The television’s picture turned snowy with black lines zagging to the bottom right. The picture cleared showing a black and white jungle. A lemur scampered up a tree and started screaming its serenade to a female. The picture flashed to the snowy screen and black lines again before showing me a man standing at the head of the long table with his guests all turned to watch him. He raised his goblet and said in a static hazed voice, “may our celebration begin.” I shook my head, pushing the buttons on the remote—I’ll never buy a generic television again.
The celebration was a joke, full of bureaucrats and their whores slamming down goblet after goblet of generic wine. The man at the piano began to play and serenade the group. The band joined in filling the room with bass. There is always that one person at any party that drinks too much and starts dancing as though a lemur ran up his pants. Thank god for video phones, because no one would believe this one.
See everyone’s entries at Tracey’s Tavern.