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Mr. B. Natur-AL
5
Dogged scholars have argued ceaselessly about the Yankovic Conundrum. It's a
subject which has perplexed the greatest minds in history. Great gatherings
and symposiums have been held. More writings have been added to the growing
heap of pontifications.
Carl Sagon said: "Billions and billions of stars - and only one Al Yankovic"
In his ground breaking "A Brief History of Time", Stephen Hawking asked if
time had a beginning and an end and if so what were the soft, sticky bits in
the middle. Einstein was also baffled and began babbling about baseballs
going past trains at the speed of light. Newton, pondered the subject and
just got hit in the head with a rather large piece of fruit, undoubtedly
tossed by some disgruntled squirrel. Shakespeare formed Al-Anon. And
Leonardo DeCaprio said "I wish I could be more like Al".
All the time and energy devoted to this subject and yet none have even come
close to putting forth a plausible explanation. You would think that they
could find something better to do, like being nail technicians.
One ray of hope of understanding came from the Holy Bible, a book about love
which has caused more people to fight and or kill one another than probably
any other book on the planet. When scholars deciphered a new translation,
there was much joy in Muddville.
When I was a child,
I thought and reasoned as a child.
But when I grew up, I made a good living from my childish ways.
Corinthians 1, Chapter 13, Verse 11
New Betsonian Translation
But six year old Alfred Yankovic couldn't have been further removed from all
the hubbub about him. He just wanted to make it home in one piece without
being pestered by stupid bullies or silly men in powder blue Peter Pan
outfits. When he came in the door, his mom, Mary greeted him with a
reassuring big hug. His dad Nick was on the couch finishing up the humor
section in Reader's Digest.
"How was your day, sweetheart?" she asked patting his curly hair.
"You don't want to know." He said, walking upstairs to his room.
"Well, I thought I wanted to know. That's why I asked." She called up after
him. She turned toward her husband.
"Nick you really must talk to you son. I think he needs more guidance."
"Why is he always 'my son' when YOU want me to talk to him?" he replied, not
even glancing up from the page.
Mary made a face, shook her head and headed to the kitchen to check the
meatloaf and finish fixing dinner.
Alfred had reached the sanctuary of his room. He said hello to his small,
fuzzy hamster friend, Fluffy. Fluffy responded enthusiastically by rolling
over into another position and continuing his deep, daily sleep.
Alfred placed his books down on his work table and tossed himself onto his
bed with a big, dramatic sigh of relief. It was good to be home. Quiet,
comfortable and alone, save for his parents downstairs.
Or so he thought. He thought he heard a flute, then an oboe, then a
trombone. He knew something was askew, but he really didn't want to open his
eyes. Reluctantly he did so. "Whoa, I'm still alone", he thought with
relief. He sat up and just then, pop and flutter, Mr. B Natural
materialized. (Or some have said Mary Martinized). Alfred rubbed his eyes
deeply, not believing what he saw.
"Hello Boy!" He shrieked joyfully. "Remember me? I'm your old pal, Mr. B
Natural, the Spirit of Music!" a trumpet fanfare sounded, heralding yet
another intrusion into Alfred's otherwise normal life.
At this point, Alfred was standing stark stiff on his bed with his back
against the wall. To say that Mr. B's appearance was spooky does not begin
to cover it.
"Wha...what do you want with me?!" he blurted.
"I want to take you on a little journey," Mr. B began, his hands articulated
and emphasized every word.
"I'm not going ANYWHERE with you! Mom! Dad!" he called out, but they
couldn't hear him above the shrill pitch of the traveling salesman that was
giving them the patter downstairs.
Mr. B. bounded up on the bed with Alfred who then jumped off. Suddenly, Mr.
B was at his side holding Alfred's elbow gently but firmly so that Alfred
couldn't escape. Mr. B pointed to a picture of one of those nightmare sad
clowns on the wall and Alfred watched in amazement as the picture began to
fade...
---What would be revealed to young Al ? Would the images warp his mind
forever? And could Fluffy sleep through anything! This noise could wake up
the tour bus on a Monday morning in July.
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