Tuesday, July 31, 2007

The Contessa and the Washed Up Rock Star

Some of you know my dear friend, The Contessa Scampi Galore. You also know what a tramp she is and how she'll throw her self at any man who even so much as glances in her direction.

With that in mind, let me tell you about the phone call I got from The Contessa at work this morning:

It was around nine-thirty when my phone rang at Officeland II, and a deep gravely voice growled, "Good-morning, doll!"

"Contessa, what are you doing up so early? " I asked, "You usually are just going to bed around this time."

"Doll, I'm a changed woman. I'm in love!", she slurred.

"Have you been drinking already?" I asked.

"Perish the thought, dear ... well just a little OJ ...with the just the tinniest bit of vodka."

"Of course", I replied. "So, you were saying."

And then The Contessa told me that last Saturday night, she and a group of her friends (this bunch of fast fading glamour gals with a string of "missing" husbands and boy friends) went bar-hoping in Atlantic City. And it seemed that at some point in the night, this harem of hags ended up at some sleazy seaside road house, when, according to The Contessa, the paparazzi arrived.

"Doll, you know I shun the press, ever since that unfortunate episode in Toledo a few years back...remember that time they photographed me at the all night drug store in rollers! I was devastated when those pictures hit the papers . I lost my contract with Clairol after that!"

"Yeah, I remember that, so what happened?" I asked trying to get the old girl back on track.

"Well," she said excitedly, "There I was sipping my pink squirrel, you know how much I adore pink squirrels, when suddenly there were flashbulbs firing all around me and all of this noise, so Doll, I just turned to see what all of the excitement was and I saw, what I thought was, this bleach blond strumpet coming into the bar, and then someone said it was C.C. DeVille!"

"C. C. DeVille? The guy from that 80's hair band, Poison?", I asked.

"The very one, Doll! And honey, he was tarted up like a two bit hooker!'

"So what did you do?" I asked wondering how this all played out.

"Well, I told him that he needed some help with his makeup, and then he bought me a drink!"

Anyone who knows The Contessa, understands that the way to her heart (and bed) is through alcohol.

"Ah", I said, "He got you drunk and took advantage of you."

"Wrong, bitch!", she hiccuped, "He was a charming gentleman, and the next thing I knew, we were singing karaoke songs, and dancing on the veranda of the bar...or maybe it was the bar itself, I can't recall ... but in the blink of an eye, he whisked me out to his limo and we went back to his hotel room at The Trump! Oh doll, it was magnificent, such a classy room, just like the life I used to have before my unfortunate turn of events..."

"You mean before you became a boozed out tramp who spent all of her money on size 12 stilettos and rent boys?"

"Rent boys!" She exclaimed, "I'll have you know that they were all paid assistants of mine!"

"Of course, my mistake", I said.

"Anyway, I'm calling from his cell phone, in the motel room's loo. Doll, they have a water fountain in here!"

"Uh, I think that's a bidet", I said hoping she had not been sipping water from the toilet bowl.

There was a pause for a second and then, "Oh, of course, I don't have my glasses with me... you know what they say, boys won't make passes, at girls who wear glasses!" Anyway doll, I just wanted you to be the first to know, C.C. and I are getting married!"

I was about to say something else when she concluded the phone call by saying, "Well doll, I have to go, I'll send you pictures!!!"

I wish The Contessa well in her latest affair of the heart...

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