Sunday, May 10, 2009

All that's missing is the music

Is this simply bad poetry, or the beginning of a schlocky Whirled Musings musical (Whirled Musical?), or just some dopey lyrics in search of a tune? You decide. But I finally sat down and turned my favorite phrase into...well...this. It pretty much wrote itself. Or maybe I channeled it. Yeah...that's it.

I’ve Gotta Find Me A Scam

lyrics by Cosmic Connie
Music by ??

I’ve gotta find me a scam
Make people think
That I’m more than I am
Give ’em a little and make ’em want more
And herd ’em in droves to my Internet store.

They’re gonna make me a star
If I make ’em believe
That they’re more than they are

Make ’em believe that the world can be theirs
And that they’re all destined to be zillionaires.

I’ll forge an online community
Make folks believe
They’ll get special immunity –
Shelter from plagues or a stock market crash –
If only they’ll give me their trust. And their cash.

I’m gonna buy me some phony degrees
A B.S., an M.A., two fake Ph.D.s
I’ll talk quantum physics and quote from the Buddha,
And no one will know (much less care) if I’ve screwed a
Few thousand folks on my way to success
Long as I bilk with a bit of finesse.
Maybe they’ll pay me to pray
Or simply to chant
All their problems away
With four magic phrases, or one magic word
That rational folk would find droll or absurd.

All I’ll be selling is hope
Worth more by far
Than the best Maui dope
Granted, the high doesn’t last quite as long
And costs a lot more. But is that so wrong?

It’s what people want, after all:
Bright shiny visions
To keep them in thrall
It’s all in the packaging, all in the hype
Oh, I can make millions by marketing tripe!

I’m gonna bundle some mixed esoterica,
Pilfer some symbols from Native America,
Quote Albert Einstein, channel some dead guys,
Make up some buzzwords to make me appear wise.
Claim I’m a healer, say I’m hypnotic,
And hook ’em on hope (it’s the greatest narcotic).
I’ll sell a miracle pill
And maybe concoct
A fantastical swill:
Blue solar water with pale yellow “tea”
Will magically morph into more “green” for me!

I’ll buy a grandiose house,
Ditch my old friends
And dump my old spouse,
Replace ’em with new ones befitting my lot
To prove to the world – and myself – that I’m hot.

Folks will pay four grand to suffer
Hoping one weekend
Will make them grow tougher
And happier, healthier, richer and smarter...
Then I'll convince 'em that that's just a starter.

And then for a few thousand more
I'll lead 'em, chanting,
To death's very door
If they pass through it and fail to come back
I'll turn tail and run to avoid the flak.

Yeah, I'm gonna find me a scam
Make folks believe
That I'm more than I am
Make 'em believe that I'm endlessly wise
Till I even believe my own ludicrous lies!

copyright © 2009 by Connie L. Schmidt
Note: the second-to-the-last two verses were added in November 2009, post-"Sweatgate"

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disillusioned said...

Yep, you've nailed it, the human condition.
For the music I'd recommend some weepy violins.

Memoirs of a Heroinhead said...

When I've sucked all the money
From wise stupid fools
I'll pawn all my porn
And heal my bruised balls
With my free wanking hand
I'll pour drinks till I fall
And piss all your money
On a new Firewall

Excuse me, I didn't respect your rhythm... but i've never been much of a dancer.

Cosmic Connie said...

Thanks, Disillusioned. But maybe it shouldn't be too weepy. After all, this is an outline for a bold new New-Wage bidness plan. It's a proposal to open up whole new horizons!

Perhaps some minor-key stuff would be appropriate, though, in keeping with the cynicism, and to make it sound ever so slightly villainous, or at least conspiratorial.

OTOH, I can't help but think of the song, "Little Girls" in the musical, "Annie!" It could be that I'm striving for that kind of cynicism, without the alcohol. :-)

Cosmic Connie said...

