(From left-to-right: Henry, Ma Kettle, Lollipop Guild, Cleophus)

Softee’s, like, famous!

When the members of Softee walked into the room, I immediately played my hand and tried to join the band by offering up my almost magical harmonica skills.

“I’m sorry,” Steph informed me.  “You have to be pretty to join.  Duh.”

“Also,” Mimi added, “–and please don’t take this personally, because you’ve got red hair, and red hair rocks the Casbah–you can’t actually play, you know, music.”

“I didn’t know it worked like that,” I said.  “I just thought that you all being talented with La Musica was a coincidence.  I thought it was about being on stage and having star power.  I thought it was…”

“Yes?” Sarah prompted.

“… being able to shine!”

Flora looked at me, pity filling her eyes.  “That’s not pity,” she protested.  “it’s just really dusty in here.”

With the realization that, at most, all I would ever be with Softee was a part-time roadie, I thought it best to soldier on with the interview.

“Thanks for coming by, ladies.  I know you’ve been busy with the music scene and having to go to the grocery store at midnight, hair swept up and giant, dark sunglasses hiding your face so you won’t be recognized and swamped by fans, so I appreciate the little time you carved out for me today.”

“You promised us twenty clams, each,” Steph reminded me.  I whimpered a bit.  Of all the Softee gals, Steph is the one you least want to tick off.  Do you recall Jim Croce’s cautionary tale of Jim?  Well, Slim came to town and pulled on Superman’s cape; he spit into the wind, he pulled the mask off the old Lone Ranger, and Steph is his child.  I once made the mistake of snickering at the torrid affair she had with Michael McDonald (of Sprint commercial fame… and, I hear he was in a band), but she heard me, sidled up next to me with nary a sound and whispered, “I’ll cut you.”  She shreds her guitar with effortless style, and one day I fear she will shred me.

“Twenty bucks.  Right.”

As Steph silently mouthed, ‘I’ll cut you’, I tried to move the conversation forward with a safe question.  “So, who are your influences?”

“Mostly Bruce,” Mimi said.

“Bruce?”

“Lee.”  Oh.  Long before Mimi sat behind the skins and kept the beat for the band, she extensively toured Europe and Asia on the Movie Karate Circuit. Unlike other martial arts competitions where such piddling things as physics help determine movements, the Movie Karate Circuit caters to those fighters who jump, twirl and dive through the air without annoying constraints such as gravity. Lithe and fearsome, Mimi ruled the circuit for years, dispatching each would-be challenger with impossible jumps, unbelievable runs across the surface of lakes and ponds, and a single chopstick as her only weapon.  She called her style, “Crouching Tiger, Hidden Valley”.  She once tried to lend her talents to Hollywood (you can see her considerable skills in action in that ’80s cinema classic, American Ninja, where she played the role of Michael Dudikoff playing the role of a ninja), but quickly grew weary of the fame and adoration and moved to the Midwest to escape her throng of fans and ninja assassins.

“Good choice,” I said.  “How about you, Flora?”

“Waldo.”

“As in Where Is?”

“Yes.”  At first thought this is a surprising answer, but after a few moments readers will likely remember the scandal-sheet sensation of a few years ago–brought to light after nosy paparazzi photographed Flora leaving Waldo’s house in the wee hours of a weekday morning.  The news and accompanying pictures devastated Waldo’s wife, Dora the Explorer (traveling at the time), who briefly went insane, confusing Flora with one of Dora’s constant traveling companions: “Swiper, no swiping. Swiper, no swiping. Swiper, no swiping!”

“I was set up!” Flora exclaimed. “Think about it.  How did the photographer even find Waldo’s place?”

“Where’s Waldo now?” I asked.

“Google Maps, I think.  I don’t want to talk about it.”

I understood.  Past relationships, man, they’re a drag.  “How about you, Sarah?  Who influenced you the most?”

Sarah looked at me with those piercing, glowing red eyes.  “Are you the Keymaster?”

“Not that I know of.  Hey, Sarah, what is it?  What happened?”

“I am Zuul.  I am the Gatekeeper.  We must prepare for the coming of Gozer.”

“Okay, I’ll help you.  Should we make some dip or something?”

“He is the Destructor.”

“Really?  Can’t wait to meet him.”

Luckily, I had my proton pack stashed behind my chair, so I grabbed it, fired it up and roasted all of the Softee girls (you can’t be too careful when it comes to interdimensional, god-like travelers–could have infected the whole group).  Don’t worry, though, they should be scrubbed clean and ready for their VIP playdate at Starlight on the 26th.

“Thanks for coming, ladies,” I told the sizzling containment box at my feet.  “We’ll have to do this again.”