Tuesday, January 16, 2007


(Another short-short.)

I hardly spoke above a whisper. Once my voice crisp, I became a lisper. I muttered, stuttered, droned in monotone, stumbled, stammered, grammar warranted correction. My attempt to make a point was out of joint. Result, I insulted an adult audience that came here to hear what I had to say.

Then I met Mike who made me eloquent. Who sent my words, once boring, soaring to the rafters. When I heard laughter and applause I knew my cause was understood. That was good.

Would you like to know who's this Mike who made sure my words were heard loud and clear above the crowd, who helped me mesmerize and hypnotize, seem so wise with every thought I sought to get across. I was the boss, never at a loss. I had the crowd in the palm of my hand. I was in full command.

Mike was better than a man He was my own magic microphone. Once I dreaded words that swirled in my head. Now my points needed no explanation. I was a sensation. Mike translated what I stated. I was elated.

Suddenly my phonetic fame came to an end, Mike cut out. No doubt, afflicted with an electronic autistic sickness. It was a mess, Mike and I became depressed. It was tragic. He lost his magic, But I had to go on even though my fans were gone.

They sent Mike to the Institution of the Electronic Elocution. Hoped they'd come up with a solution. They tried to restore his occupational pronunciation. He couldn't think. His vowels were out of sinc. They tried mimicry. All sorts of gimmickry. Finally the school agreed Mike lost his skill to instill a thrill in an audience. He lost his ability to throw my voice.

Mike, the electronic ventriloquist, and I were banned from lecture tours. Mike retired, was unwired. I was fired, got a job announcing trains. I was a big success. I spoke but nobody understood. And that was good. The trains always arrived on time and left on sked. Or so it's said. But that is how I earned my bread.


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