Thank you, Heroinhead. I appreciate the contribution. (Although the bit about the porn, bruised balls, etc. doesn't really sound like me. :-))

Memoirs of a Heroinhead said...

Hiya CC,

it's not me either... but it is many. Internet scams... what a horrible business, hey?

Take care & BW, Shane.

Lana said...

Good job! But I must ask what style it is? I especially like the rap parts!

Cosmic Connie said...

Heroinhead said:
"Internet scams... what a horrible business, hey?"

But a lucrative one, nonetheless.

Cosmic Connie said...

Hi, Lana: I was thinking more along the lines of Broadway-musical stuff rather than rap. Or off-Broadway. Or off-off-off-off-off Broadway. :-)

Cosmic Connie said...

OTOH, I wouldn't rule out rap or hip-hop. Especially if by going viral it would result directly or indirectly in some payoff for me. :-)

Lana said...

Hmmm. I definitely think it's rap/hip-hop material. And my crystal ball says you'd profit handsomely from a viral video.

hHH said...

Connie, if you want money just... write a bestseller.

Hhh said...

Or a screenplay- based on yourselves.
Harvey Keitel for Ron, Meryl Streep for you, maybe Winona Ryder- if they're still alive.

Citizen Deux said...

I suggest the tune of "Tiny Bubbles"

ver word - mincs

Hmm Apropos

Cosmic Connie said...

HHH: A bestseller? Written by MOI? With my byline and everything? Why didn't I think of that! :-)

As for the screenplay --- hmmm. I think Marisa Tomei might be a more appropriate choice to play Cosmic Connie.

Cosmic Connie said...

Thanks for the suggestion, CD. Lana thinks I should go with a rap/hip-hop style.

Speaking of "Tiny Bubbles," that reminds me of the little ditty I wrote a couple of years ago about Ho'oponononoponooponopono, to be sung to the tune of the old Bing Crosby Hawaiian Christmas song, "Mele Kalikimaka." It was called "Ho'oponopono Healing," but there are one too many syllables in that to really get the meter right without straining, so I changed it to "Phony Hawaiian Healing." I changed a few other words too.

Here is the revised version:

Phony Hawa’iian Healing
(to the tune of “Mele Kalikimaka” by Bing Crosby)
Lyrics by Cosmic Connie

Phony Hawa’iian healing is the perfect shtick
When you want to make some money quick
It’s a New-Wage wonder to make spirits soar
And to make folks just want more
First you spread a story of a magic fix
Of how a wise man “cured” a ward of lunatics
Phony Hawa’iian healing is the shrewd way
To bring endless riches to you.

Phony Hawa’iian healing is the perfect hook
When you need to write another book
To pay for trips to Maui or a sporty car
To show off how rich you are
Once the book is finished you can then relax
Long as no one looks into the real true facts
Phony Hawa’iian healing will mean good pay
(Just keep all the skeptics away.)

Phony Hawa’iian healing is the thing to plug
Just another New-Wage wonder drug
Make your downline think that they can heal the herds
Just by saying a few words
Such delusions just might land them in the bin
Hopefully a New-Wage healer will step in
And think about their cases till they’re all well
And ready to go out and SELL.

copyright © 2007, 2009 by Connie L Schmidt

For the benefit of those who don't know the tune, here's a link to a performance of the real song (but by Bette, not Bing):

hHh said...

Um, I don't know what a byline is.
I do now know who Marisa Tomei is.
She's alright I s'pose.

Why can't you just create a character of a new age huckster and start from there?
Mind body spirit is the biggest market sector, so a book closely associated with it would have a good base wouldn't it?
*And*, once you have created your hustledork, you can treat him/her how you want. Wouldn't *that* be fun? You could get an entire series out of your new anti hero hustledork. You could have him/her taking on Dawkins and Randi, cutting evil deals with the pope and CIA, You could have an innocent caught in the evil clutches of HECKankar, anything... lots of fun.

Cosmic Connie said...

