I was flipping through the classical section at the record store (I was looking for Paganini’s caprices) when a strong hand clamped on my shoulder. I spun around, and guess who I saw?
He smiled good-naturedly.
He fist-bumped his own forehead and smiled again, waiting for me to be pleased.
I whispered, “What do you want?”
He handed me a folded piece of paper, one jagged side torn from a spiral notebook.
I said, “Please don’t do this to me.”
Then he challenged me to a chariot race in which the winner would bed a woman and the loser would publish the winner’s “poem.”
So you see I had no choice.
My concern is that I might now be subject to legal proceedings. Let me first show you the “poem.” Then I will show you the problem.
for publishment by W. Walker & Co.
I’m gonna love you just a little more, baby
I’ve got so much love to give
Never, never gonna give you up
Honey, please, can’t ya see
I can’t get enough of your love, babe
You’re the first, the last, my everything
What am I gonna do with you
I’ll do for you anything you want me to
Let the music play
You see the trouble with me
Baby, we better try to get it together
Don’t make me wait too long
I’m qualified to satisfy you
It’s ecstasy when you lay down next to me
Playing your game, baby
Oh, what a night for dancing
You’re sweetness is my weakness
Just the way you are
Dick slapped my buttocks, winked, and turned to go. I knew something was suspect. I pretended to shop until he’d left the store, then hurried over to the R&B section and flipped through for a record I thought likely to be in stock. I still had his paper in hand when I came across the one I was looking for. This one:
But what was the problem, you ask? Well, look at this – the back side of it:
I trust you see the problem.