Goodbye to La Cabronas *

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Archive for October, 2011
Posted in site promotion on October 24, 2011| 1 Comment »
This is Auntie Carol, and Lord me, It is such a distress to get out little detective agency going. One does just not simply say I am a detective and can solve the crime, one must convince the client and there’s the rub. Why can’t they just believe it: we do not lack in sincerity nor deign I say it, “talent”. A sharp mind, a crime unwinds. Oh, heavens, the rhyming, again. It must be the stress. Oh, Lord, the cupboard is bare and I’m living on chocolate cherries. I do not dare tell Lady Lynda of she’d just spend a fortune on me and never ask for repayment. I’d have truffles, and canembert and cognac, all my favorite things. I have my pride. Yes, Indeed, I do. I am no fallacious floozy living off the charity of my beloved friends. And The Black Orchid, would be all wroth that I did not reveal my desperate and ignoble position. She would be sure to stock my cabinets to the grandest extent. And Wanda Lust would be over here right now cooking us a mess of grits, greens, and ham. Now, my mouth is watering and I’m looking at my cat, named Black Bastard, with avaricious eyes. No, damnit, I shall not resort to cooking my pets. He is so named for his predilection of sneaking out of the house and impregnating all the female cats in this blessed neighborhood. Such a scoundrel! Just like a man. Herman is away in Europe on a book tour, for his book entitled , Who Am I, Really. It is a smash success. I don’t want him to know I am not a success as well.

Oh, what do I hear the silvery sound of sleigh bells ringing. Oh, Ye Gads, It’s just the phone. Well, my friends ‘Tis the Season To Be Jolly’ . I am beside myself with joy. We have a case. It was Inspector, SlimyGut, from the police station. I feel I should inform you there’s an umlaut over the “u”. It’s the notorious “Cereal Killer” case, and he feels we are ideal for the job for we are both elderly ladies, gentile, and educated with a strong and viable knowledge of the late Emily Post’s Rules of Proper Etiquette. He believes we could more readily get into the mind of this horrid ne’er do well as he believes her to be an elderly woman. She is called the “Cereal Killer” because at the scene of each crime she leaves a box of Raison Bran with a butcher knife plunged into the box. It’s apparent to me that she must be a lady, as she cleans the entire house and tucks them neatly into bed with a copy of Emily Dickinson’s poems by the bed side before she departs. At least, she’s not low class like that horrible demon, Freddie Kruger. One wonders why he doesn’t get his teeth fixed. Alors, and heavens, no.

I called Lady Lynda, and she was having a contretemps with Seymour Toze, and being a lady, I did not as the reason why. A lady never pries, my Dears. Lynda came right over so I could explain the facts of the case and we could develop a profile for the perpetrator, or more simply, the murderess. I explained she was an educated woman of quality except for that one regrettable character flaw. These were the facts as we understood them. She was the “Cereal Killer” AKA “Serial Killer” and all twenty of the victims were prosperous, distinguished titans of industry awash in luxury and wealth.

“Oh my, a Fortune 500 party,” quipped Lady Lynda.

“Funny, but in poor taste, My Girl. In case they didn’t get any respect when they were alive: they should be respected in their untimely deaths.”

“Oh, my yes,” intoned Lady Lynda. “We are not jackals at the site of a kill.”
“No, we are most certainly not,” I affirmed.

I told her the mode of death was poison of an unknown variety and under the newly changed sheets and comforters, they were all in flagrante delecto” or as they say in the South, “nude as Jaybirds.” I told her I thought that it was evident that the murderess knew and cared for the men. The question is why would she do it. They were all of an age to play cards with death a la “The Seventh Seal.” Why kill men at deaths door, for heavens sake! Just wait it out. That would be the sensible thing to do. Lynda evinced the theory that it was a “crime passionale” and that the murderess was certainly not a sensible woman but a woman enraged. Furthermore, Lynda, with her brilliant criminal mind, contended that we had no proof it was a woman. Well, I countered that the lingering scent of Tea Rose and the gentile selection of literature, and the cleaning of the house sort of portended a woman. And they were all widowers. So they could not be homosexual.

“Have you never seen “Madame Butterfly” with Jeremy Irons. He didn’t even know his lover, Madame, was really a man. Let’s go through the credit card bills and see what they spent their money on and find out who their friends were and if all of them knew just one person. We’ll get all that from the police. That’s what we need from them,” replied Lady Lynda.

“We have all that, dear. And the police have pointed out that at various times throughout the men’s career’s they had all drawn out the sum of $5000 cash particularly around the holiday season, yet, at other times also, at one and three month intervals throughout their lives. This seems like visits from one very expensive call girl, to me,” I said.

Posted in site promotion, tagged psychos, rhyming, tramps on October 21, 2011| Leave a Comment »
Auntie Carol loved her girl’s Las Cabronas, but they had reached graduation age and were going out to find jobs, further education, and, in some cases, husbands, (men of valor). Some chose to tread the path of career girls, while other planned to follow the path of stay at home, wives and mothers. Auntie Carol prided herself on her guidance skills in the realm of wedded bliss.