Thanks, HHH. (I've already played with "Ackankar"; but maybe I could work that in...)

Actually I have been playing with a storyline in my head for quite some time now. But for some reason I'm thinking more along the lines of a musical, although I know little about that kind of writing and nothing about production.

The challenge lies in telling an engaging story without allowing the message to intrude. Being snarky on a blog, or writing a nonfiction book, is one thing. Presenting a fictionalized but believable story (no matter what the format) is quite another.

OTOH... I suppose I could just make it completely silly, a la Monty Python. Then I wouldn't have to worry so much about a message or about credibility (or lack thereof).

If only someone would just pay me to be creative. I need a huge advance and/or a producer with a lot of money.


Anonymous said...

Well, you know, final scene.
Jim Spitale has Bonnie Schmiz on the edge of a rooftop of a tall building. Holding her by the neck and trying to force whisky into her mouth,
Spitale- "You'll never get hose documents to the press, Schmizz! You're going to have an accident, just a boozy fool coming to an unfortunate end- now gimme them papers!"
Schmizz- [splutter]"You bastard, you'll never make me, [spit] I know all about your deal with the Black Pope and the P2 lodge!"
Spitale- "Har har har, a nothing like you could never interfere with the plans of a genius like me"
Don Coyote- "Stop right there you bastard!"
Spitale looks up, Don Coyote has reached the roof and now stands pointing a shotgun at Spitale, a look of grim detirmination on his face.
Don Coyote- "Let her go Spitale, your evil schemes are over, you're all washed up, and your about to attract something you will regret!"
Spitale- "Hah, you'll never pull the trigger, Coyote, you're all so good, so afraid of 'consequences' and 'karma' har har har"
At that moment a pidgeon flies by, shits in Spitales eye.
Spitale- "My eye, arrgh!"
Spitale flails, stumbles blindly against the roof edge, his arms windmill as he topples over.
Spitale- "Noo, my scheme!"
He plunges 200ft into a glasshouse and gets diced.
The heroes embrace, alleycats start to nibble at Spitale.

Cosmic Connie said...

...And the heroes burst into song as they dance across the rooftop (avoiding getting too close to the edge, of course)...

Effie said...

That is so damn priceless!

HhH said...

There's never been a ska musical, has there?
Could be a first.

disillusioned said...

And for the sequel (hey, Connie, you have to think two products ahead, remember your back-end)
you take up where you left off with the alley cats gnawing on Spitale:

"Something odd about the taste of this human."

"Hmm, got a definite mystical tang to the flesh. I kinda like it, something new to chew on, eh, Boss Cat?"

"Yeah, they all get a bit samey after a while. This sucker tastes good though."

" Hey, Boss Cat, you're getting bigger and turning a strange shade of green. Man, you're growing fit to bust."

"You too, Lowly Cat. Though your growth ain't ever going to equal mine. Chow down brother, this dead meat musta had something special. Our time is come, we're going top take over the world."

Steve Salerno said...

Connie, that is a very cool song. Or at least those are very cool lyrics. You do know, don't you, that American Idol has a songwriting kome-pe-ti-shon* each year, and one of the prizes is to have your song performed by the winning artist. Something to hope for, no? In fact, I have it on good authority that if you really, really hope for will happen!

* must be said with appropriate Brit inflection, a la Simon.

Salty Droid said...

Totally Awesome!! I'm singing it ... and doing the robot.

Someone posted your lovely lyrical labor IN FULL to the comments on my blog. I'm going to add the link to your post ... but if you want me to take it down ... let me know and I shall.


Cosmic Connie said...

Effie said...

"That is so damn priceless!"

Or maybe it's just worthless. Either way, thanks, Effie! :-)

Cosmic Connie said...

HhH said...
"There's never been a ska musical, has there?
"Could be a first."

Brilliant, HHH. I adore ska. I like it much better than rap and hip-hop. OTOH, rap and hip-hop may have better commercial possibilities.

