Q. do you really think you’re ready for marriage? don’t slouch — do dodge, evade, and lie: a little to the left, to the right, your other right, I mean, that’s right, now suck it up and in, say Dairy!
What do you think of the policies of your future father-inlaw, the President; with your impending marriage to his daughter, do you think you’ll assume a greater role in the decisions of this Administration? Ben, how much involved, how little — depends on what they say; any names, what about the kinder…over here, over there, chins up, chins down, just be yourself, kid, hold it, that’s it, good — and don’t forget to smile!
And so Introit the fuss, the sinuous us!
Why, it’s the wet ’n’ wild millenniawide revival of the Wandering Tour, the Eternal Return Tour eternally wandering return to a town near you, close by, your local dorf or major shtetl, picklebarreling through fifty states’ worth of this here contiguous nowhere, pulling legs for a mere ten handfuls of, nu, maybe not so exclusive engagements, onenight standing room to run only: a packed Radio City Musik Hall, two soldout shows at the Spelt Palace, a near riot at the Fillmore, a melee at the Fill Less, oddstastemachers prophesizing serious profits, prime revenue from merchandising tieins, licensing, subsidiary rights, and subsubsidiary yadda, deals bubbling like the gassiest of concessions, available for purchase in the lobby.
O to be on the road…once He gets through rehearsal, that is, if He gets through it — not until the trainer’s totally satisfied He’s making the effort, meeting Him halfway to trusting. As of now — so rumors Page Six and all those other pages, those before it and those after — Ben’s too afraid of the lions, management’s said to be renegotiating the Ring of Fire; insurance adjusters haven’t yet evaluated the locusts; fine the promoters, have them trot their damn riders out to the territory to graze them down to glue, staples, bound at a papering’s clip:
