The 80’s pop star Prince, purveyor of such hits as ‘Purple Rain’, is in the news again.
Having changed his name over a decade ago to an unpronounceable symbol
, with the result that in text and conversation he is now referred to as “The Artist formerly known as Prince”, and having bypassed the corporate honchos by starting his own recording company, he has apparently now again raised the ire of the recording studio bosses by giving away his latest album for free with the Sunday papers. They claim it exacerbates the problems of the music industry which faces a hostile public increasingly unwilling to pay up for the song.
See this article on Wired: Prince points the way to a brighter future for music
Anyway, this little news item inspired me to write the following humor piece:-
Prince’s dilemma
The ragged flagged stone stairway fell away steeply, endlessly until it was lost somewhere in the distant gloom below. The artist formerly known as Prince looked at it nervously. There seemed a strong possibility that if he rolled down it, he would break that portion of his anatomy formerly known as neck.
“Ummm…so for this shot, you want me to fall down this staircase?” he asked.
“Yup!” said the Ron the director, who looked a bit like Danny De Vito on a west-coast camembert- wabasi butter diet.
“Suppose I break my neck?”
Ron sighed. How could he tell the truth: this was precisely what he was hoping for? It was intended as a public service to that long suffering bunch of assorted morons and blockheads, formerly known as fans. There was also the matter of the contract he had received from the heads of three major recording companies to engineer a little ‘accident’ on the sets.
“Look, TAFKAP…” he started.
“The artist formerly known as Prince” said the artist formerly known as Prince coldly.
“Yeah, yeah…whatever.”
“Or you can call me KEEEEE-SHWOOOOO-KIRIKIRIKIRITIIIIII”
This was how the symbol that was now his name was pronounced in Khoisaan, the language of the South African Bushmen which consists mostly of whistles and clicks.
“Whatever, whatever…”
“You were saying?”
“Look, this movie is insured, so we can take a little risk.”
“We can?”
“Yup!”
“So if I break my neck, you rake in ….how much?”
“Three million smackers.”
“I see…and I…on the other hand…have to content myself with a broken neck?”
“But it’s not called your neck any more” protested Ron.
“Whatever.”
“But that is precisely what is of essence.”
“Come again?” asked the artist formerly known as Prince, mystified.
“I mean, that is entirely and wholly pertinent to the point which is presently under advisement or discussion, as the case may be.”
“Ron, you’re driveling,” said the artist formerly known as Prince, kindly.
Ron took a deep breath. He reminded himself to stop having so many cocktails with his lawyer. It not only added to his girth, it was starting to affect his elocution: he was now afflicted by verbal diarrhea, in addition to the regular sort.
“Look, what I am saying… breaking a neck – yes, that hurts, I admit. But you don’t have a neck any more. You have a KEEERRRRRTITI.”
“RITITIII-KEEEEEEEERRTTTT,” corrected the artist formerly known as Prince.
“Yeah, whatever.”
“So you opine, that whereas breaking a neck hurts, breaking a RITITIII-KEEEEEEEERRTTTT doesn’t?”
“Yup!”
“Have you ever broken a RITITIII-KEEEEEEEERRTTTT?”
“No, I don’t have one.”
“So on what do you base your conjuncture?”
“Well, have you broken one before?”
“No.”
“Well then?”
“Maybe you are right,” said the artist thoughtfully.
“Of course I am right!” said Ron paternally.
“Maybe I should do this once, in the interest of science,” said the artist continuing to look thoughtful.
“Attaboy! That’s the spirit!” said Ron, and slapped him lustily between the shoulder blades.
“Ah!” screamed the Artist formerly known as Prince, as he went flying over the edge.
“YIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIiiiiiiiiiiiiiii” he shrieked as he disappeared down the staircase, twisting slowly in the updraft.
“Did you get that?” cried out Ron, worriedly.
“Yus!” said Gus. Gus was the soundman.
Ron was relieved. Put that last shriek in a tape loop, add a backing track of drum machine and the sound of a breaking electric guitars, overlay a rap from Snoop Canine Canus, and Voila! The farewell album from the former artist formerly known as Prince.
Ron smiled contentedly. The sales of that CD would be a nice little addition to the neat little pile he would be getting from the recording companies and the insurance company. That, and the undying gratitude of former fans of the artist formerly known as Prince. Public service is tough but it has its compensation.
“Hey Ron! You wanna call the ambulance now?” asked Gus.
“No Hurry,” said Ron, “and Gus…”
“Yus?”
“Don’t call me Ron any more. From today, I'm $.”
And the director formerly known as Ron smiled evilly.
(Image Credits: All images taken from the Prince entry in Wikipedia, please refer it for original credits)
Like this little piece? You'll love my full-length humor novels, especially the 'Perl' series of comedy-adventure novels. Check out my Author's Website:-
http://www.poltusworld.com
Click on 'My Books'.
