You may recall my very enlightening chat with Abraham Lincoln from a few months ago.
Last week I communed with the spirit world once again in hopes of interviewing another famous dead soul. The first one to make himself known was a lovely, warm being, but not the best interview subject. I’m so sorry, Monsieur Marceau. Perhaps another time.
After bidding him adieu, I sat in silence for several minutes. Then I heard something rattle across the floor. It was the pit from a peach I had eaten earlier.
Message from beyond, or cat toy?
A strong breeze passed through the room even though the windows were closed. The cord from the blinds began to sway, back and forth. Back and forth. Like a…pendulum.
Waaaaaaaaaaitaminute. Pit and pendulum??
“Mr. Poe!!”
“Blast, you startled me. Now I’ve spilled my wine.”
“Sorry, I’m just so excited, it’s not every day the Master of the Macabre drops by, you know. Here, I’ll pour more wine for us.” I opened a nice cabernet—I thought he would enjoy that (don’t ask for the details on how ghosts drink, it’s very complicated and somewhat messy). We toasted and settled in for a nice chat.
MW: So how have you been? What have you been doing lately?
EAP: For the past year or so I’ve spent much of my time haunting the creators of The Raven in hopes of driving them mad. I think that would be quite fitting. Did you see that movie? It was an abomination.
MW: Yeah. It sucked mightily. I’m sorry, Mr. Poe, you deserved much, much better.
EAP: I agree. And please, call me Edgar. This wine is quite nice, by the way.
MW: Would you care for some more? I’ll top off our glasses. I’m so glad to have this time with you—you died too young. By the way, speaking of people who died too soon, Abraham Lincoln visited me too. Have you met him?
EAP: Oh yes, Abe and I drink together regularly. He’s the best wingman. That “Honest Abe” shtick of his works every time. Me, I just work the “tortured writer” angle. Chicks love that shit.
MW: So you’re both basically players. Nice.
EAP: Don’t hate the player. Hate the game.
MW: Whatever you say.
EAP: You know, it’s too bad I’m not alive now, I’d be a fantastic movie or TV writer.
MW: Yes you would. Do you have any favorite TV shows?
EAP: Twilight Zone was genius, of course. Which reminds me, I’m having brunch with Rod Serling next week. I loved Buffy the Vampire Slayer. The American Horror Story series is excellent too. I also enjoyed WKRP in Cincinnati.
MW: Excuse me?
EAP: Loni Anderson. She was a hot number.
MW: I wouldn’t have expected you of all people to like a sitcom.
EAP: Did you hear me? Loni Anderson. We need more wine, by the way, this bottle is empty.
MW: I’ll get another. So tell me, which movie version of your stories did you like best?
EAP: I liked Pit and the Pendulum with Vincent Price. But I was disappointed that Roger Corman didn’t take more liberties with the stories to give the women skimpier costumes. Vincent is in my regular poker game—he has an amazing poker face. Then there’s Hazel Court, who was in a few other Corman versions. What a great rack. I keep inviting her for a little afternoon delight, with—
MW: Yeah. I don’t want to hear details. Now—
EAP: Have you ever tried absinthe?
MW: Once or twice, yeah.
EAP: I happen to have a bottle with me. Be a lamb and pour us some. Better yet, let’s just drink from the bottle.
MW: We’ve already had a lot of wine, you know.
EAP: Exactly. Now it’s time for some real alcohol (takes a few swigs and drains half the bottle). Here, have a few belts. Now where was I? Oh yes, I was telling you about my torrid affair with Mata Hari. She might have been a spy but I discovered exactly which button to push to get her to reveal her secrets, if you know what I mean…
MW: Eww. No. You weren’t telling me about that.
EAP: No? Oh yes, you’re quite right. It was about my delicious weekend of debauchery with a buxom peasant girl from medieval France. I bent her ov—
MW: No. It wasn’t.
EAP: …that was right before I met some of Nefertiti’s beautiful Nubian handmaidens. Those maidens know how to use their hands all right. And don’t you just love that word, Nuuuuuuuubian. Come on, say it with me.
MW: I don’t want to.
EAP: And then there was the time I met up with some of the Vestal virgins from Rome. Virgin in name only, by the way. They were wild.
MW: I really don’t—
EAP: But nowhere near as wild as Mary Queen of Scots and Queen Mary. I had a threesome with them many years ago. Those Catholic girls really know how to get their freak on. You’re Catholic, right?
MW: Edgar! Give me that absinthe. You’re skeeving me out.
EAP: What a delightful word. Skeeeeeeve.
MW: This conversation makes me want to bathe.
EAP: Excellent idea! Would you like me to scrub your—
MW: Goodnight, Edgar.
EAP: You’ll invite me back soon. You’ll see.
On behalf of Edgar, Madame Weebles would like to apologize to Poe fans, Roger Corman fans, Hazel Court, Catholics, Nefertiti, Nubians, medieval French peasants, Vesta and her virgins, Mata Hari, Mary Queen of Scots, Mary Tudor, and women in general. It was the absinthe talking.
Fear No Weebles 