From this, the rumour of a curse arose
Explaining any chain of related activities can use one of two directions, the scientific and the illogic. My studies in philosophy stopped too early in life to have learned any other, so those of you who are on your way to a true PhD can simply abstain from comment.
When the latest round of tomb robbers attacked the Pyramid neighbourhood back in my grandparents’ era, the deaths of those who did the dirty were explained by either contact with unknown germs or a curse by the Pharaoh. A quick search on Google brings back other, equally compelling if not scientific, tales: think of Babe Ruth and his team, or the Hope Diamond.
Today the newspapers reported on the death of a famous individual, initials ANS (VLH). Let’s look at this individual in the light of the non-scientific. A fandancer from the wrong side of the tracks, (I checked with Google maps, and the train does run through town), she entered her photo in a talent search (much easier than an American Idol audition) and ended up appearing on the cover of a famous magazine for men who read the articles. She also, I guess, modelled blue jeans. From there, she met a very rich old fellow (what used to be called a “sugar-daddy” although he pumped oil) and went on to bring him great comfort in his final days. He, in turn, brought her great comfort with the great fortune he left behind.
His son, unimpressed with the step-mother’s blue jeans (a new take on the Cinderella story), went to court to claim his fair share of the great comfort. Before things could be settled, the claimant died, leaving the fortune of the dead fellow to be contested by another dead fellow. Justice will be sought. Let us continue.
Our famous fandancer, married several times, has a son who is also old enough to want a share of the great comfort. He drops in to see Mom in her hospital room where she’s trying to deliver a baby (her baby, not someone else’s) and drops dead, thus leaving the way clear for the new baby, who has at least two fathers, to seek justice on her own. Did I mention that this chapter took place in the Bahamas. Better weather there.
Our famous beauty in blue jeans, unwilling to decide who the father might be, carries on in great joy and sadness, flogging a weight loss program (she’d put on a few pounds between the jeans and the baby, and now had some drugs to sell). Then, two days ago, she also dropped dead.
The count so far: one dead old fellow, one dead young fellow, one dead older fellow, a new baby, several fathers, a deceased fan dancer and a lot of money tied up in the hand of the lawyers, not to mention the law. Methinks that in a few months, after the production of a mini-series on Fox, we’ll be looking back and admitting that from this, the rumour of a curse arose. I guess.
