Years back I was the official biographer for the accordion fueled performer Miss Cybelvis Monroe. Imagine Marylin Monroe impersonating Elvis. It was a beautiful thing to behold. The photo above is the actual and real Miss Cybelvis Monroe. Each month I wrote a new chapter in the continuing biography which was included in her newsletter.
I always thought “Black Leather, Pink Scarves, and Me” would make a great musical play filled with parody songs of Marylin and Elvis all set to a polka beat. I can see the big production numbers. Wow, it’s amazing. Maybe I should finish the story, maybe send it out as a novel. What do you think? Let me know.
As April is National Humor Month, here for your amusement, and we all really need some right now, exactly as it first appeared, is the opening chapter in the saga of Miss Cybelvis Monroe, “Black Leather, Pink Scarves, and Me”. Enjoy!
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Chapter One – A Great Discovery
Well, um, Hi, I guess. I’m Norm.
I work for the United States Postal Service and have for a good many years. I deliver the mail. For the past 12 years I’ve delivered it to 3624 Lonely Street, next to the Heartbreak Hotel. It is the home of my favorite actress, my favorite singer, and my favorite entertainer. Maybe that’s why she asked me to record her story. Maybe it’s because I was the one who first found her after all those years. Maybe she just likes me. Maybe it’s because she knows I read her postcards before I deliver them. Whatever her reasons when she asked I said yes. How could I refuse her? She is the ultimate shining star. She is Miss Cybelvis Monroe.
I don’t get out much other than for my job, but at least I have cable. I’m in good shape. Carrying the mail every day is a good help and I only have to wear the flack jacket when I’m actually at the Post Office sorting the mail for my daily route.
Well, one day, a few years back, we ran out of decaf in the kitchen and a few employees got upset. One of the stray bullets hit the main power switch. Instantly we were plunged into darkness. Little did I know that from this moment on my life would change. For one thing, the sudden blackness allowed the in-house SWAT team to subdue Mrs. Johnson. She couldn’t see to reload. What a shame, only a week from her retirement, too. Someone told me that she actually remembers when stamps were under 15 cents, not that I believe them. But I’ll miss the homemade peanut butter chocolate chip cookies she gave out at Christmas and the doilies she put under the stamp machines.
After the power came back on an hour later, and they dragged Mrs. Johnson away, things got pretty much back to normal. I went back to sorting the mail for my route and loading my bag. I thought I was done when I spotted a single postcard on the table. It was addressed simply to “MCM, 3624 Lonely Street”.
I recognized this as a house on my route, the home of Miss Cybelvis Monroe, a rising young star who mysteriously disappeared in the late 1950s, at a point when her career was just about to take off. The house had remained empty since. Money was provided for its maintenance and upkeep, but I never saw anyone. No one ever lived there and the house was never sold.
Cybelvis was one of my favorite movie stars of the Hong Kong musical comedies of the 1950’s. She appeared in such timeless classics, as “The Seven Year Samurai Itch”, “Viva Las Shanghai”, “Some Like It Sushi”, and “Kung Fu Happy”. Nothing those two pretenders could ever do would match her talent, her grace, her raw sex appeal. Sorry, I’m getting carried away.
So I kept her mail in a box in the dead letter office, hoping that someday someone, a relative, a long secret son or daughter, perhaps, would return and claim them. It was there I took this postcard. When I reached the door I had to fish down into my pocket for the keys. I had some change, an allergy pill wrapped in a tissue, and a few M&M’s I snuck out of the house. My roommate, Bibo, says we need to eat a more low-fat diet. What does he know about low-fat, he’s only eight inches tall. But that’s a story for another day.
When I opened the door a wave of icy water drenched my water “resistant” USPS issue boots. A cold, damp feeling crept up my leg. I realized that there might be a problem. I followed the stream of water to a large wooden crate in the corner of the room. It looked as if part of the label had torn off. It was addressed “Colonel Tom Parker, Gracelan”. That’s it, nothing more. Could they have meant Graceland? in Memphis, TN? Zip code 38186-0508?
I leaned forward for a closer look. It was then I heard the knocking. On the inside.
What? Now? Okay, give me a minute.
Um, sorry, but Break’s over and I have to get back to work so I’ll try to continue where I left next time I get a chance. Before I go I would like to share one of Miss Cybelvis’s postcards. She said she didn’t mind. I thought you might get a kick out of it. Read it quickly because I have to put it back so it can be delivered.
It’s dated June 21, 1999. She writes:
“Just got back from London and the royal shindig. Sophie’s very nice. Isn’t it creepy how much she looks like Di? And she swears she isn’t trying to. Elton’s probably changing the lyrics to another song he wrote about me for her right now. I liked him better when he had an adventurous fashion sense.
Speaking of Charles, what a gentleman he is. The gown I chose for the party was cut perhaps a tad too liberally cut for the conservative English receiving line because when I curtsied before his mum, Queen Liz, I presented a little more of myself than I had originally planned. Luckily bonnie Prince Charles was there to lend a helping hand.
I was terribly embarrassed but it ended up being a very good thing. If it hadn’t happened, I might never have seen Charlie’s ‘castle’ later that night. England swings like a pendulum do.
Toodles, Cybelvis.“
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That’s it. What did you think? If you didn’t catch it, Norm the mailman is named after Norman Mailer, who wrote a biography of Marylin. As for Bibo, I’ll tell you about him in a future newsletter. It’s along story, but I have pictures.
I was actually lucky enough to perform with her and Botielus, the master of the accordion. I played ukulele. It was something I’ll never forget.