“Dearest ones, a man is king of the household and ruler of the realm. Always put his needs before your own yet, darlings, be not a door mat. A man likes a little spice in his life. Be a good bed mate and do not develop “headaches” at inopportune times. Be a James Bond woman in the boudoir, and Betty Crocker in the kitchen. A woman who can make good crepes is a treasure indeed to a valiant steed. A little witticism for you girls.”

“Oh, very funny, Miz Carol. Ha. Ha. Who is this Betty Crocker, chick, anyway?” quipped LaLa.

“Just about the most successful homemaker of all time, Dear, “ she replied.

“Well, we don’t know who she is, hyde nor hair of her. A little witticism for you, Miz Carol,” retorted LaLa.

“Well, perhaps you girls know Rachel Ray, I deign to say,” replied Auntie Carol.

“You’re rhyming again, Mz. Carol. Francisco says only psychos go around rhyming,” intoned LaLa.

“I chose to ignore that little bit of misinformation, a faulty formation at my behest as you suggest.”

“Miz Carol, no offence, but sometimes we think you’re ‘phone ringing and nobody home’ or a bit looney. That’s not to say you aren’t right most of the time,” interjected Chiquita, holding her baby.

“Genius is always misunderstood, darlings,” said Auntie Carol, as she swiped one gloved hand across her forehead for emphasis. And she thought of the theme song of the movie “To Sir, With Love.” “He took me from crayons to perfume” and fancied her life story playing out on the silver screen. The title of the movie could be “Tramps Are Oft Misunderstood”.

“Oh, girls, we all have come so far. I, too, made the journey with you, every step of the way, from dejection and rebellion, being little hellions to optimism and self respect. Your souls I did not neglect. You are now ready to be wives and mothers, and career girls if it bemuses you. I say the role of mother and wife should still be the penultimate achievement of a woman’s life even if there’s strife. As in the song, ‘Nature Boy’, “The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is to love, and be loved in return.”

“Did Snoop Dog do that song, Miz Carol. Psych,” laughed LaLa. “We know you love us and only want the best for us, even more than our own mothers, most times. We love you, as well, Miz Carol, and Miz Lynda, too, ”said LaLa. “This is our last week with, and we’ll sure miss you, Miz Carol.”

“And I shall miss all your beauteous faces and I know you’re going places. Be daring and creative: be joyous and give. Never lack the courage to boldly live. Let life flow through you like a sieve. Oh, my precious girls. The days I have spent with were the finest in my life,” said Auntie Carol as her eyes filled with tears. The girls surrounded her and gave her hugs and tears fell like rain from the heavens.

In the month that followed Auntie Carol and Lady Lynda prepared for their next great adventure, The Primrose Agency specializing in “Murder, most foul” to quote Shakespeare’s Hamlet, and diamond thievery. Well, that and other precious jewels, and of course, they’d investigate “art theft”. They wanted to deal with a certain class of criminal, and not petty crimes like robbing convenience stores. That would just be too “mundane”. Basically, they wanted to study the minds of brilliant criminals and try to figure out where they went wrong, in the womb or in the crib. It was Nature vs. Nurture. They were not averse to studying, serial killers, though they kind of considered them, “low class” and closely related to pillaging insects like roaches, Neanderthals who had never developed a conscience.

“Do you think Heidnick would have become a serial killer if he had received a proper religious instruction or had ever been a boy scout?” queried Lady Lynda.

“That, I don’t know, Dear. He was certainly quite queer. But, I’m sworn to find out. That’s what I’m all about. He may have just been a rotten apple. With that I grapple,” replied Auntie Carol.

“You remember the movie, “The Bad Seed” with Patty Mccormick? It was a case of Nature not Nurture. She was a little murderess and she came from a lovely family. Just astounding. And please, stop rhyming, Dearest, it gives me the vapors,” said Lady Lynda, fanning herself with an Oriental fan.

“In me you instill the will to stop. I don’t know what comes over me: what in the world is this. I am remiss! I bite my tongue: I am undone. “

“You can’t really help it, can you, love. I guess I’ll just “have to screw my courage to the sticking post”, as Lady MacBeth said. “What courage you give me ancient star”. A little bon mot for you, Dear.”
“Oh, I love that quote Dear: though to hear you say it is surpassingly queer,” said Auntie Carol. And she quoted Invictus by A.E. Henley which, of course, rhymed.
“Dark is the night which falls upon me/ Black as the pit from pole to pole/ I thank whatever Gods there may be/ For my inconquerable soul.”

“I think that Gypsy, Tekla, cursed you. Do you think that Dearest Carol?”

“Hob knobbing with goblins and ghosts, you’re certainly the most. I’d have to be tipsy to believe in a gypsy!’ exclaimed Auntie Carol.

“Well, I’m not the one who told her to stick it wherein the sun doth not shineth. I swear I’ll start talking in Elizabethan English is you don’t stop, Carol. Just nod you dad gum head if you’ll see a therapist about this?” She put her gentle gloved hand over Auntie Carol’s Piquant mouth and stared her hard in the eyes. And that was how Auntie Carol acquired her therapist. And they went Boldly Forth Where No Dames Had Gone Before.

*cabronos is basically Spanish for Billy goat

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