A Symphony unto Oneself

Chapter 6

The Story The Authors

With a sigh-she had to learn to trust SOMEONE-Valetroie signed the 48 page contract Ivar was holding out for her. $450,000.00 a week probably was CHEAP to get the Koncertgebouw Orchestra for their front window. She wasn't entirely sure that she was thinking straight any more, but if there was anything New York needed and wanted perhaps it was a little cultural uplift. Surely Hayden and Mozart hadn't gone completely out of fashion? She fished around in the dirndl for her Visa card. Was the plastic all melting, and the chromium too? Why was Ivar's leering grin of anticipation stretching into the spinning wheel of a unicycle with spokes made of teeth? Tom L.

Ivar drummed his fingers on the bartop. There had to be some way to restore the customer flow. And cocktail weiners just didn't cut the mustard. Humming a heretical Gregorian Chant sealed in the 6th century by Pope Pius II, a thought plowed into his head like a fully loaded dump truck skidding on a patch of ice: if there was nothing in this world that could save his business, perhaps there was something in another that could. Bursting with excitement, Ivar rushed around the bar, locking windows and doors, pulling down blinds, and disconnecting everything electrically operated. Taking a bottle of ketchup from off of one of the tables, he proceeded to paint a large pentagram in the center of the dance floor. Candles, he thought, I need candles. A half an hour of fruitless searching turned up matches, but nothing remotely resembling candles. Well, he thought, I might as well put these to some use. With that, he placed empty liqour bottles at each point of the star and plugged the top of each with the remaining cocktail franks. As he solenmly lit them, he found himself whistling the Oscar Mayer Weiner theme song. That being done, he stood in the center of the pentagram, and shouted, "Omecay ootay emay, owerspay foay arknessday! I, variay ommandcay ooyay!" As the last syllable echoed away into the darkness, the room began to fill with unholy smoke. The discordant notes of a thundering organ pounded the air, threatening to split Ivar's skull in two. The music swelled and Ivar grabbed his ears, screaming in agony, and dropped to his knees. Suddenly, it stopped. And from out of the smoke stepped a tall swarthy man, draped in a red velvet cloak. "Arise, foolish mortal! Arise and face Nahtan!" Ivar stood up, still trying to regain his hearing. "Oh great Satan--" he said, only to be cut off by the looming figure. "Not Satan, fool--Nahtan!" Ivar was confused. "Excuse me? I was expecting someone else." he said, sheepishly. The infernal being poked a foot at one of Ivar's be-weienered bottles and said smugly, "You want Satan, you use candles; you want Nahtan, hot dog vendor of Hell, you use frankfurters." Jeffster

The Story	The Authors
With a sigh-she had to learn to trust SOMEONE-Valetroie signed the 48 page contract Ivar was holding out for her. $450,000.00 a week probably was CHEAP to get the Koncertgebouw Orchestra for their front window. She wasn't entirely sure that she was thinking straight any more, but if there was anything New York needed and wanted perhaps it was a little cultural uplift. Surely Hayden and Mozart hadn't gone completely out of fashion? She fished around in the dirndl for her Visa card. Was the plastic all melting, and the chromium too? Why was Ivar's leering grin of anticipation stretching into the spinning wheel of a unicycle with spokes made of teeth?	Tom L.
Ivar drummed his fingers on the bartop. There had to be some way to restore the customer flow. And cocktail weiners just didn't cut the mustard. Humming a heretical Gregorian Chant sealed in the 6th century by Pope Pius II, a thought plowed into his head like a fully loaded dump truck skidding on a patch of ice: if there was nothing in this world that could save his business, perhaps there was something in another that could. Bursting with excitement, Ivar rushed around the bar, locking windows and doors, pulling down blinds, and disconnecting everything electrically operated. Taking a bottle of ketchup from off of one of the tables, he proceeded to paint a large pentagram in the center of the dance floor. Candles, he thought, I need candles. A half an hour of fruitless searching turned up matches, but nothing remotely resembling candles. Well, he thought, I might as well put these to some use. With that, he placed empty liqour bottles at each point of the star and plugged the top of each with the remaining cocktail franks. As he solenmly lit them, he found himself whistling the Oscar Mayer Weiner theme song. That being done, he stood in the center of the pentagram, and shouted, "Omecay ootay emay, owerspay foay arknessday! I, variay ommandcay ooyay!" As the last syllable echoed away into the darkness, the room began to fill with unholy smoke. The discordant notes of a thundering organ pounded the air, threatening to split Ivar's skull in two. The music swelled and Ivar grabbed his ears, screaming in agony, and dropped to his knees. Suddenly, it stopped. And from out of the smoke stepped a tall swarthy man, draped in a red velvet cloak. "Arise, foolish mortal! Arise and face Nahtan!" Ivar stood up, still trying to regain his hearing. "Oh great Satan--" he said, only to be cut off by the looming figure. "Not Satan, fool--Nahtan!" Ivar was confused. "Excuse me? I was expecting someone else." he said, sheepishly. The infernal being poked a foot at one of Ivar's be-weienered bottles and said smugly, "You want Satan, you use candles; you want Nahtan, hot dog vendor of Hell, you use frankfurters."	Jeffster

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