Unexpected Developments

Past Imperfect – #568

Whoopi: “Hello?”

Voice: “Yes, could I speak to the lady of the house?”

Whoopi: “We don’t have a lady of the house. We have a wretched, spoiled woman with no soul or sense of shame.”

Voice: “Perfect! That’s just the type of person that interests me.”

Wretched Woman, hollering from upstairs because she also had no sense of couth: “Whoopi! My bathwater has gone cold. Come run me some more hot.”

Whoopi, covering the mouthpiece: “I’ll be right there.” Uncovering: “I absolutely cannot stand her. If I take the phone to her, will you make her suffer in some way?”

Voice: “That’s my specialty. This is the devil.”

Whoopi: “The devil? As in the devil. Brimstone and all that mess?”

Voice: “In the rotted flesh.”

Whoopi: “Oh. I didn’t realize you literally made house calls.”

Voice: “It’s part of our outreach program. We’ve had to adjust our marketing strategy lately to keep up with all the social medias and whatnot.”

Whoopi: “Good to know. Say, while I’ve got you on the phone, could you take a look in your files and see how I’m doing with my own life? It’ll help me with my monthly budget planning if I know where I’m headed.”

Voice, shuffling papers: “Sure. I just happen to have your file right here and… let’s see… oh, honey, you’re just fine. I smell some pearly gates for you, girl!”

Whoopi, beaming: “Hallelujah! Wait, did that come across as offensive. I don’t mean to be rude.”

Voice: “Oh, don’t worry about it. You win some, you lose some. Besides, my relationship with the Celestial Clan has been blown out of proportion. We’re actually pretty tight. I just played golf with Jesus the other day.”

Whoopi: “Really? And how did that go?”

Voice: “He cheated a little bit. I know he moved his marker on the ninth hole. But I’ve done worse. He’s a good guy. We just have different corporate sponsors.”

Wretched Woman, hollering again: “Whoopi! I told you that my water is cold. Get your ass up here! And bring me another pitcher of martinis.”

Whoopi: “I am so glad you called.”

Voice: “The pleasure is all mine, trust me. Now, let’s kick this off. Just walk upstairs and hand her the extension. I’ll take it from there.”

Whoopi: “Got it. Give me just a sec.”

Voice: “And Whoopi?”

Whoopi: “Yes, Devil Man?”

Voice: “Just for the record, Jesus and I talked about this in the 19th Hole Bar. Neither one of us wants Donald Trump. Spread the word.”

 

Note: Yes, I realize that this actress is not actually Whoopi Goldberg. It’s Butterfly McQueen (“Gone with the Wind”) in an uncredited role in “Mildred Pierce”. But the resemblance to a younger Whoopi is startling, no? Or is it just me?

 

12 replies »

  1. How did I miss this?? Fie on you WordPress and your wonky site problems, FIE! I came to read, fully expecting some ‘yass sirs, yass sirs…no I don’t know nuthin’ ’bout birthin’ no babies” schtick and was very pleased to find Ms. Whoopi in residence (yes that actress does look like Ms. Goldberg, so you’re justified in the comparision) dishing out her signature sass. To the man yet. Kudos sir, and I’m sorry I didn’t see this before, but it gave me a guffaw all the same…

    Now you can answer me a question I suspect… Who the hell are Messers Godwin and Godot? I’ve seen reference to them in a couple of your recent posts, and I’m lost. But that isn’t unusual.

    Liked by 1 person

    • This is actually one of my favorite “newer” pieces and, as I mentioned to CJ above, I can barely wait until enough time has passed so I can post it over on Bonnywood where more folks will see it. And actually, I’ve been wondering lately if I should “debut” ALL of my new bits on Bonnywood and then ship them out to the satellite sites. Your thoughts on this matter?

      To be fair, I hadn’t heard of “Godwin’s Law” until Christopher mentioned it, so I just followed his handy link to learn more. As for the “Godot” that CJ and I sometimes bandy about, it’s a reference to Samuel Beckett’s play “Waiting for Godot”, one of those deep-thoughts plays where people talk about everything and nothing while waiting for someone who never arrives.

      Like

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