Cosmic Connie said...

LOL, Disillusioned...but maybe we need to call in Dean Koontz to finish *that* story.

Cosmic Connie said...

Steve, I appreciate the suggestion, but I don't quite think it's "American Idol" material.

Or even "America's Got Talent/Britain's Got Talent" material.

But it will find its way into the public consciousness nevertheless!

Cosmic Connie said...

Hey, Droid, thanks for the shout-out. You're welcome to keep my words on your lovely blog so long as the attribution is there. Thanks again!

HhH said...

The cats eat their fill, and take off to plan world domination using their new hulk like srength.
Meanwhile in the dim light of the alley, unseen, Spitale's remains slither back together, rejoining into what looks like a badly mutilated sofa with arms and legs. He looks around, and lights a cigar. After a few considered puffs he lurches over to a manhole cover and disappears into the sewers.

HhH said...

The thing that is Spitale stumps along the sewers singing softly to himself.
"It's no fun being a creature from Vangusia,
When you crash down to Earth and say Earthlings I wanna use ya,
It's so lonely being a being from Vangusia,
When so many Earthlings just wanna abuse ya."
Dejectedly he splashes through the crap for a couple of miles and stops at a set of ladders. Climbing up, he ascends to the street and looks at the large building in front of him. The sign above the door reads,
"United States Conference of Catholic Bishops."
Perhaps he can rescue his plan even now.

HhH said...

Spitale opens the door a tad and slides in. Shuffling down empty corridors he comes comes to the door from underneath which light dimly shines. On the door is a sign- "Bishop Prinzbuzterford"
Spitale opens the door and steps in.
Bishop Prinzbuzterford is sat back in his chair, feet on the desk. His mitre lays on the floor and on his head is a pork pie hat. He taps the ash from a large slpliff.
"Wondered when you'd get here Spitale, sit your self down and roll one. No use planning world conquest if were all up tight, eh man?"
Spitale drops into a chair and stubs his cigar, takes up a little box from the Bishops desk.
Bishop Prinzbuzterford gets up and puts a record on his personal jukebox.

"Put your feet to the ground
With the Catholic sound
The nuttiest sound
of the Underground

We got Ireland, Poland,
Italy and France
In St Peter's square they're
Doin' this dance
Chika Chika
Chika Chika

Jesus was a rude boy
Spread it around
get down on the floor
And let your feet pound

We got Ireland, Poland
Italy and France
In St Peter's Square
They're doin' this dance
Chika chika!
Chika Chika!

disillusioned said...

The bishops are in turmoil, the wealthy western faithful are deserting in droves as centuries old secret initiation rituals come to light and are prosecuted in the courts.

There are plenty of impoverished, third world faithful left but they have not the spondulicks to refill the coffers depleted by compensation claims quick enough.

What's needed is a new messiah.

Could Spitale, even with his heart chewed out, fill the aching void of uncertainty (as well as the empty bank accounts)????

Boss Cat and Lowly Cat sneak into the back of the room. As the new, aspiring world dominators on the block they are keen to pick up any con-tips from Spitale to help achieve their goal.

Anonymous said...

Brilliant and hilarious, Connie.

And definitely Marisa Tomei, yep.

But look at what you've unleashed: 3H, not bad at all! Between the two of you, you have the beginnings of a musical and a bestseller (a la "Angels and Demons, The Vitale Version"). (I mean, Spitale.)

HhH said...