You could also search Amazon.Com for books by Poltu
Having changed his name over a decade ago to an unpronounceable symbol
, with the result that in text and conversation he is now referred to as “The Artist formerly known as Prince”, and having bypassed the corporate honchos by starting his own recording company, he has apparently now again raised the ire of the recording studio bosses by giving away his latest album for free with the Sunday papers. They claim it exacerbates the problems of the music industry which faces a hostile public increasingly unwilling to pay up for the song.See this article on Wired: Prince points the way to a brighter future for music
Anyway, this little news item inspired me to write the following humor piece:-
Prince’s dilemma
The ragged flagged stone stairway fell away steeply, endlessly until it was lost somewhere in the distant gloom below. The artist formerly known as Prince looked at it nervously. There seemed a strong possibility that if he rolled down it, he would break that portion of his anatomy formerly known as neck.
“Ummm…so for this shot, you want me to fall down this staircase?” he asked.
“Yup!” said the Ron the director, who looked a bit like Danny De Vito on a west-coast camembert- wabasi butter diet.
“Suppose I break my neck?”
Ron sighed. How could he tell the truth: this was precisely what he was hoping for? It was intended as a public service to that long suffering bunch of assorted morons and blockheads, formerly known as fans. There was also the matter of the contract he had received from the heads of three major recording companies to engineer a little ‘accident’ on the sets.
“Look, TAFKAP…” he started.
“The artist formerly known as Prince” said the artist formerly known as Prince coldly.
“Yeah, yeah…whatever.”
“Or you can call me KEEEEE-SHWOOOOO-KIRIKIRIKIRITIIIIII”
This was how the symbol that was now his name was pronounced in Khoisaan, the language of the South African Bushmen which consists mostly of whistles and clicks.
“Whatever, whatever…”
“You were saying?”
“Look, this movie is insured, so we can take a little risk.”
“We can?”
“Yup!”
“So if I break my neck, you rake in ….how much?”
“Three million smackers.”
“I see…and I…on the other hand…have to content myself with a broken neck?”
“But it’s not called your neck any more” protested Ron.
“Whatever.”
“But that is precisely what is of essence.”
“Come again?” asked the artist formerly known as Prince, mystified.
“I mean, that is entirely and wholly pertinent to the point which is presently under advisement or discussion, as the case may be.”
“Ron, you’re driveling,” said the artist formerly known as Prince, kindly.
Ron took a deep breath. He reminded himself to stop having so many cocktails with his lawyer. It not only added to his girth, it was starting to affect his elocution: he was now afflicted by verbal diarrhea, in addition to the regular sort.
“Look, what I am saying… breaking a neck – yes, that hurts, I admit. But you don’t have a neck any more. You have a KEEERRRRRTITI.”
“RITITIII-KEEEEEEEERRTTTT,” corrected the artist formerly known as Prince.
“Yeah, whatever.”
“So you opine, that whereas breaking a neck hurts, breaking a RITITIII-KEEEEEEEERRTTTT doesn’t?”
“Yup!”
“Have you ever broken a RITITIII-KEEEEEEEERRTTTT?”
“No, I don’t have one.”
“So on what do you base your conjuncture?”
“Well, have you broken one before?”
“No.”
“Well then?”
“Maybe you are right,” said the artist thoughtfully.
“Of course I am right!” said Ron paternally.
“Maybe I should do this once, in the interest of science,” said the artist continuing to look thoughtful.
“Attaboy! That’s the spirit!” said Ron, and slapped him lustily between the shoulder blades.
“Ah!” screamed the Artist formerly known as Prince, as he went flying over the edge.
“YIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIiiiiiiiiiiiiiii” he shrieked as he disappeared down the staircase, twisting slowly in the updraft.
“Did you get that?” cried out Ron, worriedly.
“Yus!” said Gus. Gus was the soundman.
Ron was relieved. Put that last shriek in a tape loop, add a backing track of drum machine and the sound of a breaking electric guitars, overlay a rap from Snoop Canine Canus, and Voila! The farewell album from the former artist formerly known as Prince.
Ron smiled contentedly. The sales of that CD would be a nice little addition to the neat little pile he would be getting from the recording companies and the insurance company. That, and the undying gratitude of former fans of the artist formerly known as Prince. Public service is tough but it has its compensation.
“Hey Ron! You wanna call the ambulance now?” asked Gus.
“No Hurry,” said Ron, “and Gus…”
“Yus?”
“Don’t call me Ron any more. From today, I'm $.”
And the director formerly known as Ron smiled evilly.
(Image Credits: All images taken from the Prince entry in Wikipedia, please refer it for original credits)
Like this little piece? You'll love my full-length humor novels, especially the 'Perl' series of comedy-adventure novels. Check out my Author's Website:-
http://www.poltusworld.com
Click on 'My Books'.
You could also search Amazon.Com for books by Poltu
