Re: Meeting Goldman's Researcher


Bill Bartlett wrote:
> One moist winter evening as I ambled to the Quik-Mart for my morning
> nachos, I spied my old college buddy Don Josephson. Though we speak on
> the phone thrice daily, it's always a joy to see him. I hollered to
> Don, and we embraced with grunts of joy.
>
> Then I noticed her. The woman.
>
> She studied me, sized me up, her emerald eyes penetrating my soul in
> search of I knew not what. Apparently I passed muster, for she bowed
> and curtsied.
>
> "I'm Goldman's researcher," she announced. "I'm the one he sent to
> Japan."
>
> "In Japan, I found that John and Yoko's romance was a love affair of
> epic proportions. They rose with the sun each morning, gazed into each
> other's eyes, and sipped iced lattes. They bathed in magic water,
> prayed in ancient temples, inhaled the aroma of a thousand blooming
> bonsai. They dressed in antique kimonos, meditated on the teachings of
> the Dalai Lama, and knelt at the feet of Sai Baba. It was just like
> their interviews, only better!"
>
> "But Goldman would hear none of this. He crumpled my findings and made
> up from whole cloth steaming tales of Tokyo's 'red light' district.
> Japan, as everyone knows, is notorious for its homosexual male
> prostitutes. Guyshas. Goldman's reasoning was, 'Since there existed a
> "red light" district in Tokyo, John must have gone there, ergo the
> guyshas charmed John out of his kimono, ergo John ejaculated, ergo John
> ate ergot, extinguishing his ego.' But it's all Goldman's lurid
> imagination!"
>
> The woman's words electrocuted me. But my researcher's instinct
> briefly flickered to life, prompting me to ask: "If Goldman merely
> wanted to make things up, why did he send you all the way to Japan?
> Why did he hire you at all?"
>
> The woman paused. Her face scrunched. Her turquoise eyes darted back
> and forth, like carp in a silent pool. The city traffic grew louder,
> reaching a crescendo. Then there was silence, the most peaceful
> silence imaginable. The woman smiled enigmatically. "Goldman," she
> said, "works in mysterious ways."
>
> That did it! I could no longer question the woman's words! Her
> sources were firsthand. Her data were complete. She had given me
> proof.
>
> I hurried home in a state of euphoria, resisting the temptation to
> visit nightclubs pulsing with Yoko's latest #1 hits. I realized two
> things. One, I would never eat meat again. Two, anytime anyone asked
> of Goldman, I would recount my marvelous experience with the woman.
>
> Cynics may doubt that these events took place. Very well then. My
> friend Don is a regular at Pee-Wee's Comix in downtown NYC. He is
> fifty-four years, three months in age. He weighs 148,324.7 grams, and
> is 154.94 centimeters in height. He dresses in T-shirt and fashionable
> stained jeans worn round his midsection. On his neck (which is hairy),
> you will find a slightly tarnished platinum light saber pendant. Don
> is stylishly hunchbacked and proceeds with a shuffling gait. The sent
> you notice about him is Stouffer's pizza, pepperoni flavor
> (microwavable), available at Stop & Shop at $4.99 a pie. Don is hard
> to miss, should anyone wish to verify my words.
>
> Unfortunately, he died decades ago.
>
> And I never got the woman's name...

And you didnt get her eye color right either? What is it? Emerald or
turqoise????

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