Señor Wences

Gather around chillun, Auntie Ange is going to tell you a story from long, long ago, way before you were a flaw in your pappy’s prophylactic and the red-faced shame of your momma’s senior year, there was once a man who painted a lipsticked mouth near the anatomical snuffbox of his hand (yes, that’s what they call it, you can look it up), right between the thumb and pointer, and he threw his voice to make it talk to him, and yes children, back in those primitive days of yore, we called that entertainment. His name was Señor Wences, and we all watched him on the Ed Sullivan show lo, so many years ago, there were only 3 channels and no remote control devices and we were too tired from working in the Spam-canning plant or from polishing the burrs off of widgets for 15 hours a day and couldn’t muster up the energy to walk over and change the channel, plus the other channels were probably showing Red Buttons dropping his trousers or trained chimpanzees dressed up in spacesuits riding bicycles anyway. And no one even cared that when he walked out he was carrying the puppet’s severed head on the end of his arm, Johnny’s long hair swaying in the breeze.

We just watched it.

And we liked it.