Holiday home humor nailed us to the wall and threw darts at us
As it happened, Holiday Home Humor was the headline gracing the slick brochure that showed up in our Boston mailbox. We were more than due for a break. In a span of just under six years, my wife and I had lost all four parents and inherited two sizeable chunks of money.
We weren't Rockefeller rich, but we weren't exactly hurting, either. It was time to throttle back and maybe, just maybe, think about a second home.
I'm Rockford "Rocky" P. Steele. My wife's name is Ruth. We were in our late forties. Neither of us had been west of the Mississippi or east of the Atlantic seaboard. We loved the idea of getting away from the city, but not without (shudder) indoor plumbing, theater, and the like.
The brochure extolled the virtues of a secluded island hideaway, but one with all the amenities. It even had a comedy club, Holiday Home Humor, with live standup comics performing five nights a week. Who could resist?
As it turned out, resistance would have been a very good idea.
(To feel ready to hit the beach, click on the island!)
Education Of The Holiday Home Humor Man
Copyright 2008 by Rockford P. Steele
We took the first flight to Paradise Isle
Ruth later said we should have known
That Paradise is a fool name for mortals
To trust when they've never flown
I tripped on some kid's salted peanuts
He'd spilled in the turbulence
I sat down hard on the seat of my pants
And I've never been quite the same since
There'd been a hurricane not quite a month back
But it had missed pretty Paradise Isle
Except for the Holiday Home Humor grass shack
Which was nothing but a tangled straw pile
Thankfully we were well assured
By the sweaty salesman who met our plane
He told us with our purchase of our holiday home
They'd have enough to make it right again
We spent more money by about ten times
Than we'd really intended to waste
But the ocean breeze and the sandy beach
Kept us thinking we had the right place
Until one night by a beach campfire
We talked to a bum known as Sandy Wicker
He informed us fat sleazy Salesman Jeff
Was really laughing at the city slicker
It turned out that Holiday Home Humor shack
Had been flat for near thirty years
Jeff had been using the hurricane story to close
So many sales his laughter brought him to tears
Every one of twenty-four homeowners had tried
To get the fellow to honor his word
But the comedy club remained only a joke
Where nested the occasional bird
If that were the end of the story I would never tell
After all, I'd look like a fool
But six months later a new club was complete
With headliners who were really cool
It turned out that Salesman Jeff had heard
An oil sheik really wanted to buy
But only if the club was a going concern
Otherwise the whole place could go fry
Every penny for the building came from Jeff's own pocket
Twenty-four of us are laughing hard now
Come to think of it, I should say twenty-five
'Cause Sandy Wicker is really roaring and how
Sleazy Salesman Jeff, we finally figured out
Had been studying obituary pages
Then he'd wait a few weeks or a couple of months
Before he worked to get his Devil's wages
He'd send out those super duper slick brochures
Until he slipped when he conned Rocky and Ruthie Steele
Conning him back was a piece of cake
For students of The Art Of The Deal
Sandy had been the first to lose his holiday home
But he'll never have to worry again
Somehow Slick Jeff came to offer a lifetime comedy contract
With a free overhead apartment thrown in
You see, Jeff was talented at picking out marks
Who had lost loved ones recently
But he was sloppy as they come in one way
And never really checked out Ruthie and me
Sure, we had inherited and slacked off our work
But we hadn't always sat like a stump
Seventeen times in the past twenty years
We'd gotten the better of Donald Trump
So now when we attend the Holiday Home Humor gigs
We laugh about the hardest of all
There's nothing much funnier than watching how greed
Will help a crook set up his own fall
Publisher's note: Pam and I like Rocky's poem, but it's even better when he and Ruth tell the story in person. Maybe, when they get to know us better, they'll be willing to give us the coordinates for their dot on the ocean known as Paradise Island.
Supposedly, Salesman Jeff still has three or four undeveloped pieces of land he desperately wants to sell. For some reason, he's talking of leaving the island entirely.
