The Corner of Comedic Contradiction

One gray and chilly Saturday morning, the kind still trying to recover from weeks of snow, a comedian steps out onto his front porch and proceeds to proclaim a new skit of the likes one might see on Saturday Night Live.

The anchor man says, “A man was found hanging around the meat market waiting for his leg of lamb to cure where it hung in the window. But that is not what this is about. He was a witness to the Scarf Lady Killer who allegedly strangled a Senator who refused to pay for her services.”

“Wait!” The Scarf Lady Killer enters the news set wearing large round sunglasses with thick black rims and a paisley scarf wrapped around her head. “It wasn’t me! I did not do this! How can you say such things about your mother!?”

“Mom!” The news anchor exclaims!

“Don’t give me that or I’ll call your father and he can remind you of the bull whip!”

“Oh no, not the bull whip!” The anchor man ducks down behind his desk and peers just over the edge.

“Your witness is a blind man and I don’t know any Senators.”

The smoke from my cigarette swirls into a sky of tiny snowflakes learning to fall. The four corners of the complex are quiet and empty but for the comedian. He is an animated fat guy in his old worn cardigan and disheveled hair that transforms in to an orator of profound theater. With one outstretched arm, he is erratic and quirky speaking proudly the voice of each character. He tries to squat when the anchorman ducks and bolts to his feet when the Scarf Lady Killer states her case. Then suddenly, dramatically, he comes to an abrupt stop and dead silence just hangs there over the yard. Slowly, his shoulders lower and he is an ogre or Eore. After two weary steps, he is comedian again and jumps into the next scene.

A judge appears dragging his pulpit onto the news set. The anchorman says, “Judge! Where did you come from?”

“I am here to end this madness, once and for all. The Scarf Lady Killer must be stopped and there is only way to know for sure if your mother is she.”

The comedian leans forward and waves his hand over the courtyard with a scrunched up facial expression that squints with a cynical look. In a deep raspy voice, he says, “Whoa to you Scarf Lady Killer, we will know the truth yet. Where were you the night of April first? It was a Monday, if I recall.”

“Judge, you can’t be serious! I was with you!”

The neighbor jerks into the air and scuttles a couple of feet to the end of his perch laughing at himself. He halts before tumbling into the snow bank and says, “A monkey riding an alligator runs onto set and eats the judge in one big gulp. Then a trained voice of another anchor person says over everyone, “Well, I guess that takes care of that?”

Then slowly, the comedian fades back into being a cave dweller and disappears behind the screen door. I took that as the end. There was no encore or applause. The cigarette had been gone already five minutes and it was cold so I went back inside my own cave and marveled at the wonderfully strange world we live. I doubt my neighbor will ever repeat his antic, but it is possible, and so I will continue to pay attention.

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