Fun_People Archive
18 Mar
Solo mio, vendro unscrupuloso, custombres sansaclu.

Date: Mon, 18 Mar 96 16:22:07 -0800
From: Peter Langston <psl>
To: Fun_People
Subject: Solo mio, vendro unscrupuloso, custombres sansaclu.

Forwarded-by: Keith Bostic <>
Forwarded-by: Steve Simmons <>
Forwarded-by: Joseph McConnell <>


| The Wood-Charles News Service Copyright 1995 Wood-Charles Associates.        
| For back issues, see the WCA Homepage:                                       


During the golden years of the Opera in Michigan, many of the great
composers and librettists wandered through the glittering capital of the
midwestern risorgimento.  Strangly, little of their output has been
preserved, but recently, this fragment of the libretto from an unfinished
work by the immortal Giuseppe Verde came to light, hidden behind a huge
nude painting at the Odd Town Tavern.  Wood-Charles is proud to bring to
the music community even this crumbling shard of Verde's never-performed
Il Internetto.

Curtain rises.  It is night.  A storm is gathering over the battlements
of a crumbling red brick office building.  In the background, the houses
and lights of a fair but troubled city, An'Arbro.  We hear the rumbling
of distant thunder.

Enter Edmundo.  He leans on the crenalations and contemplates the
approaching storm.

Edmundo: Solo mio, vendro unscrupuloso, custombres sansaclu.

    (I am all alone, my vendors are of questionable
     ethics, and my customers are idiots.)

La Traciata (off): Edmundo!  Edmundo!

Edmundo: Che? (What?)

La Traciata (entering): Doloroso executivo, executivo perdu, pite', pite',
au secours, le boite de multiplexico delenda est.

    (Oh, pitious executive, help, help, the modem is broke.)

Small boy (dashing across the stage): Providitore connection, imbecilico!

    (Ameritech, idiots!)

(Off) sound of a news server crashing; alarms and excursions.

Don Miguele (entering): Si mentate io, periculoso meo!

    (If I had a brain, I'd be dangerous!)

El Zastrow (drawing a baguette from beneath her chemise): Prends ca,
compteur de legumes suburbanitico!  Mangez le pain de ma tante!

    (Take that, yuppie bean counter!  Eat flaming starch!)

Enter four horsemen, Edmundo, Esteban, Owen Glynmorange, and Tim the
Irrascible.  They begin to sing an old Provencal round consisting of
four or five conflicting business plans.

La Traciata: Ai, yi yi yi yi yi, carriage de corrosion, mi corizon non di
Finisterre.  Reimburse' mi.

    (Alas, my car is a rusting heap of junk and I cannot
     afford clothing from Land's End.  Sure would be nice
     to get paid.)

Lindhilde (dressed as the Kouros of Berners-Lee): Luftpost der Webdamen!
Toten der Lapinnet, Toten der Lapinnet!  Der krieg sind Deutchenyowlen:
zu viel und laut!  Wer is mein petroleum?

    (The flight of the web ladies!  Kill the wabbitnet, kill
     the wabbitnet!  War is like German opera: too long and
     too loud!  Where is that damn gas tank?)

Chorus of the busy signals: Bzzz.  Bzzz.  Bzzz.

Night falls.  The slain are born away to Valhalla or Ypsilanti.  Edmundo
enters dressed as a virtual transaction.  As the curtain falls, he sings
the plaintive and moving aria, "Yo Dudo Actuario," (I should have gone
into insurance.)


The Wood-Charles News Service is brought to you by Ann Arbor's
Odd Town Tavern, official tavern of the United Nations Commission
on Internet Refugees.

prev [=] prev © 1996 Peter Langston []