and some banker dorks were there, talking about a bunch of nonsense, but they were at table 1 and we were at table 890541 or so.

I’m allergic to places like this. Nobody wants to talk about UFOs and everybody wants to know where I went to college.

My wife knows me well enough and on the way in says “can you just turn down the matthew a little tonight?” I think this was after I told her I would pretend to be “square deal” Sam Beauregarde*.

But I can’t be turned down. The matthew comes out in a different way.

Dreading this all week. So I decided to have some fun. In the late afternoon I gorged on a quart of old brown guacamole and a cold can of refried beans. Then at the event, during the otherwise tedious cocktail hour, I ate as many appetizers as I could. Especially anything with soft cheese or bacon or horseradish. Unfortunately no brassica vegetables were available.

During dinner we sat through some boring speeches by Cleveland’s wealthiest, congratulating themselves on drinking champagne (literally) to help those less fortunate.

But no matter. My GI tract was hard at work. Like that Magician in the Disney film Fantasia. I had set my belt extra loose initially but now I felt like Violet Beauregarde after she chewed that forbidden gum and started swelling up into a blueberry**.

By now I had enough renewable wind energy going to crop dust who’s who in Cleveland last night once the band started playing really loud. Over and over and over.

Check the society pages for photos of rich old folks trying to smile while holding their nose. Now you know the real story.

My greatest regret was failing to meet / fumigate the mayor. He was encircled by too many sycophants. But the good news is that there’s still plenty of poor people that need help and we’re now on all sorts of mailing lists.

So if you ever see me at one of these events, and I’m double-fisting stuffed cabbage canapes, just wink and make sure to sit by a window.

[*] Violet Beauregarde’s dad in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory

[**] that makes two wonka references in the same post! James Joyce*** has nothing on me.

[***] fun James Joyce fact — he got turned on by farts. So that’s why I picked him for that literature dis.