The record ends and Bishop Prizbuzterford gets down off his desk and wipes the sweat from his brow, starts picking up pens and paperclips from the floor.
A slightly dazed looking Spitale looks at his spliff, looks at the bishop.
"What's with this, Prinzbuzterford?"
The bishop affects an innocent look
"Spitale, what do you mean"
"It tastes salty"
"It do?"
"It do"
"Ok, you wanted to know how we were gonna fund your exit off this planet."
"Ah, at last"
Prinzbuzterford twists the penholder on his desk. Bzzzzzzztk, a section of pannelling slides down revealing a fish tank set in the wall. The fish are swimming slowly but erratically between seaweed with five fronded leaves.
Spitales eyebrows raise for the first time since his crash landing.
"You mean...."
"We put the word out to every criminal organisation on the planet, give us a cut of your business, or seawater is going to taste very different in a few months time."
Spitale takes a long drag,"well, for an Earthling, you have almost impressed me. What do you want me to do."
"Well, it's like this Jim, 2012 is coming down fast and........"

hhh said...

Ecclesiastical wisdom here

disillusioned said...

"Well, it's like this Jim, 2012 is coming down fast and........"

".........we need to come up with some whizzbang products to make the most of the panic with some niche marketing opportunities"

Boss Cat, glowing greenly, turned to his side kick,

"What's that niche thing the trannie in the dress is on about?"

"Spondulicks, mazuma, cash folding, Boss Cat. It's the only thing gets these humans going, a whiff of the green has 'em all slavering."

"You telling me this is about money, Lowly Cat? No power crazed bloodlust, no scorched earth, no tearing limb from limb?"

"Yeah, No backbone left for good old fashioned slash, burn and pillage, Boss Cat. World domination ain't what it used to be."

"Meh, No fun at all. Us cats are outta here."

hhh said...

"What's this, Bish, goin' soft? No inquisition, no knights of righteousness, no slash, burn and pillage?"
"Those days are long gone. Today the soul saving business is a more subtle affair. These days information is power. Come, let me show you.
Bishop Prinzbuzterford gets up and walks over to a large painting of a witch burning. He pushes it to one side and a section of wall opens up to reveal an elevator.
"This way Jimmy man."
For the first time he notices the large hole in Spitales chest, looks quizically at Spitale.
"Lost it somewhere, I wasn't using it for much anyway. Well?"
"Going down."
The elevator drops at stomach turning speed and after a minute opens to reveal a large command centre, clergy manning consoles, screens on the walls.
"Yes information is power in this 21st century Jim my man...thing. In this room we can track every condom bought that has been fitted with an RFID. Thanks to your marketing genius, Bishops Hat condoms are the worlds leading brand. People loved your Quantum Entanglement Attract a Partner spiel, you're worth your weight in gold, Jimmy! Now our agents can work on every condom buyer individually. We go door to door, or set up chance meetings in bars, you know, and we give them the full works; guilt, fear, promises- heaven and hell Jim. Or, we get into the databases and their accounts cease working, they order two hundred pizzas- oh the lord works in mysterious ways. But that's not all Jimbo, the next phase of this plan is to direct active radio waves to each rubber from our secret satellites, waves that will render the wearer infertile. Survival of the fittest Jim, soon only those with an aversion to contraception will be left and once more Rome will be the supreme power on Earth."
"How Darwinian."
"Heh heh, you shouldn't believe everything you read in the papers Jimmy, we ain't stupid."
Spitale has a far off look on his face as he looks at the Bishop and a thought suddenly seems to occur to him.
"Have you got any tuna?"

Hhh said...

At that moment there is a terrific crash and the air is filled with flying fragnents of concrete, glass and molten rock. An enormous tunneling machine lurches through the wall, crushing priests at their consoles and grinds to a halt half way into the comms centre. A hatch bursts open and a heavily armed unit of athiest commandoes headed by Captain Derek Pawkins leaps out spraying bullets around the chamber. The clergy whip out machine pistols from under their poncey robes and a fierce firefight ensues around the consoles and desks.

disillusioned said...

The cats were almost at street-level when the unholy sounds of the battle reached them.
Boss cat's ears twitched and a maniacal gleam shone from his eyes.

"I love the smell of cordite and blood in the morning," he said, grinning fatly.

"You love it anytime" grumbled Lowly cat as they retraced their steps

As they neared the mayhem of the fire-fight a shadowy figure stepped out from behind some fallen masonry. The cats froze, every sense alert.

