The Presentation

Well, here we are in La Taverna. Again. Another presentation. And me with my Muse still miffed about the whole “Lost Masterpiece” thing. Forced to rely solely on “Native Talent.”

Right. Like that’ll work.

At least she was here with me, helping me control the pair of mixed Rottweiler-Shepherd loaned to me by my gay acquaintance Wilbur Piñot. Naturally, she made me take care of the pooper-scooper myself.

“I haven’t asked before now, and I’m still not at all certain I want to know,” Muse started, “but what do these mangy mutts have to do with the Silver Clitorides Awards?”

If she really wanted to know, she would just pluck the thoughts from my head. Muses do that. Mine used to. I suppose I would have to verbalize.

“They are—or so I've heard—integral to an oft-expressed desire on the part of this month’s winner.”

“An ‘oft-expressed desire?’ How does the winner even know Wilbur? Willie never travels north of the Mason-Dixon.”

“I don’t know. It isn’t important. If I can accomodate the wish as part of the presentation, I will.”

Muse shook her bemused head. (Hey! A bemused Muse! Cool, huh?) “It’s about that time. You had better take the podium.” She shook her head again.

So I took the leashes and escorted the brutes to the stage. Muse very kindly snapped her fingers, causing ambient light to dim and a spotlight to appear. I smiled my thanks.

“Good evening, Ladies and Gentlemen and so forth. Welcome to the monthly presentation of the Silver Clitorides Awards. Before I present the Award for the best story of the month of September, 2003, I’d like to attempt a feat in honor of the winner.” I went on to explain about the owner of the dogs.

Stooping, I placed my arms under the first canine. Hoisting him wasn’t much problem, but getting the second dog in my arms would be more of a challenge. It didn’t help that the first one didn’t seem to enjoy being carried. He wriggled a lot.

Nevertheless, I persevered. It wasn’t until I set the first down and picked up the second in a fireman’s carry that I managed to pick up both at once.

Finally, someone in the audience asked, “Gary, what’s the point of this exercise?”

“The Winner expressed a desire to see this. It’s even more important to the winner than winning awards.”

“But what are you doing?”

“I’m finally,” I said as I managed to get both dogs into my arms, “lifting the curs of the pom, Piñot.”

To the accompaniment of an orgasmic groan (at least, I hope it was orgasmic), I announced, “The winner of the Silver Clitorides Award for Best Story of the Month of September, 2003 is What Do You Dream Of? by Frank Downey. Congratulations, Frank! Well done to all the nominees and finalists!”

The September 2003 Silver Clitorides Awards Winner:

What Do You Dream Of? by Frank Downey

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