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A Date with Martha Stuart, Part 3
Posted on | November 23, 2009 | No Comments
Our last episode delineated the historic introduction of Martha Stewart, giant of American culture, to Mogo the Mugger. We now follow the excited couple as they proceed through the traditional American ritual of the ‘first date.’
The driveway of the Stewart estate curves through lawns and patches of forest. As the limousine containing the newly-met couple slowly scraped out of sight, the assembled lackeys and minions, who had been shivering in the winter night outside the mansion, went inside, grateful for one last night without Martha Stewart in the house.
Sunk in the luxurious upholstery of the back seat, Mogo timidly patted his date’s knee. “Mogo like matriarch,” he confided.
“Blow it out your shorts,” she snaps. “The only thing I care about is— What’s that? Dammit, my French gazebo is on fire!” She is looking out the window, and our gaze is led in the same direction, until we behold the antique structure itself, which, as we see it through a gap in the firs, is furiously ablaze.
“That our date,” said Mogo. “Mogo get away for few minutes this afternoon. Make things nice for matriarch woman! Matriarch approve! Good Mogo!” He reached over the chauffeur’s shoulder, broke off the steering wheel, and hung it around the man’s neck. “You stop here,” he ordered. “Make self scarce!” The limousine shuddered slowly off the drive and into a tree. The chauffeur jumped out and ran away. Mogo dragged Martha out of the car and across the lawn to the burning gazebo. They stumbled over a severed horse’s head.
Martha, who had been screaming, began to whimper. “It’s my thoroughbred, Silver Blaze! Who could do such a thing?”
The gazebo collapsed in an explosion of sparks, revealing a horse carcass dripping on a ten-foot spit. “Dinner almost ready!” cried Mogo. “But– Mogo blushing now– we make boom-boom first!” Mogo drags the shrieking Martha, now a windmill of lacquered claws, jewelry, and high-heel shoes, into what appears to be a pile of collapsed trees.
In order to avoid putting anything X-rated on the Internet, where innocent eyes may be led astray, we will now revert to a more ethnographical style of narration. Ms. Stewart, in spite of her expertise in French antiquities, completely failed to recognize the traditional Mousterian style of Mogo’s love-bower. In its black interior, Mogo stripped off Ms. Stewart’s clothing, pausing to admire her home-detention ankle bracelet, which he took to be a symbol of her status as a shaman. Rolling her over several times in a bed of fir branches and fresh wet horse-hide, he loudly snuffled over her whole body, especially the naughty bits, his beard and hair rasping and tickling. Ms. Stewart quieted her outcries and stopped struggling, perhaps because of the undoubted intellectual interest which the situation presented. As things quieted, Mogo put her down and drew back. A minute passed.
“Wha– what’s the matter?” she asked, finally.
Mogo’s deep grunt came out of the darkness: “Why you smell like Cro-Magnon woman?”
“What?”
“Date over. Mogo only like Piltdown woman in heat. You not in heat.”
Mogo yanked the horse-hide from under the diva of good taste and draped it around his waist. “Well, Mogo have to get up early. Say bye-bye Mogo.” So saying, he vanished into the night.
Time-card files show that Mogo was not late for work the following day, but he was dismissed for unstated reasons. He disappears from the record after that. A wrecked automobile, that had been hijacked outside the town of Katonah, and apparently driven through the plate-glass from of the building, had to be removed from the lobby.
A month later, Federal Inmate 55170-054 petitioned the Ninth Circuit Court for permission to sell her home and be confined elsewhere. Lawyers brought in a string of witnesses who testified to mysterious livestock killings, weird nocturnal noises, unexplained fires on the lawns, strange, gigantic footprints in the flower-beds, and crudely-lettered notes demanding that vegetables and hogs be raised there instead of horses. The judge refused. “I’m wise to your tricks, Ms. Stewart,” he said. “You’re not getting any more free publicity from the Justice Department.”
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