"Hey Dudes, let these guys fight to the death and we can have the pickings."

"Don Coyote, I presume," sneered Boss cat, "I thought windmills were your thing."

Lowly cat stepped between them.

" Hey Boss, a bit of a strategic alliance here might not go amiss. The Don has a rep, you know, and musta learnt a few tricks he's been at the windmill thing so long."

Boss cat had a final glare and snarl at Coyote then extended a paw.

" Who's your money on then Don?"

"The bishops got all the traditional sneaky tricks but Pawkins has the tech. A bit of a battle between the old god and the new god, methinks"

" I thought that was this Pawkins schtick, no gods at all?" said Lowly cat.

" Have you heard the guy rant? He's got a god all right, and the maniacal gleam of world domination in his eye. Still, my money's on his crew for now, always bet on the stronger magic. One thing I learned from the windmills though, these things go round and round and don't change too much."

Boss cat considered this for a nanosecond.

" A 50/50 split on the pickings then Don, when these bozos have wiped each other out?"

Anonymous said...

I have a scam for you, Cosmic Connie.
Read it at my blog.

Hhh said...

Pawkins has fought his way over to Prinzbuzterford. He raises his mp5 and points at the Bishops head. He pulls the trigger and there is an empty click. The bishop crosses himself, eyes raised to heaven, but Pawkins casts the gun aside and pulls out a vicious looking combat knife.
"You're going to need more than a miracle from your favourite delusion to keep your genes in the race, god botherer, your about to be deselected!", hisses Pawkins, tossing the blade from hand to hand.
"Naturally you think so, heathen." snorts Prinzbuzterford taking the large cross from round his neck and spinning it deftly in his hand.
"It's a pity you have nothing to look forward to when I'm done with you, but before I send you to the inferno there's just one thing I'd like to say"
"Yeah", sings...

Just a humble servant
Sworn to fight the beast
Compared to our Lord
I'm lower than yeast

Clergy chorus-

He's just a humble servant
Sworn to fight the beast
Compared to our Lord
He's lower than yeast

With my hand on my heart
And my nose in my Bible
I don't give a whizz
For your atheistc libel!

Clergy chorus-
With his hand on his heart
And his nose in his bible
He don't give a whizz
For your atheistic libel!"

Pawkins pauses, tests the point on his knife, looks at Prinzbuzterford

My mind is so sharp
Keener than this knife
I've been using reason
For most of my life

Commando chorus-
His mind is so sharp
Keener than his knife
He's been using reason
For most of his life

We've had it with religion
We're replacing it with genes
And Adam and Eve
Were Australopithecines!

Commando Chorus-
We've had it with religion
We're replacing it with genes
And Adam and Eve
Were Australopithecines!"

The clergy and commandoes do a West Side Story style fight dance at each other.
Prinzbuzterford continues...

You soulless men of science
You take away all hope
I'm going to defeat you
By order of the Pope!

You soulless men of science
You take away all hope
He's going to defeat you
By order of the Pope

The rapture is approaching
He's coming you will see
Drink my holy water Pawkins
You'll never capture me!

Prinzbusterford hits a big red button and dives through a door marked 'Escape'.
The lights turn dim red and a siren starts up. Markers blink on the map screen at points all round the worlds oceans.
A computerised voice- "Weed release initiated, T minus 60 seconds, fifty nine, fifty eight....."

the congregation said...


Our Father
Who art in the bloggerverse
Thy punctuation come,
In print as it is in longhand
Give us this day our daily spellcheck
And forgive us our typos, as we correct those whose typos offend us
And lead us not into hasty posting
But deliver us from laptops
For thine is the syntax,
the font and the grammar
For ever and ever

HhH said...

disillusioned said...

Some added refreshment from Iriepathie:

Anonymous said...

Yes, brilliant and hilarious!!!!!!!! (to quote another poster) I LOVE IT!!!!!!